In case it wasn't obvious: MASSIVE ENDGAME SPOILERS
Chapter 1
It's going to be ok. It's going to be ok, Bucky thinks, as he watches Sam lifting the shield, as he catches Sam's eye, and gives a slight nod. Everything's fucked, but it's going to be ok.
Bucky turns to look at Banner – who isn't Banner anymore, or only Banner, or something that he hasn't really understood because he wasn't listening – who's busy doing something with his weird machine. Well, busy. Busy not meeting his eyes, otherwise Bucky would notice the look in them, one of . . . pity?
He looks at the bench again, and Sam is still talking. Talking to Steve. Who is that man, really? Is it Steve? Bucky takes half a step forward, changes his mind, backs away. He can't. He can't do this. Even though he knew it was going to happen – not because Steve told him anything, but because he knows Steve – he can't.
There's no going back, now. His Steve is gone. Gone for good. He turns his back on the heart-warming scene near the lake and sneers a little, trying to regain some of that restraint he used to have. But that feels like so long ago.
When Bucky arrives at the lakeside house, he sees that the Wakandan contingent are ready to leave. Shuri beckons, and he approaches, reluctant.
"Sergeant Barnes," she starts, and he raises an eyebrow. "Bucky," she amends, grinning. "Are you coming back with us?"
Bucky glances at T'Challa, standing, regal, behind her, and the Black Panther nods. But Bucky doesn't think that's an option for him. He tried that, and the war found him. He shakes his head, lowering his eyes so as not to see the disappointment in Shuri's. He's almost toppled by a surprise attack-hug, and it's a good thing that the confusion and madness of the last few days have deadened him a little, because otherwise Shuri would have been flying out over the lake.
"Sorry," she says. "I know better." Bucky misses his sisters, a feeling which attacks like a spear through the side. He wonders if Steve saw them when he went back: Bucky's family, his ma, his sisters. Bucky resolves never to ask.
"We have a gift for you," Shuri continues, handing over an envelope. In it there's a passport, the outside embossed with fancy golden lettering: Kingdom of Wakanda. It's in the name of one 'James Incguka', but it's Bucky's picture there. He looks up, puzzled.
"If you ever want to return, James." The king is smiling at him. "You are an honorary citizen of Wakanda."
Bucky looks aside to keep the tears away, and catches a glimpse of Sam stalking towards him, shield over one arm, determination written all over his face. Close call. Emotional outburst averted.
"Where the hell did you go, huh?" Sam looks around him, blinks. "Hey, everyone. Hi?"
"I see congratulations are in order, Captain," T'Challa intones, calm as ever.
For the first time since Bucky has known him, Sam is lost for words. He opens his mouth and closes it again, and Bucky is going to enjoy comparing him to a landed fish, later. Though he's not sure. Do they still have that kind of relationship? Did they ever? In the end, Sam settles on a blinding smile.
"Thanks, your majesty. Princess," he adds with a grin, and Bucky, once older brother to three girls, senses the melting process happening within Shuri. Oh, hell no, he thinks. Much too old for you. He and T'Challa lock eyes over her head, and he sees the same determination in the king's eyes. Okoye only rolls hers.
"Though I don't know that I can do much with this," Sam adds, pointing to the shield. "I think I gotta find a place to live, first." Sam looks at Bucky. "We gotta find a place to live."
Oh, so he's a part of this thing, whatever Steve decided is going to happen here. Bucky bristles, feeling rebellious. Maybe he doesn't want to be an Avenger, or whatever they want to call the leftovers, the second string. He senses that Sam is trying to communicate something, but Bucky refuses to meet his eyes.
T'Challa is smiling, though, and Shuri is bouncing on her heels in excitement, quelled only by a look from her brother.
"I think we can help you with that, Captain Wilson."
Sam looks all at sea, and Bucky is asking himself what they did, these angels that he clearly doesn't deserve.
"The elders and I decided that it is important Wakanda has a presence in the United States, in case something like another alien invasion, or restrictive legislation endanger the planet again. Logically, this would involve whatever replaces the Avengers Initiative-"
"We bought Avengers Tower!" Shuri bursts out, unable to wait any longer. "And there'll be an embassy, and a lab, and apartments for the Avengers so they can go on missions . . . "
T'Challa crosses his arms and sighs. "As I was trying to say; yes, Ms Potts agreed to sell the Tower, on one condition – that the Artificial Intelligence remain in place, as a memorial to its creator."
