Having finally given up on casting water from its clutches the clouds had grown still, leaving the sky grey but free of falling rain. The wind had settled too, tempest being subdued for now.

Following the coordinates that Torres had given them Sam and Bucky had taken their repossessed car for one last drive. They were now parked in an empty field, having had to go off road to reach the location. It was a long stretch of empty space, the ground surprisingly hard after all the rainfall, most of the ground consisting of stone.

Sam stood in the open, at the boot of the car, having re-dawned his new suit. He was on edge, unsettled by something. Sam wanted to be ready for whatever was about to be thrown at them. After all Hydra was on their tail.

Sam only noticed after a few minutes that he had been ogling the Vibranium shield within the car boot. He couldn't shake the feeling it was judging him in some way or another, just like the rest of America. Maybe even the world.

Annoyed with the drawn-out string of unpleasant commentary that was taking place within his mind, Sam snatched up the shield, ending the thoughts for now.

As if he had done it a million times Sam attached the shield to his back. Finally, it felt like his. Not only that, but it felt good to have his wings returned to him as well, the gift of flight noticeable when its gone, easy to feel helpless when grounded, a freedom like no other in the skies above.

The boot smacked shut and Sam rounded the side of the car.

Bucky leant against the bodywork; arms folded. His jacket was resting on the roof of the vehicle, long grey sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dog tags hanging from the chain around his neck.

It wasn't cold, the wind having died down allowed the humidity of Louisiana to gain some ground in the environment. The weather never bothered Sam. It was just good to be on home turf, even though it seemed his stay was only brief and not on the best of circumstances.

They had been through so much already, the last few days a mess. Now the evening was rolling in again, sun wanting to set on another awful day.

"How you feeling?" Sam questioned Bucky, the man's face attempting with all its might to hide the physical pain that was afflicting him. Bucky had his jaw clenched shut as he endured whatever hell was toiling within his mind.

Keeping his arms crossed, he offered a shaky thumbs up to Sam.

"What's going on up there?" Sam tried another question, one that couldn't be answered with a simple thumbs up.

What Sam meant by 'up there', was of course him referring to Bucky's mind.

"I keep forgetting." Bucky surprisingly answered him.

Sam hadn't expected that. He had foreseen himself digging at the man for possibly an hour before getting anything more than a grunt or a nod of the head out of him. He had no clue what Bucky was having to deal with, even though he had replied, it gave little insight.

"Forgetting what?"

"Who I am." Bucky sighed.

It was clearly taking everything for Bucky to keep it together. Whatever had been done to him having really broken him up inside.

Sam stepped in front of the man. He wasn't afraid of him. He was his friend.

"You know who you are." Sam prodded his finger against one of the metal dog tags on Bucky's chest, making the other jangle in protest at the assault of its friend.

Bucky took the tags up in his hand, eyes tracing his own name pressed into the old metal.

"I'm not that guy from Brooklyn who first put these on." Bucky let them fall back in place.

"And you would be right." Sam agreed, Bucky refolding his arms. "After enlisting, no ones the same Bucky."

Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of something in the distance.

Sam having spotted it over Bucky's shoulder. They both watched the plane come into land. It was United States military. A small plane, built to carry only a handful of troops.

It was still large enough to struggled to stick the landing, the ground uneven in places making the aircraft skip through the air a few meters.

Eventually the thing came to a stop, the engines whirling away.

Sam couldn't help but recollect that they had been on a plane similar to this only a few days ago, before all the chaos began. They sat as they did then, on opposite sides of the fuselage, keeping to their own for the most part.

However, this time Sam wasn't relaxed, he was alert and ready to go. His heart rate not wanting to settle. Every time his mind wandered; it was to Sarah. The what ifs working him up all over again.

It was a lot, and there's no manual on how to deal with shit like this.

Elbows on his knees he reclaimed himself from them troublesome thoughts, changing the subject of his own internal dialogue like flicking a switch.

