"Oh, God."

Steve sat motionless, next to the equally stilled Vision, but the Captain at least had the luxury of still being alive. You crawled your way across the battlefield, your body losing blood by the minute from the uneven, shredded tear in your skin from the teeth of whatever those things were; you needed to get closer to what was left of your team, if for nothing else than to calm just a little of the fear that was overtaking you.

"No, stay still," M'Baku tried, but you waved him away. "T'Challa commanded-"

"Well, he's not here, so I don't give a shit," you snapped, hissing under your breath with each movement. You could feel the tissue in your shoulder pulling apart, hearing the tear in the muscle as it tried to hold together, but nothing could stop you from getting to your friends. You watched Sam disappear right before your eyes, and you would need them now more than ever.

You would definitely need them to keep you from choking the life out of Steve.

"This is all your fault," you snarled, collapsing against a large boulder not far from where he still sat, still silent. "He would never have been here...if it weren't...weren't for you..." you struggled. Each word was becoming harder to say, your air feeling strained to take in. The lightheadedness was beginning to become too much, but your rage kept you going just enough to make your point. "It was always...about you...Steve..."

"(Y/N), I'm sorry-"

"Shut up. I don't...I don't ever want to hear...your voice again..."

"(Y/N)," he spoke again anyway, only this time it was urgent and it wasn't to fight you. He didn't want to fight you or anyone anymore; he didn't want to do anything at all other than to catch you before you completely fell unconscious, taking you into his tremulous grip to carry you back to the palace grounds. He didn't care that you hated him, and you likely always would, but what he did care about was that Sam would expect no less of him than to do everything in his power to save you even if you didn't want him to.

Sam had heard his share of fights between the two of you, and tried to stop most of them, but this was one argument that he would insist that Steve win no matter how pissed off it would make you.

~~~

Natasha stood with Steve outside of the medical bay within T'Challa's home, watching as his staff worked on your injury quickly, not giving away any sense of how you were doing in their expressions when they took the seconds to look back. It was gnawing away at the Captain's resolve to not push his way into the room and demand an update, but he had promised Nat that he would do his best to behave, because they both knew that if you woke up to him standing any closer to you, it wouldn't end well for anyone.

"She's never going to forgive me, is she?"

"She was just upset, Steve. We all are. But Sam...that's on a whole other level of loss."

"She was right though," he sighed heavily, his body clearly defeated, "he was here because of me. He was on this team because of me. If we hadn't gone to hide at their house back in D.C.-"

"Steve, (Y/N) was a part of SHIELD long before you met Sam. We have no way of knowing that this would have ended up any differently. He told you himself, he still had the need to serve, and this team gave him that. I can't believe that he wouldn't have found his way here on his own just out of sheer determination."

"Right, but this is still on me now, Nat. I need to talk to her and take responsibility."

Natasha looked from you to him and back again, staying silent as she tried to find the right words to say, to find something that could soothe even an ounce of the pain that he was feeling when she was nearly immobile from her own. The team was in shambles, Clint wasn't answering his phone, and no one knew where Tony was or if he had even survived the snap; Steve was crumbling before her eyes and she had never felt so helpless. "Go and talk to the others for a while, maybe start on a plan to get us back home, okay? Let me talk to her first."

"I appreciate that, but you're just delaying the inevitable. Thank you," he nodded, turning back to the window, "but I can do this on my own. It's not our first fight."

"Yeah, trust me, I know," Nat scoffed, turning to leave, "but it just might be your last, Steve."

~~~

It would be nearly half a day before he would get the chance, once the surgery was complete and you were awake from the anesthesia. They had kept you isolated from the others until you able to understand what they were telling you about what had happened and what they had to do to keep you alive. The wounds in your arm were too violent and unable to be repaired properly, and whatever those things were that bit you, they carried with them things from other worlds; organisms in their mouths that became quickly infected throughout your body.

As your eyes opened once again, they were met with pumps surrounding you, pushing antibiotics into your body as quickly as your veins could carry them. Your whole body was shaking and every muscle ached from it, but the pain in your arm wasn't anything like you would have expected it to be, or like what you had remembered before you passed out. It was apparent as to why when you finally decided to take a look at just how bad it was.

