Winter of the White Wolf: Post S1 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

by KLeCrone

While Bucky would prefer to believe that his time as the Winter Soldier is long behind him, strange dreams and the shadows of missing memories prompt him to explore where the Winter Soldier ends and the White Wolf begins... This story dives into the bonds of friendship, the aftermath of betrayal, and includes a lively mix of banter, action, angst, and globe-trotting adventure.

73. Apertures for Silhouettes

I hope all of you are having a wonderful week!

I had the honor of working with HardWiredWeird ("hardwiredweird" on Twitter) on an action-packed painting he created to accompany a scene from this chapter.

Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and link to his social media pages to see more of his art!

Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"

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Winter of the White Wolf

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Chapter 73 - Apertures for Silhouettes

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Summary:

Barnes and Sam work together to meet their latest set of challenges, until new findings present themselves…

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True to Barnes's prediction, neither of 'em managed to land a tag on Okoye. And by Sam's calculations? They hadn't even come close.

Now to be fair, Barnes and the other Dora had maybe a half an hour and change of a head start on the festivities. They were already warmed up and peppered with perspiration, bruises, and grime and had done rounds of hydrating and high-tech mending long before Sam'd seen fit to strut out onto their grassy playground.

So he had that goin' for him.

He was reasonably fresh, reasonably rested, and after that last talk with Barnes, he was surprised to find that niggling part of his brain that was being extra weary about the other guy just… quiet. Unperturbed. That wasn't to say it was impossible somethin' could go wrong, but if Shuri was sayin' he was his own sorts of stable, then Sam was finding himself increasingly less concerned about havin' a repeat of the other day out of the blue. Especially when it was abundantly clear that Barnes was not only doing his best to be careful, but was genuinely proficient of finding a middle ground between what he was physically capable of, and what he was actually seeing fit to do with that super-strength of his.

The interesting thing was, the more Sam thought about it, the more outlying threads he found himself picking at. For one, it was obvious he and Barnes didn't have a lot of real world experience on the teamwork front, but if he pulled back the veil and regarded what he and Buck'd had, well… it wasn't as far removed as a lotta people might'a assumed.

The two of 'em practiced tandems, sure, but neither of 'em had brought up sparring against one-another. At the time, it seemed, frankly? Awkward. Unnecessary. And it just opened 'em up to not only unnecessary injuries, but a stern talkin' to from Sarah if they weren't careful.

When they two of 'em were on missions, they fought together, sure, but the more Sam thought about that, the more he realized what that actually entailed wasn't much different from the original one-on-one approach they'd naturally fallen into here. Usually it meant they'd split up. He'd go high and Buck'd go low, and they'd take care of business on two fronts before meetin' up in the middle. And the few times they'd fought alongside each other? It was usually more of the same. More of each of 'em individually pickin' their next target and layin' into them, and less of the unified, highly collaborative spirit you saw with say, the Dora Milaje.

Barnes's comment about 'Team Underdog' sung to an acknowledgement of that undeniable strength of the women facin' 'em, but what Barnes probably didn't realize was that this was a flavor of new territory for Sam as well. Which was refreshing, in a way. A new challenge where neither of 'em had much of a leg-up in terms of synergizing with the man standin' beside 'em.

That being as it was, once the two of 'em actually stepped aside and started planning out engagement strategies, things got a whole lot more interesting.

It was a little strange, to be sure. Huddling and keepin' their voices hushed so they wouldn't be overheard by the regaliaed women standing a short distance away, but somewhere a round or two after the warriors facin' off had swapped places and Okoye had victoriously retained her flawless Quarry title, Sam and Barnes started plotting how they could use more of the field. Find ways to use it to their advantage.

In short order, Barnes began leaning into his agility, and Sam finally decided it couldn't hurt to get back into practice with the wings in earnest. Doubling-down on that: He assured himself that in this case, there was no shame in using the premiere feature of the suit against the folks that'd gifted 'em to him in the first place.

Now the two of them still weren't magically in sync, but as time went on, the two of them were at least a little more situationally aware of just what their teammate was up to, even if what came after their planned plays often felt a lot more like battle improv than Sam would've preferred.

But the tone, yeah the tone was different.

Well, mostly different.

"Tapping her with the shield would be considered a 'win,' so why aren't we doing that again?" The world's most annoying cyborg whispered-complained.

"Because it's poor manners," Sam defended, keeping his voice hushed as the two of them mock-huddled.

"You're just worried one of them is going to take it and make you look bad."

"I am not worried anyone's gonna take it," Sam insisted in his best Captain America voice, "We're just close enough to the ledge that I don't wanna risk it."

"Risk what?"

"Well, if they block – which we both know they will – then it's liable to ricochet off."

"Then you… go after it. You know, with those things on your back." Barnes made that fluttering motion with his fingers again.

It looked ridiculous.

Sam did not look anything like that.

"I have some impressive clips from your last engagement in case you would like to review them," Shuri chirped from a short distance away. She stood gathered with her brother and Okoye as the three of them kept tabs on the action from within the bounds of their makeshift encampment. "There is even a portion that could form an amusing loop if you–"

Sam piped up his voice, "Not helping!" He turned his attention back to the scheming man in front of him, "Fine. We'll try the shield thing if it'll shut you up, but I swear to god, if you let her take it–"

"Why would you blame me if you let her have it? That sounds like a you problem." Barnes paused a beat before adding, "...Wait. You just don't want Shuri to get it on video. Is that it?"

"What?" Sam swiped his hand side to side in front of him, maybe a little too quickly, "That's ridiculous."

"It's definitely that."

"Smartass."

"Just try not to take the bait this time," Barnes helpfully suggested.

"How 'bout you try not to get laid flat by the counter this time."

Barnes rolled his eyes, taking a hold of the reins of the conversation like he was somehow the de facto point person on their little two-man 'team.' Which he definitely wasn't, "On three."

"Two," Sam half-grumbled as he turned and adjusted his visor. Across the field, Yama and Ayo stood at the ready in Guard stance, while Nomble played Quarry a few steps behind 'em.

Sam and Barnes's latest scheme had a number of tactical phases that relied on them each managing to get into position before springing to the next stage. Their ultimate goal was to see if they could get Barnes around their perimeter, feign like they were back to doing those one-on-one brawls, then see if Sam could sweep in and land a tag on Ayo with the shield when they least expected it.

That was the plan, at least.

From the sidelines, Okoye shouted a few words of something that made Yama's expression soften into a hint of a devious grin.

…That probably didn't bode well.

"What'd she say?" Sam whispered out the side of his mouth.

"She reminded them that Shuri is recording if either of them would like a video with them wielding the shield."

"First off – Rude. Secondly–"

Barnes leaned forward as he stated the final command to jog them into action, "One."

Then they were off!

Like they planned, Barnes cut across the field, bearing down on the two Guards like a locomotive while Sam kept pace a step behind and to the side of him. But unlike other times, this time when Barnes first made tactical contact against the nearest spear's shaft, Sam landed an immediate block with the shield and came through with a high-energy follow-up with his leading elbow. He pitched his weight forward and used the momentum of the slam to carry himself up and over with a kick from the boosters on his back.

Ayo was visibly taken off-guard by the sudden change in tactics and eagerness to use vertical space. Reflexively, she went to raise the end of her spear to prevent Sam from completing the maneuver, but instead found her spear solidly locked in place by Barnes.

So she improvised.

Sam wasn't entirely sure how she managed it, but one moment he was in a smooth vault, and the next, it was like someone'd grabbed ahold of a corner of his pack and denied him an inch more airtime.

To his best guess? Ayo must've gotten a boost from Yama in there somewhere, but her counter was downright effective.

Sam's landing wasn't elegant by a long shot, but when his feet slammed against the ground, his knees threw up complaint and he saw Nomble was already pivoting backwards to try to put more space between herself and her air-capable nemesis, giving Ayo time to adjust and evolve her tactics. While Yama worked to free Barnes's hands from Ayo's spear with a cruel twist, Ayo looked at Sam with an expression he hadn't seen from her before. It took him a second to parse it.

She wasn't mad, no. But there was a layer there that was new, and the moment Sam processed just what it was, he realized things were about to get a whole lot more challenging in short order.

