Many thanks to my betas three, Nath, Imbecamiel and Nefhiriel!

-o0o-

"S-steve… you can't…"

"Shh, Buck. Save your strength."

"But your shield. You… can't just—"

"Leave it, Buck," Steve snapped, his tone as malleable as steel. "People are more important than a costume or a shield. You're more important. Forget about it and concentrate on walking."

Bucky shut up. He may not remember everything about his old friend, but he did remember that trying to get Steve to see reason when he sounded like that was like trying to tell the ocean to dry up. It wasn't gonna happen. Bucky's head was swimming too much to string together anything coherent anyway. His jaw and cheekbone ached where Stark kicked him, his left side and back burned from where a blast hit him after he'd lost the arm….

He swallowed hard, struggling to wrap his mind around the idea that his left arm was gone. Again. His shoulder and somehow even his arm itself—the arm that wasn't even there—ached and cramped and… and, god, it felt like fire ants were biting up and down his skin, all the way to the finger tips that hadn't been there since 1944.

He'd felt a lesser version of that from time to time, more of a vague itch that rapidly clenching the metal fist several times usually eased, but nothing like this. HYDRA scientists never bothered explaining anything to him, but they must have put some sort of dampeners in the arm that blocked any pain. With the arm gone… yeah, it hurt like hell. He knew these days they called it called phantom limb pain. What a gas. A ghost with phantom limb pain. He couldn't hold back a soft laugh. He couldn't even be a ghost right these days.

"Bucky?"

"S'nothin'," he mumbled as Steve continued to half carry, half drag him toward the door of the underground bunker. He tried to straighten a little, put less of his weight on Steve, who had to be hurting himself. He was only partially successful. His legs held all the strength of wet newspaper. "You okay?"

"Nothing that won't heal itself in a few hours," Steve grunted.

"I'm sorry… I… this is my fault…"

"Thought I told you to be quiet," Steve grunted, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he added, almost under his breath, "And you always called me stubborn." He reset his grip around Bucky's waist. "Not much farther. You gonna make it?"

"I guess," Bucky sighed and dragged one foot in front of the other. They paused at the door. Bucky couldn't see squat through the hair hanging in his eyes, but he was too exhausted to shake it back.

"Damn it," Steve suddenly muttered and shoved Bucky back from the opening and against the wall so quickly that Bucky's feet tangled. He would have fallen flat on his face if Steve hadn't already had a tight grip. "Stay put," he ordered as he lowered Bucky to the floor.

"What is it?"

"T'Challa. He's out there."

Terror froze Bucky's breathing. He couldn't … Steve couldn't… neither of them had anything left. And now they had to face… that? Those claws… the memory of them tearing into the wall beside his head back in Bucharest sent his gut into spasms. He imagined them sinking into Steve, who no longer had his shield to protect him. T'Challa would rip him to shreds and Bucky didn't have the strength to fend him off…

He took a deep breath. Calm down, Barnes. You've pulled plenty a'guys off Steve. He remembered pulling one particular bully off of him, long ago, in a back alley behind a theater. The memory grounded him, stemmed some of the panic. God, what a dumb cluck Steve was back then. Getting' in fights, tryin' to get in the Army. Where was that 4F form from… Poughkeepsie? Peoria? Paramus! That was it. New Jersey. God forbid he even thought about pretending to be from Jersey...

He reined in his wandering thoughts. "Sometimes I think you like getting punched," he murmured.

Steve glanced down at him. "What?"

He grinned a little. "Remember that? Day before I shipped out? When you got your ass handed to you in that alley behind the theater?"

"Hey, I had him on the ropes."

"Sure you did." After I punched the guy and kicked him to the curb. Bucky knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn't have it in him to kick T'Challa like that, even on a good day. And this sure ain't a good day.

Steve looked around at the bunker, then down at himself. He brushed at his dusty uniform, dabbed at the blood on his face with the back of his hand. He stared at the glistening red on his glove. "You told me to get cleaned up because we were going to see the future."

"Yeah, well… this ain't exactly what I had in mind when I said that."

Steve squatted down, though he turned slightly so he could still keep an eye on T'Challa. He put a hand on Bucky's good shoulder and squeezed it, just as he had in the quinjet before they debarked and walked into this Siberian hellhole. "Remember all those wild science fiction stories we liked so much?"

Bucky shut his eyes. Saw Buck Rogers and Tarzan. "Reality's a hell of a lot stranger than fiction."

Steve's soft laugh was the same one from 1939, before… all this. So much was still the same, but so much was oh so terribly different.

"Steve…"

"Yeah?"

He studied his friend. Committed the familiar features to his faulty memory, in case this really was the end of the line. He swallowed. "We had a good run, despite everything."

"Still are, still will," Steve said firmly. He stood up and resumed watching T'Challa.

Still the stupid eternal optimist, thinking there's some way we'll get out of this alive. Bucky didn't want to laugh out loud at Steve's earnestly delivered bucket of bullshit, so he simply asked, "What's he doing?"

