Bucky woke to the slamming of a car door. He was sweating, gulping back air as if he had been suffocating.
Night had long since taken hold of the landscape. White lights of the gas station carpark blinding, headlights whizzing past on the highway.
"You alright?" Sam had returned, having vigorously shut the drivers side door.
He had two bottles of water stacked in his one hand, having acquired them from the gas station store.
"No." Bucky huffed honestly.
He gripped the back of the seat with his metal hand, using its untapped strength to pull him up straight, ignoring the stabbing in his abdomen.
Sam switched the interior light on by thumbing the button on the ceiling, he offered Bucky a bottle. He took it, plastic crinkling in his hold. Staring at it a question came to mind.
"Where'd you get the money?"
Sam reached into his pocket, inconvenient with the limited space. After a bit, he showcased the worn leather wallet, opening the thing, he pulled an I.D.
"Courtesy of someone called… Stan Lee?" Sam struggled to read the name in the harsh light. "Old guys car. Left his wallet in the car door." He explained before discarding the wallet onto the passenger seat.
Bucky unscrewed the lid from the bottle, only noticing the shaking that had a hold of his human hand when he went to take a sip.
His tremor didn't go unnoticed.
"Bucky…" Sam began, putting aside his own bottle of water.
"I don't wanna talk about it." Bucky stopped him. He slapped the lid back on the bottle, tightening the cap.
"Fine, I'll talk." Sam leant his uninjured shoulder against the back of his chair, rotating diagonally to face Bucky.
"After I lost my wing-man Riley. I saw his face every time I closed my eyes." Sam expressed. "Dreaded going to sleep. Because I would relive it all over, watch his ass get knocked from that sky again and again."
"How did you stop it?" Bucky asked.
He had planned to maintain his silence, not wanting to play Sam's game. But the question had rushed up on him, needing to be answered.
"I talked about it, came to terms with that night."
Bucky smirked; he knew exactly what Sam was doing.
"South Korea. Nineteen-fifty-one." Bucky conceded, letting up the information Sam wanted.
"Goyang?"
Bucky slowly nodded.
He was surprised Sam remembered, having only briefly mentioned it previously back in Washington.
"I had been sent to…" Bucky hesitated, not wanting to go on. He clutched his hands together on his lap. "I had been sent to Goyang to disrupt enemy communications. Simple in and out." He started over. "Nothing I hadn't done before." A bitterness was laced in his tone, a bitterness towards himself.
"I'm assuming Isaiah Bradley cut the simple part out."
Bucky cleared his throat, looking out the window, the carpark of the gas station empty.
"Had been a setup. He was waiting for me."
"And apparently whooped your ass." Sam chuckled, recalling what the old war vet had told him.
"Yeah, well." Bucky looked down, dry blood under the nails of his right hand.
"I get it." Bucky shot Sam a doubtful look. "Well not exactly. But I can get an idea. Everything you were forced to do, there was nothing you could do." Sam sighed. "Just like I couldn't do anything to save Riley."
"You weren't the one that pulled the trigger." Bucky didn't mean to sound so aggressive. "It was still me Sam, I still did those things." Bucky tried to explain more calmly.
He remembered it all, every mission, every kill. Nightmare's walking.
Sam turned forward in his seat, getting situated to make a move.
"You need to give yourself a break Bucky."
Bucky didn't have a response for Sam, not quite sure if he agreed or disagreed with what he had said.
The sun was rising, and Sam had gotten little to no sleep. Sitting upright in the driver's seat with his arms crossed not the most comfortable sleeping position.
Sam had pulled over as soon as he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, tires having scraped over the white guidelines a few too many times. Eyes may have having slipped closed once or twice while on the road.
After over twelve hours of pure driving, they had at least made it to Nashville.
Sam had parked up on a rest stop with the other lorries. Orange sun beautiful in the early morning as it bathed the luscious countryside in a warm glow.
Sam yawned, shoulder sore. The job he made patching his stab wound minimal at best, dried blood on his grey t-shirt.
Inspecting the backseat, Bucky was asleep having laid backdown. If you could call it sleep. The man was in distress, eyes twitching behind his eyelids, breath hitching every now and then.
Sam decided it best to put the man out of his current misery.
"Bucky." Sam tried to rouse the man. Bucky remained within his stressful slumber. "Hey." Sam reached round nudging him.
Bucky inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open, hand grabbing Sam's wrist.
"Woah!" Sam exclaimed, not making any sudden movements.
Bucky retracted his hand, lost for words.
"Sorry." Bucky managed to mumble an apology, his hand resting on his injured side, a wave of physical discomfort passing over him.