Because those intense eyes of hers? They had a way of declaring 'Oh? So this is how it's gonna be? Bring it.'

Sam was guessing Barnes hadn't caught that flare of renewed challenge in her expression, but as she honed in on Sam, it was clear she was gettin' ready to dance. When she whipped her spear forward in an attempt to drive him back, Sam popped his wings in front of him like a vibranium-feathered shield to block the hit. The clang of metal striking metal crashed inches in front of him, but the wings held firm, and a moment later, he could make out a scuffle of shadows just beyond his protective cocoon – and a grunt belonging to Barnes.

He couldn't tell the minutiae of the play-by-play that'd transpired while his wings'd been up, but when he eyeballed a set of split-toed Dora boots a step away, Sam timed it so he could swung his left wing free and push the nearest Dora back and out of the way.

He felt resistance as the wing made solid contact and he swept her aside. Yama went tumbling, and for half a second, he was worried it might've done more than knock the wind out of her, but he need't have worried, because she thrust that spear of hers into the ground and vaulted herself back to her feet in no time flat to return to guarding her Quarry like she was a magnet to the task.

In fact, Sam might've been distracted enough about the wing-jitsu that he didn't see Ayo winding up for the counter – But Barnes did.

Now Barnes was admittedly already in motion and out of position. He wouldn't have been able to insert himself between Ayo and Sam to any viable degree, so he did the next best thing: He grabbed a hold of Sam's nearest wing and pulled.

The sheer impropriety of the act might've been a bold insult, but it had the desired effect, and that spear of Ayo's whiffed right through where Sam's shoulder had been only a half a second before, "Hey!"

"You're welcome," Barnes shouted back as he swiftly re-centered himself and went right back into the fray without a moment's hesitation.

This guy.

Yama'd already shuffled herself into position for the follow-through, but Sam was surprised how different it felt when the two opposing groups came to blows again. It was an intense, rapid assault involving feet, hands, and what felt like more'n two spears in the thick of things, but he and Barnes were actually makin' some headway too!

Nomble was anything but bored in her role. She was forced to keep light on her feet to avoid the occasional attempted tag, even though he and Barnes repeatedly came up empty handed for their efforts

The closest go yet was credit to a team-play where Barnes managed to insert himself between Ayo and Yama long enough for Sam to try to shoot through the opening between their bodies.

He'd paid for his bold attempt in short order, though, because his daring to be that close to the ground meant Yama considered it fair game to deliver a lesson of her own.

Sam wasn't sure how she managed it, but she caught the tip of her spear between the vibranium feathers with enough force that when he tried to retract 'em back into his pack, they caught in her blade. Not to be deterred, she used her other hand to maintain a grip on her spear, which held fast to his harness. Barnes came to his aid and cut her off with an open-palmed push-kick combo that might've actually landed him ownership of her spear… had she not been firmly attached to it at the time —

– And had the leading edge of the blade not still been embedded between those resplendent vibranium plumes.

Sam and Yama went tumbling through the air like a pair of unhinged acrobats, a blur of bright color trapezing across a sprawl of grass.

And at the tail end of it, Sam saw his moment.

There weren't a lot of great angles to work with, and his instincts were hollerin at him that the best shot of tagging Nomble was to bounce the shield off the nearest ship parked within an arm's toss away. That being as it was, his gut was also loudly insistent it wasn't good manners to try and land a ricochet off someone's ride, especially when the ride in question was owned by, or at least leased by members of the royal family.

So that was out.

But the trees… the trees were fair game.

He just had to hope he could nail the angle so it would bounce, rather than slicing its way into the bark instead.

So while the Dora were out of position and Sam was midway through a begrudging tuck-and-roll courtesy of his teammate, he slung the shield wide and let'er rip, hoping his sweaty palms didn't lead to him missing the shot.

But what happened next wasn't out of any playbook Sam'd ever dreamt up.

In the blink of the eye, the shield streaked true, tapping against the tree he'd been aiming for with enough momentum that it carried over flawlessly into the next arboreal target.

The aim was better'n perfect, and if Nomble just stayed right where she was, after another clean tap, the shield would come soaring back and score them their first win of the morning.

Sam was still tumblin' through the grass, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was casually aware that the pressure against his wing suddenly let up, credit to Yama retracting her spear and pulling her arm back.

And as that shield hit against the second tree trunk and ricocheted back towards the group on a bee-line to where Nomble was standing, Yama chucked that cylinder of hers for all it was worth.

It happened so fast that Sam didn't even have time to process what she'd been intending to accomplish as his shoulder hit the ground, but as he watched, her spear reformed into its full length in midair, and through some uncanny Wakandan witchcraft, somehow managed to slide under the shield and get caught up in the leather straps underneath, forcing the the oversized frisbee off-course and away from where Nomble was hustling.

Now if the spear had been free to continue its rerouted journey, it would've no doubt shot across the field and embedded itself into the grass with a stolen shield slung over its back, and by Sam's calculation? Ayo would'a been able to haul tail over to claim it before he'd have been halfway to standing.

But instead, the fused armaments stopped in midair: caught by Barnes.

His vibranium arm was stretched out, rigidly gripping the lip of the shield while the other'd held the shaft. The catch was so buttery smooth, so intentional that for a second there, Sam was almost breathless to believe the remarkable skill and timing it'd taken to pull off, but the fact he was certain, certain something in the shifting expressions running over Barnes's pale face spoke to some part of him remembering a similar catch at some point too.

But Sam didn't have any time to ask about what that might've entailed, because Barnes carried through with the motion of the shield and ever-so-gently 'booped' Nomble with it, scoring "Team Underdog" their first point of the match.

Or was that two points, considering he'd snatched Yama's spear in the process, too?

"I got it on video!" Shuri jubilantly announced from across the clearing, earning her a genuine smile from her brother. Okoye stood beside them, and while she said nothing, Sam got the impression she was suitably impressed as well.

Yama was first to her feet, and she offered Sam an arm up from ground while Barnes stepped towards them. He rapidly separated the spear from the shield and handed the armament back to Yama without delay. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to, but Sam didn't miss that Yama offered him a quiet whisper when he came near, "That was a counter worthy of a gloat. Well done." She'd been facing Sam when she made the statement, but he was pretty sure the better part of fifty-percent of the words were meant for Barnes, and that this was Yama's way of getting around Okoye's mandate to not speak with the man they were testing.

She was clever, that one.

"I had a role in it too, you know," Sam insisted.

Yama only smiled.

Barnes inclined his head and accepted the compliment, but Sam didn't miss that Barnes's own expression grew more distant, almost borderline guarded as he waited for Sam to brush himself off. The way he clutched the shield wasn't possessive or the least bit antagonistic, but it was obvious something was workin' its way through that cyborg brain of his. Processin'.

Sam debated if it was appropriate to pry considering the Wakandans were still standing around prepping for another go, but if he wasn't gonna ask, who would? He did his best to exude sympathy into his voice rather than the banter that came so easily to him, "What is it?"

Barnes's sky blue eyes flicked up to his, and he rapidly passed the shield back to Sam, as if he was self-conscious, even guilty for hanging onto it any longer than he strictly needed to.

But surprisingly, he didn't shut Sam out, "I…" he made a face like he was trying to chew through his thoughts and sort out the gristle, "It was just for a moment. A flash. But…" his eyes dropped to the shield, scrying over the red, blue, and silver surface of it, "I've caught it before. This shield," he specified, "You tossed it." He ran his fingers together, slowly adding, "...But the other one. The one he tossed. I only ever remembered catching it. Blocking it. Out of necessity, in Washington D.C." His eyes lifted back to Sam's, "But for a second, it was like I could almost recall tossing it back and forth with him. But I don't know when that would've been, unless…" his voice faded out into the wind.

Sam didn't need a map to see where he'd been headin' – That the other man might've somehow managed to catch a flicker of something credit to a time before HYDRA. Before his earliest memory to date.

A time when, apparently, he and Steve'd slung a similar shield around too.

