A/N: Sorry there's more exposition than anything in this chapter. Again. But I gotta do some setup, unfortunately.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Brazil

Frank really does not like this whole thing one fucking bit. First, he'd been cornered by the new Captain America (which, he barely remembers hearing about in the first place) and the goddamned Winter Soldier—well, White Wolf now. Frank saw some of the files that the Black Widow released online in the aftermath of the DC incident, but he didn't dig too much. Government secrets give him a headache. What he had seen, though, is enough to give kids nightmares. Barnes had said he doesn't have any of that H.Y.D.R.A. programming left in him. Frank wants to believe him, but he's finding it kind of hard. Frank knows what war does to people. And this Bucky Barnes has been through about seventy years' worth of war. Unwillingly. With science and tech Frank used to believe only possible in science fiction. How in the hell is he supposed to know whether or not Barnes is really okay enough to fight on their side?

Second, he's somehow gotten himself into a much larger mess than he'd intended to. Again. And now he has to cooperate with two more people he doesn't know. That doesn't always pan out the way it should.

Sandy seems to read his thoughts. Or just the general unease he puts off as they trudge carefully back to the safehouse (that isn't ours, he notes bitterly) toting their belongings. "Sam used to be my counselor. If it wasn't for him…" she trails off briefly, her voice careful. "I probably either wouldn't be alive today, or at the very least, you'd still be on your own through all this."

Frank raises an eyebrow, but doesn't look at her. He keeps his eyes peeled on his surroundings, wanting to be sure himself that they don't have any more unwanted company.

"I trust him, Frank. I know I haven't seen him in, well, technically 10 years, but… I trust him. Like I trust you."

Sandy never gets this serious. At least, not since he'd almost died and she'd blamed herself—still does, he thinks. They still haven't really hashed that out, and he wonders if they ever will. Neither of them are really apt to be open and vulnerable on a regular basis. "I know. I saw that back in the alley."

"Oh. Didn't really know I was that easy to read."

"Only if you know what you're looking for."

"Aw, Frank, you ain't gotta get all outwardly soft on me now." Ah, there she is again.

"Yeah, well. Just want you to know I'm still not sold on this whole thing."

"I know. Barnes, right?" He nods. "He's with Sam. Willingly. And though Sam seems to love bugging him almost as much as I love fucking with you, Sam knows what he's doing. He's an Avenger, yeah, but he's also been in war. Just like you. Just like Barnes. And I don't know him personally, but I have a feeling Sam wouldn't bring him along on this if he didn't trust Barnes."

Frank doesn't say anything. She's right. She'd talked long ago about her experience in China and how it nearly broke her. She'd never said Sam's name before, but she had mentioned a support system when she got back that helped her try and heal. He has a friend like that, too. A brother in arms overseas and at home. One he'd unwillingly put in harm's way multiple times. And unfortunately continues to. Although his friend isn't always exactly overjoyed to see him and Sandy after their recent escapades, Curtis is always willing to help how he can.

This Sam Wilson had seemed like some absolute stranger before, but maybe Frank has misjudged him. It's hard not to see the similarities between Sam and Curtis. Sam doesn't have the outward wounds that Curtis does, but they've both dedicated their lives to helping those with trauma try to find some sense of normalcy, despite being damaged themselves.

Frank finally speaks up after a few moments. "I get it. I do." A quick sigh, then, "Shit, if Curtis showed up after 10 years of doing God knows what asking for help, I'd do whatever I could to help him. It's the least I can do after…"

"Yeah, yeah, exactly. Sam's a good guy. We'll be alright. Plus, I'm gonna hold this whole 'he needed my help' thing over his head for the rest of our lives. So that's always fun."

He snorts. "We need a contingency plan, though."

"Yeah. Maybe the I Need a Hero one?"

"That is still the dumbest name."

She shrugs. "Maybe to you. I love it."

"You named it, of course you like it."

"That's how that works, Frank."

They spend the rest of the way in comfortable silence. Frank ignores Sandy's remark about the safehouse being an excellent hiding space and one they may have to borrow in the future, though he doesn't disagree. He's just not exactly in the mood for her banter.

