"You're too young," Steve whispered to his son as they walked the long hallways towards the exit that led to the palace grounds, his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder as they moved, "this isn't okay, Ant." He was trying to fight the urge to be proud of his son for having this outgoing side and confidence that he himself had none of at the same age, but he had to let his fatherly instincts take over on this one, as difficult as it was.

"I'm almost twelve, Dad-"

"Exactly."

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?" the boy snapped back, but he straightened his posture when he heard a low growl of disapproval from his uncle towering over him at his side. "Dad, look..." he sighed, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"How old I was...that's not..." Steve stammered, glancing at T'Challa uncomfortably, "that's not the point. The point is, you're not ready."

"Wait," Anthony halted, turning to his father, "how old were you?"

"No, we're not talking about me. Move it." Steve spun the boy back forward and pushed, forcing his son to continue walking despite his resistance. The three men carried on in silence for a few minutes, but it was clear that Steve had questions of his own, looking to T'Challa after every few feet and opening his mouth to speak, but silencing himself before a single word was uttered.

"You have a question," T'Challa finally offered, letting Steve off the hook. "So ask it."

"Who is she?"

"For all intents, you could call her a daughter," he answered quietly. "I took her in when her family was lost in a battle near one of our borders. She had no one, so I felt responsible to care for her, and I am now her only family."

"Jesus, Ant," Steve groaned, squeezing his son's shoulder a bit tighter to elicit a wince from the boy, "you sure can pick 'em. Go big or go home."

"Do you find this amusing, Captain?"

The normally self-assured and statuesque Steve was suddenly finding himself feeling smaller than ever and cowering under the regal and intuitive authority of a man who was supposed to be his peer. "No, definitely not...I wouldn't think of it. I just...it's a shock, that's all. I've never had to deal with something like this."

"Nor have I." T'Challa paused and smiled to himself when his mind unintentionally wandered, sensing that what he was about to ask would be crossing a line that he didn't mind leaping over. "So? How old were you?"

"Not having this conversation."

"Hmm, very telling."

"Don't go there, man."

Once again, silence held heavily over the group, until they rounded the final corner towards the large glass doors that would bring them to you and Bucky; the two adults gasped in surprise at what they saw, with Ant yanking himself from Steve's grip to burst through the barrier to hurry to your side. You had Bucky held to the ground with your knee pressed into his throat, the blueness of his skin striking in comparison to the bright sun around you.

"Mom, stop!"

Steve and T'Challa hurried to stand at either side of you, each man grabbing an arm and throwing you to the ground so that Anthony could make contact safely to draw you out of your trance. Bucky coughed and sputtered to catch his breath, but even in his compromised state, he was able to take control of your legs so that you couldn't get away.

"Dammit, Buck, you weren't supposed to start without us!" Steve hissed, struggling to maintain his hold. "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

"I thought I could handle it."

"Well you thought wrong!"

"Mom, stop fighting me," Anthony mumbled to himself as he pushed his mind into yours to find the true version of you so that he could draw you back out. Steve watched anxiously while his son worked, unknowingly holding his breath until his body finally forced him to breathe. Anthony could feel the three men watching him even through his closed lids, but he couldn't focus on that; he had to keep his mind directed towards his one goal. He searched through the anger that wasn't really even your own, wading through whatever it was that had been put into your mind, doing his best to not take on the emotions himself; it was a harder task than he had originally thought when he had agreed to this, but he was doing his best to not let those doubts defer him. When he finally reached you, his body relaxed, and he could hear the sighs of relief from the men around him.

"Hey, guys," you whispered hesitantly, looking to each of them sadly, realizing what had just happened as they slowly released their grips. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"Get up," Bucky ordered plainly, pushing himself up with an extended hand to you, "go again."

"Are you serious?" Steve asked, taken aback. "Buck, it clearly didn't work."

"I said, again," he insisted. "It was harder to get her to turn, so there's progress."

"Do you have a death wish?"

"She won't kill me."

"She will," you added, taking his hand willingly, "so let's not get cocky. But listen, before we do this, I think I should take another session in the lab, don't you? If there's progress, we should take advantage of that."

"You're both insane," Steve muttered, taking a step back, "and one of these times someone is going to really get hurt, or worse. (Y/N), is this worth it? Is being on the team worth the possibility-"

"Yes." Your quick answer left Steve merely shaking his head in disbelief, and you found it difficult to understand why he couldn't see it. Steve's life had revolved around standing up against the wrongs of the world and fighting against the evils that masterminded it, so to have him argue against you wanting to do the same left you as confused as he seemed to be now. "You, of all people, should understand this, Steve."

"We have a family. Isn't that enough?"

