NOTE: Sam Wilson pov, post-Winter Soldier, Bucky-recovery fic. with Steve. a touch of Steve/Bucky and Natasha-Clint.
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Sam didn't mean to eavesdrop as he entered the lunch room looking for coffee, while Colleen and Sasha poked through the leftovers of someone's birthday pastries.
"There are so many," Colleen sighed. "And now this mess by the river. Doctor Highland is booked through the end of the year with all the trauma cases I heard."
Sasha nodded in sad agreement, and Sam figured they were talking about vets of the recent deployments plus the terrorist attack on DC and revelation of HYDRA infiltration. Sasha said, "So many. I think I found another one. New guy on Friday's outreach. He had a metal hand prosthesis and that absent stare of hardcore PTSD… He's gotta be SHIELD or military. I tried to give him my card but he didn't even see me."
- metal hand -
Sam's internal antennae shot up so hard he'd have concussed himself if they were real.
He turned and said, a bit too abruptly, "Metal hand?"
Sasha blinked and rocked back at the unexpected confrontation. "Yeah. Unusual prosthetic. He's got a jacket over it, even in the heat, so I think it might go up past his elbow at least. Noticeable though, since it's black metal, and he's a white dude."
"That sounds like a guy I know," Sam said, trying to be casual. "Where'd you see him?"
"At the church kitchen near the Navy Yard," Sasha answered. "I was there, with my team, like usual, you know. I tried to talk to him, but he wasn't... present. Father Lam told me the guy comes by pretty regularly to eat but doesn't stay."
"Uh well, maybe I'll wander that way," Sam said. "See if it's the same guy." He shook his head sadly.
"Give him my card then, if you do, Sam. I'd be glad to see what we can do to help him."
Sam smiled in gratitude, inwardly amused by what she'd think of finding out who he really was, and what he'd done.
'Yeah, the guy's a trained assassin, brainwashed by Nazi spies, and very nearly helped kill a couple million people.'
But then he realized that Sasha wouldn't care about that, only about helping him. Barnes – if it was him – was a vet who needed her help, and that was what she would want to give.
It wasn't all Sam cared about, though. A trained killer at a homeless kitchen meant he'd slipped his leash, which was a good thing if he wasn't out assassinating people, but also bad, if it was a sign of psychological distress. That could only be dangerous. Not to mention Steve had last seen him when they'd both fallen out of a helicarrier; he might be hurt.
Sam didn't mention his lead to Steve when they met. Steve had no missions to go out on after the fall of SHIELD, since he'd refused everyone else's attempt to recruit him, and he spent most of his time on the internet looking for signs that Barnes was out there someplace.
Steve might have noticed that Sam had a secret, since Sam was a poor liar on a good day, but Steve was distracted with the news that Natasha had heard from her partner Barton finally. He'd literally resurfaced – shot and found floating in the Mediterranean – and Natasha had gone to bring him home.
Sam heard the tale and offered to Steve, a bit dryly, "Well, at least you know he's not HYDRA, if they tried to kill him?"
Steve stopped turning his paper cup in slow circles and met Sam's gaze, for a moment shocked that Sam had made a joke about it, but then a half smile broke through. "Yeah, I guess there's that. She should be back soon, if all goes well."
"Yeah, hopefully." Sam was fairly optimistic by nature, but getting two people HYDRA wanted dead back into the States by commercial airliner was just asking for things to not go well.
So he didn't mention a dude with a metal arm hanging out at a shelter on the edge of DC, deciding he'd make sure it was Barnes before getting Steve's hopes up.
The evening was sultry and not in a good way, as Sam got out of the car he'd jammed at the end of the block, half in the fire zone. It was utterly stifling as he went into the side building of the church, with only fans trying to move the air around. The place was mostly deserted, except for Father Lam who was getting some volunteers into place for the coming dinner service.
But Sam managed to pull him aside for a brief chat, finding out that the metal hand guy would probably show up for dinner, but Lam had no idea where he hung out during the day. He rarely talked or made eye contact, and he slept somewhere else.
So Sam stayed, joining the volunteers, while he waited to see if Barnes would show up. He lost track of the crowd as he got suckered into serving the bean salad, but suddenly he shivered, as if struck by a cold draft, seconds before he looked up at the next in line.
Oh shit, it's him. It's Barnes.