Whatever thoughts he has about them leaving the door unlocked disappear when the scent of leftover Chinese food all but slaps Frank in the face as they enter the apartment.

"Is that from the place like right around the corner?" Sandy caught it too. It is one of their favorite spots, after all.

Sam's voice comes from the kitchen. "Yeah, best Chinese in all of New York, honestly. I don't know how hungry you guys are, but there's still some left if you want it."

"I am almost always hungry." Sandy grabs the outstretched plate Sam offers her. "You guys already eat?"

Sam nods.

Frank notices someone was missing. "Where's Barnes?"

Sam chews the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, trying to decide what to tell them. "He needed some fresh air, so he's doing a perimeter check."

Frank narrows his eyes but says nothing beyond a grunt of recognition. Wilson didn't seem to be lying, but Frank thinks there's something more he's not telling them. He glances at Sandy, who's happily stuffing her face. She doesn't seem worried, so Frank lets it go for the moment. He trusts her, he does. So he needs to follow her lead. The Chinese smells delicious, after all. He settles himself at the dining table in the corner and digs into the container of rice, careful to keep all exits within sight.

"You know, the years have been really good to you, Sammy."

Frank raises an eyebrow at Sam's blush. He knows it isn't so much her words that make Sam blush, but rather her tone. He's really going to have to talk to Sandy about that. She flirts with literally every person they meet. Even when they need to go as unnoticed as possible. It's going to get her in trouble one day.

"You, too. Never imagined you'd dye your hair, but brunette's a good look, too." Sam's tone is a bit more casual, which makes sense. Frank guesses this isn't a habit of hers that developed only recently. Still, he's kind of rusty.

"I change it a lot. One time, I even had pink highlights. Turned a lot of heads."

"I bet. What are you now, like fifty? Old ladies with pink hair would certainly grab my attention," Sam laughs, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

Sam yelps as Sandy playfully kicks out the back of his knee, wobbling only a little. Frank raises an eyebrow again, amused. He'll have to use that one on her one day.

"You're still an asshole. You know damn well I'm not even in my mid-thirties."

Sam pauses at that. Frank's head lifts fully to watch him more carefully. Wilson looks at her curiously. Obviously he knows she isn't close to fifty, but her slightly-younger-than-he-expected age throws him a little bit.

Sandy immediately catches his question. "I would be thirty-five next month, had the whole Thanos thing not happened."

"So you were snapped, too, huh?"

She nods. "Unfortunately. Frank, too."

Frank swallows his food. "It's been fun trying to catch up."

Frank hadn't actually enjoyed that one bit. He'd had a hell of a confusing time watching Sandy reappear right in front of him what felt like seconds after she'd been turned to dust. They'd figured out what exactly happened (which is, to say the least, confusing as fuck), then he'd sought out Curtis, who openly wept the second he saw Frank. Eventually Frank did, too.

And Amy. She'd lived those five years, but Frank didn't have the heart to actually contact her. It might be better if she thinks he's actually dead. She's safer that way.

Yeah, fun seems like the right word to use.

The front door opens at the same time Sam's mouth does. Frank's head instinctively jerks towards the noise, body tensed for whatever's about to happen. However, he relaxes as Barnes's figure comes into view. He looks… well, not as composed as he had been before they left. Had something happened while he and Sandy were gone?

"Hey, man. Everything all right?" Sam asks. It sounds like there's something else he means…

Bucky's eyes lift up and he nods. He takes a breath and answers, growing steadier with each word. "Yeah, perimeter's clear. We're good for tonight. Anything left over?"

Frank's eyes drift to Sam. The Captain visibly relaxes and he nods at the fridge. "Your personal stash is left."

Barnes nods again and makes his way to the fridge. As he passes between the two of them, Sandy locks eyes with Frank. Her bright eyes dance with the same question: what was that about?

Frank shoots her a look. Later.

Satisfied for the moment, Sandy looks back at Sam. "So, uh, Thanos." She drags the name out a little longer than necessary. "We know the basics of what happened. But that doesn't satiate my overwhelming curiosity. I assume one or both of you were there and know a hell of a lot more than we do. Wanna tell us the whole story?"

