Chapter 4: Aftermath
When Doctor Strange took a breath and opened his eyes, Sam dropped to his knees next to Bucky, resisting the impulse to reach out and touch his frozen body. "Is he back?"
"He should be." Wong helped a shaky Doctor Strange to his feet.
Strangest brow furrowed the moment he noticed Bucky's frozen corpse. "We were gone too long?"
Wong nodded. "It was the only way."
"You said you could bring him back." Sam clenched his fists to keep his emotions in check. His medical instincts were screaming to get Bucky to a hospital, but the sorcerer had done this, and Sam hoped to hell the sorcerer could revive Bucky.
Wong walked up and spread his hands over Bucky's still form. "I can reverse the freezing and try to replicate the cryogenic thawing. His enhanced healing abilities should take over from there, just like they did for him before, and as they did for Rogers."
Orange energy spread out from Wong's hands and enveloped Bucky.
-0- -0- -0-
Cold was the first thing he became aware of — a familiar, bone-deep cold and, with it, the sharp pains in his left shoulder that always came when the metal attached to his bone contracted and then expanded with the brutal temperature change of the cryo process.
They seemed a little less potent this time around, for some reason.
He felt more than heard the groan rumble from his throat. He was lying on something hard. He opened his eyes to darkness, but he sensed figures around him—the scrape of shoes against the floor, the whiff of breaths from above, warmth from bodies nearby.
His body knew the routine more intimately than it knew anything else. The hands came, just like they always did. He'd fight them, just like he usually did if they delayed too long, but he'd still end up in the chair, and metal would clamp around his skull, delivering electricity into his brain and taking away everything else.
He curled around the pain of his left shoulder and swung out with his right arm. It sank into soft flesh. There was a grunt and then a crash.
He kicked, skittering on the floor, his limbs flailing with the bare minimum of control until he slammed into something hard. A wall. Unlike all the times before, the hands didn't return. The darkness gradually receded until he could make out three figures. Vision always took longer to return than hearing after coming out of cryo.
He could make out enough to tell that the three figures were male, and they were hanging back. That was unusual. They should be on him by now, getting him into the chair before he could get his bearings, before he had enough strength to put up an effective fight.
He blinked against the mistiness in his vision, and the shadowy figures coalesced into things more defined. The color red registered first. It was draped around a man who was crouched near another on the ground, propping him against the far wall.
The fallen man was little more than a shadow with dark skin and a blue shirt. Not a uniform. He held up a hand. "Okay, Bucky, this one's on me. Hindsight and all."
He knew that voice. "Sam?" His throat felt like sandpaper. As his vision came further back online, he took in his surroundings. He was in a large, dark workroom. It had to be the sanctum.
And he could feel his limbs. All of them. He wasn't a stump in a lab.
Where had that thought come from?
Sam got to his feet, aided by Doctor Strange. He released a heavy sigh, and the deep lines in his forehead vanished. "It's nice to have you back. You okay?"
Bucky huddled in the corner, shivering, clutching his left shoulder as though he could grab the pain and yank it out. Nothing made sense, but he wasn't sure how much of that was the disorientation that always came with thawing out and how much of it was because he was sure he had just been frozen, but he wasn't in Siberia or Wakanda and there was no cryogenic chamber in sight.
And as he huddled into himself in a futile attempt to guard against the cold that came from inside, he realized with a heaviness in his gut that it was Sam he'd punched. Hard.
"I… I should be asking you that." He couldn't stop shivering. Thawing was always hell. It was a curse of the serum that his body was capable of rising from the literal dead. It allowed Hydra to inflict abuses on him that would have mercifully killed anybody else.
He'd been in a lab, hadn't he? He could almost hear the sound of the saw. He remembered looking down and seeing himself as nothing more than a torso. His stomach tried to revolt, but it was still too cold to do much more than protest.
Nothing made sense.
As part of him continued to thaw, nerve endings screamed. He knew this pain. He gritted his teeth. There was no choice but to ride it out.