He missed seeing Sam's recognition, luckily, by staring down at his tray held in his flesh hand while the other hand was nearly out of sight beneath the stained zip-front hoodie he was wearing over a faded grey t-shirt. Sam was sweating in his t-shirt and shorts; he couldn't imagine how overheated Barnes had to be in a jacket.
Sam put beans on the plate, dropping the whole ladle-worth by accident.
Barnes moved down the line to get a dinner roll, never looking up. His expression never shifted.
Sam wasn't entirely fooled by the blankness. A man with the Winter Soldier's reputation and the skills Sam had seen demonstrated, would have catalogued everyone in the place for weapons the instant he'd entered. Barnes sat down on the floor with his back to the wall and a view of both entrances. He ate neatly and quickly, without seeming to notice what he was eating.
Except for the thousand-mile-stare, he seemed healthy. Beneath the Nationals ball cap, his hair was tied back, and his stubble meant he'd shaved somewhat recently. So he was taking care of himself, which was a relief when Sam had worried that he might be completely out of it without his handlers around.
When Barnes got up to leave, he returned his tray properly in a display of ingrained etiquette, and slipped out the side door.
Sam followed him immediately. In the orange light of the late afternoon, he put on his sunglasses and looked up and down the sidewalk. There, Barnes was heading east.
Even knowing it was a stupid-ass thing to do- the guy was a spy and a killer – Sam followed. He wanted to know where Barnes was staying. Sam kept at least a half block between them, doing his best to stay behind other pedestrians. Luckily Barnes stood out more in this neighborhood than Sam did, but as they wandered past the shops closing for the evening and the blocks of townhouses, Sam tried to be careful, but also keep watch on where Barnes was going.
After another two blocks, he decided to wait for the traffic light to put more space between them, and as he waited, he watched Barnes and wiped off the sweat. As soon as the light changed again, Sam hurried across but in the few moments of his attention being on a car turning in front of him, Barnes was gone.
"Oh, c'mon, man, where'd you go?" he muttered.
Cautiously he stood in front of the market he'd last seen his quarry, wondering if maybe Barnes had gone inside to buy or steal liquor or something, but the shop was empty of brainwashed assassins.
Maybe Barnes had gone into one of the townhouses on this block. Sam headed down the street, looking for signs that might indicate a vacant apartment that Barnes might be squatting in. The basement apartments especially were tempting, since he could have gone quickly down the steps and out of sight.
There was not even a footstep to warn him, only the sense of something huge looming right behind him before he was hurtling through the air, his back slammed against the brick wall with bone-jarring force, and a powerful metal hand clamped around his throat.
Eyes filled with cold rage stared into his. If he recognized Sam from the freeway fight, there was no sign. "Why are you following me?" he demanded.
Oh, God, strong, strong, gonna kill me... Sam clawed at the hand trying to loosen it, as his legs kicked futilely at the wall and at Barnes, who paid no attention to his flailing.
But he wasn't already dead, which meant Barnes actually wanted an answer, and Sam figured there was only one that mattered. "I know Steve," he managed to gasp out. "Rogers. Captain... America."
Barnes froze, and his gaze flickered with recognition.
Sam repeated, wheezing, "I know... Rogers. He's looking for you."
Barnes let him go, and Sam stumbled to his knees, panting for breath and rubbing his throat. By the time Sam found his feet and breath again, Barnes was already two houses down and Sam ran after him. "Wait! Damn it, would you just stop!"
Barnes stopped, but didn't turn around.
Sam had to cough and rub his throat to find his voice. "Damn, you've got a grip. Look, I know who you are." Though the opposite wasn't true – Sam didn't know if he should be relieved or sad that Barnes didn't seem to recognize him at all. "And Steve's looking for you everywhere; he wants to find you. You're his friend and he wants to save you."
"He can't."
"You sure about that?" Sam asked, and circled to look in his face since Barnes wasn't turning around.
The words came slow, as if dredged up from underneath sixty years of sludge. "I'm not... who he thinks I am."
"Yeah, probably true. But I don't think you know who you are, right now. And wandering around the city waiting for HYDRA scum to scoop you back up isn't a good plan. You deserve better."
Barnes shook his head and for an instant, there was guilt and denial in his face and anguish in his eyes before it blanked out again.
