You were Team Iron Man.
Not just in theory. Not just on paper. You stood shoulder to shoulder with Tony Stark as he made his case, voice sharp and measured, grief tucked carefully behind logic. You understood it. Restraint. Accountability. You weren’t naive. You knew what unchecked power could do—you’d seen it, wielded it, maybe even liked it a little too much.
So you signed.
You stood there in that gleaming UN hallway, pen in hand, with the weight of your future resting on your signature. Steve looked at you once. Didn’t say a word. But you felt the disappointment in the tight line of his jaw, the way his shoulders drew back like he’d just been punched in the ribs.
You didn’t flinch.
Not until the airport.
You were meant to stall them. Delay long enough for the others to surround. Vision had your flank, Rhodey to your right. Orders were clear. Neutralize and contain.
Then you saw them.
Steve, unflinching. Sam, out of breath but still throwing himself into the fray. And Bucky—God, Bucky. Not the ghost HYDRA left behind, but the man underneath. Bruised and desperate and so clearly trying.
And something inside you cracked.
It wasn’t a decision. It was instinct.
“Don’t—he’s not your enemy!” you shouted, stepping between Sam and Rhodey, hand raised. Rhodey blinked like he couldn’t process what you were doing. Then you took a hit meant for Steve. Ribs cracked. You hit the ground hard.
They didn’t leave you behind.
Steve helped you up, one arm under your shoulders, no hesitation. “You sure?” he asked, just once. You nodded. Blood in your teeth. “Little late to change my mind now.” He smirked. It wasn’t amused. It was relief disguised as sarcasm. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
You bought them enough time to get Bucky to the quinjet.
You didn’t make it out.
The Raft was worse than you imagined.
No windows. No clocks. No silence, either—just the low hum of surveillance and the buzz of containment fields. Stark came once. Looked at you through the glass like he didn’t recognize you. Like you were just another casualty in the war he’d hoped to avoid.
You said nothing.
Neither did he.
You weren’t expecting a jailbreak. You should’ve, knowing Steve.
But when the lights flickered and the alarms wailed and suddenly everything felt real again—freedom, movement, choice—you held your breath.
Then the door opened.
And there he was.
“Let’s go,” he said, a slow smirk on his face like you'd been one of them all along.
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