Bucky glances to the side. Sam is . . . well, lost for words is a mild way of putting it.
"Your majesty . . . highness? I can't accept . . . I mean-" Yeah, Bucky thinks. That's not going to work.
T'Challa just approaches Sam, puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes. "Please do me this favor, Captain. We are all part of the same group now – the returned. We all must find a way to reintegrate into this life. It would give me immense pleasure if you settled in what will be a part of Wakanda in the U.S."
Bucky smirks. No-one can resist T'Challa's charm. He only remembers trying once, after he first arrived, and quickly giving up.
That dazed look is starting to look at home on Sam's face. He nods weakly. "I'll ask Wanda and the others if they want to join us."
"Is Steven going to be joining us?" T'Challa's question seems innocent on the surface, but Bucky knows it isn't.
Sam looks down, a tell, if Bucky ever saw one. "The trip to restore the infinity gems took a lot out of him . . . physically. That's why he decided . . . " Sam trails off, looking at the shield.
T'Challa's lips quirk into a smile. He nods, regally, as always. He shakes hands, first with Bucky, then with Sam.
"Your new home is waiting for you; James . . . Captain Wilson."
Shuri gives Bucky a hug, then acts cooler with Sam, with a nod, and a farewell "Sup."
Okoye quirks an eyebrow, bangs her lance on the ground twice, and she and the Dora file into the aircraft, and they're gone. Bucky misses them already. When he looks up, Sam is glaring at him.
"Why'd you leave, man?"
Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Don't tell me he wanted to talk to me."
Sam looks like he's chewing on the inside of his mouth. "I thought you were friends."
Bucky manages to stop himself from shrugging again. It always hurts in what remains of his left shoulder.
"So did I." He blinks, annoyed at himself. The hell? Since when does he let it all hang out? Romanoff would punch him for that.
"Hey, is it about the . . . this?" Sam is shaking the shield, which he's resting on the grass. Bucky knows it's heavy as hell. His brain registers what Sam's asking.
Bucky controls an instinctive eye-roll with an effort. "Is there anything about my character, which makes you think I want an actual literal target on my back?"
Bucky knows he would have said no, if asked. But he wasn't asked.
Sam shrugs. "That doesn't mean you didn't wanna be asked."
Fuck me, Bucky thinks. Is everything written on his face? Can Sam read his thoughts? "Still would have said no, pal. You're the captain, now."
Sam's eyes narrow. "I know you know that's from a movie."
"Movie?" Bucky answers, his tone puzzled. "Oh, you mean a talkie! That's what we called them, back in our-"
Sam pokes him in the chest. "Shut your goddam mouth. You're not gonna get me with that old-timer bullshit."
Bucky grins. Then he remembers something. Or someone. "Is Steve still sitting on that bench?" Bucky may not be happy about the situation, but he still can't let an old man die of exposure. His ma would rise from her own grave to belt him one.
"Nah, called him an Uber. He's been living in a retirement home in the area for the last year, or so."
Bucky nods. "Yeah, yeah. Keeping his head down, taking the long road. That sure sounds like Steve."
"Fuck you, man." Sam rubs his eyes. "I know that doesn't sound like Steve. But I had to read between the goddam lines to get anything out of him. He didn't even wanna tell me who he married."
Once, when he was still under, Bucky got shot in the stomach. Well. It wasn't Bucky. He'd been the asset, or, as Pierce called him at the time, the liability. He remembers lying there, stomach on fire, vision fading, as his various handlers and Pierce debate the cost-benefit ratio of saving his life versus letting him bleed out. He also remembers the initial shot, the armor piercing bullet that got through his Kevlar, like a hot knife punching through his gut. It felt very much like this.
"Married, huh." Bucky tries to keep what he's feeling out of his voice, but the expression on Sam's face tells him he's failed.
"Shit. I'm sorry, man. I didn't know." Sam isn't even looking at him anymore, like Bucky's face is an open wound.