"I'm okay, Bucky. It's not the first time you've tossed me through the air. This wasn't even as hard as last time." When Sam knelt in front of him, there was no hesitancy, no hint of fear. He always appreciated that. Sam was one of the few people he'd hurt—almost killed several times—who didn't treat him like a bomb under pressure.
"What happened?" He remembered flashes of images that didn't make sense. Most of all, he remembered pain. The sound of the saw. A dark horse with horns and the man with a white face and black hair.
"It will come back to you, more so when you dream…well, the parts that were you, anyway." Doctor Strange said. "Nightmare will be waiting, but I can give you something for protection."
Protection from what? It was right there, a dream just out of reach. The harder he pushed to remember, the further it drifted away.
Sam's fingers brushed gently against Bucky's sleeve. "Are you gonna be okay if I work off some of this damp clothing? Wong is going for hot soup and a blanket that should help warm you up."
Bucky nodded. "Be careful of my left shoulder."
Sam's brow furrowed with confusion. "What's wrong with it?"
"The metal and bone don't defrost the same way. It'll heal. It always does."
"Shit!" Sam's eyes went wide realization. "This happened every time?"
"Every fucking time." The pain would linger for hours. It was always exhausting. The vibranium arm was reacting differently enough that the pain wasn't as profound this time around.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to resist the hands as they gently worked off his damp shirt. Sam chattered, and even though Bucky didn't have the energy to focus on the words, he welcomed the tone. It kept him grounded, holding the memories of Hydra at bay. He suspected Sam knew exactly what he was doing.
The softest, fluffiest blanket he had ever felt in his life outside of Wakanda was wrapped around him, emanating heat as though it had just come out of a dryer. It was like a hug from heaven.
When he opened his eyes, Sam was there holding a steaming mug. The sorcerers were gone. Had he fallen asleep or blacked out? Bucky worked his right arm out of the blanket and wrapped his hand around the mug. The heat against his palm was almost unbearable, but he nevertheless brought it into the cocoon of the blanket, letting the warm steam fill the space around his body.
Sam sank back on his rear and crossed his legs. "How long does it usually take you to recover from being frozen?"
"With Hydra, I'm not sure. They always dragged me to the chair as soon as I was defrosted, but before I could get my bearings. The electricity and the words drove everything away. The only cryo recovery I remember well is Wakanda, and that wasn't exactly typical. Shuri and her technology made the process much less unpleasant than it otherwise would be." Pushing out so many words at once left him breathless. He navigated the mug through the blanket and took a tentative sip. It was fire going down and settled like hot coals in his stomach. He knew the soup couldn't be that hot, but his body temperature was still far too low. He brought the mug back within the cocoon of his blanket to let it cool further and warm him from the outside.
"Should we get you to a hospital? You were clinically dead, and this isn't exactly a high-tech facility. Even Steve had the benefit of SHIELD scientists and medics when he was taken out of the ice."
The hospital was the last thing Bucky wanted. "No." Something Doctor Strange said played in the back of his mind. "What did Doctor Strange mean when he said I would only remember the parts that were me." The way Sam quickly averted his gaze made the soup churning in Bucky's stomach burn like acid. "What did I do?"
Sam's eyes snapped back to him. "You didn't do anything. That thing took over your body while you were sleeping. What's the last thing you remember?"
He barely registered the question. He was focused on the sentence before. The thing that Doctor Strange called Nightmare had taken over his body. It had walked in his skin. What had it done?
"Going to sleep. The rest… I'm not sure. There was a black horse and a man with a white face. I saw him on the docks." Flashes of what had to be a dream came and went like an ocean's tide receding as soon as he touched it. There was a dark room. A saw. Zola. His throat closed up, and he dug the nail of his thumb into his palm to give himself something to focus on instead of the rising dread bubbling from his gut. "What did that thing do when it was in my body?"
