“There was a decorated general with a heart of...gold,” Sam began, strumming at his guitar.
Rhodey shot a glance at General Fury’s tent. “Gold?”
“It makes for a good song,” Sam protested.
T’Challa reached up and adjusted his cap, his expression skeptical, but said nothing.
Sam kept on playing. “With past battles won and lost and legends of old. A seasoned veteran in his own time.”
They were huddled around the campfire, waiting for the water to boil so they could make a meal.
No one was talking about the battle from earlier that day. Long after the horns for retreat had sounded and the cannons had stopped booming, they’d been on the field, helping retrieve bodies and lay them out respectfully, identify them where they could so they could be shipped back to their families for burial or, if not, laid to rest on the edge of the battlefield.
“On the battlefield he gained respectful fame,” Sam sang on, and Erik nodded, because that was accurate.
“With many medals of bravery and stripes to his name, he grew a beard as soon as he could to cover the scars on his face,” Sam continued.
“Hold up,” W’Kabi said. “He doesn’t have scars on his face.”
“And he makes no attempt to hide his eye-patch,” T’Challa added.
“He does have an eye-patch, though,” Erik said.
Sam just looked at them.
Rhodey gestured for him to keep playing.
Sam resumed strumming, and really, his dexterity on the strings was impressive.
Sam started again, from the top, and almost made it to the send of the first verse, “And always urged his men on.”
Nakia and Okoye immediately protested, shoving at him and making grabs for his guitar. They’d both cut their hair and bound their chests and donned blue uniforms to help free their sisters in the south, but they would be damned before they’d let anyone forget who they really were.
“Sorry, sorry! I was just working with what fit the rhythm,” Sam protested.
T’Challa eventually took pity on him and at least rescued his guitar.
Rhodey, the only one of them who was married, finished cooking supper and distributed it among them.
After the meal, they played a game of chances to decide who would take which watch shifts, and then T’Challa and Sam (and his guitar) took up posts and the rest settled down to sleep.
In the morning, Nakia and Okoye roused the camp, and they saluted General Fury as he stepped out of his tent.
The rest of the troops assembled for muster, proud ranks ready to go out and fight.
General Fury stood before them in the gray morning light, and he said,
“Get out of here. You’re young. You have lives to live. Those kids on the other side, they’re young like you. They’ve got mothers waiting for them to come home, same as you. This fight ain’t worth fighting. So - take a shower. Shine your shoes. And get going.”
Rhodey stared at him.
Sam stared at him.
They all stared at him.
“Sir,” Erik protested.
He said, “Go now, you are forgiven.”
He turned and scooped up his rifle, checked that it was locked and loaded, made sure he had ammo and powder, and then he turned and marched.
They looked at each other. And then Sam scooped up his guitar, and T’Challa reached for Nakia’s hand, and they all lowered their rifles, and they vanished into the graying dawn.
In the distance, they could hear the old general singing,
Fill: MCU, civil war AU (but not the movie, the actual war), also oops no slash
Rhodey shot a glance at General Fury’s tent. “Gold?”
“It makes for a good song,” Sam protested.
T’Challa reached up and adjusted his cap, his expression skeptical, but said nothing.
Sam kept on playing. “With past battles won and lost and legends of old. A seasoned veteran in his own time.”
They were huddled around the campfire, waiting for the water to boil so they could make a meal.
No one was talking about the battle from earlier that day. Long after the horns for retreat had sounded and the cannons had stopped booming, they’d been on the field, helping retrieve bodies and lay them out respectfully, identify them where they could so they could be shipped back to their families for burial or, if not, laid to rest on the edge of the battlefield.
“On the battlefield he gained respectful fame,” Sam sang on, and Erik nodded, because that was accurate.
“With many medals of bravery and stripes to his name, he grew a beard as soon as he could to cover the scars on his face,” Sam continued.
“Hold up,” W’Kabi said. “He doesn’t have scars on his face.”
“And he makes no attempt to hide his eye-patch,” T’Challa added.
“He does have an eye-patch, though,” Erik said.
Sam just looked at them.
Rhodey gestured for him to keep playing.
Sam resumed strumming, and really, his dexterity on the strings was impressive.
Sam started again, from the top, and almost made it to the send of the first verse, “And always urged his men on.”
Nakia and Okoye immediately protested, shoving at him and making grabs for his guitar. They’d both cut their hair and bound their chests and donned blue uniforms to help free their sisters in the south, but they would be damned before they’d let anyone forget who they really were.
“Sorry, sorry! I was just working with what fit the rhythm,” Sam protested.
T’Challa eventually took pity on him and at least rescued his guitar.
Rhodey, the only one of them who was married, finished cooking supper and distributed it among them.
After the meal, they played a game of chances to decide who would take which watch shifts, and then T’Challa and Sam (and his guitar) took up posts and the rest settled down to sleep.
In the morning, Nakia and Okoye roused the camp, and they saluted General Fury as he stepped out of his tent.
The rest of the troops assembled for muster, proud ranks ready to go out and fight.
General Fury stood before them in the gray morning light, and he said,
“Get out of here. You’re young. You have lives to live. Those kids on the other side, they’re young like you. They’ve got mothers waiting for them to come home, same as you. This fight ain’t worth fighting. So - take a shower. Shine your shoes. And get going.”
Rhodey stared at him.
Sam stared at him.
They all stared at him.
“Sir,” Erik protested.
He said, “Go now, you are forgiven.”
He turned and scooped up his rifle, checked that it was locked and loaded, made sure he had ammo and powder, and then he turned and marched.
They looked at each other. And then Sam scooped up his guitar, and T’Challa reached for Nakia’s hand, and they all lowered their rifles, and they vanished into the graying dawn.
In the distance, they could hear the old general singing,
Go now, you are forgiven.