CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX—November 2039
The familiar straw target stared back at her with its pocked face. Nate's scoff at her weak, low arm led to static shock between her elbow, the dry air, and his callus fingers.
Sam felt the sharp drag of feathers across her fingers.
She missed, and her arrow whizzed past the tree to stick in the grass.
"You really aren't getting better, are you?" her pseudo-brother griped.
"Guys, dinner," Clint called from the porch. "Wash up."
Nate was already halfway to the house. She picked up six arrows by herself.
A hand touched Sam's elbow again, but she swiped it away, knocking the offered cereal out of Tony's hand.
The pieces scattered all over Mr. Brum's head and beside his feet.
"Jeez, sorry," Sam said to the old tailor crouched to hem the white button-down being fit for her. She stood atop the carpeted pedestal as she did most days now.
Tony had taken up the project of flame-retardant clothing for her, a task necessary before, but it became imperative after Samantha scorched half of her room in a fight with Missy.
"What was it this time?"
Sam shook her head, trying to keep the rest of her body still. "Nothing. You just scared me." He always asked, but she never told him.
"You know what's funny—" Tony popped a few morsels into his mouth "—I still don't believe you." He popped a few more, adding, "might be onto something with this."
He assumed the blowout had something to do with moving, but Sam understood what Missy had done the instant she heard of Lucas's '100% failure.' That was statistically impossible—unless done on purpose.
Sam tried to think of something less infuriating, more relaxing.
Laura always seemed so calm while doing her morning yoga. She would mumble her to-do list or reminders between breaths.
Her long, dark ponytail dragged across her shoulders before swinging down to dust the floor. She huffed tucking limbs beneath her and grunted to kick her leg high to the ceiling.
"Too similar to last year," Laura said, "Lila will want something different. Maybe Clint could carve a desk for that spare…"
Tony sighed, looking at himself in one of the three mirrors. Sam thought his dark beard looked much coarser than Laura's soft locks.
She tried to count the flecks of silver.
Sam exhaled. "Seventy-four point five," she whispered.
"What was that?" Tony turned.
Sam shrugged.
"Ms. Sass," Brum's shaky old voice rang, "up straight, please. No slouching."
Sam shot a dirty look to the corner mirror.
Tony smirked. "Paid him extra to start calling you that." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, don't be mad. I made you a present."
"Is it as tight as this?" Sam grabbed to pull down the fitted shirt and stabbed her finger with a pin.
The prick healed before she could even look, but Brum's tsk hung in the air.
Yes, Sam thought, I still have no callus. Her 'older brother' would be pleased in his righteous criticism.
Tony walked over to the conference table shoved to one side of the room, producing an enormous, yellow hoodie.
He returned to her side, pride beaming from ear to ear.
Sam smiled at the crinkles cornering his eyes, thankful this was not the look.
"Fully heat-resistant, and—" he snatched it away from her grasp "—you can wear it when Brum is done with your fitted blouse." Tony liked to emphasize Sam's lack of fashion sense. "Total bonus. I'll never lose you in crowded mall—and possibly can see you from space."
Sam frowned but stood tall on her pedestal. "Thank you," she added, "it's hideous."
His smile grew larger.
She had brought this on herself, however, by allowing her Halloween dress to be period correct: a fitted waist was a fitted waist, and Tony knew he was tricking her into compliance. Pandora's wardrobe had been opened, leaving Sam to fight with every garment that came out.
Sam put her hands on her hips to keep them out of Mr. Brumfield's way—no one ever called him by his full name—and glanced over to see the hoodie limp in Tony's hands.
The look. There it was. The one where Tony thought of Pepper but would not say.
The left corner of his mouth twitched, failing to hold a smile. His nostrils flared before his eyes dropped to the right. He held his breath, and because he stood with such intense posture, with his chest high and mighty, it was obvious when it deflated. Tony scuffed at his nose with the back of a thumb to break another sigh.
He recovered quickly, though, using his raised thumb to point behind her.
Sam hadn't noticed Steve Rogers step into the doorway.
"Show's about to start. Romanoff's asking who wants popcorn."
"God, yes," Tony burst, "or we'll all starve to death before Thor is finished."
"You mean you don't love hearing how he single-handedly saved us all…" Steve quirked his head with a smug grin. "Right up until he admits it was Danvers."
Tony patted his tailor's shoulder, and grabbed a bag in the corner. "I'll pack some stuff for alteration."
"Of course, sir," a focused Brum allowed.
"Save us seats," Steve called.
