Chapter 2: Usurper
It was dawn by the time they got back to the apartment. Bucky's limbs felt like cement. The last few hours sped by in a haze of hospital corridors and interrogation rooms.
Whenever he wasn't running interference with the feds, Sam stuck to Bucky like a protective parent trying to keep tabs on an unpredictable toddler. Bucky didn't have the energy to be insulted. In fact, the concern was reasonable, especially in light of his recent actions.
He'd busted a man's jaw…could've killed him with that punch.
"I know I'm beating a dead horse with this," Sam said as he closed the door behind them, "but I really think you need to see a doctor. I don't know why you didn't stay at the hospital." Sam raised a hand. "Never mind, I do know why, but you look like hell. Obviously, something is going on with you."
Bucky didn't trust himself around anyone right now, not even Sam. "You should go."
"I already called Sarah and told her I'm hung up. I'm not going anywhere." Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"
Bucky sank onto the yellow loveseat like a puppet with its strings cut. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "I told you. He surprised me and I reacted when I shouldn't have."
"Bullshit. Redwing caught part of that. You're lucky there were no other cameras with a view. I didn't share it with the feds, but the footage clearly shows you swinging at nothing. You were spooked by something, and that poor agent ended up on the wrong end of whatever was going on with you."
Bucky squeezed his eyes. If Sam told anyone what he'd seen, the government would lock him up for sure. All they wanted was an excuse.
He tried not to think too hard about the fact that they might be right to do so. If he hurt someone else…
"I've been having nightmares." Bucky took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look at Sam.
Sam sank into the chair at the bar. "I take it these are worse than usual?"
"Yeah." With a sigh, Bucky leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "They seem real when they're happening. I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Maybe longer. I don't know what's wrong. I've gone longer than this without sleep and haven't felt anywhere near as exhausted as I do now. I tried to remember what happened tonight, but a lot of it is a blur. That's not like me. The serum enhances my memory. You know that. I wish to God there were things I could forget, but no matter how many years go by, they remain in perfect detail. All I remember from tonight with any clarity is that I saw Brock Rumlow."
"That's impossible. He's dead."
"I know that. I saw someone else, too. A man with pale skin and jet black hair." He took a deep, shuddering breath. The next words out of his mouth might put him in the loony bin. "I've seen him in my nightmares. I know what this sounds like. Maybe I have finally lost my marbles. I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone."
Sam was quiet for several seconds. His dark eyes studied Bucky, his eyebrows pressed together as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle. The scrutiny made Bucky's skin crawl. He didn't like admitting that he might be cracking up. No one would, but for him, the topic hit too close to home.
Everyone expected him to lose his shit eventually. The government was just waiting for it to happen. He had been trying to find a way to have a normal life, but the pragmatic and uncompromising voice of logic in the dark recesses of his brain knew that was impossible.
Sam's brow relaxed, and he leaned forward in the chair. "Have you been taking anything for sleep?"
"No. That stuff doesn't work on me."
"How about other substances?"
A swell of irritation that he was sure showed on his face put a bit more bite into his words than he intended. "No. I'm not into any of that stuff."
Sam raised his hands placatingly. "Okay. I had to ask. It's not great what happened last night, but if you're not sleeping and having intense nightmares, it's understandable. Why don't you try to get some sleep now, and I'll hang out here? I could use a nap myself."
"You should head back to wherever you're resting your head. I don't think you're going to get much sleep if you stay here, and frankly, I don't think it's a good idea for you to try waking me up from a nightmare."
Sam sighed, and a tiny, soft smile lifted his lips. "I'll chuck my shoe at you if need be."
Bucky nodded. He was too exhausted to argue about it, but at least he wasn't too far gone to know why Sam insisted on staying. That cold, logical part of his brain knew it was a good idea. His nightmares were bleeding into reality, and he'd already hurt one innocent person."
"Suit yourself, but keep your distance. I've already sent one man to the hospital tonight. I don't want to add you to the list, and I sure as hell don't want to have to make a call to Sarah."
"Understood."