It took Sam a second to process that. To roll around the casual fact and how it sat nested beside the implications that sprung out of it like weeds. It wasn't that he hadn't considered the possibility that Buck'd done practice rounds with the shield before the two of them had slung it back and forth against trees out back in Delacroix, but at the time, neither of them'd spent any unnecessary time ruminating any number of uncomfortable truths that'd been haunting 'em. They said their peace, cleared the air, and both'd silently decided that there wasn't any need to dwell on comparisons and contrasts between what they were doin' and anything involving the ghost of Steve lingerin' in their wake.

History sang praises of Steve Rogers and that shield of his, and there were enough photos and memorabilia to attach the two together like white on rice. No question there. But no history books Sam knew of had ever made mention of one James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes layin' hands on it. There were no photos of him posed with it with or without Steve. A regal figure from a bygone era.

A hero. A friend.

A casualty of war.

How had the Smithsonian framed it?

Oh right: 'A Fallen Comrade'

What an awful way to phrase it.

But since when were history books and museum displays the definitive authority on what'd gone down between the pages?

"It's possible," Sam finally managed, "But I didn't think you remembered anything from that far back?"

"I didn't think so either," Barnes admitted, his tone an uneven clip, "But it means it's still there. Somewhere. The more recent stuff, and the older stuff." His sky blue eyes met Sam's gaze, "That's it's not lost. At least not yet."

Sam watched Barnes processing things in real time, trying to sort through what they meant, how it all connected together. He used to give Buck shit for doin' that starin' thing, and now Sam knew to keep his teasin' trap shut. There were times to rib each other, but this wasn't one of 'em, "You wanna keep goin'? Or do you wanna take a break, grab some water?"

"I'm okay," Barnes concluded after a beat. From the sound of his voice, Sam got the impression Barnes wasn't just trying to sidestep whatever it was he was feeling. That he was doing what he could to acknowledge it, let it sit with him in his own way. "But if you… if you feel comfortable throwing it to me, I think I can toss it back. I…" he locked eyes with Sam, "I've done that with you, right?"

Sam snorted lightly, feeling that familiar pang in his gut, "Yeah. You have." He tilted his head up, "How confident you feelin' about your aim?"

Barnes considered the question as he glanced down and flexed the fingers of his right hand, testing them. Satisfied, he looked back at him, wearing that oddly peaceful expression of his that made Sam's heart feel ten-times lighter and heavier in one fell swoop. "Better than I remember yours being."

They were back to that again, were they? "Awful lotta talk coming from someone moonlighting in Encino Man."

Barnes squinted and pursed his lips, "If that's another one of your awful attempts at humor, you know it's not going to land if I haven't seen the movie, right?"

"Maybe I don't want you to get the reference. Ever thought about—" he sputtered for a moment, "Wait, you know it's a movie?"

"I haven't seen it," Barnes was quick to clarify, "But you do realize people in HYDRA watched Brendan Fraser films too—"

Sam mimed putting his fingers in his ears, "—Don't you dare bring sacrilege like that down upon that man's films. From here on out, I don't want to hear another solemn syllable about anything that doubles for taste and those assholes. "

Barnes just rolled his eyes, exasperated, "Whatever you say, Cap."

Sam blinked. Once. Twice. But Barnes just shrugged, non-committal if his closing remark had been a tactical dodge, tease, or something else entirely.

Whatever it was, Sam was convinced it'd been intentional.

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After their shared victory and pop culture remarks, Barnes noticed that Sam did indeed start being more inclined to not only use the shield as an extension of himself, but to involve Barnes in maneuvers when it made sense.

Contrary to Sam's early remarks, Barnes did not, in fact, toss the shield out over the ledge just to see how capable Sam was at playing 'fetch,' although both of them had failed passes where it ended up soaring out over the valley after clutch deflects by one of the guarding Dora Milaje. Without missing a beat, Sam would streak after it before it could get far, often recapturing it with more of a showman's flourish than Barnes thought was wholly necessary.

The intensity of their encounters only grew as the participants adapted their techniques and sought to stay a step ahead of their opponents. But unlike so many rigid training matches Barnes recalled under HYDRA, the tone of these encounters never grew aggressive or unnecessarily punishing. Individuals pushed themselves to their limits both physically and mentally, but not at the cost of those around them.

Like Okoye predicted, injuries did happen, but they were not only rare, but were never caused by blind will or dealt out as a correction for poor performance. The vast majority of their injuries were minor enough to not warrant mid-session treatment, and the few that were, like Yama's broken thumb, were handled immediately. It was apparently an unspoken rule to not force an injured combatant to endure prolonged pain unnecessarily.

Going into these exercises, Barnes already felt reasonably certain that these individuals were not aligned with HYDRA, but the prompt treatment their injured received would have quickly swayed him if he were still on the fence concerning their allegiances.

But as the challenges intensified and he fought with Sam against an ever-rotating group of Dora Milaje, though Barnes didn't have any easy explanation for it, it was as if some of the residual tension and anxiety he felt bottled up inside him slowly began to ebb away.

It wasn't that he was any less careful or attentive, and it certainly wasn't as if he wasn't trying just as hard to accomplish the increasingly challenging tasks Okoye set out for him. No: it was more like he found himself falling back into a family rhythm of sorts. Like swimming. Or riding a bike. There was an abundant naturalness to their motions and interactions. Like his body remembered, even if he didn't. Not consciously, at least.

Like the shield.

Barnes didn't specifically remember throwing it back and forth with Sam or calculating angles on the fly to ping it like a pinball against the trees, but some buried part of him also did. And the more he leaned into that, trusted that, the more he and Sam had moments of falling into a sort of rhythm of their own. A synchronicity that was just as unexplainable, but had a way of reminding him in some small way of how the Dora Milaje worked as a group. How it was almost like they could wordlessly anticipate their next moves. Harmonize with each other.

What he and Sam had wasn't the same thing, but every now and then, it was like Barnes got a whiff of something deeper. Something pure.

He knew a lot was on the line, how could he forget? But somewhere along the way, he found himself honing into the rhythm of the exercises themselves, appreciating his senses and the fitness of his body. The sun playing over his skin. The breath pouring in and out of his lungs. Even the fact that his short-cropped hair had a way of coming in handy by not getting in his eyes or mouth.

Barnes tasted the sweat on his lips and felt the occasional trickle of perspiration snaking down the center of his back. Though the sensations were nothing new individually, when framed together in the moment, with the warm glow of the sun steadily rising over the horizon and the blur of faces surrounding him… well… when all wrapped together, it had a way of being something precious too. A connectedness, a belonging he didn't know he ever had or even wanted.

He couldn't understand it, but maybe this was another one of the things like Ayo or Nomble had mentioned, where language only went so far?

He felt oddly present as he pitched sideways across the meadow and blocked another spear hit before it could connect with Sam's hip and the man in question returned the favor with a swing of one shield-ladened arm. Barnes found he appreciated these moments for what they were, rather than worrying about an ultimate outcome he couldn't control. He still wanted to see if there was anything he could do to help in Symkaria. That desire hadn't faded at all, but now it sat nested within arm's reach of other yearnings too.

There was so much he didn't understand, and the possibility remained that there may be precious little time left to experience this strange life of his. And he had so many questions. So many things left he wanted to connect with firsthand. And while being on the receiving end of bruises hadn't been a personal goal by any stretch, he found there was something exhilarating about being in motion, and feeling the focus and careful intention of the people around him.

Their movements rarely offered anything close to revelations, but there was a steady beat to them that resonated deep within him. A give and take. A push and pull. Now and then, he'd catch little bespoke flickers of familiarity, and while they were fleeting, the sentiments wrapped up in them had a way of sticking with him. Reminding him that he'd had a life beyond HYDRA's grasp, regardless of how many details he recalled about it.

Watching how the others interacted had a way of offering new insights too. For one, he found he was no longer strictly opposed to accepting Sam's hand up in the occasional times he found himself grounded by a maneuver. If he were being honest with himself? He wasn't sure if hours earlier he would have been willing to engage with brief pockets of scripted physical contact unless it was strictly necessary. The interactions, well meaning as they were, still had a way of reminding his brain of his not insubstantial time with HYDRA and what they'd forced him to endure at their demand. But now, he felt inclined to push through the same discomfort not simply out of raw stubbornness, but because it felt like there was something under the surface. Something not slicked with their cruel taint.