"Just sitting on a rock. Looks like he's got Zemo in custody. Got him tied to the strut of his plane's landing gear, so there's that, anyway. Now I guess he's just waiting for me and you. Gotta complete the trifecta to win the prize."

Bucky winced as a muscle in his upper back spasmed. With the weight of the arm gone and the nerves getting all kinds of crossed-up signals, everything was outta whack. He looked up at Steve, imagined again the claws shredding his friend… he bit his lip. It can't happen. I can't let it happen. All the things the Soldier did, they happened and I couldn't stop them. But, now, today...I can do something. I can go out protecting Steve.

He reached out and touched Steve's boot. "Steve."

Steve glanced down. "Yeah, Buck?"

"I just wanna…" He took a deep breath. Tightened his leg muscles and pushed himself awkwardly to his knees, then his feet. Steve offered his hand, but Bucky shook his head. He braced himself against the wall for a moment, then stood tall. He felt awkward and unbalanced, yeah, but… he was standing straight, and if he was standing, he could walk, and if he could walk, he could run. If he could run, he could fight. "I just want to say thank you. For everything. To the end of the line, pal," he choked, then he lunged out the door.

"Bucky!"

He heard Steve's despairing shout. Didn't let it stop him. "Get to the jet and get outta here!" God almighty, Steve, for once do as I say. He had just enough left in him for one final fight. If he had to go down, he'd go down being the shield to replace the one Steve left behind.

"T'Challa!" he roared.

The man uncoiled from his seat on the rocks. His cat-like helmet was off, lying in the snow beside him. He seemed completely unperturbed that a madman was bearing down on him.

Do I look that pitifully unimpressive?

Probably.

Bucky had to force his legs to keep moving. Had to let a little of the Soldier stir, use him to forget the fatigue. The pain. But he didn't let the Soldier out of the box completely. He never would again, not unless someone spoke those horrible words.

He had no plan. No metal arm. Nothing but the bulk of his body as he slammed into T'Challa. T'Challa went down and they rolled over and over in the snow, down a short slope, a tangle of arms and legs. Bucky felt a knee crack into his ribs, then strong hands lifted him and threw him a good ten feet. His back smashed into a rock, and though it stunned him, he knew nothing was broken. He struggled up to his knees. Glanced back toward Steve, who was still some ways off, limping toward them instead of toward the quinjet. "Damn it, Steve," he gasped. "Go on, get outta here!"

But the stupid, stubborn punk kept coming, unwavering. "No! Not without you!"

Bucky felt like crying. Stupid, stupid, stubborn Irish idiot, throwing his own words at him, ruining Bucky's one final chance to redeem the last moments of his miserable life by saving his best friend. "Steve, just go! Don't steal this from me," he cried as he forced himself all the way to his feet and launched himself weakly at T'Challa, bracing for the pain of claws tearing into his throat.

To his shock, T'Challa did not meet him with claws bared, but simply… caught him. Bucky's legs failed, and T'Challa wrapped one arm around Bucky's chest and one around his waist and gently… gently? ... lowered him to the ground. "Peace, my friend. I no longer seek your blood, nor do I seek to detain Captain Rogers."

Bucky stared up at the dark eyes. They held no malice, no rage. Only a soft sorrow. "But you…your father… you thought I…"

"In the building, a few moments ago." He nodded toward the bunker. "You did not see me, but I heard everything Zemo said. I know now it was he who murdered my father, not you. To my shame, I let my need for vengeance blind me to the greater need to seek the truth. I see now that you are a victim as much as my father, perhaps more so, if my understanding of all that has happened to you is correct."

Bucky stared. He knew he looked like an idiot but...this was not what he expected and his brain refused to switch tracks. "I don't... what…"

"My father died once and is now free, but you have been dying for seventy years, over and over, with no comfort, no freedom. Perhaps it is a far better vengeance to help right the wrongs done to you."

Bucky still couldn't quite comprehend it, but instead of trying to sort it all out, he simply grasped the only truth that mattered at the moment: he no longer had to fight. It was over. Steve was safe. He let himself go limp.

He immediately heard Steve's anguished shout. "Bucky! No!"

Oops.

Bucky raised his head as Steve's footsteps pounded toward them. "Steve, it's all right. I'm fine. He knows…" He didn't have the breath to finish, so he waved vaguely at T'Challa to explain. Bucky just wanted to sleep. He was so tired. His left arm that wasn't there hurt. His back hurt. Everything hurt. He shut his eyes and dropped his head back down. Cold snow seeped through his hair to chill his scalp. He didn't care.

Steve's footsteps stopped by Bucky's side. "T'Challa. Is that true?" he asked, his tone respectful but with no warmth in it whatsoever.

"I have made a grave error, and for that I apologize and ask your forgiveness, Captain."

A pause. "Call me Steve. I no longer hold the rank of Captain."