He wants to deny it, shrugs instead. "Neither did he." It's an old hurt, one which he's practiced in ignoring. "So, he got his da- his lady, huh? Agent Carter?"
Sam raises an eyebrow. "You think that's who it was? Wait a second – we went to her funeral! You're telling me Steve was there all along? Or was it another timeline?"
"Don't ask me – they only sent me after Stark because he developed a new version of the serum." Not that he really remembers it. He mainly remembers what was in the files Romanoff leaked online. A few things even read like they happened to someone else; not the torture, though. That was all his. "They never said a damn thing about anyone in SHIELD, unless they got close to HYDRA. Carter never did."
Also, Bucky thinks, it's not like he was kept up to date with whatever was going on when he was on ice. He was only woken up, sent on his way, and frozen again. He didn't even remember the Starks until he saw that video.
Bucky clears his throat. "So, we're off to New York, huh?"
"Today? Wait, you mean, now?"
"Yeah, Sam. I don't think the lady whose in-laws I murdered is happy that I'm in the same house as her daughter."
Leaving is easier said than done. Oh, Bucky knows that he can haul ass and get out of dodge as soon as he likes – the backpack filled with a few belongings that the Wakandans brought with them is already waiting for him near the front door – but no-one wants Sam to leave. Also, they're finding it hard to understand about Steve.
"You're saying he left us?" Wanda's eyes seem to grow in size, her lower lip trembling.
"No! I mean, yeah, but he's back now – buddy," Sam answers, close to a breakdown, "some help here?"
Bucky, who's wondering if he misheard, flinches slightly as a few pairs of sharp eyes turn to stare at him. It's just Wanda, the kid in the red and blue tights, Bruce, Scott, and Stark's lady in the room. Everyone else is long gone, though, in the case of the raccoon, not without gazing longingly at Bucky's left arm. He chews on his lower lip for a few seconds.
"Steve went all over . . . to return the infinity stones. Then he went back to . . . the forties?" Bucky glances at Sam, who returns it in a 'your guess is as good as mine' glare. "The past. To be with . . . Peggy Carter, I guess. He took the long road back. Literally."
He doesn't know Wanda very well, but he doesn't need to know her to recognize that expression – utter betrayal. Banner is nodding, the kid just looks confused, and – Potts – her name was? Her eyes are turning into chips of ice. Bucky doesn't know why – maybe it's dawning on her that the whole business of going back in time to defeat Thanos could have been done better? Maybe with Stark surviving? Bucky doesn't know. And he never will, because her little girl chooses that moment to storm in, demanding her mother's attention.
Once mother and child leave, Sam quickly tells the ones left about the Tower. Wanda and Banner agree to join them, while Lang has family in San Francisco, and the kid says he prefers living in Queens. Bucky suppresses an eye-roll. No-one who's lived through the Depression like he has would turn down a fancy Manhattan apartment, even if the guy who built it had hated Bucky's guts.
A week later, Bucky wonders if he's made the right decision. Stark may be dead, but the fancy computer that's running the Tower is very much alive. It scares the crap out of him, that everyone else treats it like it's their friend. Or maybe he's read too many junk novels. Wanda decides to go to college, but first she has to get her SATs, so she's found an online study group. As a refugee from Sokovia, there's some compensation coming her way. So, she's ok, Bucky thinks, trying not to sound bitter, even in his own head.
As for Captain America, turns out that Steve just handing the shield over to Sam like it's nothing, is not the way the US government does things. Especially as they already have someone waiting in the wings for the job, some guy called John Walker. Still, he's prepared to work with Sam. Exactly no-one is prepared to work with Bucky.
Sam is explaining this to Bucky, walking up and down, voice getting louder, gestures bigger. Bucky's been watching him, not adding much.
"Give them time, Sam," he interrupts.
Sam turns to him with a glare. "That's what they're doing, playing for time! Stalling!"
Bucky nods, slowly. It has occurred to him that maybe they aren't going to welcome him with open arms, unless the arms are holding handcuffs and leg shackles.
"Steve isn't any help – all he talks about are the old days – and Fury leaves me on hold for hours, then tells me he can't do anything!"