And unlike so many weapons he'd held and throats he'd crushed, he found there was not only something oddly soothing nested in the silent trust and camaraderie of the contact, but because every so often, it was accompanied by a wave of comfort and familiarity he couldn't explain.

It didn't happen every time, but when it did, the sensation had a way of grounding him not in the past, but the present. Reminding him that while a lot was still up in the air, that he didn't have to go it alone.

That no matter the outcome here, he was already in some unexplainable way, "home."

He couldn't know if the people gathered around him felt the same way, but he didn't miss the regular glimmer of smiles that floated over the air now and then when people thought they weren't being watched.

Even Ayo.

Ayo didn't shy away when they came to blows, didn't hesitate to neatly counter his attacks with such grace that she made it look like a dance, but Barnes found himself keeping a close watch on her mannerisms in particular.

He wasn't sure why that was, but it was as if some part of him looked to her, hoping he might be able to scry and foretell what was to come.

Ayo remained ever-alert. Focused. While she was attentive to the royal family and quick to respond to Okoye's requests, Barnes didn't miss how her attention often returned to him. He didn't think it was because she viewed him as a potential threat, but because remained concerned for his continued well-being. Though she said nothing to him directly, her steadfast presence was reassuring. It ran alongside the knowledge and cold, hard truth that if something happened, if something went wrong, he trusted her to do what was necessary, for all their sakes.

From what Barnes could tell, Okoye had forbidden her Dora from speaking to him directly or offering him assistance during their exercises, but eventually he found himself inclined to test if those permissions ran both ways, since Okoye had never explicitly told him he couldn't.

At the tail end of a particularly brutal engagement, he'd ended up on the ground a few feet away from Ayo, who drew her legs up under her and rolled her fingers, willing blood and sensation to return to them after her knuckles had recently met with Sam's shield. But before she could return to her feet, Barnes stepped towards her and extended his hand, doing his best to mimic the gesture he'd seen them make when offering help.

Barnes wasn't sure how she would react, or if Okoye would shoot down the gesture with a word from where she watched from the sidelines, but as Ayo looked up at him from where she sat recovering on the ground, he could see a wave of curiosity wash over her features. She was perplexed, but not offended by his sudden interest in all-but requesting skin-to-skin contact with her in order to complete the action.

She kept her features carefully guarded as she considered his offer, but Barnes didn't miss that Ayo didn't look to Okoye for permission before she accepted his hand, clasping her strong fingers around his. Without a word, he easily pulled her to her feet and in return, she offered him a brief squeeze of her hand and small, wordless tilt of her head as thanks.

The passing contact offered no revelations, but it had a way of reminding Barnes of the memory from years ago, the one where Ayo'd sought to reassure him – their friend – that he was safe and seen as she spoke the code words for the first time. That she would stop, cause him no further discomfort, if that was what he wished.

In passing, part of him wondered if part of that bond he felt was credit to the fact she'd once been his handler, but he didn't think so. This felt different. More pure. Intentional.

He remembered overhearing Yama once tell Ayo that their friend had called her his 'indawo enamanzi amaninzi' His 'Oasis,' and though he couldn't know if he grasped it in the same way their friend had once said it, he found he understood in his own way. About how oddly present he felt, how safe, even when they stepped back from one another and she drew up her shoulders, flourishing her spear in his direction once more.

There was something here. Something important that centered him even when, from a distance, he acknowledged the collective realities swirling around him should have been cause for distress.

But that was there in the background of his mind, like the people here were a buffer, not unlike the Guards protecting their Quarry.

But that certainly didn't mean that any of them were taking it easy on him. Or Sam.

So when Ayo focused harder, he met her resolve. Felt it resonate deep within him. That push to fully test himself in the here and now rather than delay his many questions. And what he found building in him was a new type of trust: A trust that the people facing him were indeed entirely capable of standing up to him.

But it was more than just duty. Barnes could tell that Ayo and the others reveled in the challenges placed on them, moving with increasing pace, force, and tenacity at each pivot, arc, and tight thrust. It was like he was being permitted to see a new side of them too, so wholly capable and in sync with one another.

And he and Sam rose to the occasion.

Sam was ever-lighter on his feet, putting increasing emphasis into using those wings of his for all they were worth, and leveraging the shield as an extension of his body and will. Rather than simply use it for defense or a final attempted tag, he started putting more trust into the fact that the weave of his suit and his gauntlets could provide an adequate defense against those incoming spears and tactical kicks and punches. Well, depending on the angle of impact.

It became a new game of sorts, seeing how often the shield could change hands between the two of them while staying out of reach of any of the regaliaed women they were pitted against.

They fumbled passes and catches now and then, but they followed through with more than they missed. Even though the goal of Okoye's pointed exercises had nothing to do with the shield itself, each ricochet and catch had a way of resonating through Barnes in a way that defied explanation. It wasn't that he felt ownership of it, but there was synergy in their interactions. A united purpose.

And he was certain Sam felt it too.

"Alley-oop?" The man in question hollered from opposite him.

It'd taken the better part of fifteen minutes, but eventually the two of them had managed to get the Dora out of position again. The five of them were roughly in a line with Sam on one end, Barnes on the other, and Yama playing Quarry in the middle. On either side of her were Ayo and Nomble who were doing their best to play one-on-one defense against the men on either end.

The thing was, he and Sam were feigning that they were back to resorting to isolated engagement tactics, and were instead biding their time until they eventually secured their premeditated positions. The timing had to be perfect, or else at least one of the Dora might see it coming and throw off the whole game they were building to.

Then, Barnes saw their opening. "Alley-oop!" he shot back, and a moment later, the shield Sam'd been holding went flying in a diagonal arc above their heads.

He'd put a calculated twist into the spin that caused the resulting ricochet to bounce wide before it slammed into another trunk and streaked back towards the group like a bowling ball seeking its center pin.

Just like they'd planned, Barnes dodged ahead of them knowing that at least one of the Guards would make an attempt to block the incoming projectile, but he did what he could to position himself so he could snatch it out of the air before any of them could produce their spear or come within range.

He had to leap for it, but he caught the edge of the disc in his outstretched fingers and went with the momentum, tucking down to dodge the spear heads that swung his way before rolling forward towards Yama like a living red, white, and silver-embellished cannonball.

And he had to give it to her: she did dodge it. She was already in motion and well out of his way before he'd even gotten within a yard of her.

But she hadn't dodged the tip of one of Sam's wings, which he'd extended smack-dab into the fray with a jet-propelled boost of surgical precision accompanied by a valiant, "Gotcha!"

Yama whirled on him, startled by the sudden contact against her ankle. But her expression quickly changed to mirth as Sam opted to remain right where he'd skidded to a halt: laying on his belly as he grinning up at her with a cheshire grin, "Bet'cha didn't see that comin."

"No," she remarked before lowering her voice, "but it is a pity those grass stains won't come out from your nice new suit."

"Yama…" Ayo warned, but her heart wasn't in it.

For a second, Sam's smile faltered as Nomble quickly interjected her thoughts, "She is only kidding. It was an excellent play."

Yama offered him a hand up and Sam immediately got to work trying to brush off the sprawl of egregious green and brown streaks across his chest. Because Barnes was nothing if not a gentleman, he decided he would do Sam the kindness of stepping between said fashion faux pas and the princess casually watching, or maybe recording the proceedings from nearby.

"Nice distraction back there," Sam noted appreciatively as he tried to get the worst of the stains out.

"Good toss," Barnes remarked as he used his own free hand to brush off the dirt that marred the shield's most recent exploits. "Little low, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually."

"Oh that's how it's gonna be?"

Barnes just offered a casual shrug and the man facing him barked out a short laugh before putting a hand to his brow to salute to Ayo, Yama, and Nomble standing nearby. They were breathing heavily too, but the three of them offered them a short salute to acknowledge their victory point as Sam remarked, "Some solid plays back there. I don't think I've gotten a cardio workout this thorough in a long damn time. But if you three wouldn't mind: I could use a break for some water and maybe a shot of that magic painkiller of yours."