"Well, uh, you threw me through a door, But don't worry, like all the other times you tossed me around, I came through with only a few bumps and bruises." Sam gave a weak smile, but there was something in his eyes that told Bucky things were left unsaid.
"What else?" Bucky studied Sam's face for the truth. "I know there's something you're not telling me, which means it's bad." He braced himself for whatever came out of Sam's mouth next. Had the demon hurt somebody? God, maybe even killed someone?
Hesitation was evident in the way Sam's gaze darted away and the slight hitch in his breath. Bucky let the silence linger because he knew Sam was struggling with how to break the bad news.
After a moment, Sam took a breath and looked him in the eye. "First, I need you to know that everybody is okay. As far as I know, that thing didn't hurt anybody while it was wearing your skin. It paid a visit to Sarah and the boys–"
Oh God… Sam's face got blurry, and the room tilted.
"—but everyone's okay," Sam added so quickly his words ran together. "The boys didn't even know anything was up. They'd gotten sent out to the vending machine."
Bucky coiled tighter into himself. "What did I do?"
"You did nothing." Sam leaned forward, his voice firm. "That thing assaulted her, but we got there in time. She's not hurt, just a little shaken up. We've explained what happened. She's worried about you."
Sarah. Even though it was the demon in his body that did it, it was his hands that carried out the deed.
She's okay. She's okay. She's okay.
But he couldn't see any more cookouts on the docks with her or the kids and Sam. He knew what trauma felt like. Even when one part of your brain told you it was okay, there was a whole different part that screamed it wasn't.
And whatever trauma Sarah had from the assault, it wore his face.
"What's going on in that brain of yours, Bucky? I don't like the look in your eyes."
Bucky uncoiled and rubbed his shoulder. "I'm glad she's okay. When you see her, tell her that, will you?" The words 'I'm sorry' were stuck in the back of his throat, but the things he was sorry for were things he couldn't seem to control.
He was sorry that there was a weakness inside him that let others use him against his will. Maybe because his will wasn't as strong as it should be. It sure as hell wasn't as strong as Steve's. It never had been.
-0- -0- -0-
In the three weeks after Doctor Strange had pulled him out of the Dream Realm, Bucky had barely left his apartment except to get groceries and, once, to do his laundry. Sam was back in Louisiana with Sarah and the boys. He stayed a week longer than he planned, but Bucky had put up a convincing show and convinced him to go home.
It wasn't a hard sell. Sarah and the boys needed him. They were his family.
Bucky had no family, not anymore. The last of his family left, stepping onto a platform and vanishing into thin air. The man who returned had lived a lifetime without him—had found himself a new family, a real one.
Bucky answered the first couple of phone calls from Sam and infused casualness into his tone. Then he stopped answering them. His voicemail filled up, but he never checked any of the messages. If someone was coming to arrest him, they'd eventually break down his door.
Sam moved on to texting. Unlike the last time, Sam was now putting details in his messages.
How are you doing? The boys want to video chat with you. You up for it later this evening?
The feds decided not to press charges. Doctor Strange and I explained things. I can't believe they bought demonic possession, but Strange offered to give them a tour of that nightmare realm, and they suddenly decided the assurances of two people who helped defeat Thanos were good enough.
Text me back, dammit!
Your voice mailbox is still full.
Why don't you come here for Thanksgiving?
Bucky, if you don't get back to me, I'm going to call the police to have a welfare check done on you.
I'm serious.
Okay, you called my bluff. No cops, but I swear to God, I'll come up there myself. Thanksgiving is next week. The offer still stands. Sarah is formally inviting you to dinner. She's practically demanding.
Sarah wants you to know that she's disappointed you didn't make it here for Thanksgiving.
Bucky, this is Sarah. Get your ass here for Christmas. Please.
Christmas is 2 weeks away, Buck. U coming?
You're an asshole. You better not be dead. Red Wing says your phone is in your apartment and it's powered, so you've gotta be alive. Battery would've died if you've been laying dead this whole time stinking up the place. Christ, I hope you're not dead.