Bucky pushed to his feet. "You're lucky I happen to have an extra pillow and blanket. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. There's not much, but I wasn't expecting company."
He was glad Sam didn't comment on his minimalist apartment. Having few possessions meant he could take off on a moment's notice if need be. Old habits were hard to break.
-0- -0- -0-
He was standing in the field near the edge of the lake, a cool breeze whispering through the trees. In those brief moments over the past few years, when he'd allowed himself to hope, this is what he'd hoped for—control of his own mind.
And Steve.
There was a fraction of a moment after the battle, when everyone was licking their wounds and grieving, that he thought there might be a future to look forward to. He should have known better. Hope was a knife. If you didn't keep your distance, it would stab you straight in the heart.
In a few moments, Steve would step on that platform and vanish into the past. As Steve walked closer, there were too many words clutching at Bucky's throat.
Don't go. I need you. I'm not sure I can do this without you. You're the only thing I have left.
But he couldn't say any of those things. They were selfish. Small. Petty. He wouldn't steal Steve's future. He wouldn't guilt him into staying, even if he could. A happy life was out of the cards for him, but Steve deserved one, and Bucky wouldn't stand in the way of that.
Steve stopped in front of him, his head tilted back and a playful smile on his face. "Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back."
The words took him back to 1943. He mustered a smile. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."
The smile dropped from Steve's face. For a moment, the mask slipped, and Bucky saw the pain behind those eyes. He hoped going back home would erase it.
Their hug was brief, but Bucky didn't want to let go. He almost gave in to the words clawing at his throat, but he pushed them down and hoped for a steady voice. "I'm gonna miss you, buddy."
God, how he wished he could go with Steve, but there was no place for him in the past, not with a vibranium arm and 80 years of horrors in his head. He couldn't slip back into his old life. He was a wrecking ball, and the only place that had ever safely restrained his chaos was Wakanda.
Steve's face held resolution. "It's gonna be okay, Buck."
They were empty words, and Steve usually wasn't one for platitudes. Stark and Romanoff were dead. Bucky was still a wanted man—at least as far as he knew. His only friend in the world was saying goodbye.
Nothing was okay.
He tried not to let his fears show on his face as Steve turned and stepped onto the platform, then disappeared, leaving only an emptiness that persisted even as Bruce finished his countdown.
There was a stubborn flicker of hope before Bruce said the final number that maybe Steve would change his mind and reappear on the platform, but even that tiny flame of hope stabbed him yet again when the space remained vacant and Bruce's voice turned panicked.
There went the last connection to home Bucky had, the only friend he had left in the world. He turned away, catching sight of the thin figure seated on the bench at the water's edge. He knew it was Steve.
He could walk up and ask all the questions lingering in the back of his mind about what Steve had done in the past, but those were questions he wasn't sure he wanted answered. It would be easier to wonder than to know for certain.
Bucky called out to Sam and told him to go. He watched the Falcon walk up to Steve, and then, as silent as the emptiness that had once held his only friend, Bucky turned and walked into the solitude of the trees.
He stopped when he saw the man leaning against the tree up ahead and wondered if his eyes were deceiving him. "Stark?"
"Disappointed?" Stark pushed away from the trunk and walked in a casual slow circle around Bucky. "Doesn't feel too good, doesn't it? Losing the only family you have left? I bet it feels like a big crater just opened up in your chest." He came to a halt and faced Bucky. "Good. It was only a matter of time before he realized you're broken beyond repair. It's a shame so many people had to pay the price before he figured that out."
Everything went blurry. What was happening? Bucky couldn't be certain whether what he was seeing was true—that Stark was alive—but the words sure as hell were.
Steve was gone. There was nothing left for Bucky in this century. He might as well let Stark have his revenge. "How are you alive?"
"I was trapped for a while, but now I'm free." Tony's face split into a tight grin, and his face went chalk white as the rest of him shifted into the form of the specter that had haunted his dreams.
He was dreaming now. This was a new spin on one his nightmares—the one where Steve leaves. It almost always had him waking up with tears on his face and a sob bubbling from his chest. "Who are you?"