---

Barnes could never be certain about the complex web of social dynamics swirling around him. It grew increasingly challenging to keep track of the ever-evolving body language and expressions of each of new additions to their mountain gathering, but as Shuri waved for his attention and motioned him towards where her brother and General Okoye were standing, Barnes got the impression she wasn't summoning him over for yet another test.

Nomble must have caught it too, because she slung a water bottle into his hand and wordlessly shooed him away towards where Shuri was standing. Without delay, he broke away from Sam and the other Dora and approached the royal siblings and Okoye.

While the General stood tall with her eyes locked unilaterally on his, she didn't bristle at his approach. That being as it was, Barnes thought it appropriate not to test Okoye's comfort with his proximity to Princess Shuri or King T'Challa, so he stopped a few respectful steps away from both of them.

The moment he'd gotten close, Shuri tapped her fingers over her Kimoyo Beads, prompting a number of holographic arrays to project from the bead resting in her palm. While Barnes was hardly an expert at expressions, he got the impression that the lightness on her features implied that whatever it was she wanted to share wasn't cause for undue alarm.

At least that was what he hoped.

It wasn't like he hadn't been wrong before.

Barnes folded his hands over one another, doing what he could to obscure his bruised knuckles. Though he knew the exercises they'd put him through were at their own request, it was hard not to feel self-conscious about his bedraggled, sweaty appearance when compared to Shuri or T'Challa. Even Okoye looked fresh by comparison, "I take it you've been busy collecting more than just action videos?" he inquired.

The remark earned him a small smile from both T'Challa and Shuri, though it was she who responded, "Of course. And the new diodes you are wearing are working very well. They offer a great deal more clarity and functionality, especially when compared with the rudimentary scans you generated from the shield's systems."

"Which was quite clever itself," T'Challa remarked.

Shuri dodged the tangent and continued the conversation she'd been building towards, "The recent data we collected has produced a notable trend I thought you might find interesting. I would only preempt my words with a statement that while our diagnosis has not yet changed, I remain ever-hopeful that discoveries such as these may shed light on potentially beneficial approaches we can take for your continued care."

Well, he wasn't suspecting going through physical training exercises would've netted them a miracle, but at least Shuri'd apparently found something, "What is it?"

"See here," Shuri stepped towards him as she enlarged the nearest holographic chart hovering between them, focusing on a three-dimensional view of what he assumed to be his brain. "When you first awoke in the lab two days ago, I managed to catch a little over a minute of data before the receptors were… deactivated."

Crushed under his heel in the adjoining hallway. Saame difference, "Yeah. I remember." He frowned at the chart, unsure what he was supposed to be looking at.

"Yes, and while we could not understand it at the time, upon later evaluation, we noticed that for whatever reason, your mind – for lack of a better word – reverted to behaving in a state much like it once did when you'd first arrived in Wakanda, and the nails were still present. See here?" She overlayed two scans, and her nimble fingers pulled away all but the most critical data, revealing an orange and blue map of his brain that pulsed with bright electrical impulses, like cascades of chained fireworks.

The scan from when he'd apparently first arrived in Wakanda – labeled 2016 – was easy to pick out. A cacophony of nails were clearly visible in the scan, and the brain's electrical impulses went around them, creating a lightshow around the dark shadows where the sharp barbs remained embedded within his tissue.

Unconsciously, Barnes ran his thumb behind his ear feeling for one of the many scars that marked his flesh, reassuring himself for not the first time that they were no longer there, pressing into his flesh.

Shuri waited a beat to ensure she had his attention again before she continued, "But see, even then, your captors had occasionally removed certain marks of their cruel will, so some of the thin lines we see in the scans are marks from those prior applications. Even as your brain naturally healed, the tissue remained separate, unfused."

He was following what she was saying, but a part of him wondered if she knew the rest.

Had their friend known?

"It… wasn't just nails," he began.

Shuri's expression tightened reflexively, "...What do you mean?"

"It… yeah some of those channels were left behind because of nails they removed. But not all of them."

He was aware the people standing nearest to him were holding their breath, and the conversation between Sam, Ayo, Nomble, and Yama a short distance away had stalled to a halt as they caught the change in the winds of the campside conversation . Barnes licked his lips, urging himself to continue, in case it helped, "Some of them were core samples. For research. So they could understand what about their methods worked. With the goal of making more of me. Perfecting the program." He did his best to keep his voice even as he looked up at Shuri and added, "There were… multiple groups interested in the research."

"I'm interested in no such details," she assured him, empathy heavy in her voice as she coaxed the conversation to a rolling stop. "But I did not know the root cause surrounding some of the shadows left behind. I am sorry for what was done to you."

Barnes adjusted his lips and nodded his head once, doing what he could to avoid chasing down shadows and questions of his own. Facts, missions, and debriefs hidden once safely behind code words, which in some cases now, it was like there were stones missing in the walls of his mind where light was shining through.

Well, not light. Darkness. Lingering horror.

…Did they know about the North Institute in Ohio?

He didn't think he was supposed to remember any of that.

Why did he now?

Barnes could feel the unspoken pressure hinging on his next words, so took a swig from his water bottle and did what he could to redirect the conversation back to Shuri's original remarks, "I'm following you so far, about the scans from 2016, and when I'd just woken up, but what about your more recent scans?" Barnes was subtly aware that though Sam and the other Dora remained where they were taking turns drinking from their water bottles, they were also keyed into the developing conversation.

And from the speaking volume Shuri chose to use, Barnes was certain she was well-aware, and not dismissive of their unofficial participation, "It is in the most recent scans that we have come to notice something peculiar. First off: We do not yet understand why your mind began instinctually behaving as if the nails were again in place two days ago. More curious yet, what we see now is still fundamentally different from what we had recently recorded with our friend. They are not one in the same. See, here?" Shuri's fingers pulled away the holographic scan with the nails and tapped a few menus to replace the overlaid scan with one dated and time stamped from just before Barnes had awoke in her lab and just after.

She'd shown him these scans previously, but by her present tone, she must have discovered something new in them, "A key difference in the approach I took when mending the gouges left by the nails I removed, was that I sought to regrow the damaged tissue there rather than simply leave the holes as they were. Of course, it is impossible to reconstruct that which was destroyed, but it was my belief that even the act of reforming both white and grey matter to the best of our ability would prove beneficial. It would allow signals to transmit across. Signals that had been previously blocked or re-routed by the original nails."

Barnes did his best to follow along, "And… did it work?"

Shuri inclined her head, "To the best of our knowledge, yes, it helped. But such methods can never be a true replacement for what was lost. And though I can approximate densities and molecular structure, it is not the same tissue you once had. If anything, it is closer to a graft, or scar tissue." Her thin fingers trailed over a specific area that she highlighted. Her chosen shape formed the outline of a nail, and she jogged the playback speed lower, reducing it to play in slow motion, "Like here. This scan, from just before you awoke in the lab, can you see how the electrical current moves across the reconstructed matter?" She flicked the scan forward sixty seconds, "And now, once you awoke, how the electrical current either stops at the location the nail once was, or attempts to move around the shadowed area? To circumvent it?"

He saw it. But this wasn't new information, it —

"Now look here, at these scans taken just minutes ago," Shuri's voice emphasized the same area, focusing his attention on not the sprawl of colors and electrical impulses cascading across the lobes of his mind, but a tight, narrow area.

And he saw it.

The electrical current behaved… differently… than in the prior examples. Rather than ignore the areas where the nails once plagued him, or utilize the thin reformed channels of brain matter like their friend's mind had, instead the impulses made contact with the area and… had erratic behavior. Sometimes they ground to a halt, sometimes the electrical pulses continued through to the other side, and sometimes…

"There are times when the current makes contact with those damaged, but rebuilt areas, but now travels through the corridor of where the nail once was, only to exit in an entirely new position. But stranger yet: the behavior has been observed to be wildly variable. We are currently running algorithms in an attempt to explain if what we are witnessing is merely randomization, or perhaps there is unseen intention behind the revised pathing." She drummed her fingers absentmindedly, "It is of course too early to make assumptions for its greater implications, but it appears your mind has continued to see a dedicated shift in willingness to not simply acknowledge the viability of the reformed matter, but to use it in ways we do not fully understand."