Bucky crushed the phone in his metal fist, then swept up the mess and tossed it in the garbage.
"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."
The words may have been from a demon wearing Tony Stark's face, but they were true. Too many people had already paid a steep price. He was broken beyond repair. That's why Nightmare was drawn to him, and look what it had done to Sam and Sarah. Even Doctor Strange had almost lost his soul trying to pull his ass out of the fire.
Steve had realized it. When he made that promise on the helicarrier that he'd be there 'til the end of the line, Steve thought the man he knew still existed, somewhere, deep down. After the Wakandans had freed Bucky from the control words, the painful truth was there.
He was a broken man. The end of the line had already come. That's why Steve left. He'd never break a promise unless there was no more promise to keep.
The next day, Bucky was sitting on the yellow loveseat with a journal on his lap, halfway through a pro/con list that weighed the merits of living for the next 60 years or so, when an orange portal opened up in his living room.
Shit. He should've seen this coming.
Doctor Strange and Sam stepped into the apartment as the portal closed behind them.
"When Red Wing lost your signal, I thought for sure you had offed yourself." Sam stepped forward, his dark gaze hard and steady. "I spent the last 24 hours feeling like a complete failure for not kicking down your door weeks ago. I almost did after Thanksgiving, but I got pulled into a mess in the Middle East. Do have any idea what you've done to me, Sarah, and the boys? We've been worried sick about you. You couldn't even answer a single text?"
Bucky set the pen in the margin and closed the notebook. "My phone's broken."
He stared at the brown leather cover. It was the color of Steve's bomber jacket, and he wondered if, on some level, that's why he'd noticed it in the window of the tiny bookstore.
Jesus. He really had to move on. Steve was gone. Forever. It felt like he'd lost another limb….complete with a phantom sensation that sometimes made him forget, and then brutally reminded him.
"Has the protection spell been working?" Doctor Strange's voice was gentle, unlike Sam's.
Bucky took a breath before answering. "I think so. Same old nightmares, but no pasty-faced demon and his fucked-up horse."
Though sometimes he swore he could hear the clank of a horse's hoof outside his apartment or feel hot breath on the back of his neck in the middle of the night.
An awkward silence lingered five seconds too long before Sam sighed heavily and sank crosslegged to the floor in front of Bucky. "Sarah wants you in Delacroix for Christmas, and if I don't come back with you, it's going to be a very unpleasant holiday in the Wilson home."
Bucky knew what this looked like. It looked like he was wallowing in depression. Okay, he was, but there was a damn good reason for it. Sam didn't want to see the reason, but he needed to.
Pushing out of the chair, Bucky walked to the kitchen and set the notebook in the top drawer. On the first page inside the cover, the con list was winning.
He turned to face Sam. "Your sister was almost killed because you know me. Why the fuck are you here? Next time, it could very well be AJ or Cass, or both. If and when it is, you're going to regret helping Steve save my life. Stop being stupid. You're risking lives that aren't yours. Get the hell out of my apartment, give my regrets to Sarah, and lose my number. You and I are never going to talk again. Now go."
Sam's complexion went a shade lighter. Bucky watched the emotions play through the shifting expressions on that familiar face. Fear was the first of them, with wide eyes and a downturned mouth. Then the brows knitted together and the lips spread into a thin line. That was anger.
Finally, the eyebrows tilted upward and those dark eyes grew misty. This was the worst of them all. Grief. Loss. Sadness.
He knew those well. Too damn well. But this was for the best. For him. For Sam. For everyone.
"Bucky, they're in danger every day simply because I carry the shield. Do you think I should cut them out of my life?"
The shield. That was another one of his screw-ups. Sam hadn't wanted it, but Bucky pushed him into taking on the mantle of Captain America because he was so wrapped up in his own hangups about Steve.
"No. They're your family. If I still had mine, there'd be nothing that could take me away from them. If it's between them and the shield, then give up the shield, just not to the government."