"They're why it's not enough. I know that you understand me. Please, just let me try a few more times." Seeing your opportunity when he relaxed, you turned towards him and took his hands in yours when he didn't make any motion to fight it. Something in the connection with you helped to soothe his nerves, though in this instance you really didn't expect it to. The anxiety that you were carrying within yourself should have been surpassing his, as you were the one facing the loss of a part of your life, but to see just how compromised he was left you feeling remorseful that you had to push against him so hard. "Steve, I need you to help me. I can't do this without you."

He closed his eyes and took a long, albeit shaky breath; when he opened them again, he looked at you with a softer emotion to them, but the sadness was still lurking behind the blue that would have normally given you comfort. "Okay, fine. You're not doing this without me. I made you that promise, and I'm keeping it. Just maybe try to not kill my best friend."

"I'll see what I can do."

~~~

"Again."

For the fifth time that day alone, Bucky lifted himself from the ground and took his usual position to help hold you in place, waiting for Anthony to bring you back. It was clear that the group was growing weary and that the repetitive fight was leaving them fatigued and frustrated, though it was obvious in no one more than you.

"(Y/N), again."

"Right," you panted, pushing your aching body upright, "I'm ready."

By now, a small crowd of T'Challa's staff had gathered along the windows of the palace wall and behind the safety of the glass, including your other two children with Tony at their side. They had all watched as you tried and failed to break the programming that held its grip on your mind, each time feeling just as disappointed as the men who were trying to help.

"Again."

As Bucky took yet another hit, and as Steve and T'Challa stepped in to restrain you, Tony had finally decided that enough was more than enough and began taking long strides across the grounds to reach you. He waited patiently as his grandson worked, watching for the look in your eyes that would tell him that you were back and it was safe to approach. It ate away at his heart to know that he had a part in this, that his family name was so hated in the world around him that you had to suffer the consequences; even worse was that this side of you was created by people that he was told to trust, and as he had watched you over the course of the day, any trust that he had was as broken as you were.

"Again."

"No," Tony broke in, "stop now, that's enough."

"She's not done," Bucky insisted, stepping up to him, "we have to keep trying."

"Barnes, listen to me, I know that you feel responsible for this, and that it's up to you to fix. Believe me, I get it. But this isn't working, and I can't stand by and watch this anymore." Tony turned to face you and took careful steps closer, reaching up to hold your arms as he readied himself to say the words that he had been trying so desperately to never need. This was going to break you, as it was him, but deep down he believed that this was the best for you, and as your father, that was the only thing that mattered. No matter how much evil existed in the world around you, and no matter how much he wanted you at his side as he fought against it, your best interests were the only thing that would ever truly matter to him.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," he said in a trembling whisper, "but I can't have you on the team like this. I would have never let you be a part of it in the first place, had I known sooner. I'm releasing you from the Avengers...permanently."

~~~

Sam rolled over in his bed, grumbling profanities at the incessant ringing of his phone and the bright light of its screen that practically blinded him when he tried to hold it out to read. His hands fumbled in his half-asleep state until he dropped the device on his face, making his tirade only that much louder until he finally sat up and turned on the light, giving in to the idea that his peaceful night of sleep was over before it had barely begun.

"What?!"

"Sam, I don't know what to do," Bucky answered quietly, in striking contrast to the tone that was barked out at him, "I've screwed this up. I failed. Tony kicked her off the team, and it's my fault."

Sam sat up straighter, swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. The sound of Bucky's voice on the other end of the line put him into a near-panic, and if he said the wrong thing, he worried that he could make this that much worse. His immediate instinct was to hurry to his side, but with you all being on the other side of the world, he could only do his best to make this up as he went. "Hey, no, don't do that. It's not your fault. I'm sure that you did everything you could, Buck. She knows that."

"She might, but I don't."

Sam sat silently for a few minutes, not sure of what to say, trying to put himself into Bucky's position but finding that it didn't help; he had to be honest with himself and realized that if the roles were changed, he would be feeling the exact same way. "It's gonna be okay. Just...just come home. We'll figure this out, we always do."

"I want to come home."

"But?" Sam asked cautiously, sensing the worst.

"But I think I'm gonna just hang behind, stay here for a few extra days. I'm sure that I'm the last person that (Y/N) wants around right now, so I'm gonna give her a little space, and take some time to get my head right."

"Do you want me to come out there? I can leave in a few minutes."

"Would it make me sound weak to say yes?"

"You're not very good at this stuff, are you?" Sam snickered quietly, wishing that he was already there to help him. Bucky didn't answer, keeping the mood between them solemn despite Sam's attempts; he quickly realized that what was needed was an honest answer. "No, it doesn't make you sound weak at all. I'm already on my way."