A/N - Though this doesn't take place in my Aftermath-verse, I've decided that I can't resist writing for these two again (I like Sam too much). I hope you enjoy this and any feedback is appreciated!
Their mission is supposed to be a simple one, but then, simplicity is not something that comes easily these days.
Steve has uncovered reports suggesting that a supposed military base buried within the Alps is actually an abandoned Hydra facility, and despite their status as fugitives who should, ideally, be hiding under a rock, they all follow Steve without a second thought in order to investigate. Bucky spends most of the flight from Wakanda wondering if there will ever come a time where he'll be able to stop chasing the ghosts of his captors, but such musing is quickly set aside when they land in a deserted valley with mountains looming on all sides.
A quick scout of the area reveals that one of the mountains has openings to at least three tunnels situated around its base, all extending into crushing blackness as far as the eye can see. Though they all have signs highlighting that only authorised personnel are permitted to enter, there doesn't seem to be any sign of life within them, nor any indication of the activity that once occurred in their depths. Sam finds a security camera planted outside what appears to be the main tunnel which promptly gets a bullet planted in its lens by Natasha, and when her actions evoke no alarms or armed response, they assume the coast is clear.
They split up after that. Bucky takes the main tunnel, with Sam standing guard at the entrance, while the other tunnels are taken by Natasha and Clint, and Steve and Wanda. Scott stays behind with the quinjet, keeping an eye on the comms and ready to motivate them all should a quick getaway become necessary.
As of now, however, Bucky can't imagine vast armies emerging from the darkness. The tunnel seems to go on forever, sloping slightly downwards as if dragging him deeper into the earth. He forces himself to remain cautious and walk slowly, using a flashlight to guide him forwards, but no obvious threat presents itself.
The tunnel, despite being the largest of the three, seems like it would barely hold a truck, let alone transport a vast supply of Hydra's equipment into its depths, but Bucky has learned that his old captors like to hide in the shadows and he wouldn't put it past them to lurk somewhere like this. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut with each step he takes - the familiar dread that arises when he thinks of his past - and focusses only on completing the mission he's been given.
Not that he gets the chance to. After walking for what must be ten minutes, his vision is reduced to a blinding white and he's vaguely aware of being thrown backwards, before a deafening blast fills his ears and his body explodes with pain.
It's almost pleasant when the light is replaced with darkness.
When he comes to, it's hard to tell whether he's been out for seconds or hours. His entire body seems to have been consumed by a gnawing ache, made worse when he tries to stand, and a high-pitched ringing disturbs the silence left behind in the aftermath of the blast. As he slowly rises to his feet, tripping over rubble and having to place a hand against the wall to support himself, he feels his stomach roll unpleasantly and wastes a few minutes trying to decide whether the sickness buried in his gut is ever going to escape.
It's only when the nausea starts to subside and he tries to get his bearings that he realises he can't see.
At first, he puts it down to the darkness of the tunnel. He'd been relying on a flashlight anyway, which the explosion has likely destroyed, and perhaps the tunnel's collapsed in such a way as to block out the sunlight from the opening. The more he turns his head, however, the more he realises that his eyes are refusing to adjust to the darkness and even faint outlines don't make themselves apparent. There's a crackling and fierce heat that suggests there are flames nearby and at the very least he should be able to see the glint of his arm, but the only sight that greets him is a pitch black with the bright yellow of the explosion reappearing as a faint echo every time he blinks.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before panic can claim him. He still has his other senses; he can hear the crackle of the nearby flames and the scrape of his metal arm against the wall, can taste the ash in the air and feel the cuts across his palm from where he fell. The tunnel is fairly straight and he knows that if he follows the course of the wall he will be able to emerge into daylight and find the others. Hell, maybe his vision will come back before then. It's not the first time he's been temporarily blinded by a blast, although before he hadn't had a worrying throb at the back of his head.
Regardless, he isn't trapped. So long as he can still walk, he can drag himself out of here. His only hope is that if he meets anyone, it's a friend and not one of Hydra's remnants.
Keeping a hand firmly pressed against the wall, he starts taking careful steps forwards, holding his other hand out to assess the heat from the nearby flames. He'd fallen in such a way that he's not sure which direction he's facing, and as the heat starts to become sharper against his flesh and the air becomes thicker with ash, he knows he's going the wrong way. No matter; he simply turns as quickly as he dares without his eyes to guide him and places his flesh-and-bone hand against the wall, using it to guide him forwards.
