A/N - It's been a while since I've written anything (mainly due to university work and a deep lack of motivation) so I apologise if I'm rusty. I rewatched Civil War last night though and felt inspired to write something. I hope you enjoy and any feedback is appreciated :)

The journey from the Raft to whatever safe place Steve has promised awaits them is a long, quiet one.

Sam finds that he can't exactly complain about this. The last few days have been such a frenzied mess that his mind welcomes the silence and the opportunity to close his eyes and soak in nothingness for a while. It helps him forget that he is now, officially, a fugitive who has just escaped one of the most highly guarded prisons in the world alongside his friends, and he's still not quite grasped the fact that this is his life now.

He takes a breath and opens his eyes. Outside, rain is lashing across the windows and the grey night is finally settling down upon them, hiding the details of the world from view. Steve has taken control of the quinjet, the excitement of their escape seemingly having passed and a deep exhaustion painted across his face.

Sam chooses not to comment on this. His own fatigue has melted into his bones and he longs for a warm bed and a shower, although he's not sure he'll get much opportunity to indulge in either in the coming days. He looks around instead to check on his team-mates; feels his heart sink a little at the emptiness in Wanda's eyes and the unease which rests upon both Clint and Scott's faces. For once in his life, Sam is grateful that he has little in the way of family back home. He's not sure he'd be strong enough to face leaving them behind like this.

Their shared silence stretches over hours, with only the whistling wind disturbing the peace, and Sam finally lets himself believe that they are not being followed. That the danger they are in is not as immediate as it could have been and that it may be safe to rest after all. He tries to doze off and indulge in the sleep that his body desperately craves, but he finds it impossible to switch off. His mind refuses to quieten, his battered body aches all over, and a deeply buried anxiety over their futures resurfaces every time his eyes start to close.

Eventually he gives up and makes his way over to the cockpit, giving Wanda a small, friendly smile as he passes her which she mercifully returns, and he takes a seat next to Steve. A slight sideways glance is the only indicator he gets that his presence has even been noticed, and it's only now that Sam really takes in the dark lines under his friend's eyes and the defeated slump in his posture. Perhaps such details would be minute in the eyes of anyone else, but Sam prides himself on knowing Steve Rogers better than most. There's only one person in the world he suspects knows the man more deeply.

"What happened back there? In Siberia?" he finally forces himself to ask, because the answer is something he both fears and needs right now. It was him who told Stark where to find Steve – who had taken a risk in trusting the man they'd fought barely hours before – and he's not sure he can live with not knowing the outcome of that decision anymore. Bucky's absence has been gnawing at him since the jet had lifted off from the Raft and, as much of a pain in the ass as that man can be, Sam finds himself hoping that he's safe.

Steve seems to consider his answer carefully, but when he gives it it's not exactly satisfactory. "I'll tell you everything when we land," he says, the words clipped as if he has to force them out. At least he has the grace to look apologetic when he takes in Sam's incredulous expression. "Sorry. It's a long story."

Sam resists the urge to huff. He supposes he can wait on the promise that he'll get answers eventually. There's only one he truly needs right now. "And Bucky?"

He doesn't miss the way Steve tenses at the name, the way his jaw clenches and any hint of a smile hardens. Again, the change is minute, but Sam has learned a lot about subtle emotion from Steve over the years. It's often the only way the other man will give any indication that he's hurting.

Sam feels dread hit him then, at the suggestion that their infighting has shed more blood than any of them had ever intended, and it's only when Steve finally gives a curt "He's safe," that he feels he can relax a little.

It occurs to him that that isn't much of an answer, but he supposes it's the best he's going to get for now.

What little he sees of Wakanda as they make their descent is beautiful. The scorching morning sun makes the underlying rivers sparkle and illuminates the sprawling forest greens. Mountains surround them as far as Sam can see, like an ancient shield guarding the country from the ugliness of the world that lies beyond it. As they pass over the capital, he becomes aware that Wanda has joined him – her eyes brighter now and wide with wonder – and they both take in the city below with its strange meld of traditional buildings and colourful markets, and the more technologically advanced regions on the outskirts which surround a large palace.

T'Challa's home.

"It's beautiful," Wanda whispers, and Sam smiles in agreement. The fact that King T'Challa is the one to house them hits home that there's still so much he doesn't know, but he thinks he can live with that for now as they make their landing in the fields surrounding the palace. They might actually be safe here, he thinks, and the notion is one which brings more comfort than he's had in days.

Against his better judgement, he decides to rest up before being briefed by Steve. Sam has never been one to indulge in the idea of 'ignorance is bliss' but he'll make an exception in exchange for a few hours of rest.