The Induction. The night her friends became what Sam always wanted to be: a true part of the Avengers' team. Sam fought the tight grip in her chest.
She was happy for them, proud of their hard work, but pangs of jealousy would not leave her.
While Mr. Brum removed the pinned top from over the resized second-skin of Johnny Storm, Sam closed her eyes again.
The Barton family watched the dedication of Captain Marvel's colossal statue at the Expo campus. Their shadows eclipsed her vision as each stepped around her to crowd the TV.
Clint off-handedly chose her nickname, S'more, as he passed out treats to the family. Lila was Mint Chip, Cooper was Milk Dud, and Nate Fig Newton.
Licking gooey chocolate off his thumb, Clint seemed so proud of himself, while Laura gasped audibly.
"It's perfect," she'd beamed at her beloved husband.
Resenting being compared to a camp snack with brittle outsides and a squishy center, Sam smiled back politely, and let her dessert go cold.
Steve cleared his throat, standing where Tony vacated. "We've learned the hard way. Everyone gets their own bag."
She had forgotten he was there.
Steve gave Sam a sad smile. He pitied her. She felt it.
"Thank you, Mr. Brum." Sam jumped down.
The old man gathered his things and left, winking at the door. "Goodnight, Ms. Sass."
"Shall we?" Steve waved her through the door first.
Sam sighed but pulled on her fresh sweatshirt with excitement. She smoothed the soft fabric down her front. "You know as much as he hated the costuming and pomp, I'm glad Buck gets a night off of the hunt. He needs a break…"
Steve stared sideways at Sam, his broad shoulders square ahead. "Yeah," the bulky man mumbled, then they walked in silence until he made a gentle gesture to allow Sam on the elevator first.
The chivalry made her uncomfortable, or perhaps it was his stiffness. Sam slipped past, remaining as small as possible.
The smell of popcorn permeated the entire floor.
She rushed out of the opening doors, immediately confronted by a wall of framed photos, including Pepper Potts at their center.
The tight feeling in her chest spread, creeping up her throat and down into her gut.
Sam tried to remember her mother. For all the memories bouncing around in her head, swamping her senses all day long, she had none of Pepper. Not a recording of her voice or an interview, a real memory of her mother, where she saw her face.
Only flashes came. Pepper's hands in the air telling her a story, but Sam couldn't hear her. All the words were garbled.
A tiny, pink plastic tea set, surrounded by stuffed animals at a squat little table, and Pepper's legs so long that her feet poked out underneath the other side.
Painted red nails.
Sam's ears were ringing.
"We almost took you in. Sharon and I." Now Steve sounded so small, and when Sam looked up, she saw glassy eyes viewing her mother from far, far away. "But we…were still trying for our own and then…"
His eyes flickered over the wall, darting from frame to frame.
Sam tentatively asked, "what actually happened? No one talks about it."
Steve confessed total ignorance—a difficult task from his demeanor—and with the same sadness, he added, "Tony seems happy now. It's nice."
Before she could respond, Steve double-timed his walk down the hall, hands deep in his pockets. Sam had to jog to catch up.
Tony had set up a 3-D projection on the surface of another conference table moved into the Atrium. Couches flanked all the sides, and Steve sauntered over to sit beside his wife. Natasha sat adjacent, waiting for Bruce. Tony excitedly jabbered with Rhodey while the pale, blue-hued, semi-translucent mini-god Thor spoke from behind a podium…mostly.
They had turned his volume down on purpose, but the gestures promised a wild ride.
Sam plunked herself down at the end of an empty couch, tucking her feet beneath her, a bowl of popcorn already perched on the arm.
Thor described how Stormbreaker was made, and then veered off into a short history of Nidavillir.
"Why did we let him tell the story?" Rhodes took the other end of Sam's couch and set his bowl on the floor between his legs. "He acts like we were toast until he got there."
Steve grunted. "We were."
Sam flashed to watching her father being pummeled repeatedly by purple fists, stuck immobile in Strange's memory. Her stomach turned. A hum of worry spread through her.
Bruce appeared, standing by Natasha's side. "Yeah, but don't tell him that."
Tony wedged himself between Rhodes and Sam. "I second that. Have you learned nothing?"
Mistress stepped out from behind Banner. "From my analysis, it seems—"
"No," the group collectively chimed.
"The fleshies are talking," Tony said with a raised hand. "Standing room only." He pointed Missy into a corner.
The hum evolved into a twitch of anger. Missy was still allowed to aid Dr. Banner in the lab, while Samantha remained shut out. Her 'friend' took up a stance behind Sam, and her anxiety grew.