Glimpsing that, Sam moderated his tone a bit. The guy was a killing machine, but he was also profoundly broken. And he knew it. "Come on back with me. My place. Nobody has any idea I know you or Rogers, so you'll be safe."
"You won't be."
"Because of you? Well, I think being in a quiet suburban house, with Captain America ready to beat on your ass if you freak out, is a lot safer for everybody than you wandering aimlessly through the city with all the innocent people around." He waved a hand, gesturing in the general direction of the apartment buildings and the strollers and the kids playing basketball at the school across the street.
Barnes' gaze followed and it was as if he saw them for the first time. His head tilted a little and his eyes showed some life as he watched them play.
Sam decided to press his advantage. "Look, I was in combat, and now I work with vets," he added. "This isn't my first time dealing with people like you."
Barnes leveled a look at him, and didn't have to say a word for Sam to give a shrug. "Okay, not exactly. But you're not a total special snowflake that's what I'm telling you. Your problems are unique to you, but they're also pretty common. I can help you. Steve can help you." He put out his hand in an offer. "If you let us."
Barnes' gaze dropped to look at his hand and then back to Sam's eyes, and in that moment, Sam saw the flat expression of the assassin falter to display Bucky Barnes, with a lost, hopeless look of someone drowning so far from land that even a stupid bathtub ducky was something to grab onto. "You know Steve?" he asked in a softer voice, as if he thought this whole conversation might be a dream.
"He's coming to my house later. If we get there first, you can clean up in the shower," Sam offered. "Because, no offense, but it's a hot sticky summer and you could, uh, use one."
He still hesitated and didn't react to Sam's teasing. He finally shook his head in the negative and started to walk away again.
"Where are you gonna go?" Sam asked him. "I don't mean right this second - you obviously have a bolt-hole someplace. Maybe you have the skills to hide forever. But that's just existing. Not living. You need help. You need friends."
"I have only missions."
Which was the most heart-breaking thing Sam had ever heard, especially spoken in that flat, matter-of-fact tone. "Well, then it's time you had friends again. Look, I know those assholes fucked you up, and you're afraid of hurting us. But even if James Buchanan Barnes doesn't mean anything to you, obviously Steve Rogers still does. Let him help you find Barnes again."
Barnes stared blankly across at the basketball court. He shook his head once, loose hair sliding on his shoulders. "If he's gone?"
"He can't be, because he's standing right here. Even if you never remember the past, doesn't mean you can't make new memories. Build a new you." Sam glimpsed the metal hand and wondered if Barnes' problem was a little more basic. He'd seen Natasha's file on the Winter Soldier - the guy was an assassin, but really he'd been HYDRA's weapon, never allowed time to be human. "You can learn to be a person again. Because let me tell you, the way Steve Rogers talks about you, you're a pretty special guy. Let us help you find that guy again."
In that handful of seconds where Barnes wavered, with no overt sign of uncertainty except in the fact that he didn't try to walk away, Sam reached out a slow hand - provoking a reaction seemed like a bad idea - and touched Barnes' flesh hand.
Sam expected him to pull back or maybe backhand him to the ground, but he didn't - allowing Sam to grip his fingers and squeeze them gently. "Come back with me. Get off the street and see Steve again."
Barnes looked down at their hands with a little frown drawn between his brows as if he couldn't believe anyone was touching him. Or was touching him gently.
It made Sam move his other hand to clasp Barnes' between his palms. Even the way his hand sat between Sam's was a hint of how horrible his life must have been since he didn't move his hand, not even to settle it more comfortably between Sam's. He just let Sam hold it, and the passivity was somehow worse knowing that Barnes could have broken every finger in Sam's hand before Sam could pull away. Sam let go of his hands and forced a smile, "My car's back near the church. C'mon."
It definitely felt like a victory when Barnes followed him, retracing their steps. He didn't need help getting into the car, though he sat up straight, head brushing the top of Sam's new-to-him Corolla (his insurance was still having a problem with "the steering wheel was pulled off through the roof by a crazy dude who had turned out to be a HYDRA assassin" - though the dumbfounded tone of his claims rep had been nearly worth the whole thing). "Try not to pull off this one, okay?" he said to Barnes, who gave him a blank confused stare in response.
You don't remember it at all, do you? Fuck.
"Never mind. And buckle your seat belt."