T'Challa had assigned them all private quarters upon their arrival, and Sam wastes no time in taking advantage of the facilities offered to him. The shower is heavenly; warm water instantly easing the aches in his muscles and seeming to wash away all the discomfort and unease that came with his imprisonment. He must lose track of time, for the afternoon sun looms high in the sky by the time he emerges from the bathroom; the stunning views of the grounds and the distant city spread out before him like paint on a canvas.

He could get used to being a fugitive, he thinks, if these are the benefits that come with it.

After drying off, he slips into the bed-robe laid out on clean white sheets and slides the curtains shut to block out the sun. The resulting darkness feels almost heavy, but he ignores it as he collapses onto the bed.

He barely has time to acknowledge how much softer the mattress is to what he's used to before a heavy sleep claims him.

The palace is eerily quiet at night, Sam finds, as he wanders through its halls letting everything he's learned from Steve and T'Challa sink in. There's some comfort to be had in the fact that Stark and Bucky are alive, if not entirely whole, and that the bastard Zemo now sits in a cage. It doesn't change the fact that their team is never going to be the same again; that even if necessity demands the Avengers reform, they will always be broken as a result of the events of the last few days.

Sam thinks of Rhodey's injuries, of Tony's grief and Steve and Bucky's guilt, and feels a deep weight settle in his chest. He thinks of T'Challa and how he has thrown aside his need for vengeance in order to help them recover; thinks of Nat and how she helped them at the expense of her own freedom because she felt it was the right thing to do. It is still strange to think that these larger-than-life people are now a part of his existence and that he can consider them his allies and friends, when only a few years ago he had led a somewhat normal life. It's overwhelming, how much his world has changed in so short a time.

He doesn't even realise where his quiet wanderings have taken him until he finds himself outside a darkened medical bay. It seems to be empty, with the only noises being the quiet whirring of machines which seem advanced even to his experienced eyes, and what he assumes are usually bright lights dimmed to a soft orange. He takes a few careful steps inside, looking around to make sure he isn't disturbing anyone, but the only person he finds doesn't exactly have the capacity to be disturbed.

It's almost unnerving, how peaceful Bucky seems as he sleeps. If Sam were to block out the vital signs trailing across the computer screens beside the cryo-chamber, or the sheen of ice surrounding the man in the tube, he could almost pretend that this was a normal state in which one can find another human being. If he knows one thing about the Winter Soldier however, it is that his existence can hardly be regarded as a peaceful one. Images from the old Russian files leap into his mind but he shuts them out, reminding himself of what Steve had told him. That Bucky is here through choice and not as a prisoner of some heinous organisation.

Sam sits and looks on at the tube, hearing the hiss and beeps of life support more clearly now. He wonders how much consciousness Bucky has, if any; if he dreams or if his mind is a dark slate awaiting his awakening. Sam had not exactly had much chance to ask before now, and it's not like the files had mentioned it. They'd been concerned with the technicalities of keeping a man alive and functioning in what was essentially a glorified freezer; they'd had little time to comprehend how it must feel to be forced to sleep for decades alone in the ice. Sam shivers and pushes the thoughts from his head. That life is behind Bucky. He's safe now, they are all safe.

An idea occurs to him, and he pulls the new phone that T'Challa has provided from his pocket and begins searching through Youtube for Marvin Gaye. As the first notes of 'Trouble Man' sound, he raises the volume as high as it will go, briefly mourning the loss of a good set of speakers, before setting the phone on the table between himself and the chamber.

"Hey T1000," he says, trying to hide his smirk before remembering that it hardly matters. "I doubt you can even hear this but Steve seemed to like it when he was in hospital." He decides to omit the reasoning behind their friend being unconscious in a hospital bed. That was a long time ago now. "Figured it was time you were introduced to some decent music."

The lack of response should be unnerving but the music helps him ignore their odd circumstances. He lets the playlist continue, indulging in the opportunity to just sit and listen to music in peace. He hasn't had this much time to himself in a while, he realises, and it seems like yet another indicator of just how much has changed in so little time.

By the time the playlist ends, Sam can see the beginnings of sunrise seep through a nearby window and wonders at how quickly time seems to be passing him by. He supposes he should get up and meet the others to try to figure out what the hell they all do now, but part of him wishes he could waste a few more hours in this quiet corner of the palace. Groaning, he swipes up his phone and rises to his feet – the aches that his shower had temporarily relieved returning with full force – before making his way to the glass door of the bay.

He allows himself one glance back at Bucky, almost eerie in his silence, and forces a smile. "I'll be back with better speakers next time," he promises, not that the man in the cryo-tube is likely to care. "And wake up soon. You're a pain in my ass, but Steve needs you."

There's no answer, not that Sam expected anything else. Still, he finds himself lingering just a little longer before leaving the other man behind.