He considered her words, "So this is a recent development?"

She tilted her head from side-to-side noncommittally, "It is difficult to tell what constitutes as 'recent' as we have a not insignificant period where no data was collected at all, but when comparing your present scans to those when you first woke and your earliest scans within the shield, it appears the frequency has increased a notable amount."

"Does this call into question the health of his mind?" Okoye asked. She hadn't moved a step closer to him and Shuri, but Barnes could feel her ever-watchful gaze upon him.

"No. This is not a worrisome sign of regression or cause for concern."

"But are you saying it may be that he remembers more now?" T'Challa inquired, evaluating the data before him.

"Memory recall is not as simple as that, brother," Shuri was quick to clarify, "So far as we can tell, these are not merely threads connecting access to discrete points. What it does mean is that for some unexplainable reason, Barnes's mind has begun finding potentially new connections where ones may not have existed before. We do not know what that ultimately means, but I would hasten to suspect it is preferable to those connections remaining inaccessible. Were I to draw up a simplified comparison, it might be a bit like someone who has suffered a grievous injury, and their body choosing to adapt in new ways to accommodate it. Work with it in ways beyond how a typical body might function."

She turned her attention back to Barnes, "But how do you feel?" She put emphasis into the last word.

"Fine?" He admitted, well aware the people around him were evaluating him for even the most minute of reactions.

"While you were exercising, did you notice any changes?"

"Nothing major," he admitted. "Now and then I'd get… flickers of recall, I guess you could say. Like during the 'Sunset Exercise.' Nothing fully developed, just… more pieces."

"Relating to combat?"

"Sometimes. Not always," he did his best to be forthright with her, even as T'Challa and Okoye watched them converse and Sam and the others listened-in from nearby, "There wasn't really time to ruminate over any of it, but usually there were commonalities I could pick up on. A color. A smell. Something about how I was positioned or someone else. But like I said: there wasn't much to go by. It's like drops of water in the ocean. I can't make sense of most of them, no less place when or where they might've happened, assuming they happened at all."

Barnes wasn't sure what part of his remark prompted T'Challa to lean back and cross his arms over his chest, but he caught another one of those whiffs where people looked between one another and managed to have entire conversations with their eyes that he couldn't parse.

"That is helpful to know," T'Challa began in that deep, even-tempered voice of his. The King extended his hand towards the mostly-ignored water bottle in Barnes's hand, "Do you feel rested enough for further challenges."

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

He may have been quick to speak, because T'Challa simply inclined his head and passingly remarked, "Then I will get changed, and we will have our next challenge."

That… wasn't what Barnes had been expecting to hear.

---

Barnes picked up on the change in the air immediately. That steady undercurrent of tension immediately snapped its way back around him as he waited to see what T'Challa was up to.

In his absence, Okoye stayed protectively close to Shuri. The smile he once remembered surfacing across the General's face had long-since faded away, replaced by an intense expression layered with purpose. While Barnes didn't get the impression she was upset with him, he was guessing by the grip she had on her spear that she wasn't necessarily in support of whatever the King had planned.

When King T'Challa reappeared from the rear of one of the Royal Talons a few minutes later, he was clad in the same black and silver suit Barnes recalled when they'd come to blows in the skies above Wakanda. The memory was still surprisingly fresh and just as disconcerting, laced with a private shame that T'Challa had been able to subdue him before things might've gotten even more out of hand.

Barnes didn't miss the pronounced frown that made its way over Sam's face as he watched T'Challa approach the group, and how Ayo's expression became ever more tempered, as if she was increasingly mindful of retaining her Dora's neutral. Barnes could sense electricity in the air and building apprehension at what T'Challa planned to ask of him.

But T'Challa's own guarded expression gave away remarkably little.

He came to a stop a few feet away, raising his head to meet Barnes with the confidence of someone who did not fear him, "You have shown yourself capable of facing our esteemed Dora Milaje in structured combat, but I should like to see the two of us face one another on similar terms now that you no longer view me as your enemy."

Barnes didn't need a mirror to know he was frowning, "But what do you want me to prove? That I can fight back against someone who's stronger too?" Barnes rapidly realized his statement might be misinterpreted as having a lack of willingness to engage, so he clarified, "I mean, I'll do it. Whatever you ask. I just don't understand why, especially when I know you're strong, like me."

T'Challa's expression softened, "The unspoken context that draws my curiosity is that I am one of remarkably few who has faced you one-on-one across different times of your life, and with varying intensities from both our sides. This has included times when your mind was wholly your own, and times it was not. One of our late kings often said that the only way to truly judge a man was to engage him in battle. That is what I seek to do with you now, because I hope it might help me to understand you in ways words cannot convey alone." The King raised a hand palm up between them, "And that it might allow you to understand me better as well."

T'Challa's words were well and good, but Barnes still didn't understand exactly what he hoped to accomplish, "What do you want us to do?"

The King extended a hand towards the grassy meadow at the center of the clearing, "I wish for us to converse while you see if you can force me to yield."

"That's it? Just… yield?"

"I will not make it easy for you," T'Challa remarked, "But will not engage the electrical node as I did last time we came to blows. If it offers further incentive for you to engage me in earnest, if you are successful in forcing me to yield, I would hear a request you would have of me, though I caution you that I am not obligated to grant it, only that I will hear you out."

Barnes still didn't understand what T'Challa hoped to learn from a firsthand encounter that he couldn't from the sidelines, but he wasn't going to come this far only to back down now, "Okay, yeah. We can do that." He wasn't sure what prompted him to look over his shoulder to where Sam, Ayo, and the others were standing, but he wasn't the least bit surprised to see them facing him. Each of them had put aside their water bottles, and the Dora now stood beside their spears, wearing matching expressions of resolute focus blended seamlessly with quiet concern.

By the way Sam was chewing his lip, Barnes didn't doubt that he was busy second guessing himself about stepping in to negotiate an alternative challenge, but Sam held his tongue for the moment, watching with bated breath as T'Challa stepped out into the open sprawl of grass.

Barnes did his best to ignore the steady tension rising up in his stomach and bile in his throat as he got into position across from the monarch. He didn't want to fight T'Challa, didn't want to risk hurting him again. It didn't matter if the other man was coated in a thin layer of protective vibranium armor or not, every part of Barnes was seeing fit to remind him that this interaction was risky in a very particular way. That the man in front of him was royalty, the ruler of a country, and super-soldier or not: coming to blows carried entirely different risks.

He assumed this was how it would be between the two of them, tucked safely back from the ledge until T'Challa raised his fist and loudly announced, "Dora Milaje? Phambili!*"

And with a tap of Okoye's spear, all four members of the Dora Milaje swiftly moved into position with their backs to the treeline, and their weapons pointed towards Barnes, their King, and the perilous drop beyond them.

---

While the sharp of their blades didn't seek to make immediate contact with either of the two combatants, their armed presence there sent a message that was abundantly clear: that the two of them were permitted limited space to come to blows, and that the protective treeline was explicitly off bounds.

All of Barnes's well-meaning concerns didn't mean much as he matched T'Challa's hunched poise and held his breath, waiting for the signal that would at once put them back at odds with one another. At the blistering crack of Okoye's spear against the ground, the King launched himself at Barnes.

Barnes reflexively pulled back, forcing himself into a defensive position until he could get a better understanding on how this was all going to play out. But T'Challa came at him hard with a rapid procession of kicks and punches that Barnes managed to skillfully block up until the final feign that transformed into a powerful follow-through. When T'Challa's fist made contact into the center of his sternum, it was hard enough to not only knock the wind out of him, but it sent him bowling backwards as his mind rapidly jogged itself awake, swiftly reminded him that his opponent posed a far more greater threat due to his own highly tuned strength and reflexes.

But T'Challa didn't give him time to get back to his feet, he leapt high across the grass, slashing out with the retractable claws of his left hand as he sought to pin Barnes in one fell swoop. The metal needles seared into Barnes's bicep, shredding his flesh as Barnes tactically rolled away from the follow-up blow.

T'Challa just kept coming.

Barnes was passingly aware of the arc of Dora Milaje preventing him from backpedaling to put some space between he and the King, and he found himself hauling himself back to his feet in record time so he had enough footing to block a follow-up slash with his vibranium arm that sent a cascade of sparks airborne where darkened metal met.