Sam quirks up an eyebrow at her, then looks at Barnes, who shrugs. "I think that'll be too long a story for tonight."

Sandy frowns. So does Frank. "You do plan on telling us, right? Or is it some big government secret that you can't tell us?" she asks. She doesn't sound happy about the idea of being kept in the dark.

Barnes shrugs again, paused with his fork hovering in midair. "Government secrets aren't our forte. It's just a long story."

"He's right. This is better left for our long flight tomorrow."

"Wanna explain that?" Frank interjects.

"Wait, more importantly, what's the sleeping situation here?" Sandy interrupts. "Are we gonna have to share beds? I saw only 2 bedrooms, and that couch doesn't look big enough for 2 people laying down. I'd rather not sleep sitting up—"

"It's—I'm not sharing a bed," Sam announces firmly, pointing at everyone in the room.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper!"

Frank opens his mouth to offer sleeping on the couch—or not at all, since coffee does a pretty good job of keeping him awake. However, Barnes has a different solution.

"Sam and I are taking the couch in shifts. You two can have those bedrooms."

"That's awfully sweet of you two," Frank mutters. Well, there go his plans of keeping watch.

"And here I was, thinking I'd get to be someone's big spoon." Sandy sounds way too disappointed.

"Please don't start that."

She frowns at Frank. "You are no fun at all, my dear."

Sam is all too familiar with how this will play out without intervention. "Okay, focus. I'm tired as shit, and I'd like to get a little bit of sleep before we gotta fly 10 hours to an actual vacation spot that I can't properly enjoy because, once again, people are trying to kill me and my friends."

"That's the first time you've ever called me your friend," Barnes mutters into his drink, but Sam only shoots him a look before Sandy starts asking more questions.

"And the Accords are just gonna let you do this? With us of all people?"

Sam refocuses. "They're a little more lenient nowadays, considering it's not just politicians on the panel now."

"I sense there's a 'but' to that."

"And you'd be right. We're not exactly telling the Avengers or the Accords about you two. I have a feeling they might not be happy about it."

Frank barely catches Barnes' under the breath comments about hypocrites and Barton, whatever that means.

Sandy gets more and more excited. "Oh, I like the sound of this."

Frank squints at him. "And how do you expect to smuggle us into South America?"

Sam's grinning now. "A quinjet."

Of course. Sandy had talked a lot about that particular S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. "Being Captain America sure has its perks, huh?"

Sam nods at Frank, then turns back to Sandy's gleeful outburst of, "Hell yeah! God, it's been forever since I've been in a quinjet." She looks at Frank with a very serious expression. "I'm sorry, Frank, but Sam's now my favorite person."

Frank merely shrugs. "Cool. Maybe now I'll get some peace and quiet."

"You're not out of the woods that easily."

They all finished their dinner and spent the night in relative quiet. Sam and Bucky slept on the couch in shifts, like they'd planned, but Sam found it hard to actually sleep. Too many of the schematics they'd poured over in that H.Y.D.R.A. base rolled around in his head. How they'd coordinate with 2 extra people he'd never been on missions with before. Would they have beefed up security after he and Bucky had taken out several cells here in the States? Pre-mission jitters are the worst.

He noticed Bucky had trouble sleeping, too. Not likely for the exact same reasons, though. The early morning sunlight was barely trickling through the mostly covered up windows by the time they both decided to give up on sleeping. They'd had a hushed conversation in the kitchen just before Sandy and Frank woke up, and Bucky reassured him he'd be fine. They've both been through this before, so Sam trusts him.

"Since Sandy's familiar with a quinjet, maybe she can fly for a couple hours and you can get some sleep," Sam had offered.

Bucky chuckled, "Funny, I was gonna say the same to you."

From what Sam remembers from their sessions, Sandy had not been a morning person. And apparently, she still isn't. She'd grumbled throughout their breakfast. Sam caught Bucky drowning any potential laughter with his coffee. Sam hadn't done much better hiding his amusement, and Frank seemed too used to it to really react, besides scolding her when she got too chatty or off topic. He looks tired, too, but Sam surmises that's not unusual for him.

