<i>"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own."<br/>
<br/>
"The thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal."</i><br/><br/><br/>With the life they lead, Steve knew there would always be an end. It was inevitable. Bucky always looked at in those short, tenuous days like he’d expected each day to be his last. Like he prayed for it sometimes. Looking at his life-long friend’s face was like coming home only to find the inside in shambles.<br/><br/>It was relief. It was pain.<br/><br/>He didn’t need to sleep much since becoming Captain, but these days even those handful of hours were fleeting. Being on America’s Most Wanted had been stressful, hell, feuding with half of his family had been agony. But none of it compared to this.<br/><br/>He dreams of blood. He dreams of chaos. He dreams of ashes.<br/><br/><i>“...Steve?”</i><br/><br/>Steve sat, running his fingers against the scruff of his beard, staring out the window as a pigeon fluttered by.  He blinked, looking over at Thor only to realize he’d lapsed in his attentiveness. Unacceptable. He shook his head, straightening in his chair and rousing energy from a nonexistent pit within himself.<br/><br/>“I’ve called him.” Not from<i>the</i>Phone, but he’d tried. Once. In a fit of desperation. The dream had been so fresh it clawed at his insides, tugging a nausea from his gut he’d felt in the deepest reaches. He’d fought so hard, so long, to get to Bucky’s side again, to regain that<i>one</i>shred of family left. And it literally dissolved into thin air.<br/><br/>Steve fished the phone from his pocket, staring down at it with heavy blue eyes. “He won’t answer.” He had no doubt. “Natasha hasn’t been able to reach him. No one has.” He’d been keeping tabs on anyone still left standing. With only Natasha left, and his tenuous relationship with Rhodes, he’d at least been able to funnel out a bit of information.<br/><br/>“He hasn’t been seen out in months.” And for once, Steve couldn’t blame him.  Steve had never faced true hopelessness before. Optimism was nearly second nature to him now. Who he was<i>supposed</i>to be. What was expected. But he didn’t feel it anymore, even hearing Thor rally them for another try, and didn’t feel it in his heart of hearts.<br/><br/>But he’d try.<br/><br/>Steve sucked in a steadying breath and dialed.<br/><br/><br/>“Miss you Aunt May.” Peter whispered, kicking his feet against the retaining wall with a small sigh. The taste of sticky the sticky bun didn’t compare to birthday cake shared over their table. Aunt May would drown the slice in half-melted ice cream, cackling when he tried to shovel it all in at once.<br/><br/>She swore they were going to do something special for the eighteenth. Maybe take a much-needed vacation. She’d always wanted to go to a beach on some sunny, open coast. Drink from coconuts and most likely ogle the waitstaff. He would have liked that.<br/><br/>He glanced up to see someone trot by on a horse, a novelty that hadn’t worn off even still. He could count on one hand how many times he’d seen a horse up close before<i>this</i>happened. They were massive, but over the past six months, they’d become an increasingly common site, especially when they needed to make more frequent trips to town.<br/><br/>They were lucky in a way. It wasn’t hard to come by cash when they were, well, them, but it wasn’t easy either. Doc sounded like he was up to something lately, not that Peter ever expected him to share with the class. Peter( Or, PeterQ he should say, boy that’d been a kick to found out he had a name buddy!), was friendlier than Doc was, but there were moments when he wondered what was going on inside the Starlord’s head.<br/><br/>No one was big on sharing around here lately.<br/><br/>He hummed a birthday song quietly to himself as he finished up his last bite, licking the honey off his fingertips as he hopped down from the hall. He took a moment to wiggle, grumbling as he pulled down the scratchy woolen trousers that constantly road up. Wool pants were the singular worse thing Peter had ever had on his body, and he’d worn his Ironspider suit for ages when everything went to hell in a handbasket. Course, Tony had made it pretty comfortable.<br/><br/>The tune died in his throat. Even rubbing a hand against his chest did nothing to stave off the discomfort that nested within. Everyone had to think the worst back home. He’d certainly thought so. It had felt…it had felt like dying. But then again, maybe they were dead. How was he supposed to know what the afterlife was like? But he doubted he could taste the honey on his tongue, or the irritating ache of a bee sting on his forearm if he was dead.<br/><br/>At least there was that.<br/><br/>Sighing, he turned down the path to start back towards their<i>hopefully</i>temporary residence, snuffling the dirt from his nose from the sun-parched earth kicked up in the dry wind as he went.