Sam honestly felt for the man. He knew that feeling of dread when closing your eyes, the restless night that would never end, long hours spent staring at a painted ceiling. It's your own personal hell.
"It's alright." Sam assured.
"How far?" Bucky moved the topic on.
"We're around seven hours out, if we get moving could be there by mid-day."
"You sure this is a good idea?" Bucky sat himself up, pulling his one leg off the seat and into the footwell.
Sam had an idea what Bucky was getting at.
"I can make secure contact with Torres from Sarah's, got some gear stashed there. From there we can make for Wakanda."
"Sam. I can't be sure that…" Bucky couldn't finish his sentence.
"You know what I'm sure about?" Sam made the car rumble to life in the dead quite of the morning. "That I have a fossil sitting in the back seat."
"Funny." Bucky said sarcastically.
The rest of their trek across the states had been mostly in silence and uneventful, Bucky shutting down Sam's attempts at general conversation at every bend.
Sam had felt a sense of relief when he saw the sign for Delacroix come into view, familiarity comforting. The small roads, simple living of the town bringing back all sorts of happy memories, it was home. And it felt good to be back.
However, ominous dark clouds had unexpectedly loomed overhead, the weather having turned foul in the last few hours.
As could easily be predicted from the grey sky, rain started to fall, water pelting down against the car's exterior, droplets gliding down the windows. Sam flicked a switch, wipers clearing the windshield, squeaking as the rubber ran along the glass.
Bucky had his head leant against the car door, eyes half vailed, obviously tired. It had been a long two days after all. Finding out that your mind still wasn't your own, not something people go through on an everyday.
Sam followed the dirt road, driving up on the little blue house just like all those times before. The quaint house drawing out a warm pleasant feeling within.
The rain had picked up its pace. Falling more consistently as well as vigorously.
Sam pulled up the handbrake, car stationary.
Worn white wooden trim adorned the structure, standing out in the gloomy day, the blue slats accompanying them nicely.
A shed and workshop stood to the side of the house, keeping to its own, the thick vegetation and tall standing trees almost completely concealing them from the rivers view.
Sam opened his door first, the chance to finally stretch his legs not being wasted, the feeling bliss. He rolled his injured shoulder relieving some stressful tension that had built up.
Bucky swiftly followed suit, not wishing to be cramped up in the car any longer. He stepped out into the awful weather without a care. Rain merciless, not caring for their plight.
Sam could see Bucky was favouring one side, hand over his wound, jacket still undone.
Walking up to the house Sam stopped mid step. Eyes pinned on the ajar front door.
"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, approaching from behind having not seen it yet.
Sam motioned with his head over to the door. He couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't sit quite right.
Without needing deliberation Sam led, Bucky on his six. By the time they got to the porch their clothes were drenched, water cascading down their faces.
A mutual look passed between the two of them, Sam proceeding to ease the door wide open.
"Sarah?" He called out for his sister upon entering. Water wanted to pool beneath them, onto the old wooden floor. There weren't any lights on, interior grey due to the inadequate natural lighting.
The silence made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. Creaking of the floorboards under their boots unnecessarily adding tension.
A strong wind made the rain strike against the windows on the front of the house, wind whistling through the open front door.
Entering the front room, the old furniture gave nothing away.
"Sarah?!" Sam now yelled with increased concern.
An unrecognisable individual stepped out from the kitchen. There was a handgun pointed right at Sam, a silencer extending the barrel.
Bucky shoved him out the way, bullet shattering the window behind them.
Sam watched Bucky leap the antique couch, fist landing against the guy's face, making him hit the deck.
The unknown man from the ground tried to raise his gun his way, but Bucky stomped down on the man's wrist, a cry of anguish shaking the old bones of the building. Their attacker curled in on himself clutching his injured arm to his chest.
Through the backdoor in the kitchen burst in two more strangers, men in tactical gear just like the one withering on the floor.
Being in close range Bucky kicked the first one in the gut forcefully, sending the two uninvited guests back out through the door like dominoes, the rain embracing their return.
Footsteps came thundering down the stairs, the long silencers inching round the corner first. Sam dived over the couch, bullets flying, feathered pillows exploding.
Bucky took refuge behind the island counter. Kitchen wares pinged off the surfaces, plates hung in the background shattering.
"Mr Wilson." The gunfire stopped, a male voice speaking with a thick Russian accent.
"Sam!" His sister's voice made him snap upright, no care for the consequences as he rose from behind the couch.
Three men stood with their backs to the flapping front door, two with guns trained on him, one with his sister in his grasp, knife pressed against her neck.