"I have many names. You can call me Nightmare. This was one of your lowest moments, the last time hope died. It feels delightful. I hope you enjoy your stay. I know I sure as hell am going to enjoy soaking up your exquisite anguish."
Bucky blinked, hoping if he cleared his vision he would see Tony again, but Nightmare remained. His legs felt weak, and he wobbled as he struggled to remain upright. Something was wrong. "What are you doing to me?"
"Draining your psychic energy." Nightmare's grin widened. "You're in my dimension now. I have all the power, and while you're here, no one's home in your body."
Bucky hoped he was just dreaming, that this was some incredibly vivid, bizarre nightmare. But what if it wasn't? He mustered all the strength he had left and lurched to his feet, launching himself at the man, but Nightmare vanished and Bucky collapsed onto the ground, too weak to get up.
-0- -0- -0-
Sam woke up to the flicker of the muted television, with closed captions giving the bulk of the news broadcast. A sound from the bedroom had him out of the chair. He promised Bucky to keep his distance, but he had to at least check on him.
Sam didn't need a medical degree to realize something was wrong with Bucky. He was off in so many ways. The heavy bags under his eyes made it clear he hadn't slept well in a while, and he had Casper's complexion.
The bedroom door was open, and as Sam approached, he heard strangled, gurgling sounds. He rushed to the doorway and jerked to a stop at the sight in front of him. Bucky crashed to the mattress, limp like a ragdoll for a moment, then his body went rigid and he sat straight up. His eyes sprang open and locked instantly on Sam.
For a second, it looked like Bucky had been levitating a foot above the mattress. Just for a second, but that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
Sam couldn't be sure what he'd seen. Maybe it was just a trick of the early morning light filtering through the curtains and Sam's tired brain.
"Hey, man," Sam mustered past a lump in his throat. The hairs on his arms were standing straight up. Bucky was looking at him without recognition on his face. "Are you okay, Buck?"
Bucky was on his feet in one smooth motion. "You've been in the nightmares, Sam Wilson."
The tone in Bucky's voice was flat. It made Sam wish he were wearing his suit, but it was in the case by the chair in the living room. He hated thinking that way. This was Bucky, not the Winter Soldier.
Bucky walked toward him and then through him, nearly knocking Sam off his feet. Without so much as a glance, he said in that same cold tone, "Leave, Sam Wilson. Now. You are neither needed or wanted. You can pretend to be Captain America all you want, But we both know you will never measure up to Steve Rogers. There is nothing special about you. You don't have the serum. You never single-handedly saved 400 men. You are just an ordinary guy, and I have kicked your ass three times without breaking a sweat. What makes you think I want to hang around and watch you make a mockery of that shield?"
The words stung, hitting a little too close to home. Sam wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew Bucky was not in his right mind. Hell, he was the one that pushed the shield on Sam.
And what was with the first and last name thing? And the stilted sentences?
Sam kept a healthy distance as he followed Bucky toward the front door. "Where are you going?"
Bucky spun in a blur, and the next thing Sam knew was that he couldn't breathe. He was pressed up against the wall, feet dangling, with a vibranium hand around his neck. Sam clawed at the hand, trying to pry the fingers away, but the grip was too tight.
"You've forgotten that I am dangerous. You brought a killer home to your sister and your nephews. What a stupid man. Let me remind you."
Sam's skull felt like it was about to explode, and the edges of his vision when dark. He was tossed through the air as though he weighed nothing and slammed into something hard. Wood splintered, and he hit the hallway floor outside the apartment, clinging to consciousness.
He must've blacked out for a moment. The next thing he knew, black boots marched past him. Apartment doors along the hallway opened and neighbors popped their heads out.
By the time he sucked in enough air and struggled to his knees, Bucky was gone.
-0- -0- -0-
He hadn't walked the human world in over 200 Earth years. This human's body was different. The metal arm was a new thing. He was surprised humans had advanced so far in so little time. The flesh of his host was stronger than most humans, and except for Wilson, this one was alone.