Bucky wonders at this brave new world, where he's the calm one. "You can hardly blame him – I blew him up and shot him. A lot."
"Man, it's like you want to go to jail." Sam has stopped gesturing and is now glaring at Bucky like it's his fault all this is happening. Which, it kind of is.
Still, jail? For him? Bucky can't hold back a snort of laughter. "C'mon, Sam," he says, answering Sam's offended look. "I'm never gonna see the inside of a prison cell."
The pain in Sam's eyes makes him wish he kept his mouth shut. Sam's looking round him, wildly, as if there's a solution in the beautiful airy sitting room they're in. Everything's glass and chrome. The wall to wall windows initially terrified Bucky. Even now, he finds his fist clenching when he thinks of how vulnerable they are, how exposed.
"You could call Shuri, ask for asylum in Wakanda-"
"No!" Bucky interrupts Sam, digging his fingers into a cushion, which pops under the pressure. "I'm not getting them into any more trouble because of me. I'm not – I'm not worth any of this," he concludes, in a mumble.
He looks down, not wanting to see the agreement on Sam's face.
Sam sits next to him on the couch. "That's not true and you know it."
Bucky looks up in surprise. There's no impatience in Sam's expression, no annoyance.
"On a scale of one to ten, how desperate do you feel right now?"
Bucky frowns. "Zero? I just feel tired, mostly. Been sleeping a lot."
"Have you tried getting out of here? Walking, seeing the sights, what's changed, what hasn't?"
Bucky bites back an immediate refusal. What, like the US government won't have ten agents on him at every street corner? Still, so what? Maybe he can do something. He's been acting like he's still on the run, which he isn't. They know where he lives. Even though he can, in theory, just disappear, then what? He still winces whenever he remembers that apartment block in Bucharest – people lived there, got their lives fucked over, because of him. No-one deserves that.
Sam is waiting for an answer, and Bucky wonders when he got so patient.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I was thinking, maybe I need a job? Though I don't know what I can do, besides . . . you know."
Sam's eyes narrow. Bucky knows what he's thinking – besides the fact that not letting him go out on missions is boring as hell, Sam is getting a stipend for his work. Bucky isn't. The Tower provides a roof over his head, and food on his plate, but he'd like to be able to buy something to wear that isn't the clothes on his back.
"I can-" Sam starts, then he glares, pointing a finger at Bucky. "Do not say no before I even suggest it. I can lend you some cash, for now, and then we'll see about- listen, the Army can pony up something, seeing as you were a P.O.W. they never even tried to look for."
Bucky snorts. "If the Army does anything, it'll be a court-martial for conduct unbecoming – and I've been reading up. They got some fancy code nowadays, turns out I can get the firing squad for some of the shit that I did when I was under."
Sam's lips thin. "We'll see about that," he answers, folding his arms.
Bucky tries to hold back a grin, fails. "You practice that move in front of a mirror?"
"You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"
"Yeah," Bucky says, and the words slip out. "Why do think Steve fucked off back to the forties?"
He winces. Man, he used to be so much better at this. Nothing ever affected him. Granted, he used to get his brain fried on the regular, too. Ever since Steve left, Bucky feels like a body on a slab, rib-cage cracked open, insides on display. Sam's lips are pressed together in a thin line, his eyebrows almost meeting.
"Whatever made Steve do what he did, it's on him, not you. We make our own choices."
Something clicks for Bucky. "You're angry. At Steve."
"Of course, I'm angry!" Sam rubs the back of his head. "I followed him like he was Jesus or something. I went on the run for two years, I have family here, didn't care. Then I'm falling apart in a goddam forest, which hurt like a motherfucker, by the way, and five seconds later I come back, fight the same battle all over again. Steve tells me Nat's dead, I'll explain everything when I come back, he comes back and he's the goddam crypt-keeper!"
Bucky doesn't know who this crypt-keeper is, but if he's a guy who looks about a hundred, then . . . yeah. Sam's run out of breath, or steam. Bucky's mind latches on one thing.
"What happened to the Widow, anyway? Who the hell took her down?" He regrets it instantly, because Sam's eyes turn shiny, and he looks away. Bucky gets it. He's not the only one who feels like he's lost everything.