Barnes' glance this time was very much 'the Winter Soldier has no need of stupid seat belts fool' but Sam waved at him insistently with one hand. "If the cops see you don't have a belt, they'll stop us and I don't think anybody wants that." He had no idea if the police had any pictures of the Winter Soldier shooting things, but there was no need to be stupid either.
With a gesture annoyed enough to give Sam hope that there was an actual human being in there, Barnes pulled the belt. But he pulled too quickly and it locked up. He pulled at it again, harder, until Sam knew he was going to pull off the entire assembly. "No, stop! Let it go back in all the way and pull slowly."
Barnes followed direction and locked his belt with a sharp slam and pouty curl to his lip that made Sam smile. "It's a few minutes to my place, so relax."
That was probably like telling a tiger on the stove to relax, but it made Sam feel better when Barnes only watched the traffic around them with the alert eyes of someone constantly evaluating everything for a threat. He tensed when an SUV with dark windows came into view of the cross-street, and he watched it cross in front of them with a hand on the door. Sam knew he was one suspicious move from shoving the door from the frame and fleeing.
"You know the HYDRA files were dumped to the internet, right? They're in hiding, not driving around government cars right now," Sam commented idly.
"HYDRA survives. They are everywhere. Cut off one head and two more take its place," Barnes recited, eyes restlessly flicking over the cars around them.
"Nice propaganda, but it's gonna take awhile. They were hit hard." Sam took the exit to head to his house. He was feeling a bit paranoid though, and asked his car companion, "How do I check if we're followed before I head home?"
"There are two cars that took the same exit and one is at the standard CIA following distance. Pull over abruptly and I'll watch."
Sam had to digest that for a moment that Barnes knew that, but in a minute found an appropriate place, pulling over abruptly into a mini-mall parking lot. In the seat beside him Barnes turned his head to watch with cold eyes. Then he turned back around. "Clear."
"Ah. Good. Thanks." Sam pulled back out into the street and went home. Pulling in to his driveway, he hoped Natasha had looked for listening devices, because it suddenly occurred to him with the Winter Soldier in his passenger seat that someone might be watching him. Someone might know and be interested in him, and then be very interested in a certain ex-soldier visiting his house…
God, this was a good way to go nuts. He took a deep breath and let the car turn off. "We're home. Looks like we did beat Steve, so let's go in. Please try not to wreck my stuff."
He led the way to the front door, unlocked it, and held it. Figuring humanization was best to begin right away, he invited, "Come in, Barnes."
Barnes walked inside without hesitation, but only got through the short entry hall before pausing in the living room to look around. Sam had no doubt he'd already memorized the layout, could probably move around in the dark and not touch anything, but he clearly had no idea what to do next besides stand there.
"You want a shower?" Sam asked. "I think that would be a good idea. I can dump your clothes. I can scrounge some things that'll fit you okay. Even you ridiculously broad-shouldered superhero types."
Barnes didn't follow him to the hall that led to the bedrooms and guest bath. Sam turned and Barnes asked, "Why?"
"Why am I helping you?" Sam asked. "Because…" There were a lot of potential answers there - because Steve believed in Barnes and Sam believed in Steve, or because Barnes needed help. "Because you got fucked over by people who never cared about you, and that's wrong," he answered simply. "And I - I went to war, I lost friends, and when I came back all I wanted to do was help the guys who came back but weren't as lucky as I was. And that's you. I thought before there was nothing to save," he admitted, "But I was wrong. You're a person, and that means I want to try." He shrugged. "Rogers rubs off on people, I guess."
Barnes turned that over, a little frown remaining as if he didn't understand it, but he nodded and joined Sam with those confident strides that suggested he'd made a choice.
At the door to the guest bathroom, Sam glanced in there to make sure there was shampoo, soap, and towels. "I'm gonna find some clothes. I'll knock and crack the door open, and put them onto the sink."
He figured specific plans would help Barnes not freak out at unexpected and possibly hostile noises. "Please be gentle with the fixtures. My insurance company is still bitching about the car. Do you need anything else? Like, a plastic bag for the prosthesis?" At Barnes' blank look, Sam elaborated, "So it doesn't get wet?"
"It functions under water," Barnes declared.
"Oh, well, that's cool. Let me know if you need anything?" Barnes didn't answer, so Sam left him standing in the guest bathroom and closed the door behind him. Inhaling a deep breath, he settled himself. It was a crazy thing he was doing, but so far, so good.