It had been over four hours since they had left the ground, so far, they had mostly been silent. With nothing pleasant to talk about. Why talk at all.

Sam hadn't recognised the pilot that had greeted them, the second never showing their face from the cockpit of the plane. Of course, the pilot he did see never asked questions already having his orders, Sam not asking any in return.

Having worked alongside the air force for a while now he was getting to know them familiar faces, especially the ones who were assigned to his missions. So, it was a bit odd to meet someone knew on a sensitive assignment such as this.

"I'm assuming you know that Wakanda doesn't allow direct air traffic?" Bucky had sparked up the conversation. There's a first time for everything after all.

"We're looking to land nearby. Military grade plane like this, wouldn't look good to head for the front door." Sam sat himself straight, hands on his lap. The shield sat on the bench next to him, but his wings were still securely to his back, cowl pulled up, visor on.

Bucky nodded satisfied, ready to go back into a brooding silence.

"You never spoke about your time in Wakanda." Sam wasn't about to let the talk be snuffed out so easily, not after Bucky had been the one to prompt the conversation in the first place. A rarity that he wasn't going to let slide away so quickly.

"Well, I was on ice for most of it." Bucky shrugged.

"Fair enough." Sam wasn't sure how far he could go before Bucky would retreat. He tried it anyway in an effort to keep them talking. "How long did it take for them to pull you out?"

"I don't know." Bucky clearly was not enjoying the questioning, for some reason he answered anyway. "Sort of… given up trying to keep count of lost time." Bucky lent his head back, taking a sharp breath, the stabbing in his brain always present. He was just becoming better at hiding it.

"Fair enough." Sam repeated.

He had no clue what else to say.

What do you say in that situation to someone who's spent the majority of their life frozen in cryostasis?

There was no stopping the conversations death now. It was a terrible, slow, awful death. But die it did.

After hours of keeping his eyes open, refusing his body the sleep it so desperately needed Sam had eventually started to doze off. He was sitting up straight, the wings within the pack on his back pressed up against the back of the bench seat. The planes seating wasn't the most comfortable, but it really didn't matter at this point.

Sam could've sworn he had only attempted to rest his eyes for just a second. It appears he was never able to get them open again. Arms folded over each other, in an unpleasant position, he was somehow sinking into a pleasant slumber.

Out of nowhere. like a cruel trick, mind messing with him, taunting him. Sam could hear the Russian words that had played on the voice recorder from the Canadian warehouse basement.

'Otkazoustoychivyy, prizrak.'

Even in his sleep Sam was not able to escape reality and what had transpired.

Was he blaming himself for Bucky's current predicament? Most likely.

After all it was Sam who led them into that warehouse, down into that basement, straight into the hands of Hydra. He had basically handed Bucky over, wrapped, and ready to go.

'Otkazoustoychivyy, prizrak.'

There it was again. Voice snide.

"No!" Bucky's frightened cry snapped Sam's eyes right open.

"Otkazoustoychivyy, prizrak." The pilot that had greeted them previously, repeated the Russian words. He now had a Russian accent, having been hiding it before when he had first greeted Sam and Bucky. Sam had missed the mark again.

Bucky was on one knee, having fallen from his seat, maybe in an attempt to reach the pilot who stood a few meters away. Safe from Bucky's wrath.

Sam with panic in his veins snatched up the shield at his side, tossing it at the pilot making him stop his chanting. The shield struck the pilot in the shoulder, knocking him into the side of the plane hands flailing for balance.

The shield hadn't returned to Sam, having thrown it with such haste with no time to calculate a trajectory. It oscillated on its Vibranium edge before coming to a rest on the floor.

Sam cared little for the fallen shield. He charged the pilot, grabbing the cuffs of the man's overalls.

"Who are you!" He demanded with a ferocity he never knew he possessed. An anger that was being drawn from the supply he was directing at himself. It was limitless.