Sam shrugs. "No-one can really explain it. Tired of asking. The only one who really knows is Hawkeye, and ain't nobody bothering Hawkeye, oh no. He's retired, now."
Bucky's lips twitch. He knows how to get Sam to snap out of it. "You sound like a little girl didn't get asked to the dance by her beau."
Sam's eyes narrow. "That's it. We're gonna spar, so I can kick your century-old ass. Then I'm drinking your ass under the table."
"In your dreams, bird-man. And stop talking about my ass."
"That's Captain bird-man to you, old-timer."
Bucky lets himself be pulled off the couch, and the afternoon and evening passes quicker than usual. Before he knows it, it's midnight, and he's got Captain America's arm slung over one shoulder, as he maneuvers them to Sam's apartment.
"FRIDAY? Look, I know you're listening – just open his door. I don't know where his key-card is, and I ain't feeling for it in his pants."
"Affirmative, Sergeant Barnes." The voice is icy. Could it be that it blames him, somehow, for Stark's death? But that's ridiculous, it's just a program.
The door clicks open, and Sam mumbles something in Bucky's ear. Bucky ignores him, and half-drags, half-walks Sam into his bedroom, wrestling him onto the bed, on his side. He goes to the kitchen for a glass of water, makes a protesting Sam drink it, and then makes him lie down again.
Bucky doesn't feel drunk, even though he matched Sam shot for shot. He remembers when he started feeling that way, a little pub in London, Steve looking like a slab of beef, Carter ignoring him. He remembers drinking whisky after whisky, desperate to lose consciousness, but it never happened. Fuck the serum.
The next day, Bucky starts acting on Sam's advice. He reluctantly accepts some cash, promising to pay back every cent. He could have got a credit card, he knows, but residual Winter Soldier paranoia won't let him.
Not that it makes a difference – there's a tail on him as soon as he leaves the Tower, and that one soon becomes three, then four. They're all really good, but he's been trained by the kind of people who reward failure with a death sentence. He ignores them, though. If ever he needs to go off the grid, it's best that they're taken by surprise. So, he can't show them that they've already been made.
He starts a routine – he goes for walks in the park, he visits the Public Library, he does the tourist thing for a while. The fourth time he passes a blown-out building which never really recovered from any of the disasters which happened in New York in the last decade or so, he decides to see if he can get work there. The harassed-looking people with the clip-boards exchange looks.
One of them starts with "We aren't hiring-"
The woman interrupts. "We can't pay you. We're all volunteers, here."
God Bless America, Bucky thinks. Someone's paying the salaries of all the morons tailing him, but rebuilding people's homes is a lesser priority.
"That's ok," he answers. "I can't commit to coming every day."
Bucky can sense the surveillance team taking up various positions behind and in front of him. He's careful not to catch their eye. If they know they've been made, they might even panic and try to take him in. He's not sure how he'll react to that.
They all exchange names – Martin, Jameela, and he volunteers his own as James. It comes out spontaneous-like, and Bucky isn't sure why. Maybe he wants some time before the scared looks come out. They send him to an uncleared patch, and he sets to work, steadily shifting rubble, things which can't be done using machinery.
Turns out that the process of returning over three billion people isn't without snags, like for example, a child materializing in front of a car, which swerves, and plows straight into a building. This happens in more than one place, and Bucky gets used to looking for these places, getting into a routine. He wonders at the tension in people's faces when he introduces himself all over again, until he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a storefront. He looks like a goddam hobo, with an out of control beard, and too-long hair under a ball-cap.
Bucky's first impulse is to race off to a barber shop he discovered on his wanderings, an old-fashioned place even by his standards, but then he pauses. The surveillance on him is down to two people. Ideally it would be down to zero before he decided to make any major changes to his appearance. Later, he thinks that it never occurred to him, that no surveillance was just as bad a sign as too much.
In fact, when he goes out one day and senses no-one on him, he only feels relief. He decides to test it for a few days; changes his habits. Goes further afield, in ever widening circles. He knows what he's looking for, though he can hardly believe it still exists.