Shortly thereafter the shower began to run, which was also a relief, because Sam had visions of Barnes either not remembering how to do this himself or freaking out at something in the bathroom with all its shiny metal fixtures.
He dug through his drawers looking for those boxers that were too big, sweatpants that might be short but would probably fit, and one of Rogers' t-shirts out of his drawer in the guest room. Rogers and Romanoff had both left stuff here in their makeshift safe house, so Sam had given them each a drawer and space in the closet to hang a spare set of tactical gear. Now it looked like he might have to clear a third drawer.
Knocking twice on the bathroom door, he opened it and put the pile on the edge of the sink. In a quick glance to the mirror, he could see a shape behind the glass door under the water. Barnes was washing his hair, not freaking out. Maybe this was gonna turn out okay.
In the living room, Sam opened a bottle and turned on the tv to check if the game was on yet, keeping an ear cocked toward his house guest. The water turned off sooner than Sam would have expected, given someone who'd been on the streets for a while, but he probably was also trained to get in, get clean, and get out, not linger like an actual person in the water.
Sam sighed and shook his head, wondering who the hell he could find to treat Barnes. Someone skilled, discreet, and not easily intimidated by someone who could rip their head off.
And not a secret member of HYDRA. God, what a fucking mess.
A crashing noise of breaking glass had him leaping to his feet. "Barnes! Shit!"
He yanked open the bathroom door, to find the mirror that had been above the sink was a pulverized mess, there was a deep indentation in the wall board where it had been from a fist, and a naked assassin had wedged himself between the toilet and the wall, his chest heaving and his eyes unseeing. His hands were in brutally tight fists, the flesh one white-knuckled and pressed against his own knees as if he wanted to punch a hole in himself as he'd punched a hole in the mirror.
Sam knelt down right away, as far back as he could. "Barnes, it's Sam. Can you hear me?" he asked gently. He waited and when that got no reply, he repeated it. He tried three times, knowing in a panic attack or traumatic flashback he needed to be calm and patient. With the washcloth he picked up the mirror pieces and put them carefully in the trash bin, while slowly Barnes' breaths evened out.
"That's right. You're safe here, Barnes," Sam reassured him, "you're safe. Come back now, remember where you are. You're in my house. In Virginia. The year is 2014."
After a little while Barnes blinked and alertness returned to his eyes. He looked at Sam. "I wrecked your stuff."
"I kinda figured you would. It's okay. Let's get you dressed and away from the toilet. I'm guessing that bit of floor is germ city." He offered his hand and after another pause, Barnes unclenched his fist and put his warm hand in Sam's.
When Barnes was standing with absolutely no self-consciousness of being nude, Sam saw that indeed Barnes had that same supersoldier physique that Rogers did - maybe not quite as tall or broad, but solid and cut. "You know, before I met you people, I thought I was in good shape. Damn."
He handed the shorts over, after inspecting them for glass, and coaxed Barnes into the hall to put on the rest. "Figured Rogers' shirt would fit you."
Barnes touched the front of the grey t-shirt. "This is his?" he asked, voice soft.
"Yeah. He keeps some stuff here. Have a seat." He waved at the couch, and Barnes went there and sat down, both feet on the floor, back straight, almost at attention. Sam grimaced; he'd meant it as an invitation but plainly Barnes had taken it as an order. He was going to have to be more careful about his words. "You want pizza?" Sam asked, not surprised when Barnes didn't answer. "Do you know what you like on it?"
That one Barnes did answer. "No."
Sam tried to keep the pity off his face and out of his voice, keeping to calm acceptance, instead of the useless anger he was feeling at the people who had screwed up an American so badly he didn't even know what he wanted on pizza. "I'll get a few things you can try. I know Rogers can put one away himself so I'm sure you're the same." He found the tv remote and flipped through looking for something harmless to watch, settling on a cupcake baking show. "Bet you missed the cupcake craze, too. Every couple years there's some new food insanity. At least cupcakes are actually delicious- kale is the worst parts of lettuce and collards blended together. It's just nasty." He wrinkled his nose and made a face. He didn't expect a smile, but he had hoped for a little relaxation in that ramrod posture.
He pulled out his phone and ordered the pizza on the app, then texted Steve. "Hope ur coming over. Surprise guest."
