Chapter Four: The Best Thing

T'Challa hadn't returned by the time they got back to Wakanda early the next morning. A brief spike of disappointment struck Bucky, but he supposed it was probably for the best. There were still so many things to do, not least of which was discussing his decision with Steve—a decision that, now more than ever, he was entirely convinced was for the best. Cryo wouldn't be forever, after all.

Regardless, the conversation with Steve would have to wait as they arrived at the complex they would be calling home for an indeterminate length of time. There were Avengers to manage—rooms, food, debriefing. So much had happened while Bucky and Steve were in Siberia, but it had been easy to forget that the world had kept spinning. Sam told them when they arrived back in Wakanda that after Scott's impressive (and really, reallystupid) move in Leipzig, the fighting had mostly stopped. Only Stark and Rhodes, predictably, tried to turn the tide in their favor by chasing after the quinjet Steve and Bucky had commandeered. Some shoddy aim on Vision's part had nearly killed Sam but ended up grounding Rhodes instead, leaving him with injuries Sam could only speculate about. It was clear that he felt guilty; survivor's guilt was a bitch. Even Bucky had to feel bad for the guy. Steve emphasized that it wasn't his fault, though, and even Wanda came back to herself long enough to insist that Rhodes fared better in the suit than Sam would have had Vision's aim been more precise.

"I know," Sam had agreed wearily. "Doesn't make it much easier, though."

Steve had nodded in understanding, squeezing Sam's shoulder for a moment. "Sometimes bad things happen and it's not anyone's fault. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Big words coming from the guy who literally blames himself for everything.

After everyone dispersed to get settled, Bucky found himself on his own. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid Steve or the conversation he knew they needed to have—okay, maybe he was avoiding it a little—but he needed a moment to get his head screwed on straight again. The exhaustion from the stress of the last few days wasn't helping at all, but he didn't want to sleep. Who knew how long he was going to be sleeping once T'Challa returned? The last thing he needed was to relive the horrors when he had the bittersweet blankness of cryo to look forward to. More irony, how nice.

So he found himself wandering the compound, hand in the pocket of the jeans he still hadn't changed out of as he watched the world outside the windows. The sun was nearing the middle of the sky by now, illuminating the mists over the trees stretching out as far as even a super sniper's eyes could see. It was beautiful, but it was lonely. The world spun on, but from here it felt as though that was somewhere else, an entirely different planet or galaxy far removed from where they found themselves now. He stopped in front of one of the windows and just stared out at it all. It was no wonder Wakanda had managed to stay out of the limelight for so long; in spite of his reservations, it was surprisingly easy to escape here and pretend it was the only place on earth.

But solitude was apparently overrated and he heard the footsteps approaching behind him long before she was reflected in the glass.

"I hear you were another one of Hydra's pet projects," Maximoff murmured from just over his shoulder. Bucky didn't turn, but a humorless chuckle managed to escape his lips.

"Did you see that inside my head?"

"No," she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Sam told me a little. How did you know about me?"

"Sam told me a little," echoed Bucky.

It was a bit of a lie: Sam had told him a lot in the car on their way to the airport, but he assumed they were playing on the side of propriety and that she was trying not to tell him she was well aware of everything he'd been involved in back in D.C. He figured he might as well show her the same courtesy.

He saw her reflection nod slightly. "It can be hard, knowing that there is something else in your head that you can't always control."

Preaching to the choir, sister.

"I've come a long way since my days with Hydra," she continued after a moment in which he couldn't quite decide what to say and therefore remained silent. "I have Steve to thank for a lot of that."

Smirking slightly, Bucky inclined his head. "Steve's always had a thing for taking in strays."

"From what I've heard, he learned that from someone very dear to him."

There it was. Steve was careful not to overwhelm him with references to their past, something Bucky appreciated. It was nice to reminisce like they had in Siberia, or get a chuckle out of a few well-placed phrases they'd used decades ago. But Steve didn't quiz him on what he remembered, nor did he ever try to impose anyone else's personality on Bucky. It was a sign of understanding and acceptance, a sign that Steve knew he wasn't the same and would never force him to try to be. It was refreshing. Without all the Hydra programming in his head, it would have allowed him as fresh a start as he could manage.

Still, to be reminded that he was not the same person who took tiny, sickly Steve Rogers to be his best friend and, in turn, became his self-appointed protector before and after the serum… It hurt in places he tried very hard not to examine too closely.

When his silence had stretched too long to be anything other than awkward, Maximoff cleared her throat and Bucky thought she would take a hint and leave him to his thoughts. He was apparently wrong.