Doctor Strange cleared his throat as his cloak billowed slowly behind him. "I realize you two have a lot to discuss, but I have to get back to the sanctum soon. Captain?"
Sam raised a hand. "I appreciate the ride. A couple more minutes?"
The sorcerer nodded and leaned against the wall, his gaze sweeping the spartan room.
"There are so many different types of families, Bucky. Why don't you come and be part of mine for the holidays? Maybe a few birthdays down the line, too?"
No. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Need was a terrible thing. He'd been there for Steve when they were young and Steve needed him—through the back-alley brawls, bouts of asthma and illness, Great Depression, and Sarah's death. He always knew Steve would do the same for him.
Until the day Steve didn't.
If he couldn't count on Steve, he couldn't count on anyone.
"I said no, Sam."
The air sizzled, and another portal opened. Bucky scowled. Sorcerers apparently had no qualms about trespassing and no respect for privacy. Wong stepped through, and a moment later, Sarah followed.
Bucky straightened. She was the last person he expected to walk into his living room.
The moment the portal closed behind her, she locked her gaze on him and crossed her arms. "Do you have any idea what you've put my brother through?"
Wong raised his eyebrows apologetically. "Sorry. She made me."
Bucky's gaze darted to Sam, mostly to avoid hers. "I'm sorry I haven't responded. Thank you for the invitations, but I'm not up for it."
She walked up to him, and he tensed beneath her dark gaze. "I know it wasn't you."
He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.
"It's okay if you're not up for it," she continued. "Come anyway. Sit in the corner. Be bad company. Just come. Otherwise, we'll spend the holiday thinking about your pathetic ass sitting in this ridiculously minimalist apartment," she looked around quickly, "and none of us will be able to enjoy ourselves. There is a spare bedroom with its own bathroom and a television. I'll even give you the Wi-Fi password. You can hole up in there just as easily as you can hole up here."
"And what if the demon that took over my body goes for Round Two?" Bucy forced himself to look directly into her eyes. What did she see now when she looked at him? Was it the guy that shoved her against the wall, prepared to have his way with her?
Doctor Strange answered. "The protection spell is holding up."
"For now," Bucky reminded him. Every security measure could eventually be breached, especially by a determined intruder.
Strange raised an eyebrow. "I'm keeping tabs on the situation." He paused, cocking his head as he studied Bucky. "How you're feeling now is the result of Nightmare draining your energy. It'll take at least a couple of months to completely recover."
"If you won't come to Louisiana, then I guess we'll have the holiday here." Sarah approached Wong. "Mind if I pack a couple of bags and get the boys? Do you have time for that?"
Wait. She couldn't mean here… as in… his apartment? "Stop. You can't stay here. I only have one bedroom. There's no food, and I'm a terrible host."
She turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. "You're gonna have to physically kick us out or call the cops."
Bucky sighed in defeat. It didn't seem like she was bluffing. He looked to Sam, but the man merely shrugged, no help at all. "Okay. I'll spend the holidays with you in Louisiana. Thank you for the invitation." He felt like that was something he had to say just in case there was a heaven and his mother was watching, but he couldn't promise to be good company, and at the first sign that nightmare was actually hunting his dreams, he'd hightail it out of there. "I'll grab my bag." The "go bag" he kept ready was in the corner of his closet. It took him less than 10 seconds to come back with it over his shoulders.
Sam leveled a suspicious glare at him. "Man, one of these days we're going to have to talk about more of your issues."
Wong flung his arms out to the side with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Are we all ready to go? And just for future reference, we are not Ubers. Although," he scratched his chin, "we could start charging for this service. Maybe we'd finally be able to afford heated tile floors in the sanctum."
Sarah flashed a brilliant smile at Wong. "Thank you."
Bucky was sure there was an extra hint of pink to Wong's cheeks as he replied with a mumbled "you're welcome" and gestured to the portal.
Sarah stepped through to the yard in front of her house and looked back at him. He glanced at Sam one final time before taking a breath and following her.