"Hey, it's the tribute to Danvers. Quiet." Steve waived for silence.
Rhodey, Rogers, Sharon all simultaneously saluted as Thor sobered in tone.
"But, " Thor bellowed, "Destiny arrived for Thanos that day. And while we were too late to save her, Captain Marvel gave her life to bring back half of the universe. Trillions of beings that owe their existence to a woman, a warrior from this world who became a savior known throughout the cosmos." He took a long pause as lights appeared in the audience, dozens and then hundreds raised. "Her body was returned to family here, on Earth, and we celebrate her life, grateful for every day." Thor lowered his blond head, clasping his hands.
Natasha scooped up popcorn. "Who wants to bet Thor would have made a pass at Danvers?"
Almost everyone raised their hand.
Samantha kept her eyes on the projection. "What happened to the stones?" she whispered to Tony.
Her father squirmed. "Well, it doesn't really ma—"
"Divvied up," Natasha blurted, snacking. "Nebula took the Soul Stone to…can't remember the planet, but only Gamora came back." The assassin shivered and went quiet.
Steve rang his hands. "Vormir. She traded her life for her sister's."
"We should have snapped those rocks out of existence," Rhodes griped.
"You know how much Strange loves his talisman," Tony snorted. "He wouldn't let us. Plus we would lose someone else just to destroy them."
"Wanda seemed mad you didn't make Vision again," Sam mumbled, "at Xavier's…so why did Strange get the Time Stone back?"
Tony shot her a death glare.
Rhodes leaned past Tony. "Maximov also mentioned you almost melted Terrence's face, so—"
"He's a bully." Sam scooted to the edge of the couch. "He called a kid—"
"Shit, I told her not to—" Natasha covered her mouth.
Everyone looked to the screen.
On the projector, Barnes, masked up as Captain America, had just introduced Dagger who strode across the stage in flowing white and gold. Tandy, face covered by her own mask, bent forward into a graceful cartwheel, producing several shards of light when upright that soared towards Bucky.
He raised his shield just in time for the daggers to stick in the metal.
The crowd went nuts.
The corner of Sam's mouth curled up. So Bucky actually was afraid of her hitting him… She noted that all the extra hours of perfecting his costume were entirely worth the effect. He looked glorious.
The lights over the stage flickered, and the noise from the crowd shifted to hesitant concern.
Center stage darkened. A black mist turned to cloud, and gasps rippled through the audience as people noticed the figure enveloped within at different times.
Dagger obliged the spectacle, shooting more shards that passed straight through Cloak and into Cap's shield again.
Deep cheers rose. Nat sighed. "He's gonna kill her."
Bruce put his arm around her for comfort. "No, he's gonna kill you 'cause you didn't stop her."
Natasha pushed Bruce away softly.
Steve crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. "Yes. Shocking how soldiers don't like to be fake-stabbed in public…"
"Technically, those might not wound him," Rhodey added. "Could make him afraid or purge drugs from his system."
"Amazing," Sharon whispered.
"Barnes knows," Nat added, "he wasn't comforted."
"Makes a good entrance," Tony said, nodding respectfully.
"Useful, that's for sure," Rhodes admitted. "Not a lot of teleporters on hand."
Sam sat smugly. Her family liked her friends, and in a way, that reflected well on her.
"Shh." This time Natasha waved for silence. "Nate's up next."
A vice grip circled Sam chest. "What?!"
"—our final addition tonight—RONIN!"
A man in layers of leather with a quiver at his back and an ornate compound bow appeared at the edge of the projection. He took a few steps before mounting an arrow.
Sam knew that gait. She knew that stance.
Her brain seized. He can't—they wouldn't—no.
Nathaniel Barton shot an arrow that ricocheted off the Captain America shield only to be caught in mid-air by Bucky, who threw it back at nearly the same speed. Producing a blade from his thigh holster, Nate sliced the shaft of the arrow cleanly, in half, as he dodged the projectile.
The crowd went nuts.
Missy's hand found her shoulder, firmly pressing Sam down.
Natasha clapped.
Sam didn't breath. Her teeth clenched to the point her neck hurt.
Rhodey put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, leaving a ringing echo in Sam's brain.
Sharon grabbed Steve's thigh and squeezed while her husband put his hand over hers.
Tony pet his beard. "Like father, like son."
Fire overtook Sam, covering her entire body. "You made him an AVENGER!"
People jumped away from her, yelling things she couldn't hear.
There was only the ringing.