Your arm was gone.

"We tried to save it," the nurse spoke softly, "but the nerves were destroyed. We were barely able to repair the joint in your shoulder, but with time it will heal. When it does, we can provide a prosthetic replacement."

"Well...that's just fantastic," you groaned. "Did you at least get my ring?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers has it for safe keeping."

"Jesus, just knock me back out. Or euthanize, I don't care."

"That's a little extreme, don't ya think?" Natasha added, moving closer from the far side of your room. "It's not like he's going to wear it for you."

"Why not? He was married to Sam just as much as I was."

"(Y/N)," she began, but you opened your mouth to interject, only to have her sharp glare of disapproval hold you silent. "No, just listen for a minute, okay? Steve and I have been talking about this while we were waiting for you to come out of surgery. He owns his part in this...in Sam being here. But you need to own your part too, and understand that Sam made his choice. He was never forced to do this. If you remember, Steve tried to stop him back in D.C. and you were just as much a part in saying yes as Sam was."

"I know."

"You sure don't act like you do."

"Yes, I wanted to help you both back then, but as the years went by it became harder for Sam to know where the line was drawn between work and our own lives. Steve was always at the center of every argument, Nat, so you can see how I'm gonna be a little bitter when he's the one left standing. He's the one..." you paused, a movement in your periphery catching your attention, "he's the one staring at me through the window like a terrified puppy about to piss himself. Hasn't anyone let him out lately?"

"He wants to talk to you himself, but I told him to wait for me to talk first."

"Wow, and he listened?"

"Yeah, and because you're being a shit about it, I'm letting him in." She gave you a few more seconds of her trademark glare before moving to the door, opening it cautiously and waiting for Steve to enter the room. "If I hear one voice raised in here, I'm coming back," she warned him, "and neither of you will like it if I do."

"Yes, ma'am."

You took a minute to read each of the labels on the medication bags hanging over you, trying to see if any of them were for pain so that you could ask for them to push it faster before Steve could get all the way to your bedside. A little extra kick of narcotic to haze your brain would be welcomed if you were going to tolerate the sound of his voice. You didn't get very far, however, and he was suddenly standing before you, his hand extended with your ring within it.

"Will it fit on your other hand?" he asked sheepishly. "I can help you put it on if you want me to."

"Yeah, give it a try," you mumbled softly, holding up your hand, "better than you having it."

"(Y/N), I don't want to argue, please." With a very gentle, almost shaking touch, he took your hand and slid your wedding ring onto your fourth finger, smiling to himself that it fit. "I only came here to give that back and to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm so...I'm so very sorry. I'm going to do everything I can to find a way to bring him back. To bring all of them back."

"Steve, I don't want to argue anymore either, but see it from my point of view...wait...what do you mean, bring them back?" you asked. You tried to push up on your elbows to sit up and engage in the conversation with a renewed energy at his words, but with the lack of one of your arms, it was nothing more than a wobbling mess that left him to support you once again. "You think there's a way?"

"I don't know, but we have to try. As soon as we can move you, we're heading home to start."

"I'm ready now," you answered quickly, just as he had anticipated, finding yourself in a much tighter grip. "Steve, I want to go. Bruce can take over long enough to get me home. If you think there's a chance that we can get them back...that I can get Sam back, then even you can't keep me on this table."

"I believe you," he smiled hesitantly, slowly helping you to sit up. "Take it easy, okay? At least listen to me that much."

"Mmm hmm," you waved dismissively, "I'm sure they have a spare arm or two that didn't fit on Bucky laying around here somewhere, so find one and get me outta here."

Steve smiled wider at that at first, thankful for the brief moment of levity within the terror that surrounded them all, but then it only reminded him of yet another of his losses, and the fleeting feeling was just as quickly gone. He looked at your injury, and when you caught his attention to it, his gaze immediately lowered to his feet in embarrassment.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," you warned, "I'm not about to become your new one-armed best bud, so let's move faster so we can get started, alright? The faster we get your playmate back, the better it will be for all of us."