The King obviously had no intention of easing him into the encounter, and though he wielded no weapons, Barnes had no doubt T'Challa was perfectly capable of forcing him to submit if he wasn't careful.

Barnes did what he could to get up to speed in record time. Though he was forced to play defensively against the seemingly endless barrage of coming attacks, he worked to find openings to not simply counter T'Challa's relentless attacks, but to see if he could manage to get a punch or handhold in edgewise.

The line of Dora Milaje advanced on them, crowding them closer to the ledge just as Barnes caught T'Challa's ankle. With a burst of effort, Barnes flipped him backwards and out of the way, hoping to give himself some breathing room. The plan was solid, but his agile opponent effortlessly landed in a crouched position before springing back at Barnes with open claws, "How can you be certain you are not a danger to your allies?"

The sudden question caught him off-guard as he pivoted and was forced to block the needle-sharp blades on T'Challa's hands, "I don't –" he stumbled back, struggling to engage with the King's question in mid-combat, "I can't know for sure, but I don't intend to be."

"And strangers?" T'Challa pressed forward, not yielding an inch.

Barnes threw a punch that left him open to an expert grab, and a moment later he was airborne, tossed over T'Challa's shoulder like no more than a boneless ragdoll. He landed hard on his shoulder and was disoriented long enough to take a sharp kick to the torso. The shot of pain forced him to roll and rapidly scramble to his feet in order to do what he could to backpedal the flurry of kicks that followed. "I don't want to be a danger to strangers either," Barnes choked out between blows, "I realize now how I can hurt people. People I don't mean to hurt. People who don't deserve it."

But T'Challa wasn't letting up, he squared off against Barnes, landing a jarring punch to the jaw that split his lip and made Barnes's head ring. Barnes clutched at his aggressor, briefly managing to prevent him from pulling back and landing a follow-up blow, but the momentum carried them forward in a controlled sprawl. The taste of blood shot his senses awake, even as T'Challa slammed his head into him, disorienting him further.

"And what about those who deserve it? Those have harmed you?" T'Challa challenged, "Do you claim to wish no harm upon them?"

That… Barnes hadn't been prepared for that particular question to be levied at him, and he fumbled a block as his mind struggled to formulate a suitable reply.

But the kicks and punches just kept coming, only growing in intensity as the impacts repeatedly slammed against his body, leaving him barely enough time to breathe, no less think clearly.

Yet even as he scrambled to respond, T'Challa's voice came again, pointed and insistent, "What about them?"

Barnes managed to catch the other man's wrist before it could make contact with his bloodied arm, but as he lifted his left hand to block a coming punch, he felt a sudden shift inside of him, a bright, poignant flare that came alive in his memories even though he didn't understand their origins.

It was many things at once. A radio jam of noise, the scent of blood and reek of fear, and a pulse of adrenaline sparked by a ring of weapons.

A gun he'd fired.

With the intent to kill.

The impact of T'Challa's fist into his palm sent vibrations running up through it like a ripple of sensation, but for a second, it was as if Barnes was in two places at once, and he saw not T'Challa, but another man standing in front of him. A man in glasses and a goatee, blocking the point-blank shot with an armored palm.

A shot that should have killed the man, had he been half a second slower.

The kicks that followed were no less familiar, but as Barnes backpedaled, he struggled to make sense of what his conflicting senses were telling him. He was distantly aware of Ayo's voice somewhere in the background, in the tone that pleaded for attention, "General…"

"No," Okoye's firm voice cut in.

Barnes couldn't be sure why, but something must've caused T'Challa to briefly disengage from him. Was it that he'd sensed something was wrong? Or because he was no longer offering resistance? Whatever it was, as he choked down gulps of salty air, Barnes didn't find judgment in the King's deep brown eyes. "What is it?" the monarch asked, concern evident in his voice.

"We've fought before," Barnes managed breathlessly, doing what he could to cobble things together into some semblance of logical sense. "Before the ship, I mean. But I…" he frowned, "It's overlapping. It wasn't here on the mountain. But before that, I think?" He knew his words didn't make nearly as much sense as he hoped they did, but he kept his eyes focused on T'Challa, hoping he might be able to fill in the blanks as he added, "You were trying to kill me."

The words, the subtle accusation had a way of disarming T'Challa utterly. While the arc of Dora Milaje remained in place with their spears flourished towards them, they did not advance. T'Challa put aside his latest question as he faced Barnes, "That was my intent once, yes. When we first met. I believed you to be responsible for the death of my father, King T'Chaka, and others at the U.N. Only later did I learn that another had framed you for these grievous crimes."

"Zemo?" Barnes ventured a guess. Something in the subtle shift in T'Challa's expression told him he'd guessed right, "I don't remember him, I don't think but… at least one of the times we fought, you and I… my mind was clouded. I was on a mission." He frowned, "...but… there were other times, too. I don't think I was trying to kill you, then. I didn't know who you were. Why you were after me." He cringed as he added, frustrated, "But it's all so all jumbled."

"Are you angry with me for my attempts?"

Barnes raised his head at the sheer lunacy of the question, "No. You were confused. Like I was. And I… I've killed a lot of people. I just thought I was doing the right thing at the time."

T'Challa raised his chin, stepping closer to Barnes, lowering his voice with decided emphasis as he repeated, "And what about those who have harmed you greatly? Those who you feel deserving of punishment? Do you claim to wish no harm upon them?"

Barnes could feel himself squirm under the King's pointed gaze, but he did his best to answer honestly, "I don't… I guess it would depend on what they were doing."

"Such as?"

"If they were trying to hurt someone I knew. I'd want to prevent that."

"By hurting them? Ending their lives so they could hurt no others?" T'Challa pressed forward, and Barnes heard one of the Dora's spears slam against the ground, as if notifying them that their brief reprieve was over. Within seconds, T'Challa took a quick warning swipe at Barnes before kicking him back.

"...That's not what I said," Barnes half-snarled, first blocking and then returning the punch. He managed to land a firm hit against T'Challa's shoulder, and his textured armor pulsed purple at the contact.

"Then be clear about your intentions rather than force me to feed words into your lips to draw out your intended meaning."

"It depends on the situation," Barnes could hear his own tone growing irritated at the trick question. "But if you're asking about the people who I know did things to me, it's different."

"Why?" T'Challa insisted, clutching his hands together and swinging them around in an arc that caught Barnes sharply in the hip. He was blown over with a grunt and hit the ground hard, biting his tongue in the process. He rolled to a stop in front of the ledge in enough time to see the line of Dora Milaje advance, closing in as they crowded them closer to the perilous drop below. T'Challa's voice carried over the ringing in his ears, "Why is it different to you?"

"Because I know that they did," Barnes snarled back, doing what he could to shakily get back to his feet. "Enough of it, at least. That doesn't mean I want to execute them or do to them what they did to me, but I sure as Hell would want to do everything I could to make sure they didn't get away so they could keep on hurting people."

He spat blood out of his mouth, doing what he could to watch his tone, even though he was certain his irritation was showing, "But you don't know what I saw. I know they weren't all volunteers." He could feel the wind at his back and the drop of the ledge lingering just behind his heels, so he pushed back against T'Challa, struggling to get his words across when it felt like every single one was failing him, "I remember some of the ones that tried to help me, and remember what was done to them too." He choked back a breath as he added hotly, "And some of them could still be in Symkaria. The people I dragged there, people like me, people being forced to do the dirty work, or the assholes calling the shots. Don't you see that?"

But when faced with Barnes's bubbling frustration, T'Challa didn't back down. He met it head on with a hard strike of his fist and below of his words, "And what would you do with them?"

Barnes made a choking noise deep in his throat, "I don't know. They have people everywhere. Infiltration, everywhere."

"So what would you do?" T'Challa kicked him back again, following the motion with a cruel slash from one clawed hand that shredded gouges into the front of his bloodied shirt.

"I don't know. You're asking me what justice looks like, but all I can tell you is I'm the last person that should be judging anyone for their crimes. But if they were trying to hurt someone, kill someone, I'd want to prevent it. If the only choice I had was to put them down permanently, I would, but that's not who I want to be anymore."