See, it's been almost ten years since HYDRA fell, almost ten years since Insight and the Triskelion. SHIELD is back in a lesser capacity, Fury is back as its Director, though the whole thing is more secretive than ever. Still, Sam tells him stuff – his anger at Steve's secrecy ensures that he never hides anything from Bucky. Anyway, it's not in Sam's nature.
However, even though he tunes out a lot of what Sam says, a few things do stick – like Sam is sure that there are problems which his new team isn't tackling, things which flourished in the five years following the snap. Bucky can't believe it, not really – weren't the Avengers around? Hadn't they been a team? Apparently not, he realises, as Sam vents about Natasha liasing with people all over the world and beyond, putting out fires, with Rhodes and this Danvers lady, while Steve, Stark, and Banner did . . . what, exactly?
Never mind, Bucky thinks. He wants to find out for himself, and he will, once he's sure that no-one's following him. He lets a week pass, and sets out, looking for old HYDRA safe-houses first. There's a list of addresses in his head, still all there, no matter how hard he tries to scrub them out. That's why he would be ideal as a team member in this new thing Sam's got going on, but he finds himself reluctant to even mention it.
He sets out to an address in Queens, but that's just a hole in the ground surrounded by safety tape. People are already ignoring the tape, and the crater is turning into a garbage dump. The remaining bricks are blackened, showing signs of an explosion. Maybe a helicopter crashed, or something, he thinks. He's half relieved, half annoyed – he came out here for nothing. But does he really want there to be something left of HYDRA? Maybe it's because he wants to feel useful, like he has something to contribute.
He resists the temptation to investigate other locations on the same day. Best not to vary his routine too much. That's sure to arouse suspicion. A few days later, he wanders through the Village, sure he remembers a fancy office block with a HYDRA complex under it, like an anthill. It's still there, but he can hardly waltz in and ask for access to the hidden labs. Also, the fronts for HYDRA were always well-crafted – the people working for the legit side never knew what was going on under their feet. Or at least, most of them didn't know. Enough to keep up the charade. So maybe the office block still exists, but the HYDRA base underneath it is empty.
This time he's too annoyed to wait a few days, so he heads to Harlem, where he knows about a condemned rowhouse, bricked up windows and all – a hidden safe-house. Bucky's worried that he's drawing attention to himself, but then remembers what he looks like – someone who routinely sleeps in a dumpster. No-one gives him a second glance as he wanders down the street. He manages to slip down to the stairs to the basement entrance, using his left hand to pry open a rusted metal plate. There it is, underneath – the glow of a lit-up keypad. Is it possible his code still works?
It does. With a faint click, the door opens slightly. He doesn't touch it, just looks in through the gap. He gathers some of the dust lying on the ground, scattering it inside. Nothing. Not that he was worried about laser beams, really. Not with this kind of safe house. Still, better safe than sorry. He sneaks in, conscious of the thick layer of dust everywhere. The linoleum floor is warped where the rain came in, but otherwise it seems well-preserved.
He finds stairs to a higher floor but isn't even going to try that – they can't be secure, after all this time. So, he hopes that any kind of supplies left behind are down here. He looks around, tapping the brick walls. In the small kitchen, one sounds hollow. Left hand in a fist, hopes for the best, smashes through – yes, as he hoped, there's a space behind the wall, and a duffel bag.
There's money – a couple thousand dollars – and weapons. A Sig Sauer, a Glock 17, a Skorpion, each with a few boxes of ammunition. He's hesitant to touch the guns at first, though that's ridiculous – it's not like they're gonna infect him. He rummages deeper, finds some gun oil, a leather bundle of knives, a double-barrelled shotgun. He spreads the guns and knives on a tarp he finds bundled up in a corner. Might as well make sure everything is in working order, in case . . . in case of what? He chews on his lower lip, stops himself, then starts again. That was one thing they never managed to beat out of him. Not for lack of trying, though. No wonder they always put him in a mask.
When Bucky leaves the safe house, an hour later, his hands are covered in gun oil and he rubs them on his jeans. He resolves to shave the beard the very next morning. He needs to get his shit together- enough wandering around looking like a hobo.