"It's gonna be ok Sarah." Sam locked eyes with her, his heart in his mouth.
Tears streamed down her face, a bruise forming on her cheek. She was resisting as much as she dared, blade at her neck and her life on the line there wasn't much she could do.
Sam looked over his shoulder for his backup, but the kitchen was still, no one seemingly there.
"Where is he?" The man then asked. There wasn't anything that stood out about the Russian, looking to be in his forties, a patchy beard growing randomly.
"Who?" Sam's eyes never left Sarah's frightful stare.
"The Winter Soldier."
As if on cue Bucky passed through the front door, snatching away the man's knife wielding hand from behind. The intruder was never given the chance to harm Sarah.
The man groaned in agony as his hand was crushed in the soldier's metal grasp, knife falling, Bucky catching it in his other hand mid-air. In one rehearsed motion the blade slid into the man's stomach making him gasp a last breath.
Bucky kicked out behind him, setting one of the armed personnel onto one knee, that same knife wrenched from his friend before slicing the throat of the kneeling man.
Ready and keen to go, the knife thrusted through the air, Bucky taking a hold of the final man's aimed gun to pull him towards him. The armed trespasser basically fell into the knife, impaling himself before his body glided from the slick bloodied blade.
Sam could only watch as Bucky whirled round and pinned the fear-stricken Sarah to the archway frame, rain intruding through the waving open front door in the hall.
Her squeal was petrifying, Sam's lungs forgetting how to draw breath as the knife came to a stop inches from her delicate neck.
Bucky was shaking, trembling even. But his face was emotionless, eyes hollow of any presence.
"Bucky!" Sam yelled when he got the chance, everything having transpired in the matter of seconds.
"Put it down." He lowered his voice; panic having had a hold of him originally.
Bucky didn't lower the knife, having one hand on Sarah's shoulder he kept her in place, her chest heaving in and out.
Sam inched forward, Bucky making no attempt on Sarah's life. He just stood there, face a mask. The shake in his hand spoke volumes of internal conflict.
"You need to put the knife down." Sam was almost at Bucky's side.
Every muscle in Sarah's body had tensed, she didn't dare let a tear roll down her cheek, the water welled up in her brown eyes.
"Bucky… Give me the knife." With slow hands Sam reached for the weapon.
There was no reaction when they came into contact, Bucky not putting up a fight as the hilt was eased from his hand.
Once in his hold Sam ditched the knife, thrown behind him onto the porch outside.
He gradually pried Bucky away from Sarah, leading him backward with a firm hand on the front of his shoulder.
Sarah immediately slunk away, taking shelter behind Sam, her hand going to her mouth as she held back a gasp of relief.
It was like seeing a man come back from the dead, face transforming from stern and stifled, to one of utter bewilderment and fear.
"You're alright." Sam kept his hand on the soldier's shoulder.
Bucky's eyes darted around the room, corpses around his feet once again, Sarah hiding behind Sam, her own eyes wild.
Bucky looked down at his hands like they weren't his own. Fresh blood staining them anew.
Sam couldn't stop him, Bucky turned briskly leaving through the front door.
"Bucky!" Sam called after him. He looked to Sarah to make sure she was alright, or at least close to it.
"Go." She insisted, allowing Sam to chase after Bucky.
He hadn't gone far; he was rifling through the boot of the car in the pouring rain.
"Where is it!" Was the first thing Bucky said, he sounded calm, voice not giving anything up.
"Tell me what's going on Buck." Sam stood a few meters away, dirt road turning to mud beneath his feet.
"Where's my gun Sam?" Bucky slammed the boot down, the whole car quaking.
Sam was too surprised by his question to answer.
"Bucky, just stop for a minute." Sam went to move forward but Bucky had already pulled open the passenger side door, finding the gun that had been stowed in the glove box.
He said nothing as he watched the man drop the mag out the bottom of the handgun, checking the ammo in the clip before sliding it back in with a click.
Moving from the car Bucky slammed the door closed making a bang that could challenge the thunder above.
Bucky approached Sam, offering the gun hilt first.
"I need you to promise me something." Bucky forced the gun into Sam's hand, not giving him a choice in taking the thing from him.
"No." Sam told him strongly.
Bucky looked down scrunching his eyes in frustration. He faced Sam again prior to speaking.
"I can't do this again…" Bucky's voice got caught in his throat.
Authors Notes
Sorry for the short delay of the chapter, hopefully that fact it is a little bit longer than the others so far will make up for the fact its late XD I really like this chapter, I hope you did too!