"Your namesake—" Sam jumped across the table at Natasha, shattering the glass top "—made my life a living hell."
Liquid cold snaked over Sam's mouth and pressed behind her head. The nanites of Mistress's hand transformed to slither around Sam's arms. She felt solid metal encase her legs and finally her chest.
Sam clawed against the darkness.
"Samantha," Missy spoke as if the words were Sam's own thoughts. She was in her mind.
"Did you know," Sam screamed.
"Please. I've never meant to harm—"
"Like you meant no harm sabotaging Lucas?" Sam's surging anger burst through Missy's armor, allowing the alarmed screams of her audience in, before quickly sealing shut again.
"Eight hundred—approaching one-thousand Celsius. We need to get out of the building."
Missy vented flame from their feet to launch towards the high ceiling of the Atrium.
"Why didn't you sabotage him? He's worse." Sam screamed into the dark, fighting to pry away pieces of a solid mask.
Sam felt her and Missy slam against something, a metal beam from the walkway judging by the sound. She flailed, pulling her arms in to leverage Missy off.
"Samantha, I'm afraid my structural integrity if you do not calm—"
"You know WHAT. HE. DID." Sam contorted, aiming heat to her hands. Missy retracted from the blast, leaving Sam free to claw at the bulk over her body as the pair flew and fell through the air.
Sam spewed fire from her mouth, breaking through the trap of Missy's helmet.
"NOT the windows," Steve Rogers boomed below.
Missy seized. No tiny portion opened against Sam's struggle. They crashed to the ground like lead.
Sam smelled smoke and a tinge of acid.
"You are sealed in, Sam. Please stop fighting."
"I'll go hotter," Sam spat.
"I only ever meant to protect you. Even from yourself."
Metallic fumes filled Sam's nostrils. Shame replaced her fury.
The light died to black.
Tony was right, Sam was more dangerous than she was an asset.
After a moment, Sam saw the sliver of the helmet opening. "Wait," she whispered, "don't let them see me."
Mistress resealed the helmet and lifted them off the floor. "Evacuation required," she announced and flew down the halls straight to their room.
The nanites crept back off her in the quiet. When put back together, Missy stood, as she always used to, at the foot of Sam's bed.
Sam heaved out a smokey sigh. "Wait, did you just create an air-tight seal around me? Like…like a space suit?"
Missy dramatically burped out smoke and offered a quirky smile with Peggy Carter's face.
Sam stepped forward. If she could do something helpful for the whole team, for the world, then…they'd have to make her an Avenger. "I have an idea. We should—"
They turned to the footsteps growing closer in the hall.
The noise stopped before Sam saw anyone.
A red gauntlet waved around the door frame.
"Permission to enter?"
Sam prepared herself to be scolded. What was the punishment for wrecking the largest part of the building? She hadn't let herself see the damage.
Tony poked his head around, deactivating the Iron fist to return into a bracelet. He strode in with the other hand behind his back. He looked around at all the walls, dragging a finger over the old scorch marks to check for fresh burning.
He snatched up her water glass from the desk and tossed the contents down her bathroom sink.
Before he said anything, Tony handed Sam the glass, pulled a bottle of dark green juice from behind his back, and poured.
Sam grimmaced.
"So," Tony began, "you gonna tell me what that was really about or start driver's ed?"
Sam rolled her eyes, trilling her upper lip on an exaggerated exhale. "Your threatening skills are—"
"Highly tailored to my audience? Why, thank you for noticing." He motioned for her to drink.
Sam turned up her nose.
"You know you deserve it—" he wiggled the thick liquid and then whispered "—in the mean way."
Sam collapsed to sit on the floor, slumped in shame. She took a sip. "You're a monster." The punishment fit the crime by taste alone, but the texture… She gagged.
"And you're a terror…to the cleaning crew. No one volunteered to help with this—" he motioned to the black walls "—in case you didn't notice. Do you even know how to load a dishwasher?" He lowered himself beside her, allowing the extra few seconds pause, watching Sam take minuscule sips while she stared forward.
He cleared his throat. "Storytime, kiddo."
Tony patted her thigh in encouragement.
"I never told anybody."
"She knows," he said, nodding towards Missy. "Shall I hand this over to Friday?" He made no move to do so.
He kept waiting.
"Nate's the one who told some kids who I was." Her voice broke halfway through, but it felt good to finally say. "He ratted me out because his friends saw me tutoring him in math. His little sister. Six years younger and I could complete his senior work. They called him dumb. Said I was some kind of puppy dog that followed him around, and he…he just…gave me up."