"Did you know I had a brother?"

Well, that was…random.

"Sam mentioned it," he responded carefully. Sam had also mentioned what had happened to her brother, and it hadn't been long enough ago that he would have expected her to discuss it with a relative stranger.

Maximoff took a deep breath. "He was…lazy. Arrogant. Completely irresponsible most of the time." There was a slightly watery laugh, her tone affectionate in spite of her statement. "He would steal from the marketplace to impress pretty girls. I lost my temper with him so many times…" Her laugh was thinner this time, strained. "But he was still always my protector, my heart—my everything. Even when we grew up and went through hell. Even though he was obsessed—we both were obsessed—with getting revenge against Stark. The bad things he'd done never made me love him less. He was still my world."

Bucky thought he saw where she was going with this, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Instead he deflected, "Your brother sounds like he was a good kid."

"He wasn't," she laughed thickly and he couldn't help chuckling along with her. "Neither of us was. But I think you would have liked him."

Nodding, Bucky sighed, biting the corner of his lip as he fought to find the right words to say. "I haven't been that guy for such a long time… I'm not even sure I know exactly who he is anymore," he finally admitted, slow and hesitant. He felt like they were playing some kind of balancing game, a give-and-take. She'd handed him a piece of her soul. It was the least he could do to return the favor, much as it pained him to do it. "I don't think…I don't think I can be the same person you've heard stories about."

A gentle hand rested on his right shoulder, squeezing lightly, and Bucky took comfort from the unfamiliar contact. "No one says you have to be. To the people who love you, just being you will be more than enough."

Bucky smirked, aiming for levity. "Did Steve teach you that too?"

"He is predictable, isn't he?" snickered Maximoff in confirmation.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

She hummed softly, and they stood in companionable silence for another minute before she squeezed his shoulder one last time and stepped back. Her retreating footsteps stopped momentarily and her reflection turned back to say, "Barnes?"

Bucky twisted slightly, just enough to peer over his shoulder at her, and waited.

"Just so you know, as someone who has seen it inside his head," she echoed his words with a smirk, "I think he is not the same person either."

Then she was gone.

Sighing, Bucky turned back to the window and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. He stood there for a while longer and tried not to think too hard about their conversation, but his mind kept turning to her last words. A small bubble of hope began to inflate in his chest, one that he had attempted to leave no room for but failed miserably. Nothing she said was new to him—these thoughts had visited him many times, late at night when the screams of the dead finally abated enough for him to find some semblance of peace in his shithole apartment. Could he be someone new? Could he find some way to balance Bucky Barnes with the Winter Soldier without losing one or the other? Was he worthy enough to put the shadows of his past behind him? He'd sincerely doubted it up to this point—he wasn't sure he would ever fully believe he had the right to such thoughts.

To hear someone else say the words that had haunted his mind all this time made a difference, though. A small one, but a difference nonetheless. If someone else saw the same signs he did, did that mean he wasn't as crazy as he thought? Or that the other person was just as certifiable?

He hoped for the former, but he wouldn't hold his breath. Not until his head was fixed.

That thought brought him back to his senses, and he turned away from the window and the echoes of Maximoff's acceptance to find Steve.

He was with Sam in his suite with the door open, the pair of them speaking in low voices when Bucky knocked on the doorjamb. They fell silent as they turned to see him standing there, Steve offering him a small smile and motioning for him to come in. Sam excused himself pretty quickly, but the uncharacteristically friendly clap on the shoulder Bucky got as he passed to exit the room told Bucky that he had probably been at least a part of their conversation.

Why am I not surprised, Steve. Gimme a break.

"Hey."

Bucky nodded, muttering a nearly inaudible, "Hey," in return as he seated himself at the small table in the corner. Steve stared at him from where he was perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to speak. Part of him wished Steve would make the first move here, but Bucky was the one who had come to find him, so he figured it was only fair.

Besides, Steve had never been one for bullshit. It was better to yank off the bandage quickly.

"When T'Challa gets back, I'm going back into cryo."

For a moment, Bucky wondered if he had spoken at all. Steve simply continued to stare at him, his eyes slightly wider than they had been before and his mouth ajar. When enough time had passed that Bucky considered checking to see if Steve had suffered a stroke or something, the latter's eyebrows drew together as he fully processed that statement.

"Is this about what happened in the Raft?" he asked softly, his eyes locked searchingly on Bucky's.

"No." He could tell Steve didn't quite believe him and added, "We discussed it before."

"When?"

"While you and Romanoff were getting everything put together."