The perfect host indeed. A soul tormented, isolated, with an enhanced body. He planned to have a lot of fun with this one, and because this human had so little ties to others, there would be no one to interfere. Wilson was the only one who might have proven to be an inconvenience, but that was a gossamer thread. The human's memories made it clear that the relationship with Wilson was riddled with strife.
Now he could walk this world and continue to feed off the psychic energy of the newest prisoner of the dream dimension. The nightmares plucked from the man's mind were in full force, battering his bruised but remarkably resilient psyche. That resilience is what made the soldier such a valuable target. Most humans would have already succumbed, but this one had staying power. It was a feast that would energize him for days…perhaps weeks.
He searched the memories of his captive for information on the modern world and ideas for further rejuvenation. Demons such as himself were not meant to be trapped for hundreds of years. His search brought forward a face and a name.
Sarah.
The sister of Sam Wilson. Perfect. He knew of an exquisitely entertaining way of severing the last connection this tormented soul had to the Wilsons, and in doing so he would inflict fresh nightmares upon which to feast. Once he'd drained the soldier's psychic energies completely, he'd search for his next victim.
Until then, he would have fun with his regained freedom.
-0- -0- -0-
Sam's head throbbed, and his shoulder felt like it had popped out and back into its socket. The muscles around the joint were tight and hot. He'd probably feel more aches and pains over the next couple of days. He was so over being tossed around by super soldiers.
By the time he'd gotten Red Wing in the air, Bucky was long gone. The man's phone was still in the apartment, so there was no way to track him through GPS. Sam debated contacting the Wakandans, but he wasn't sure they were the right ones to help in this particular situation.
The more he replayed the events in the bedroom, the more certain he became that he had, in fact, seen Bucky levitate for a moment. A decade ago, the thought of that would have been laughable, but now he lived in a world with aliens and wizards. Levitation no longer seemed far-fetched.
His gut told him he needed a sorcerer like Dr. Strange instead of a scientist like Shuri. Lucky for him, the sanctum was just a few miles away.
-0- -0- -0-
"My father will die alone because of you," RJ Nakajima leveled at him, dark eyes hard and unwavering beneath the bullet hole in his forehead.
"There was nothing left of me for my family to bury," the disembodied voice said, emanating from a cloud of blood and bits of flesh that twisted and spun like a spirit trying to take shape.
The words skewered him like a hot poker. "I'm sorry," he choked, curled into himself as the world spun and he coughed up blood and bitter, black bile, his fingers digging into the dirt with each wave of agony. "I didn't have a choice."
"I was your friend." Howard Stark dropped to his knees a few inches away, his skull caved in. Blood caked the left side of his face and a chunk of brain matter bulged from his right eye. "You left my son an orphan."
"You left my son without a father," the man with the Boston brahmin added, sauntering slowly around Bucky. "You assassinated me and helped shape the century for Hydra."
Stop! Please stop! Each word was agony, torture greater than any the Russians had ever inflicted on him. He gritted his teeth and pushed against the ground, trying to get to his feet or at least roll away, but he had no strength. The pain consumed him.
His vision blurred into a blend of shapes — dead trees and shadowy figures. He was in hell. He didn't remember dying, but he must have. Maybe it was an aneurysm, or his heart finally gave out, or something Hydra had done to him years ago finally caught up to him. Maybe an assassin had managed to sneak up on him and take him out so efficiently, he didn't even realize he'd died.
If only he'd shown his victims such kindness.…
-0- -0- -0-
When the woman opened the hotel door, he stretched his face into the formation of a smile. "Hello, Sarah."
Two boys, one a few years older than the other, ran up.
"Bucky!" the younger one exclaimed. "Are you coming with us to the zoo?"
The older boy peered around him. "Where's Uncle Sam?"
"He's held up." He stepped into the room, holding his smile as he passed the woman. It felt strange to wear flesh again, but there was a carnal advantage to flesh that he missed during his captivity.
He had made the right decision by not killing Sam Wilson immediately. This was going to be much more fun.