"Ya gotov otvechet." Bucky's voice had changed with the Russian dialect, becoming rough and course.

Both Sam and the pilot looked over at the soldier.

He looked to no longer be in pain, not a hint of discomfort as he stood. That blank stare was back.

The pilot In Sam's grasp chuckled.

"Hail Hydra." The pilot sneered at Sam with an awful grin of victory. "Zimniy soldate, v ataku." Sam had heard those words before.

It had been a command that Zemo had given Bucky back at the bar in Madripoor. Sam could recall the devastation Bucky had let loose on those who painted themselves as a target. And he had been holding back.

Like a striking snake the Winter Soldier sprang into action.

Sam shoved the pilot, his back hitting the wall of the plane.

The soldier went wide with his first swing. Sam waited just long enough for him to be committed to the momentum, dipping back, and jabbing the soldier in the side as a counter. Having known the position of the bullet wound it had had an effect, making the soldier grunt and recoil slightly.

Sam knew all too well how their last fight had ended, resulting in a sickening worry building in the back of his mind.

Recovered from the dirty blow to his injury the soldier swung again, this time keeping his arms close, not leaving his side open this time. The new stance forced Sam to square his shoulders, arm up parrying the strike.

Like a choreographed danced they exchanged blows, Sam using the soldier's own strength against him to deflect the punches, but he couldn't keep it up, the soldier grabbed his shoulder with his metal hand, other hand rolled into a fist rapidly laying into his stomach.

Something cracked. Something that definitely wasn't supposed to.

The soldier was ruthless. No more holding back. He was attacking to kill.

The fist then changed target, hitting him square in the nose knocking Sam back. Somehow Sam stayed on his feet. He wasn't even sure himself how his feet still held him up, hands gripping his most likely broken ribs, the injury not allowing him to stand properly.

Blood dripped warmly from his nose. Probably broken too. Sam breathed through his mouth, panted breaths, eyes locked on the soldier.

The soldier moved up, Sam staggered back a few steps in response, giving him them extra seconds to strategize before they were locked in combat again. A plan needed to be formed anytime now.

Sam's wings extended around in front of him, taking the Vibranium fist directly, the shock of the collision being absorbed. The soldier grabbed the edge of a wing, throwing Sam into the side of the plane, the airborne craft shaking precariously. Wings still out Sam weaved his head out of the way of the incoming metal fist. It pierced straight through the plane fuselage, wind screeching as pressure was lost.

Sam used his jet to boost him away from the soldier. The sound of gunfire instinctively forced Sam to wrap a wing around himself. The pilot had taken up arms, offering cover fire as the soldier recovered his arm from the hole he had made.

Sam took notice of the shield at his feet, having unknowingly made his way over to it. Wings retracted on command the shield back in his hands but only for a moment. He forced the shield to take flight. Spinning in a blur of red, white, and blue it found its target, striking the gun from the pilot's hand. The sucking wind didn't allow the shield to return, throwing the thing off its original return path. The soldier caught it instead.

Sam's wings didn't come back out in time to defend him from the hurled shield. It struck him in the upper chest, his back meeting the floor wings open.

The soldier jumped up. Shield above his head, ready to crash down on Sam.

A wing dived in to defend Sam. The shield struck with a force that shook the entire plane. The Vibranium edge had pierced the wing. Sam eyes wide as the protruding shield sat inches from his face.

The soldier wrenched it free, readying another blow. Sam whirled his wing round, batting the soldier and shield away from him, both hitting the side of the plane.

Something changed. Whether the plane had had enough, Sam couldn't be certain. But the plane dipped down into a nosedive. Everything that wasn't strapped down hit the ceiling, gravity joining the battle.

Sam's own wings pinned him to the ceiling the jet on his back useless in this situation.

The plane was going down. And they were going with it.

Authors Notes

I reallllllly like this chapter :P I hope you all did too!