#moonfloret

there are few things in this world anymore that can cut him to the bone and leave him raw, but james barnes is, and has always been, one of them. there is nothing steve would not do for him and what they have built together. 

so the moment he discovers that james is gone, reported mia after being unresponsive for too long on a solo mission, he’s on the hunt. unfortunately for himself and nat, who had stepped in to assist him with no hesitation nor fanfare, it was a search that spanned a few months. every time they thought they had a lead, it went abruptly cold. no one needed to tell them that was a bad sign, but steve maintained what hope he had for a safe return anyways. not even the thought of only discovering a body could be entertained. he would not hear it, and thankfully he didn’t have to in the end. however, this couldn’t really be classified as an ideal alternative either.

because this was james staring at him like a stranger again, and it chilled steve to his core like the arctic winds that haunted his sleep. there was never a quick and easy way to know just what was happening in his head, nor what it would take to bring the man they knew back to the surface ( if they could still do such a thing at all ). he wanted nat to step in and fix this. he wanted to fix it himself. he wanted to find who did this and knock their teeth in. he wanted to make sure they suffered. he wanted to do whatever it took to make that coldness in james’s gaze melt away. he wanted to throw up. he wanted—

he wanted to be a million miles away from here, curled up in bed with the man he loved safe in his arms. not three months into a manhunt that’s led him to someone who doesn’t recognize him ( again ).

but it doesn’t matter what he wants, what matters is taking care of the situation at hand. so in an effort to look nonthreatening he hooks his fingers through his belt loops and shrugs his shoulders as casually as he can muster. like everything was normal and okay, even though it really really wasn’t and people had fucked with james’s head and say what you want but it would be a very long time before he let james go on a mission without him for backup again.

she’s shaken, and god she hates that she’s shaken, but getting caught in an unexpected explosion will do that to you. even if you’ve been in the business for years already, apparently. but even shaken up and probably a little bruised and bloody she can’t admit to being anything but fine enough to do her job. if she could stand she could still see this through. especially if the widow’s watching.

“yeah,” comes the reply that’s more a gasp than an actual word, as she pushes herself up to sit, tiny bits of debris poking at her palms in the process, “yeah, i’m good.”

it’ll take more than that to keep her down. though the question does take her by surprise,  the unanticipated kindness of the gesture. there were many who ranked above her that would not have spared the time to even check that she got back up before moving forward with the mission before the dust had a chance to settle. it did not go unnoticed. hand involuntarily reaches for her throat as winnie gets to her feet ( it’s fine, you’re fine, you can breathe, still in one piece, you survived again ) before pulling away again to unholster her gun and keep it at the ready.

“are you?”

it wouldn’t be the first time someone had grabbed him by the cuff of his jacket and it probably wouldn’t be the last, honestly. however, he likes to think he could put these guys in their place, and didn’t need to be corralled by anyone, let alone some scruffy super soldier. perhaps the latter part is a natural resentment that comes with being raised in an environment almost exclusively made up of mutants. some bristling is to be expected, though it’s probably not the most grateful not mature response.

realistically, he knows he ought to thank grant for having his back, but he's a little distracted by both being yanked aside for cover and being indignant about it. he has training, thanks. this is what he's been training for.

“hey—“ protestation is hissed, because he’s at least got enough sense to keep his voice down,  as gloved hands come up to fix his jackets alignment on his shoulders, “what’re you doin’? i can handle these guys, y’don’t gotta play babysitter here.”

“no.”

stubborn as a mule, feet firmly planted and the set of his jaw unreasonable as ever, he stands his ground. steve’s never been good at taking directions ( orders, specifically ), he’s worked on it with the team to the point where it feels collaborative and natural, but this? this was all righteousness and rebellion right here. it was doing the right thing, even if it wasn’t the easiest thing. even if it meant collateral damage. 

something he thought grant of all people might understand.

he’d give up anything, everything, if it meant saving even just one civilian life. even though he could see james’s face in his minds eye ( it causes his heart to twist but without james himself there to physically stop him, it can’t shake his resolve ), and as bad a position it would put grant in, he couldn’t make himself willingly leave these people behind if there was a chance he could save them from the crossfire. he was a shield for a reason, this was why he was created; to protect. not run.

their enemies didn't care who got hurt, so long as they got what they wanted. heroes were supposed to be better than that.

