Chapter Text
Steve Rogers cried as he saw Sam Wilson approach him, his eyes blue and glazed over the same as Barton's had been all those years ago. He watched as the team became surrounded by their loved ones.
"Kill them," Thanos's voice boomed, and it was chaos from that moment forth.
Sam came rushing towards Steve there was no playful banter, there was nothing but bullets hitting Steve's shield as he dodged all of Sam's attacks. Steve saw out of the corner of his eye two teenagers rushing towards Tony. Tony held his hands up in surrender crying loudly as the taller one shot a web sticking him up against the tree. The shorter blonde one pulled a knife out of his boot, and mercilessly cut Tony's throat. Steve turned away; he couldn't bear to watch Tony die in front of him, especially not in that horrific way. Putting his full attention back on Sam, Steve noticed he was down to one gun now, and prayed to God he could get to Sam. Hit him over the head just like Natasha did to Clint on the helicarrier all those years ago. Steve saw Natasha fighting Bucky; she was crying begging him to remember her. They were seemingly evenly matched until Bucky got the upper hand, shooting her in the head with a pistol he pulled out of his hidden gun holder from his waist. The bullets quit hitting Steve's shield, and Steve lowered his shield slowly. He gasped as he saw Nebula and Rocket surrounded by the rest of what he assumed was the Guardians. They were fighting tooth and nail, and yet it seemed as if they didn't have a chance in hell. Steve assumed it was Gamora, the green warrior he was told so much about that finally killed Nebula. Rocket was pinned to another tree by Groot, the tree kid he thought was his son. Bruce was being choked out by some blonde lady, and Thor was on his side Stormbreaker through his skull. Scott was nowhere to be seen. Clint was laid up against the tree, one arrow through his chest and his daughter standing over him with a victorious grin on her face. Steve felt a knife at his throat and didn't even bother fighting back; he felt the blade pressed against his arteries and quietly closed his eyes. This was the end of the line.