Walking is a more difficult affair than he'd like. Keeping close to the wall is enough to reassure him that he's going the right way, especially when the air around him starts to cool, but the floor seems to be riddled with debris and thus every step needs to be carefully calculated in order to avoid tripping. He spends more time feeling around his surroundings with his foot than he does actually walking, and long minutes seem to stretch on with very little progress being made.
The constant ringing still drones on in his ears, drowning out the rest of his surroundings, and though he tries to distract himself by concentrating on his breaths, the high whine always steals his attention away. Bucky supposes it's better than hearing nothing – he's endured sensory deprivation as punishment enough times to be grateful that he's only missing his sight – but as time wears on, the high ringing becomes more and more maddening.
He freezes when distant footsteps start to echo around the tunnel, and he finds himself grappling for his gun in its holster, only to find that it's gone. The temptation to go back for it burns within him like fire - although he's not sure how he can expect to find it if he does - but the steps are quickly getting closer and he knows that, assuming the new arrival is an enemy, he'd hardly be in a fit state to defend himself even if he was armed.
When the oncoming steps start to slow to a walk and the newcomer speaks, Bucky finds himself laughing with relief, and he rests his head against the cool wall as the need to fight drains out of him.
"Well, you're looking very not-dead," Sam says from directly in front of him, and regardless of any bitterness that seems to define their relationship, Bucky's never been happier to hear that voice. "What the hell are you laughing at, Robocop?"
Bucky shakes his head and instantly regrets it, as dizziness takes over and brings nausea to the forefront once more. At least his vision isn't spinning; but then, it isn't doing much of anything.
"I can't see," he says under his breath, and he knows it's too quiet by the way Sam takes a couple of steps closer, to the point where Bucky can practically feel his presence by his side. He takes a few breaths and turns his head in the direction he assumes Sam to be before trying again. "I can't see."
"Shit," is Sam's eloquent response, and Bucky huffs a laugh in spite of the barely masked dread in the other man's tone. He jumps when he suddenly feels a warm hand against his face and wandering to the back of his head, as if feeling around his skull for breaks. "You're bleeding. Not a lot, but it'll be worth checking it out when we get back to the others. Keep your eyes open for me."
Bucky does, although he's not entirely sure why he needs to. "The others? Are they okay?"
"Yeah. A few cuts and bruises but none of them were as close to the blast as you were," Sam replies, and Bucky hears a faint click and a rustle, as if the other man is putting something away. "Your pupil response is fine, though given that you didn't react I'm assuming you didn't see the light?"
When Bucky shakes his head, he can hear Sam swearing faintly under his breath. "Okay. I'm gonna take you back to the quinjet and we'll get someone who actually knows what they're doing to look at you. In the meantime - and relish this moment because I'm never going to ask again - I need you to keep talking to me. It'll help me figure out if your brain's getting more messed up than it usually is."
Bucky sends a rude hand gesture in the direction of Sam's voice, but only gets a snigger in response. It isn't long before he feels Sam wrap an arm around his shoulder, anchoring him on his left side while his hand remains splayed against the wall to his right, and he smiles gratefully before taking a small step forward. "You think there are any Hydra agents about?"
There's a small moment of silence before Sam speaks up. "Sorry, I shook my head there. We don't think so; the base seems like it's been deserted for years. We think the bomb was insurance put in place after SHIELD fell. A way to destroy evidence if any unsavoury folks came looking."
"Hmm," Bucky hums under his breath, grateful that they're unlikely to run into any of his old captors at least. "You think it was the camera?"
"Probably. That's what Nat seems to think too. Either facial recognition software showed we weren't Hydra, or shooting it tripped a countdown. It's a good thing we were being cautious; if we'd moved any faster, bits of us would have to be peeled off the walls."
"Yeah, thanks for that Sam," Bucky says, as the mental image encourages his stomach to do a couple of backflips. He'd do anything to take a seat right now and banish the sense of light-headedness from his body, but necessity demands that he keep moving. His heart leaps a little as his foot lands on a small piece of rubble and he trips, saved only by strong arms tightening their hold on him.
"You're okay, I've got you," Sam says, stilling as he waits for him to recover. There are a few beats in which the man makes no sound, nor any attempt to move, and Bucky's tempted to just start walking on his own when Sam finally speaks again. "I can describe what I'm seeing if you want. Be your eyes, in a sense."