A few days pass without incident, and he forces himself to stay away from the safe house, though it's not easy. Just like it's unlocked something in his brain, there's a whole list of fake businesses scrolling down – offices, banks, auto-shops, all with HYDRA in back rooms, basements, underground warrens of labyrinthine corridors. He should investigate, he should tell Sam. He should do a lot of things. But he keeps coming up with excuses, and whoever is handling Sam is making it easy, keeping him busy with meetings, missions, and so on.
On a rare day when he's not busy, Sam mentions that he's working with Sharon Carter. Bucky wonders if he's told her about Steve – from the pained expression on his face, the answer is yes. But it's not like Bucky has a leg to stand on, in that regard. He hasn't been to see Steve.
"Look, it's not like he's asked after me. Right?" It's a day when Sam's pleading looks have become too much for Bucky.
"No. But – wait, Bucky, come on. It would be good for him . . . for both of you." Sam isn't meeting his eyes.
Bucky sighs. He's proud of that. They used to shock his balls for any involuntary sounds. Now he's free, he can do what he likes.
"Why? Why would it be good for him?"
"I think he feels guilty – about leaving."
There's several responses which Bucky bites back. Took him long enough, is one of them. Or, the hell? I'm not a kid, or his dame. Shit, where did that come from? He must really be pissed off; the old lingo only comes out when he's furious and trying to keep it in. He rubs his eyes and the back of his head instead. What's the point? He's only punishing himself. He misses Steve. He misses him a hell of a lot.
"Fine. The next time you go see the old folks, I'll tag along."
Sam grins. Bucky rolls his eyes. "I used to be a scary assassin dude, you know."
"Yeah, yeah. You're a marshmallow, now."
Bucky leaves the Tower early the next day, determined to get to the Harlem safe house and retrieve the duffel bag, bring it all to Sam, lay his cards on the table. He still wants to take down what's left of HYDRA – and it's starting to feel like there's a lot – but he can do it with Sam. Maybe if he's the one providing the intel, they'll let him tag along.
When Bucky's phone starts ringing, he's in the middle of an crazy fantasy in which he's kicking the door in to a HYDRA base, Sam's flying overhead, occasionally bouncing the shield off guards and lackeys, and then he's mowing down the evil bastards whose faces he can still see in his nightmares. No matter that he's pretty sure most of them are dead already.
It takes him a second or two to work out why his pocket is vibrating, and even then, he's puzzled. It's not like anyone's ever called him on the fancy Stark Phone, which looks like nothing more than a thin slab of glass. He's used mobile phones before, when he was under, but never anything that elaborate.
The number on the screen isn't one he recognises. Sam, Wanda, Shuri and T'Challa are listed under their own names, anyway. He taps the icon to answer but doesn't say anything. Shit. Why the hell did he answer? Now they can track him. It's done. No regrets.
"Sergeant Barnes." Those rich Tipperary vowels could only belong to the computer running the Tower.
Bucky shivers, chewing on his lip. Still doesn't speak. Is this it? Is this payback time for Stark?
"Two minutes ago, a STRIKE team arrived at the Tower, with a warrant for your arrest. They're being denied entrance." What the hell? Of all the possibilities he's imagined, this isn't one of them.
The screen on his phone dissolves into an image of the underground parking garage, where ten people carrying submachine guns are waiting, and a man in a suit is waving a piece of paper in the face of the two Wakandan security guards. Only, Bucky knows that the 'security guards' are actually Dora Milaje, undercover. The camera zooms in on one of them, lip curled in a sneer. He always got on well with Nailah - with all the Dora, really.
Bucky starts to speak, clears his throat, which is seizing up. "What are they saying?"
"The Wakandans are pretending not to understand English. They just keep saying 'No come in. Wait. Captain America.'" FRIDAY pauses.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"It's occurred to me that we might have got off on the wrong foot."
Bucky can feel his brows almost meet. On the wrong – "You're not really just a computer, are you?"
"No."
Bucky chews on his lip some more, thinks aloud. "I could just go back, turn myself in."
"If you do that, I've calculated an 85% chance that you'll vanish into an undisclosed location." The AI sounds cool and collected as she predicts his fate. Not like he wasn't thinking that way either.
"What's the other 15%?" But he already knows the answer.
"That they shoot you on sight." There was a pause. "The Wakandans will try to protect you."