Steve didn't answer him, his head bobbing slowly as he put together the timeline of events in his mind. Bucky had to be a little proud of him: he didn't look surprised at all. He also wasn't jumping to change Bucky's mind, for which he was infinitely grateful. As determined as he was to follow through on his decision, not having Steve's full support had the potential to shatter his resolve.

"Why, Bucky?" Not an argument, just a question. Not seeking justification, just trying to understand. He didn't deserve a friend as good as Steve—never had, never would.

Sighing heavily, Bucky ran his hand through the long tendrils of his hair, tucking them behind his ear as he shook his head. "It's too dangerous to have me walking around. I'm a weapon, Steve, a time bomb. Zemo is in custody, so the U.N. has anything he was carrying when Stark brought him in."

"The book," interrupted Steve.

"The book," Bucky confirmed with a nod. "Until it's destroyed or we figure out how to fix whatever messed up shit they put inside my head, my mind isn't my own. I can't… I won't take that risk. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I don't want to kill anyone else," he added, nearly whispering by the end.

They sat in silence for an immeasurable moment before Steve finally spoke again, his tone indicating he already knew the answer to his own question. "Is this really the only way?"

"It's the best way. It's the only way that's guaranteed to keep me away from anything that might trigger another episode."

It was obviously not the answer Steve wanted even if it was the one he was expecting. His face soured slightly, but he hid it well; if Bucky hadn't spent so many years gaining fluency in Steve Rogers Expressions, he would probably have missed it himself. Steve buried his honest reaction, though, and looked back at Bucky with a nod of acceptance.

"Then that's what we'll do." He looked a lot more resolute than he sounded.

"What, that's it? No arguing? No, 'dammit, Bucky, there's gotta be another way'?" teased Bucky, grinning in spite of himself as Steve laughed quietly under his breath.

"Nah, not this time," he sighed, eyes sparkling with emotions he refused to let himself show. All to support Bucky. Hell of a guy. "You deserve the dignity of your choice."

That didn't stop him from asking one more time, though, after Bucky had bid his farewell to Steve's friends ("Your friends too," Sam had assured him, rolling his eyes and pulling him into a quick one-armed hug) and made his final arrangements with T'Challa. After he'd had a chance to shower and panic privately in the comfort of his own suite's bathroom. After he'd met with the doctors and let them put an IV of sedatives in his hand to prep him for the procedure while every nerve was screaming for him to run the other way.

After he'd gotten his first look at the cryo chamber and thought, This doesn't look so bad.

After he'd said his temporary goodbyes to the world and stepped into the place where he would finally, with any luck, get some rest, Steve walked in with his hands in his pockets. He was still dressed in the clothes he'd worn to the Raft, not even bothering to clean up until Bucky was situated. He gave the cryo chamber an apprehensive look as he entered the room before he shifted his focus entirely to Bucky, the side of his mouth pulling up into the same familiar smirk.

"You sure about this?" he asked. It wasn't really a question—he knew Bucky's decision—but he was giving him one final opportunity to change his mind.

Bucky swallowed, casting a nervous glance at the device across from him. "I can't trust my own mind," was all he could think to say, turning back to Steve with a strained, fleeting smile. "So until they figure out how to get this stuff outta my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody," he added with a significant look at the man standing beside him. The best friend he'd ever had.

Now he just had to keep telling himself that long enough to get in the tube and let them turn him into a popsicle.

Time blurred from there. One moment it was just him and Steve as it always had been, and then there were technicians moving to their stations and telling him that they were ready to proceed when he was. One moment he was sitting there, staring at the cryo chamber as though it might bite him, and then he was on his feet moving toward it.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't to stop him, much as a small part of Bucky wished he would. That part of him wanted Steve to tell him this was unacceptable, that they would find another way that didn't involve Bucky going back under, that they would make this better and everything would go back to the way it was.

But Bucky would never want Steve to lie to him, and Steve knew that, so he didn't. They looked at each other for a few seconds before Bucky turned his back on the machine and wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him close for just a moment. As Steve's arms snaked around his waist, it wasn't lost on him that their first hug in over seventy years would also be his last human contact for…well, hopefully not too long.

After they stepped apart, Bucky was ushered into place by a technician who then fastened straps across his body. They weren't too tight, loose enough that he could break through them if he chose, but just sturdy enough to keep him upright when the procedure started.

The technician stepped aside, but Bucky couldn't look back at Steve where he was watching the proceedings. This wasn't goodbye—he wouldn't let it be.

As the glass encasement rose to seal him inside, he closed his eyes instead and felt the sedatives finally taking effect.

Air release.

Cold.

Peace.