Chapter Text
Steve is starting to become familiar with the phrase "It was all Loki's fault."
Well, it's also Clint's fault since he shot the artifact out of Loki's grip, but Loki was the one who'd activated it in the first place. How was Clint to know the weird glowing amulet Loki was stealing from the Cloisters would blast the nearest person with energy when it hit the wall?
Whatever the blast does to him, it hurts like hell. Steve is only vaguely aware of Thor gaining the upper hand and Loki sneering as he makes his exit empty-handed as he doubles over in pain. It feels like his back is being ripped apart.
The energy fades a second later and Steve falls to his knees, pulling his mask off and gasping for air. Last time anything hurt this much was when he went through the procedure, but the pain is mostly in his back this time. When he finally looks up, the other Avengers are just staring at him in shock. Even Tony opens his faceplate to get a good look.
"What?" he asks, but then he notices the stray feather. And the fact that his shadow is a lot larger, and that his uniform top is shredded, and that there's a bit more weight on his back than there used to be. Steve cranes his neck around to take a look and then he's about as speechless at the rest of them.
"Okay," Clint says finally. "Did not expect that."
There's a commotion from the adjacent hall. With Loki's departure, it sounds like the SHIELD agents are coming in to clean up. Or, worse, the press is here. There are plenty of windows, and even with the SHIELD perimeter a telephoto lens could probably get a couple really interesting shots.
Tony elbows Thor. "Quick, give him your cape."
"Stop that."
"Stop what?" Tony folds his arms and tries to look innocent, like he wasn't just poking at the wings a minute ago.
Hundreds of scenarios raced through Steve's mind when he'd been blasted - being turned into something, brainwashing, being reverted back to the way he was before the serum - but none of them involved growing a pair of white feathered wings. Huge white feathered wings; it's hard to tell from this angle, but he's pretty sure each one is bigger than he is. Thor's cape didn't completely cover them even when he pulled them in as tightly as he could, but it covered enough to get him hustled back in the Quinjet before a bystander could figure out what they were.
Now, he's sitting on an examination table in a private medical room, waiting for Fury to debrief them there. He didn't really feel like parading the wings through the Helicarrier. Not like he's that comfortable sitting there with his shirt off, but there's less of an audience this way. The wings shredded his uniform top and he still can't figure out how to get a shirt on.
Meanwhile, the other Avengers are dealing. Tony is fidgety and bored and since the medical staff wouldn't let him touch the equipment, he's decided to irritate Steve. Natasha is seated on a stool beside the exam table. She tried to distract Steve for a while by going over the battle and analyzing Loki's behavior and what he might want the artifact for, but they haven't been able to get far without input from the researchers investigating the artifact's history and the scientists now studying the artifact in a controlled environment. Clint is just standing by the door, oddly subdued and quiet.
Thor has recovered his cape and is trying to be reassuring, somehow managing a manly shoulderpat around the wings. "Have faith, my friend. You are not the first to be caught in an accidental shapeshift. Many a time have I heard tales of Freyja's first attempts at changing form. She often told us of how she was trapped as a falcon til she discovered how to reverse the change."
"How long did that take?" Natasha asks.
"It depends on who tells the tale," Thor admits. "To hear Freyja herself tell it, she was trapped for only a day. But in my father's retelling, it was six days before she became herself again."
Steve sighs and resists the urge to flop down on his back.
Bruce is fascinated by the wings, but unlike Tony, he's keeping his hands to himself. He picked up on Steve's discomfort immediately, and looked sympathetic while the SHIELD doctors poked and prodded Steve. So while he's intently studying the wings, he's got his hands clasped behind his back the whole time. "Do they still hurt?"
"No, it's just - strange." Tony chooses that moment to actually bury his fingers in the downy feathers under the bone, and Steve can't stop himself this time from flapping the wings a bit. Bruce immediately leans back and steps out of range, but Steve feels something smack against the left wing. Tony's startled exclamation of pain tells him exactly what it was.
Steve feels a little guilty as Tony stands up, rubbing the side of his head, but only a little. "I told you to stop that."
"You didn't have to hit me so hard, Cap," Tony shoots back, but he does step back from the wings. "Think you got super strong wings to go with the biceps."
"Doesn't make this any more comfortable." Steve folds his arms and folds the wings in closer to his back as he does so. He's getting a slight chill, but the temperature doesn't bother him as much as the exposure does. "How much longer, you think?" They haven't been waiting long, but it seems like it's been hours.
Clint suddenly appears next to Natasha and hands her something. "I'll check with Coulson. He owes me for the Christmas party."
"Hey, bring me a coffee while you're at it," Tony says. "Black, no sugar."
Bruce sighs and sinks down on the small couch. "The last thing you need is more caffeine."
"Scotch, then."
The only response Clint gives Tony is a rude gesture before walking out the door. Steve watches him go, frowning, and doesn't notice what Natasha is unfolding in her lap. Clint isn't actually blaming himself for this, is he?
She clears her throat to get his attention. Steve looks up, surprised to see her holding out a blue hospital blanket. Clint must have grabbed it out of one of the cabinets. "Oh. Thank you." It's not just directed at Natasha, but Clint is already gone.
He takes the blanket and tries to drape it over his front, trying to cover as much of his chest and shoulders while keeping his arms free. It keeps bunching up, and Natasha helps him drape it over his shoulders. Her fingers brush lightly against the wing where it meets his back. Steve sucks in a breath at the unexpected rush of pleasure that touch brings. He wants to groan, wants to lean into that touch, but they have an audience and this is Agent Romanoff and he's suddenly very very grateful Clint's not in the room. Steve shifts a bit instead, and Natasha hesitates. "Did that hurt?"
"No," he says honestly - quite the opposite, but he's not telling her that. "No. Just a little sensitive." He keeps his tone calm, but he can feel himself blush as he says it.
She notices the blush, but doesn't call attention to it, just settles back on the stool.
The awkward moment is broken by Clint, who enters the room and slams the door behind him. "If anyone asks, I was here the whole time."
"Where's my Scotch?" Tony asks, but he's not expecting an answer.
Clint just rolls his eyes and goes back to leaning against the wall. A few seconds later, the door opens and Nick Fury strides in with Coulson at his heels. He looks at Steve and raises an eyebrow, but doesn't even break stride. Natasha and Clint both straighten up. Bruce stands up awkwardly. Tony is already standing, trying to take apart the remote to the small television set in the room for whatever reason.
"At ease, Captain," Fury says before Steve can get to his feet. "Sit down, all of you. Stark, drop the remote now. I want to hear exactly how this happened."
It says a lot about Steve's state of mind that the ensuing briefing - complete with Tony's occasional tangents, Thor talking over just about everyone, and Clint shooting paper clips at Tony when he thinks Fury isn't looking - is something of a relief.