"And they'll get hurt," Bucky said. "Or hurt someone. An international incident, great. Just what T'Challa needs."
"I've been trying to contact Captain Wilson," FRIDAY continues, "but his phone is switched off."
"Yeah, Sam told me he had some planning meetings which would take him all day," Bucky answers absently. He's still trying to figure a way out of this mess without running, but he can't.
"I could turn it on, remotely." FRIDAY sounds hesitant, which is weird when you consider that she's an all-seeing, all-knowing artificial intelligence.
"No! No." Bucky's been walking during this conversation, and he doesn't stop. "Sam can't be involved in any of this. Listen, can you connect me to Nailah?"
Buck's pretty sure that all the Dora can take a phone call through an earpiece without changing expression. Or speaking.
"This is James." He's pretty much given up on getting anyone except Shuri to call him Bucky, so he's going for the next best thing, even though it makes him feel weird. "You have to let them in. The situation is gonna escalate, and I don't want that. Thank you for everything."
FRIDAY hangs up for him, and he sighs. He's almost at the safe house, and he needs to get rid of the phone before that. Even though Sam won't want to track his phone, Bucky's sure they have a warrant for that too. There's just one more thing he needs to do, though.
"FRIDAY, can you record a message for Sam, for me?" He feels bad about just vanishing like that. It feels too much like what Steve did to them. Maybe if this had happened a few months ago, when he saw that ancient version of the man he loved on that bench, he would have been ready to go. But that feeling passed. And now . . .
FRIDAY interrupts his train of thought. "Ready to record."
Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.
"Sam, I'm sorry. But I guess I don't want to die just yet. Or go to jail. I found something, and I need to go handle it. I really wanted to do it with you, as a team. I think we could have worked well together. Maybe we will, one day."
He stops, and FRIDAY takes it as a sign to stop recording, with a chime. There's a dumpster up ahead, and he walks briskly in that direction, before pausing.
"How long will it take you to track this phone? I mean – how long can you stall for?"
"You need to smash it, Sergeant. Then I can stall for about . . . an hour? Perhaps. Otherwise the process only takes a few seconds."
Buck nods. He doesn't really want to destroy the phone – he's become as addicted as everyone else on the goddam planet, it seems. But needs must when the devil drives, as his ma used to say. He sighs.
"Thanks for this, FRIDAY."
He's barely finished speaking when he uses his left hand to crush the thing into a mess of glass shards and tiny metal chips. He locates the SIM card and crumples it up. Then he doubles back, heading to the safe house, which he purposely overshot earlier. It wouldn't fool anyone for long, but long enough for him to get the duffel bag and bug out.
Keep moving, always keep moving. That's the secret of not getting caught. They only got him in Bucharest because he settled down, thought he was safe, thought he was a person. He should have known better, renting an apartment, leaving his go bags there, his notebooks. As soon as that newspaper guy made him, he should have taken to his heels and not stopped running till people spoke English again.
Now, Bucky knows better, but he's in a worse situation. He isn't in Europe where he could take a train to a whole other country or get in a car and drive – he's on a fricking island in a heavily surveilled city. They'll have facial recognition software looking for him, and they'll find him. Or not. Maybe he can do some damage before they hunt him down. Damage to HYDRA, not the government, or the new SHIELD.
Though if HYDRA's as deeply embedded as it used to be, all bets are off. These people – they took his life, and they're still around. They made him into a monster, kept him in a cage, as everyone he loved died, as he lost his place in the world. They're going to find out what happens when the monster breaks out.
.
.
Notes
This isn't an Endgame fixit in that I don't have any theories in which old Steve isn't really Steve, or they'll be happy like that or whatnot. This continues from the end of the movie, with Bucky trying to make sense of this 'new normal' as it were. So the fixing is to the implications of the movie, rather than events inside it.
Also, if I didn't see it in the movie, it didn't happen. There was no conversation between Steve and Bucky re his plans. Bucky knew it, because he knows Steve. Still, even though he intellectually knew it, doesn't mean he was prepared for the emotional impact it was going to have on him.
Anyway, the word Ingcuka means 'Wolf' in Xhosa.
The title is from Everybody's Changing, by Keane.