Once she'd woken up enough, Sam was able to wrangle them all together and head for the quinjet hidden in stealth mode on the roof. Sandy had been the first one on the jet, rushing past everyone else and exclaiming how much she missed it. Her chatter had drowned out Frank's comment about how his life "would be much easier with one of these things." Then she started babbling about the upgrades that had been made and Sam completely tuned her out and focused on getting them in the air.

He'd gotten so into his navigation and early flight checklist that he almost doesn't notice Bucky. He does his best to hide his slight jump when Bucky asks, "Want me to take over?"

He turns and takes a long look at Bucky before he answers, studying his face. He's pulled his hair into a half bun to keep it out of his face (it's still a little too short for a full bun), so Sam can clearly see the bags under his eyes. He does look better than he had after he'd seen the picture the night before, but not as well as if he'd actually gotten a decent amount of sleep. He's also obviously taken time to trim the beard that was starting to become unruly. Good. Personal grooming means Bucky's mental state is in good condition. Sam will likely need him in top shape for this. No telling what's going to happen when they start taking out these distribution centers.

Sam tears his gaze away before he's caught staring too long. He hates that Bucky's eyes are so damn blue.

Bucky sees exactly what he's doing and gives a reassuring smile. "I'm okay. It wasn't one of those memories. And you don't look that much better, either."

"You sure you wanna fly? You aren't exactly the best pilot."

Bucky rolls his eyes and plops into the weapons system seat behind Sam, sighing, "Your call, Cap." The nickname still feels a little weird to Sam. But rather than pull on that string of emotions he has trouble processing, he shakes it off. Sam watches for a few moments from the corner of his eye as Bucky squints out the windshield while the last signs of New York roll out of view underneath them. "We did promise them a story last night, though. And you know way more about what happened than I do. I only showed up for the actual fight."

"Yeah, you were to busy tending to your goats and being a hermit to worry about the outside world." Bucky blinks slowly at him, unfazed, and Sam frowns. Bucky's right, and if Sam knows Sandy, the second she's done inspecting every last inch of the quinjet, she'll come asking for it anyway. "I should make you tell them anyway."

"They'll be more confused than they were before. Ask me about stuff I don't wanna talk about. Then they'll just come to you anyway." Bucky tilts his head and watches Sam with raised eyebrows. "You know I'm right, and I barely know these two."

Sam heaves a defeated sigh. "Fine, fine."

"Take a nap afterwards, too."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Just looking out for you, friend."

"I hate you."

"Uh-huh."

Sam stands and lets Bucky take the reins. Maybe they won't crash prematurely, or Bucky won't just take them to Wakanda instead. Not that the latter is such a horrible idea. He could really use some of that African sunshine right about now.

"Sammy boy! Come to give us our mission debriefing?" Sandy's sing-song voice cuts through Sam's brief daydream.

"Not exactly. We can go over that once we land. I'm actually here to read you guys a bedtime story."

Sandy claps her hands. "I love bedtime stories. Is this one titled The Princess and the Falcon?"

Frank snorts from his seat on the opposite side. Sam glances at him briefly before crossing his arms. "No, more like The Avengers and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week. Featuring a giant purple alien with a ballsack for a chin."

"Oh! Even better!"

Sam barely has any interruptions during his story, barring brief clarifications from Bucky. He had to start back with the alien invasion of New York and explain how exactly that wormhole had opened up in the sky in the first place. That, and with the still confusing explanations Thor and Doctor Strange—Frank looks dumbfounded and highly skeptical at that name, and Sam gives him a knowing look—had offered on what exactly the infinity stones were, take more time to explain than the actual struggle against Thanos. Er, struggles. Frank looks entirely out of his depth throughout Sam's briefing, while Sandy looks fascinated, yet angry.

"And you didn't think to call me?" she asks once Sam is done.

"Didn't know that A) you were still alive, and B) that you even had powers. Though that would have probably helped out a hell of a lot."

"Well, next time some world ending event like that happens, call me. I'd love to be everyone's savior."

"Please don't call me," Frank orders. Sam really can't blame him for that attitude.

"I wish I had that option," Sam mutters. He stands up from his seat and stretches. "If you have any more questions, I'd say ask Barnes, but he's kind of a dumbass, so it'd be pointless."