Tony gave a small nod. Thoughtfully, he took a long swig, draining what was left in the bottle.
"I couldn't go to anyone's birthday party or sleepover, not that I was asked a lot, but some parents got really aggressive trying to make me get along with their shitty kids. Laura went ballistic on the principle, on the phone and in-person—never heard her so angry—so the parents stopped. The kids never really cared, but…
"The Iron Orphan name stuck."
Tony responded quietly. "Why didn't you tell Clint about Nate?"
"At the time, I didn't want him to…lose his relationship with his parents…like me."
To her surprise, Tony swung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side. "Well." There was a long breath. "He is a little shit—" he motioned to take her glass and finished it himself "—but he's got his father's aim."
Sam remained stiff, shocked, in his arms.
Tony rubbed her shoulder. "What else?"
"I was behind some shelves in the library when…Nate didn't know I'd heard him say it until I told him. On the back of a bike. That I got thrown from."
Sam tilted her head up, looking ashamed.
"Ah huh."
"I'm sorry. He just. He makes me so angry. I covered for him, and now I'm more powerful than him and he gets—"
Tony clunked the glass down on the floor and sprang up faster than a man his age should.
"To the garage!" He offered her a hand.
Not the goddamn driving again. "Dad, I didn't know. I'll fix it all myself. I'll go apologize right n—"
"It's not a punishment—you think I'd let you inside one of my babies right now—no." He touched his chest, appalled. "It's just that that's where the second-best sound system in the building is—aside from the lab which we can't—anyway, hop up. Therapy awaits!"
The quinjet ride had at least been quiet on its return to campus. Nate Barton stayed to celebrate with family and friends, while Tyrone ensured he and Tandy wasted no time stepping out of darkness and into Xavier's hallways. Both had to pack up the rest of their rooms for transport while they traveled for a mission.
Bucky was grateful for the help but more grateful for a few days off. When the crisp air hit his lungs on the landing pad, he welcomed a surge of freedom and a damn change of clothes.
As he shuffled through the glass doors and the last blast of cold pinched off behind him, Steve rounded from the hall.
Bucky smiled. "Did what you said, punk. Acted like I was just talking to you back in the day. What'd ya think?" Bucky pulled at the neck of his suit to no avail. The whole thing would have to come off, but with all the engineering done to make it look just so, he wasn't sure anyone had thought of how he could get out of it without help.
Steve parked himself in Bucky's path, his face stone. "There's been an incident. You need to nip this in the bud. Now."
Bucky cocked his head in surprise. The jet had not been flagged with D-Lite capture coordinates or he would be out on a mission. "Ok. Where am I going?"
"She nearly set fire to—Samantha almost brought the whole building down on us."
Sharon held her husband's shoulder. "Honey."
Bucky pulled off his gloves, lifting an eyebrow. "Is she okay? Why? What happened?"
"Sam is fine—" Sharon pulled at Steve "—everyone is fine. Thankfully."
"She's a child. She could have killed us," Steve blurted.
"Am I missing something?" Bucky pulled at the suffocating collar of his skin-tight suit.
"She calls you Buck. You didn't notice she has a crush on you?"
Bucky's mind turned over slowly. "You call me Buck…"
"And going as Dolores for Halloween didn't set off any alarms?"
Sharon had to push down Steve's flailing arms. "I think what he means is that Sam is very young—"
"And unstable," Steve spat.
"—so we were just a little worried," Sharon finished.
"I don't—what the hell, Steve? Do you really think I would—"
"Shuri told me what you asked for."
It was Bucky's turn to throw his arms up. "I'm not allowed to get someone a birthday present?"
"It's jewelry made out of a piece of you."
"It's sym-bol-ic! She helped make me feel complete." Bucky shoved his fleshy left hand in his friend's face.
"You drove into a tsunami."
"I already have two strikes with the Stark family. Did you really think Tony was gonna—"
"You weren't responsible for her care."
"Who would convince him of that?! Oh, sorry, sir—" Bucky warped his voice "—looks like your daughter drowned just a couple of minutes before you returned home. Hope you weren't planning to apologize for breaking her arm. Also, be sure that you don't blame the guy nearby who choked your parents to death by hand!"
"Boys," Sharon interrupted, "everybody take a breath."
Bucky pressed on. "What the hell is your problem? I don't have feelings for a child." As soon as the word passed his lips, he swallowed a bitter taste. Something wasn't quite right.
"Well then you have an interesting way of showing it," Sharon said. "You did get very agitated in D.C."