Bucky turns his head towards the voice, trying to focus on Sam even though he doubts his eyes have found their target. He gives the man a small smile and a nod however, and hopes that it's solemn enough even if it is directed a foot to the man's left.
They start moving again, hobbling like a pair of geriatrics, and Sam starts a running commentary that allows Bucky to paint an image in his head and wash away the wall of grey from his sight. "We're about two hundred feet from the entrance now. I can see the sun coming through, it's cleared up a bit since you came in here – watch your step, there's a small pile of rubble by your feet." With Sam's help, Bucky side-steps away from the pile, trying to ignore the anxiety that comes with losing his anchor, and they walk forward for a few seconds before he's guided back to the wall. He holds out a searching hand and feels his breath return to him as his fingers find rough concrete.
"The rest of the way seems clear enough," Sam says, as if having sensed Bucky's discomfort. "Doesn't look like the shockwaves made it this far."
As they continue to walk, Bucky places all of his concentration on Sam's voice and tries to ignore the aching in his bones and the warm wetness at the back of his head, sticking his hair to his neck. He tries to ignore the fact that even after all this time he can only see a faint yellow in the distance, and though he tries to block it out, it isn't long before the ringing starts taking over again. He clenches his eyes shut as its pitch reverberates around his skull, drowning out Sam's commentary, and though he knows he should keep moving, he draws to a halt and becomes aware of his breaths leaving him in gasps he cannot hear.
He tries not to panic. He tries to push past the deafening ringing and focus on the world beyond him, but all that greets him is a black nothingness. This has happened before, when Hydra had still been in the process of breaking him; he remembers being placed in a pitch-black room barely big enough to hold him, with his hands tied behind his back and a chip in his ears feeding him nothing but white noise. Bucky imagines he must have screamed in that room, must have thrown aside all dignity and begged for someone to let him out as the hours dragged endlessly, but he hadn't been able to hear it.
He's not sure how much time passes before he becomes aware of a gentle hand rubbing circles on his back, and he realises that his breaths are starting to even. He thinks he could cry when the ringing starts to fade and is replaced with a soft chant of "you're okay, deep breaths, I'm here…" and the soothing tones seem so uncharacteristic of the Sam he knows, he half-expects that the man's been replaced by a decoy. The idea has him giggling like a child and the hand on his back stills, cautious, but he gathers himself quickly enough and is able to croak out a faint "I'm okay."
"Could have fooled me," Sam says, but a breathy laugh follows and to Bucky's surprise, the man sounds relieved. He wonders what he must look like right now to the man before him, battered and grasping for breath that refuses to come more often than not. "You sure you're okay? I can go and get help if-"
"No," Bucky says, trying to hide his desperation even as he tightens his hold on the other man. "I'm good. Let's just get out of here."
Silence drags for just a little too long after that, but Sam eventually seems satisfied and starts guiding him forwards once again. Bucky tries to ignore the faint burning in his chest as overworked lungs complain loudly at him, and simply focuses on taking one step forward and then another, towards the light which remains merely a faint blur to him. It's better than all-encompassing darkness at least, although that thought brings far less reassurance than he'd like.
As if reading his mind, Sam speaks up again in a tone that's faux-encouraging.
"Look on the bright side, if that's not too insensitive of me," he says, and he seems to ignore Bucky insulting him under his breath. "At least if your eyesight doesn't come back, you won't need to look at your ugly mug in the mirror anymore."
"Ha ha, Wilson," Bucky replies, though he can't stop a genuine laugh from escaping. "To be fair, it would be nice not to see your face again."
He laughs again as the hand wrapped around his shoulder slaps him lightly around the head. "I'm gorgeous, Buckaroo, and you know it. Face it, you'd miss looking at me."
"If that's what you want to tell yourself, then go ahead," Bucky says with a shrug. He feels a slight movement at his side that he reads as Sam shaking his head and feels the vibration of a restrained laugh. Bucky tries not to feel too proud of himself; he and Sam are meant to be caught in an eternal pissing contest, not making each other giggle like children.
A sudden wave of heat against his face and the sensation of clean air in his lungs is the first indicator he gets that they're finally outside, and as he raises his head skyward the faint yellow becomes a blinding glow which pierces through the grey. He can't make out detail, even as the surrounding activity makes itself evident in his ears, but he's starting to believe that his loss of sight won't be the permanent affair he'd feared it to be.