"Takes one to know one," Bucky shoots back.

Sam scrunches his face in annoyance. Not that he'll ever openly tell Bucky, but he enjoys their repartee, he really does. Just not when it's in front of other people and Bucky's being just as rude as he is. "I'm going to take a nap. Thinking about all this space and time travel shit makes my head hurt."

"Want me to join you?"

Frank is already trying to rein her in before Sam can even think about replying. "Sandy, Jesus Christ. Leave him alone."

"Fine, fine, I've got stuff I need to fiddle with, anyway. Offer still stands if you want it, Sam."

And that. That is going to give him even more headaches, he just knows it.

Sam sleeps longer than he intends to. The bunk bed is softer than he remembered, but maybe that's just because he was so tired. When he finally wakes up, the sun is a lot lower in the sky than Sam wants, really. He'd worried about letting Bucky get some rest once he was done, but by now they must be too close for Bucky to get any significant amount of sleep before they land. Great.

However, when he finds Bucky slumped over—but strapped in—in one of the passenger seats, snoozing lightly, he feels decidedly less bad about sleeping so long. Bucky does look peaceful, after all. But Sam wonders if he'd strapped himself in because he doesn't trust Sandy's piloting skills, or if he expected himself to have a nightmare. Either way, Sam figures it's best to let him continue sleeping a little longer.

"So, Cap, feel better?" Sandy asks once Sam appears in the cockpit. She looks as bright and cheery as ever.

"I'm better, thanks. How long you been piloting?"

"About an hour after you left."

"Righty over there seemed like he needed a nap, too," Frank explains from where he's cleaning his gun. "I'm not going into this potential shit show with two tired soldiers." Sam agrees and opens his mouth to verbalize that, but Frank continues, "By the way, do we have a plan for when we land?"

Sam clamps his mouth shut and glances at the navigation screen before answering. They still have about 2 hours before they land. "Yeah. We've got a place lined up a little north of Copacabana. We'll do some recon tonight on the first warehouse and get a plan ready for tomorrow night. I've got the schematics and locations, but that's about all."

"What's our cover? And we're gonna need some clothes because this—" she gestures to her and Frank's very monotone and casual outfits—"may not cut it down there. I've been doing some research. We'll need to blend in as much as possible."

"I've got that covered mostly."

"Mostly?" Frank parrots.

"Yeah, your clothes may not fit right at first, but they'll do until you can do your own shopping. I have a contact that got us a few different places we can lay low, plus I had him hook us up with some essentials to cover us for now. Fake IDs and the like. As far as actual covers go, just make something up if you get questioned. We'll all have secure comms."

"You've gotten good at this stuff, Sammy," Sandy praises.

"Had to." Sam shrugs.

Sandy fills them in on her research and what tech she's brought along (the communications scrambler and nanotech sunglasses are Sam's favorites). Eventually Bucky joins them, looking much more rested to Sam's concealed delight. Then it's their turn to go over all the relevant data they'd found in the H.Y.D.R.A. base until the edges of Rio de Janeiro form in the distance. Sam wants to land the jet himself, but Sandy assures him she'll be able to. And she is. Maybe a little more quietly than Sam would have done, though he definitely isn't going to inflate her ego by telling her that.

The city bustles beneath them on the rooftop of their safehouse. It's a modest building in the middle of a shopping district. The building itself houses only a few tourists that can afford the larger price tag on the apartment, so they won't have to worry about too many nosy neighbors. They are all on separate floor from Sam's crew, anyway. And his contact, Andre, had assured him that these tourists are usually looking for a bit of discretion. Sam owes him one after this, for sure.

"Uh…" Sandy begins, as they enter the stairwell from the roof. "Hey, since we're here anyway, when we're done getting rid of this Magnate, can I just swing by real quick and assassinate Brazil's piece of shit president?"

This earns a round of chuckles. Sam looks around to see the actual approval of that idea on everyone else's face, and he really hates to be the mature one in this case. "As awesome of an idea as that is, I'm gonna have to say no."

Sandy huffs. "You're no fun."

He's able to pick the lock to the room fairly easily, but he has to admit that what waits on the other side is not what Sam Wilson expects.