"Lucas is an asshole," Bucky blurted.
"It's time to leave the fight for Sam's honor to Tony. That's all we're saying."
"No," Steve corrected, "I'm saying that he needs to make sure Samantha doesn't level this place because she thought—" he waved a finger in front of Bucky's face "—anything was happening, and she's suddenly disappointed."
"You two have been sitting at home for way too long. There's nothing—" his shoulder blades seized up to his ears "—just no—I can't believe you'd even—" he tugged at the collar again "—dammit. I gotta get out of this damn thing."
Steve blocked his path, glaring over his features, dissecting.
Bucky's discomfort multiplied. He had to get away from this. He was too taken aback, too exhausted, and too grumpy to handle these two. "I've been shot at three times tonight. You think I won't take a swing?"
He held his hands up, matching Steve's intense gaze.
"We're going," Sharon offered, though Steve looked unconvinced, "but the point still stands. You need to manage it. Quickly."
He side-stepped Steve and left for his room, pulse throbbing in clenched fists. Bucky rarely heard her so strict outside of missions, but he lowered his head to peek at her behind him. "I understand," he offered before turning the corner.
Only, he really didn't understand. His thoughts darted around between memories.
They're full of shit. That's…insane. I don't like Samantha Stark. I do, but not how they mean…so I don't love—no—no! What bullshit? He's lost it. They've lost it. I'm alone. I'm always gonna be—
Even as the rejection pounded his mind, he pictured Sam back in Wakanda, working patiently while the cradle scanned his arm. Two lonely people in the same room.
He pictured her rush to cover scars with the red shawl at the wedding, and then he remembered how close her smooth arms had been while working at his shoulder. He felt her cold, defrosted body against his chest as he'd raced down the stairs, and the tickle of her hair on his nose and cheek after Tony yelled at them both, so much warmer then.
Bucky stared at the carpet in his room. How long have I been standing here?
Removing the suit did not release the pressure building in his chest. He tried pushups on the floor, assuming the adrenaline of fighting with Rogers had not flushed itself out yet.
He took a shower.
The steam reminded him of waking to find Sam unconscious in the mud.
That's your job. You save people.
Opening his drawer for clothes, he found the bottle of James Buchanan Whisky, pristinely tucked in its box. Why did he keep it hidden? Why did he never share that gift?
Guilt, he used to think, that I almost failed to save her. It was a symbol of how much Sam gave to help him, and after all these years as being Captain America, the hero, or Winter Soldier, the assassin, or Sergeant Barnes, the soldier, it was nice to be reminded he had a real name. He had humanity again.
James Buchanan.
His thumb slid over the smooth label.
For a man who barely recognized himself in a mirror until recently, that was a big deal. A real name for a real man who had real hopes and dreams.
And in return for that, he was giving her a gift, one that proved he was grateful, something that could remind her of the good she'd done.
Bucky blustered in his head. It's symbolic, as he'd said to Steve.
Samantha Stark was a symbol, a symbol of the innocents they all fought to save, the kind to protect from harm, the kind that deserved a full life.
Saving Sam was a symbol of saving all their hopes and dreams.
She had to be protected. How could Steve argue with that?
He had to make sure she was ok.
Bucky grabbed the bottle and headed for Sam's room. A few people saw him in the hall and congratulated him on a great job on stage. That felt like days ago now.
He tentatively knocked, called her name. The word felt tingly on his lips, and he coward slightly at the unfamiliar feeling.
Mistress stood like a statue at the end of the bed.
He swallowed another bitter taste. "Missy, where is Sam?"
The answer was more surprising than Peggy Carter's face telling him, but Bucky made his way down to the garage.
One-hundred feet down the hall, he could hear it already:
I'm going off the rails on a crazy train!
He slowed and peeked around the corner at the door.
Sam and Tony stood back to back, him holding a pair of screwdrivers to drum in air and her strumming a non-existent guitar, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"Mental wounds not healing. Driving me insane. I'm going off the rails on a crazy train!"
Bucky had never seen Sam look so happy. She was free.
A light show of colors started under her skin, and Tony cheered her on for her solo, a rippling rainbow of power condensed into human form.
She was magnificent.
Bucky's stomach plummeted, and his throat swelled shut. Before the thought coalesced into words, his legs were rushing him back down the hall, away from his fear.
He was wrong. She wasn't a symbol; he fought to save Sam, to protect Sam, to give Sam a full life. He came home for Sam.
Fuck.
A/N: Featuring the song "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne c.1980