"Come on," Sam says, before guiding them to the left. Bucky feels the wall slip away from him as his hand is left grasping air. "The quinjet's this way. I can see Steve outside it – he looks worried."
"He's always worried," Bucky responds, and a hum of agreement sounds from the man by his side.
They walk in a straight line for several yards and Bucky thinks he can just make out a slightly darker blur getting larger as they approach. It's still a surprise, however, when he feels hands come out of nowhere to support his right side and Steve's voice arising barely a foot from his ear. "How is he?"
"He could be worse," Sam says on his other side, and Bucky turns his head towards the man even though it's evident that doing so is a fruitless venture. "He was limping a little on the way here and he's bleeding from a head wound. He can't see much, but I'm hoping that's just flash-blindness from the explosion."
It's odd that even though Bucky can't see the concern that must surely be donning Steve's face, he can feel it in the way the body next to him tenses and tightens his grip around his shoulder as if afraid Bucky will break if he lets go. He's tempted to try to lie and assure Steve that he's completely fine, but exhaustion claws at him too firmly to bother pretending. He's in safe hands at least – if something is seriously wrong and the serum can't fix it then at least he'll be in the care of doctors soon – and the fact that he hasn't been blown to smithereens hopefully brings some comfort to Steve in the meantime.
"Careful Buck," Sam says out of the blue, and as the ground beneath his feet starts to slope, Bucky thinks he knows why. "There's a small ramp here. Just five steps and we'll be in the jet, okay?"
Bucky nods and takes extra care in walking forwards, trying to ignore the sickening pull of gravity as he walks up a ramp he cannot see. The ground flattens sooner than he expects and he tries to hide his relief as he's carefully led towards a seat. He feels around the edges for a few seconds before lowering himself onto it and closing his eyes, letting the fatigue wash over him as all strength leaves his bones. He's so tired, and though he knows sleep probably isn't the best idea right now, he thinks he would happily drift off until a soft hand on the side of his face interrupts such plans.
"Try and stay with us, Buck," Steve says, and Bucky realises that he's doing a terrible job of hiding the worry from his voice. He can only imagine what the man looks like, considering he hardly needs to conceal the concern from his face right now. "You can sleep when we land, okay?"
It sounds like a stupid idea, frankly, when sleep seems so inviting now, but he nods anyway and makes an effort to keep his eyes open. Scanning his surroundings, he can feel relief start to settle as faint outlines start to become evident; he can vaguely make out the cockpit and the slightly lighter blur of the world beyond the windows, and when he looks up he can just make out the two silhouettes of his friends. There's more voices in the background suggesting that the others are also present, but he only really has the energy to focus on the men in front of him.
"Hey Sam," he says, and the blurred outline that isn't kneeling beside him moves slightly. "You actually look better like this."
A small flurry of activity suggests that the man is shaking his head, and he can hear Steve trying – and ultimately failing – to stifle a laugh. He's pretty sure Sam insults him, but he does so too quietly for Bucky to hear. Even so, it's nice to smile and soak in laughter after the panic that gripped him barely an hour ago, and just for the moment he tries to tell himself that he's going to be okay.
Believing that is a challenge in itself, but Bucky thinks he manages it.
He must drift off during the flight, despite his efforts not to, for when he wakes it's in the familiar medical suite within T'Challa's palace. Bucky barely has time to acknowledge his relief as beautiful details make themselves evident around him – the white of the sheets, the lines dancing upon the monitors, the blue skies just beyond the windows – before he notices the man curled up on a chair beside the bed, his head resting precariously on his hand as he snoozes.
It's surprising to see Sam here. Even after the man's efforts to bring him back to the quinjet, Bucky had assumed that there was a cap on how much the man actually cared about him. Seeing him worn out and surrounded by half-empty coffee cups yet still sitting by Bucky's bedside seems to bring those expectations into question.
Bucky finds that he doesn't mind the other man's presence. Hell, after only seeing him as a vague silhouette for so long, it's genuinely nice to see him whole and in colour.
Sam never needs to know that though.
A/N - I decided on Bucky's vision loss simply being a severe form of flash blindness as a result of looking into the explosion, likely made worse by him losing consciousness. I wasn't cruel enough to cause permanent damage :P
I hope you liked this! Thank you for reading.