Epilogue

He was on a cloud.

He took a deep breath, let it out, then rolled over onto his right side, curled in a ball and snuggled deeper into the soft blankets.

Warmth. Warmth was good. It was wonderful. It was… not how he usually came out of cryo.

He must be dreaming. The peace in his mind and the comfort surrounding his entire body, the lack of any pain… yeah, had to be a dream.

Then his nose itched. He absentmindedly scratched it and realized that no, this wasn't a dream.

He opened one eye.

Through the hair falling over his face he saw a man's knee, with his ankle crossed over it. Dark pants. Boots.

The leg uncrossed, the foot dropped to the floor and Bucky shut his eye again. He didn't want anyone messing up his warm bubble of softness. He burrowed still deeper in the blankets. They smelled like flowers.

He heard a soft laugh.

Steve?

He remembered a sad face, bereft eyes.

Oh boy.

Cryo. His choice. Steve's sad mug the last thing he saw. Ugh.

How long had it been? A day? A week? A month? Years?

He tugged down the blanket just enough to peek over the edge. Stared at the knee. "Steve." He sounded hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in a long time. Dear God, please let it not be years.

"Hey, Buck." Soft voice, but a tremble.

Holy hell, don't let that sap be crying. He squinted up at Steve's face. Whoa, quite a beard there, buddy. Steve looked like he'd been running down a hard road without a chance to eat, sleep or apparently attend to basic facial grooming in a very long time. What the hell. Who knew he could even grow a beard like that? But yeah, the hairy punk was all damp around the eyes. Bucky would deal with the beard later. "Stop it."

Steve blinked a few times and then laughed. "Sorry. How you feeling?"

"Comfy," Bucky mumbled, then scooted back under the blankets. So soft.

"How's your, uh…"

My brain, Rogers. You can say it. But he only grunted, "Dunno. Too sleepy." But his heart rate bumped up a few notches. Damn it. Increased heart rate and respiration did not mix with cozy blankets on a cloud bed. He thought about the three things that he told Shuri to unfreeze him for: looming interplanetary war, Steve badly injured, his brain… fixed. So it's one of those three things. He pulled the blanket down from his face and again squinted up at Steve. "You hurt?"

"Nope."

One down.

"Is there a fight?"

"Nope," Steve said.

He inhaled. Tried to keep his voice steady. "So Shuri fixed me?"

A faint smile. "She thinks she did."

Well.

Okay.

His heart rate kicked up a few more beats a minute. He licked his lips.

Damn. Could it be… did she really…

He wasn't ready to test it yet, so he he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, which was made of some kind of bamboo. Golden-brown, circular, with rafters radiating out like spokes on a wheel. The ceiling sloped down to meet plastered walls where gourd dippers, baskets and green, gold and red tapestries hung all over. He looked at the furniture. His bed was fairly low to the ground. Next to it sat a bowl of fruit on a small table. Across the room, a closed door with sunlight shining in the gap at the bottom. Rush mats all over the floor. A wooden chair currently occupied by a teary-eyed, bearded punk.

Definitely not the hospital, the fancy apartment or the shiny cryo lab. Shuri had promised that he would wake up in a warm bed, as if he had only been asleep, though he guessed she'd never really specified where that bed would be. He did feel like he'd just had a very long, restful night's sleep. He slowly stretched his limbs, all the way to his toes. He felt… relaxed. Saturday-morning, no-work-to-do relaxed and lazy.

But where the hell was he?

From outside, he heard goats. Children laughing. Adults talking quietly. Birdsong.

He scowled. "Where the hell out in the boondocks did they stick me?"

"Not too far. Shuri thought it would be so unlike anything you've ever experienced it would make for a more peaceful transition."

"Huh. Okay." Guess he had mentioned farming goats. Herding goats. Whatever you did with goats.

He finally mustered up the energy to push the blanket off. He slowly sat up, waiting for his head to start whirling or the pterodactyls to come swooping in. Neither happened. Huh. That was… nice. He took a deep breath. Smelled more of that flowery scent mixed with something a little spicy. It smelled good. He blinked a few times and rubbed his face. "How long've I been here?"

"They thawed you yesterday, but kept you sedated while they transported you here. Then it was just a matter of waiting until the sedative wore off and you woke up naturally."

He glanced down at himself. He was wearing… some kinda red-and-black plaid dress? Then he realized it wasn't a dress but one of those robe things that African men wear. He was barefoot. Somebody had trimmed and buffed his toenails and fingernails, which was nice of them. Along with the traditional robe, he had a dark blue scarf around his neck and shoulders, bunched up from rolling around in it while he slept. He straightened it, but he wasn't sure exactly how it was supposed to go. Maybe it was supposed to hide his lack of a left arm? Because he didn't have a left arm, just as he'd asked. He fussed with the scarf until it covered that shoulder. Funny how not having an arm felt… mostly human. But dark memories crept around the edges of his mind. He pushed back against them and surprise, surprise, they actually faded. That, too, was new. Usually they crowded against him until he had to yank on his hair to distract himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, but he had no need to yank on it.

But the fact that the memories were there reminded him that… other things might still be there as well.

So how does a fella figure out if HYDRA and code words and compulsions to obey are all really out of his head? Time to address the elephant in the room. He looked at Steve. "Am I… me?"

"You always have been you. Deep inside."