'What guest?' The reply came back promptly which meant Steve wasn't driving.
Sam rolled his eyes at the phone and texted back: "surprise meant something else back in ur day?"
He put his phone back in his pocket to find Barnes watching him with a nearly laser-like intensity as if he was suspicious Sam was texting HYDRA. "Rogers is on the way."
That made Barnes shift his gaze - at first Sam thought it was to the television, but he was looking toward the sliding glass door that led to the patio, contemplating escape.
"Barnes. Please. Don't leave me here to tell Steve that you were here and then you left before he could see you. It'll crush him," Sam said. "He wants to find you so badly."
Barnes dropped his gaze to his hands, flexing his fingers. "What if I hurt him?"
His soft question was such a surprise, Sam wildly thought someone else had to be speaking for a brief shocked moment. He recovered to ask in a carefully level voice, "Do you want to hurt him?"
"I was ordered to kill him."
Which didn't answer the question, or maybe it did, but it wasn't all of the answer. "But you didn't," Sam reminded him. "You didn't, because those memories are still in you, somewhere. Reminding you of who he was to you before all this evil started. Just… try to hold onto that part. And nobody here is gonna blame you if it takes awhile. It's gonna take time, Barnes, and it's gonna take help. But it's possible."
Those pale eyes flicked up to him, and seemed a bit brighter, before he looked down again. "I think your bathroom is proof this is a bad idea," Barnes muttered. Sam lifted his brows and smiled.
"Ah, so smartass is your natural state. Good to know."
Barnes twitched as if he might protest that, but said nothing.
"You want a beer?" Sam asked. Barnes didn't answer. Sam bit his lip, pondering how to do this. It wasn't a deliberate rudeness, Sam knew, but Barnes was so repressed that he didn't hear the words because they simply weren't for him. Sam moved closer until Barnes lifted his gaze. Sam repeated deliberately, "Barnes. Do you want a beer?"
Barnes went utterly still, as if the question shut him down. His gaze flicked to the side, in a betrayal of uncertainty, even though he didn't move otherwise. He didn't know how to answer.
"Do you know what beer is?" Sam asked, more softly, trying not to sound judgmental or mocking.
Barnes sensed the trap in the question, and took a moment to answer, "Yes."
"Do you want to drink one?"
His hands gathered to tight fists and his jaw clenched. He still didn't answer.
"Was beer forbidden?" Sam asked. "Because you can have something else, if you want."
"Winter Soldier wants nothing," Barnes said, the words clearly by rote. "I take what I am given, no more."
"That sucks," Sam said. Though if he were going to put a superhuman assassin on a leash, he would certainly have brainwashed him right out of personal desires. Which meant that Sam had to give him options and persuade him to choose, to get more used to it.
"Be right back." He went to the fridge, grabbed one bottle of beer, a can of Coke, and a glass of milk, coming back to set all three in front of Barnes on the coffee table. "These are all yours. You can drink all of them, none of them, or just one. Whatever you want."
Then he flopped into his armchair and picked up the tv remote to change the channel and pretend that he didn't care which one Barnes picked. He picked nothing at first, looking at the three drinks on the table as if Sam had left him some sort of sudoku puzzle to solve, but then with a curious twitch of his lips that might have been the beginnings of a smile, he picked up the milk.
Ah, there you are, Sam thought, rather satisfied by the small success. It was kind of funny that Rogers usually picked milk, too, though he was not averse to beer. He'd complained about too much pasteurization making milk taste terrible at first, so Sam now bought raw milk for him.
Barnes drained the milk and left the other two alone.
They watched through to the end of the cupcake show, which was followed by an episode of Grill It that Sam had already seen, so he found a rerun of the Fresh Prince to watch. Something mild for his new friend.
Barnes watched it, not apparently amused but not looking away either, until in the middle of the Swiffer commercial his head snapped up and his eyes went alert. He was standing in the archway between the front hall and the living room before Sam heard a motorcycle in the driveway.
"It's Rogers," Sam told him.
That didn't make him relax; if anything Barnes got more tense. His gaze was fixed on the front door, and his fingers twitched as if he was looking for a weapon to hold.
In that taut moment, the cheerful ringing of the doorbell was both loud and out of place. "I have to open the door," Sam murmured to Barnes. "Don't you dare leave."
He slipped past Barnes' bulk and opened the front door. It was Steve, of course.