Bucky opened his eyes at that. Punk really is giving it up. I hope not for me. He needs to be the Captain, needs to make a difference. "Steve, don't…"

Steve cut a glare at him and Bucky bit back about a dozen retorts. He settled instead on struggling to lean on his elbow and scowl with as much disapproval as his tired face could muster. Must not'a been all that effective. Steve completely ignored him.

"What will the two of you do now?" T'Challa asked.

Good question.

"Tony Stark will need a ride home," Steve said. "As will Zemo. If your plane can take two passengers, I'll take Bucky in the quinjet and—"

T'Challa interrupted. "And go where? There is nowhere on the planet you can hide from the authorities."

"Guess I'll just have to see for myself if that's true."

"And you both need medical attention," T'Challa continued as if Steve hadn't spoken. Bucky was starting to actually like this guy. "Sergeant Barnes especially. Fixing his arm will be a challenge far above the skills of any hospital you might sneak him into."

Bucky saw a muscle jump along Steve's jaw. "We'll figure it out as we go."

"I have a possible solution, if I may."

Steve looked at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged. Then winced because shrugging his left shoulder was not a good idea. "Can't hurt to hear him out."

Steve nodded. "All right. Let's hear it."

"I can offer you sanctuary in Wakanda," T'Challa said. "My jet will indeed carry two more passengers. It will be cramped, but the plane is fast; the journey to my home will not take long. We can leave your jet for Mr. Stark."

Steve shook his head. "What about Zemo? He'll know we went with you. He'll tell Stark. You'll find yourself in a lot of hot water that you don't deserve."

T'Challa frowned, looking back toward where Zemo presumably still sat tied to the landing gear strut. Their fight, such as it was, had carried them quite a ways away from Zemo, out of sight and out of earshot. "I am not concerned with any hot water, as you put it. If Zemo suspects I aided in your escape, I will not deny it, for there are many layers to this situation, and I am but a small part of a larger, more complex picture. I will suffer no harm, for I am king of my country now and they dare not impose penalty upon me. I have leverage that you do not."

"Lucky cat," Bucky mumbled.

T'Challa smiled briefly. "But your point is well made. It would be better to avoid too many unnecessary complications." He eyed Steve up and down. "I have a plan that may work, but first I must ask one thing: you seem in little better shape than your friend. Do you have the strength to fly a plane as far as need be?"

Ooh, good point, T'Challa. "Yeah, pal," Bucky said in his best Brooklyn drawl. Or at least the best one he could remember. "You up for this?"

Steve gave him a withering look.

"Hey, it's a legitimate concern. You're swaying on your feet. Much as I wouldn't mind sleeping for 70 years, I'd rather not do it because you passed out and crashed the plane."

Steve's mouth opened and closed several times. "Bucky," he finally managed, but he was obviously completely disconcerted.

"Yeah, I read about that in the museum, too." He suddenly grinned, which felt… oddly satisfying and, from Steve's expression, must look completely unnerving. Bonus points for Bucky Barnes remembering how to be a total asshole. "Now answer the king's question."

"I'm fine," Steve growled.

T'Challa seemed very amused by their bickering, but he held his mirth in check. "Very well. Here, then, is my suggestion: I will remain out of sight while you both hurry to your jet. Let Zemo see you, for he will assume the two of you bested me."

Bucky couldn't help but snort. As if.

T'Challa 's eyes gleamed with quiet triumph, but he kept his tone sober. "Meanwhile, I will come unseen from the opposite direction, slip into the cockpit and enter all the codes and navigation data you will need. I also will send a message to my security team instructing them to treat you as my honored guests. They will not question my orders. After you are gone, I will take Stark and Zemo back to Berlin or wherever Stark wishes to go."

That sounded good enough for Bucky, but Steve chewed his lip, apparently searching for any fatal flaws in the plan.

"Who's here to prove that we can?

… the star-spangled man with a plan!"

Bucky bit back a laugh. Of all times to remember that stupid song. Maybe he should whistle it.

Maybe he was getting delirious.

"My strategy is sound, Captain," T'Challa said.

Steve finally nodded. "All right. We'll go with it."

"Very well." T'Challa knelt beside Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes, I will see you again in my home country. I look forward to getting to know you as you truly are."

Whatever giddiness Bucky felt from surviving the fight drained away. "I don't know if that's possible," he said, dropping his gaze.

T'Challa bent his head low, forcing Bucky to meet his eyes. "I think I have already seen the true man today, the friend who would give his life for his brother."

Bucky glanced at Steve, but had to look down again. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know what's me and what's HYDRA. Can't trust myself."

"Then trust in Steve Rogers, and trust in me. I am confident we can help you find yourself once more. And I am equally confident that, when the day finally comes when you walk free from the shadows, you will call me friend."

Bucky met his gaze at that.

"I already do."

-o0o-

Not sure if I'll continue this or leave it as a one-shot. Thoughts? Anyone interested in seeing Bucky all the way to Wakanda and cryo?