“go. but i won’t be following.”

it’s not truly a challenge of authority, nor a dare for grant to bend his plans for him, it is simply a stated fact. it absolves grant of any responsibility for what happens to him. but he will not leave these people behind to suffer if there’s something he can do, even at personal cost. and he will not under any circumstances ask grant to stay back with him, to put himself in harms way. one of them should make it back, if things were about to sideways. grant deserved that much.

Never the less, they weren’t about to leave their best friend to his possible death.  Again.  They hadn’t even turned off the tv before springing out a window.  He would owe her a solid steak for this. With the live view from the crew on scene, Devani was able to teleport immediately into the chaos.  Fire sirens blaring, police already swarming. Still, no one who seemed to have any idea what was actually going on. Concerning, but it wouldn’t stop her from charging in.

All she could smell was smoke-nothing indicative of anything more than wood burning. Her natural ability to see heat is useless here. Seeing the wind is more useful. It was shifting to the north, towards the responders and crowds. They roar and listen for any response, remaining in the air long enough to evaluate the best entry location. Wings fold into a dive, talons ripping at concrete and rebar. Some crumbles under the strength of their tearing. It takes some effort, and too much time, to make a hole big enough to fit through. Shifting back isn’t an option. Whatever happened, she’ll likely need the size advantage.

Head snakes through dark halls before approaching on foot. The fire has spread dangerously though it merely warms scales to the touch. Devani stopped being able to be burnt thousands of years ago. “James!” Their call is a warbling ring, loud, both mental and spoken. They shoulder through a wall, third eyelid barely protecting vision from stinging smoke. It already tickles their nose and lungs uncomfortably. “James you rutle bardreg if I find out you aren’t even in here I’m gonna be pissed!” That would be just her luck wouldn’t it.

There. A familiar scent amongst ash and fear. That of gunpowder, metal and sandalwood. Bright eyes glow in the soot ridden gloomy halls. From outside, she can hear water hitting the building. Devani shoves her head through a door, glaring at the man inside near unrecognizable under ash. Otherwise the room is empty. Disconcertingly so-as if it never had a purpose. The floor shifts dangerously under her feet. "Jesus, I'm putting you under house arrest. Are you okay?" Large teeth loom over him as if she would pick him up by the scruff like a hatchling. She should. He deserves it.

He seems okay. They can't see or smell any blood on him. James is probably starting to overheat even with his abilities. They'd estimate the ambient temperature around four hundred and climbing. Even the dragon is getting hot, unable to cool off with only baking air to breathe in. "Come on, dumbass. Before you become even more of a snack." Legs move to herd him toward the door. Devani hears it before registering there's nothing to do. In such a small space there's no room for wings to extend and they aren't about to leave him here. "Fuck." In near perfect comedic timing with the word, they drop, still standing as if the floor was still there. Instinct prompts curling up in a ball, protecting all the vulnerable parts and letting thicker scaled back take any damage. Except for a too sharp bit of metal sticking out of the collapse that promptly catches on thick muscle where left wing connects to body on the way down. The rush of oxygen triggers fire above to charge into the room and from below, where Devani lays rather awkwardly on what might have one been a break room. She keens upward, a wordless sound of pain and concern. There's no exit for James anymore. Not the way she came in at least. And unless she suddenly developed a talent for digging, there was no going down. Devani frantically licks at hot blood pooling around shoulder, trying to get rid of it or stem it lest she become an explosive hazard. Dragon blood had an odd propensity to spontaneously combust when exposed to air. "Stay-are you alive?"

' now why would i hate you? because you're not a hunter? because you're the king of hell? those things don't matter to me, i'm just glad you're alive. '