Bucky glared. "Not what I meant."

Steve's face shifted from eye rolling to aggravation to embarrassment with comical speed. "Fine. Yes. You're you. Shuri's pretty confident all the HYDRA garbage is gone from your brain, and she also was able to repair some of the lesions and scars they left behind."

"How do I know for sure?"

"I guess I could say a few of the trigger words?"

"You know them?"

"Sharon tracked down the red notebook, sent it to me." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "You sure?"

He took a deep breath. "No, but I gotta know."

"English or Russian?"

"Russian."

"Figures. Guess it's a good thing I've been practicing. Okay, here goes nothing. желаниe." He said it perfectly.

Bucky waited a beat, then shrugged. Too soon to tell. Maybe. Probably.

Steve recited the next one.

Nothing.

The third.

Still nothing. Not even a peck from a pterodactyl.

Bucky started to smile.

Fourth, fifth, sixth… by the time Steve got to the last one, Bucky was smiling so widely his face actually hurt, but it was the best pain he'd ever felt in his life. "She did it," he said, then he laughed and he might be crying too, but he didn't care. "Oh my god, she really did it!"

He jumped to his feet and staggered a little.

"Whoa, easy, Buck," Steve said as he grabbed Bucky's arm. "You okay?"

"Stop it, mom, I'm fine." He grinned. "I'm way more than fine." He let out a whoop and Steve laughed and then they spent a few minutes hugging and slapping each other and dancing around the little hut, stopping only when Steve stumbled and nearly knocked over the small table. The bowl tipped and plums rolled everywhere.

"You still can't dance for shit," Bucky said, and they both found that uproariously funny and laughed hard enough that Bucky's ribs now hurt along with his face. It took him a few minutes to get himself back under control, and when he did, he said, "How long?"

Steve sobered. "Not quite two years."

Two years. Wow. Okay. Felt like nothing, but damn, all that time had to have been hell on Steve. "You sit there staring at me for all that time? That explain the hair and beard? Cuz you look like you haven't had a good night's sleep at least that long."

"No, I did not sit and moon over you all that time, get over yourself. I've been busy. Got the team out. Scott and Clint headed back to the States, took a deal to let them be with their families under house arrest. Sam, Nat, Wanda and I have been on our own, based here in Wakanda when we have to come in for whatever reason."

"So Nat switched sides?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"What about Stark?"

"He's got the Avengers. Spider-man. Rhodey. Vision."

From the grim set of Steve's mouth, Bucky knew things weren't back to buddy-buddy between them. He didn't press for more. "So the four of you been doing some kinda secret Avengers shit, I guess."

"You could call it that. We go in where we think we're most needed. Get there before the actual Avengers half the time, since they have to wait on permission from a bunch of politicians."

"Not that you're bitter or anything."

Steve just grunted.

"Helluva world. So, the gang's all here?"

"Yeah. They're all outside. Shuri and T'Challa as well. They want to see you, but only if you're ready."

He wasn't sure he was. He didn't feel any of the disconnect between his head and his limbs that he used to with HYDRA's version of cryo, nor was his brain full of fog. He felt… refreshed. But that didn't mean he was ready to be the star attraction at a secret Avengers party. The memories were there, waiting. All of them, good and bad. He needed some time to process it all.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Maybe... maybe that could wait. Maybe he could start out his new life on a celebratory note, let friends surround him, help him forget his past for a little while. He had a feeling a lotta nightmares waited, lotta sleepless nights. Lotta long talks with Dr. Lu and Dr. Ifede and whoever else might help him. Helluva lot of soul searching and deciding how to make up for… everything. If he even could.

He took a deep breath. Yeah. He would put the worries and fears aside. Felt damned good knowing he could put all that aside. He had control over his mind again for the first time in seventy-odd years. Thanks to Shuri. Thanks to T'Challa. Thanks to Steve. All of that was surely worth at least a little bit of celebration. His eyes started to prickle, but he blinked and cleared his throat and finally smiled.

"I'm ready."

-the end-

-(until the next story comes along)-

Wow. We've reached the finish line... but this is not the end of the line. Not by a long shot for Steve, Bucky or their stories. I have a lot of ideas to pursue, but no clue at this point which one I'll go with. I need to take a breather, let the fact that this one is done sink in. It's funny how finishing a long-form story like this feels. There's elation at bringing a story to a (hopefully) successful conclusion, but there's also a sort of melancholy that sets in. These characters in this setting and point in their lives have lived in my head for a long time, and it's hard to let that go. That said, I'm sure they'll soon tire of languishing in my head and start poking me to let them play again.

In the meantime, I can't express the gratitude I feel for all of you who have hung in there to the conclusion. I thank each and every one of you, from the guest reviewers to the folks over at tumblr who faithfully liked and reblogged each chapter update notice, to those of you who have reviewed every chapter and those of you who left a review at the very end, and those of you who read it without reviewing but bookmarked it as a favorite. Every single reader, no matter whether you left a review, a kudo or just read it quietly and enjoyed it... you're worth all the vibranium in Wakanda. Thank you, and I hope this take on "Bucky chooses cryo" helped you see that bit of canon from a new perspective.

Lastly, and I can't believe I published this without including it, a massive, ginormous thank you to my Betas Three: Nath, Imbecamiel and Nefhiriel! This story absolutely would not have happened without your helpful input and encouragement.