"Yet you seek out revenge in Symkaria to those who wronged you."

"That isn't about revenge," Barnes snapped back with a kick of his own, "It's about trying to help. Can't you see that?"

"And given the opportunity, you would not injure your captors, or the ones that spoke words of power over you? Would not kill them so they could harm no others?" The disbelief in T'Challa's voice was palpable, and it had a way of only frustrating Barnes more.

"No!" Barnes's voice boomed as he punched back, "Only as a last resort. I don't want to kill anyone! That's not who I want to be. That's who they tried to make me be. I want to be better than that! I'm trying to be better than that! And if the only way to make you see that is to keep fighting, then that's exactly what I'll do. Because I don't know what happened in Symkaria since when I can last remember being there, but it might be that I'm the only hope someone there has, so I'm not going to give up." He charged forward, hoping he might at least be able to manage a pin on his opponent, but instead the two of them bowled over one another and T'Challa wrapped a leg around his torso and clutched his arms around Barnes's neck in a chokehold.

Barnes struggled, feeling the open air behind his heels. He tried with all his might to dislodge T'Challa, but his grip held firm. The King repeated the question, reframing it, "Why would you not take your revenge? Kill them to prevent them from being able to wage further harm against you or others?"

"Because that's not who I want to be!" Barnes choked back, his voice a half snarl as he tried to leverage his vibranium elbow into T'Challa's ribs to break his grip.

The monarch held firm.

Barnes was faintly aware of the line of Dora Milaje advancing on them, pointing the tips of their spears at them, but even though he'd felt the sharp of those blades multiple times already today, he found he didn't fear them.

Oddly, some buried part of his brain was more concerned about the drop behind his feet, but he didn't get the impression T'Challa planned to hurl him off that either.

"Yield," T'Challa insisted while Barnes struggled to catch enough air to keep his brain buzzing. This wasn't how this match between them was supposed to go, though. If he surrendered, he'd miss out on the opportunity for T'Challa to hear his request. He remembered having one, but it was foggy now, and his head was pounding.

He squirmed again, trying valiantly to get some leverage, any leverage he could use to his advantage, but his sweat-coated fingers came up empty.

"Yield," T'Challa repeated.

Barnes found himself looking up the length of the nearest spear, and at the other end of it was Ayo, who silently mouthed two emphatic words, 'Yield, Barnes.'

Barnes felt tears welling in his eyes as he tapped his hand against T'Challa's calf, and the pressure crushing him immediately released.

Reflexively Barnes bowled his head over, falling onto his hands and knees as he tried to focus on staying conscious and preferably? Not throwing up. His ears rang and his head pounded with every heartbeat. Blood trickled from his lips and spotted the grass below him, and something about the sight, about the distorted wobble in his ears, made him acutely aware of those watching him, evaluating him. He was certain that any of a number of things he said or the tone he'd said them in easily overstepped the perceived lines of propriety Nomble'd warned him of. He hadn't meant to raise his voice, it just… he hadn't realized until that exact moment how upsetting it was for someone to presume that he would be so casually inclined to give into the brutal instincts HYDRA had tried to force onto him. Twist into him.

He scrunched his eyes together, doing what he could to steady himself, to remember back to the breathing exercises Ayo'd taught him, all the while his mind screamed how much of a disappointment he was. How all he had to do was spar with T'Challa, to answer simple questions, to–

He was dully aware of movement in front of his head and trembling hands, and could make out T'Challa's coming to a stop on the grass nearby. When he spoke, the King ducked down, keeping his voice quiet, personal, "Are you alright, my friend?"

Barnes found himself glancing up, confused, but the warm brown eyes that met him were steadfast, and without judgment. Even though T'Challa's face was bruised and his own lip was bleeding, the King's expression was neither harsh nor condemning.

"I… yeah," was all he could manage. But that must've been enough, because the next thing Barnes knew, the King of Wakanda was retracting his claws so he could gently extend his arm to him, offering him a hand up.

Barnes was momentarily confused by the gesture, but he knew better than to turn it down.

Once T'Challa'd pulled him to his feet, Barnes became even more acutely aware of their audience, and increasingly self-conscious for the tone he'd used towards T'Challa, even as the arc of Dora Milaje stepped back and pivoted their spears to the sky, "I… shouldn't have use that tone with—"

An easygoing wave of T'Challa's hand cut him off, "You spoke honestly. It would be wrong of me to be critical of your tone when far more importance fell with the intention behind your words." He leaned back, thoughtful, "It is far too easy to find oneself intent on thoughts of revenge for perceived wrongs, and I will be the first to admit that I assumed your intentions might seek out a balance for wrongs done to you."

Barnes frowned, "That would just make me like them. That's not who I want to be."

"And I choose to believe you, Barnes." He glanced over his shoulder to Okoye, who inclined her head, but then T'Challa returned his attention to him. "It is obvious the situation in Symkaria is important to you, and while I make no promises that good behavior in the present will permit you to travel there, I would be inclined to allow you to see more select portions of Wakanda with guided care. Beyond that? We will see."

It took Barnes a moment to follow the pivot in conversation, "Wait, so I passed your test?"

"You did," T'Challa agreed.

"...And going to Symkaria… it's not strictly a no."

A smile returned to his bearded face, "It is not a 'no,' but we shall see in time." T'Challa paused a moment before leaning conspiratorially close to Barnes, "Was that going to be your request of me, had you been able to force me to yield?"

Barnes ran a hand across his throat, "Yeah I… I think that wouldn't been it."

T'Challa's smile only widened as he flourished his hand in the direction of the encampment, "Come. Let us see to your injuries. Then I'm sure my sister would revel in offering you something more suitable to wear in preparation for your upcoming tour."

It was a lot to take in all at once, but judging by the wide grin overtaking Shuri's face that was mirrored by those gathered around her, Barnes felt confident that whatever awaited him beyond the mountain, they'd tackle together.

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[Chapter Art, by HardWiredWeird]

[ID: A painting by HardWiredWeird showing a waist up view of Barnes and thigh-up view of T'Challa fighting. The two of them are captured in a highly dynamic action beat. Barnes is injured and has open cuts on his face and claw marks on his bicep, and T'Challa has a bloodied lip. Barnes is grimacing and holding up his vibranium hand to block a coming punch while his other hand clutches T'Challa's wrist in an attempt to prevent him from catching hold of him with his claws. T'Challa's iconic black and purple armor is glowing brightly, and he has an intense expression as he yells at Barnes. Barnes is wearing a charcoal grey shirt, blue shawl, and a strand of Kimoyo Beads. End ID]

I had the honor of working with HardWiredWeird ("hardwiredweird" on Twitter) on an action-packed painting he created to accompany a scene from this chapter. I love the sheer tenacity of the moment he managed to capture here, and the complex emotions of these two as they struggle against one another. It feels so appropriately high energy and that there is a lot of history and a lot at stake. I love how he was able to make it feel as though you get the sense that they are fighting hard, but that neither of them are trying to fatally wound their opponent.

It's just perfect.

Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and link to his social media pages to see more of his art!

His skill with portraiture is phenomenal, and there are loads of recognizable characters across his art accounts!

Once again: A *huge* thanks to him for lending his skill to capturing such a poignant story beat between these two, and a rematch that's been a long time in coming.

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Author's Remarks:

* - Phambili! - Wakandan Translation: Forward!

So that wasn't stressful at all, right? Just some fun new challenges and shield-play between Barnes, Sam, and the Dora, a pocket of intriguing brain updates from Shuri, and a little low-key hand-to-hand and heart-to-heart with King T'Challa. We've got action, banter, intrigue, a number of references to scenes in canon, some breadcrumbs… All in a day's work!

(Fun Fact: This story is now longer than "War and Peace," so kudos and credit to all of you that have stuck with me for this journey. The next chapter includes a scene I have had planned since the very first outlines took shape, and includes, among other things, some lovely, well-earned fluff (and art)!)

As always: Thank you so deeply for all your comments, thoughts, kudos, and kind words of support on this ongoing story. I hope you've enjoyed our time here on the mountain, because it's at last time again to explore some other sights in the world beyond...