A/N: Y'all. I am so sorry this took like a month to update, but life has kicked my ass lately. Lots of personal stuff came up and for a while I wasn't in the right head space to really write anything. And I was dragging my feet on this chapter partially because of the guest appearance, and I'm still afraid I didn't quite get their characterization down.

And I'm sorry in advance cause I know this needs some heavy editing. I just wanted to go ahead and get it out. I'll leave it alone for like a week or two while I work on the next chapter, then come back and make edits. I've found that works pretty well for me.

As of now, all previous chapters should be updated with present tense, along with a few minor edits. Hopefully next chapter won't take me another month to finish.

This one's a lil' cheesy at the end I think? But Sam needed some love, and like I said, I'll go back and edit it later.

REVIEWS:

Lewot: You left me a really long one and I appreciate it SO much. I'll add my review at the end of the chapter so you can get to reading cause I have a long response for you as well lol!

"This honestly was not how I thought my day would end."

She snorts. "Me either. But now I'm curious. How'd you think fighting a bunch of guys with guns was gonna end?"

"I dunno, the sweet embrace of death."

"Same bro."

They'd met back up about forty-five minutes later at the sleazy motel Sam had picked out as a backup plan. It's off the grid enough for their liking—well, "liking" is the wrong word. It's an adequate place to lay low until they figure out what the hell to do next. And they'd better do it fast; nobody is comfortable in the small space, least of all Frank and Bucky. To make matters worse, the motel doesn't have any other rooms available, so until checkouts the next day, they're stuck in a single room. At least there's two beds and Bucky's used to taking naps wherever he can sit down—or stand up, as he's had to do on occasion.

It could be worse, though.

Bucky winces as the bullet shifts in his skin again. Annoying little fucker it's being. "At least it's you pulling a bullet out of my ass and not Sam."

She pauses, seeming to contemplate exactly how she should take that. "Because I'm a woman?" is what she settles on, voice full of her usual cheeky attitude.

It's Bucky's turn to stifle a laugh. "No, actually. Sam hates me, so he'd just end up making it worse on purpose." It was going to end up being her anyway. A red-faced Sam had vehemently refused to stitch him up even before Bucky finished saying, "I got shot in the ass." Then they found out Castle had a GSW in his shoulder, and Sam immediately went for the med kit.

Which left Sandy. Despite the desire to get the bullet out ASAP so his body could start healing itself, he'd let Sam and Frank into the single bathroom first. Frank was much bloodier anyway. And Bucky doesn't have to worry about lead poisoning, so he was fine to wait and keep watch until they emerged and started working on stitches.

"Oh, Sarge," she says, tutting and sounding more like she's talking to an innocent child than a hundred-plus year old super assassin, "Sam doesn't hate you." Which is true; Bucky knows what hate looks like, but this is part of their relationship. "In fact—"

"God, this looks familiar."

Both of their heads turn simultaneously to find Frank in the doorway, face unreadable. Apparently Sam's done already.

Bucky has never been less sure what to say, but thankfully after a short pause, Sandy asks, "Though that's not surprising… When? You've been in so many fucking fire fights—" she snaps the fingers on her free hand and continues—"The bar fight before the whole Billy Russo part deux thing, right? I thought I saw a bullet ricochet in the footage."

Frank rolls his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that you were stalking me."

"Oh I was. And I still am. It's just under the guise of keeping your digital footprint as small as possible, dear."

Bucky's now even more confused. And curious. "Part Deux?"

Maybe should have paid more attention to your homework, Barnes.

Though he knows exactly why he hasn't finished his background check. He pushes away an unwanted image and focuses back on studying Castle.

Frank's face shifts between several emotions before settling on indifference. "Thought the first time that the justice system would do what it was supposed to, and he'd suffer for what he did. Turns out I was wrong. Not for the first time."

He's definitely hesitant to talk about it, and Bucky's not sure he wants to poke a stick at that mess just yet.

"It's public knowledge, Frank. Bucky's not stupid. He'll find out eventually. Just tell him." Sandy's voice is softer now, more reserved. "He's a good listener."

Bucky just looks at Frank as calmly as he can muster. "Your call. You don't have to tell me if you'd rather I just look it up." He's had his fair share of moments he'd rather not openly talk about. No sense in pushing someone else. Plus, he can always do more digging later, when maybe it won't dredge up unwanted memories for Frank.

Castle seems to contemplate this for a long moment. Bucky focuses his attention on the countertop and suppresses a painful grunt when Sandy starts digging around the entry wound again. Man, that bullet really dug itself in there. Bucky hears Frank's sharp exhale through his nose and looks up at him again, offering him a slight nod, telling him to go on when he's ready.

"He, uh…" Frank's voice is quiet and raspy, and he speaks slowly. That's new. "He was my brother, when we were overseas. And when we came home. My kids, my wife, they loved him. But he was greedy. Sold us out because he was afraid I'd talk about the shit we'd done over there. Didn't kill him the first time like I should have. Put people I care about in danger again. Did get innocent people killed." His jaw muscles begin ticking and there's a long pause before he continues, "Opportunity presented itself to fix my mistake, and I didn't hesitate this time."

Bucky doesn't notice that Sandy's actually pulled the bullet out until it clanks into the trash can loudly, startling both men. Frank flinches and scowls at Sandy, who, to her credit, actually looks apologetic.

"Sorry. But it's out." There's an awkward silence for a few moments while Sandy continues her work. Once she's cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe and applied the very temporary butterfly stitches, she peels her gloves off and stands up. "You're all done, handsome. As much as it pains me to say, you can pull your pants up now."

"Oh my God," Frank mumbles, followed by a long-suffering sigh. Sandy's quip does its job. The somber mood that had settled in the bathroom dissipates, now replaced by Sandy's obvious amusement and Frank's usual irritation.

Bucky's cheeks flush. "Thanks for that." He manages to only sound a little embarrassed.

"I'll stitch you up anytime you need. Just don't make this a habit. There's better reasons to have your pants down in my company."

"Are you nitpicking my handiwork?"

Sandy, whose face is inches from the new stitches in Frank's exposed shoulder, waves Sam off. "Can't a girl be worried about her friend?"

"That's a strong word," Frank mumbles.

"What, worried? Well, I mean, you're right. You've had worse injuries." She leans away, straightening up again and sighing, "Still, ya got shot. Just wanted to look at your brand new battle scar myself."

Sam watches as she gives him a gentle smile, which Frank returns briefly before leaning back onto the headboard and digging into his bowl of moqueca de camarão. For a group of people who were being shot at a little over an hour ago, they're all in relatively good spirits. Sam and Sandy, the two who didn't actually sustain any injuries, are probably the main reason for that. After patching Frank up, Sam had snuck away to the restaurant next door and grabbed everyone some food. It'd started raining out of nowhere in typical South American fashion, so thankfully he was able to blend in easily with his hoodie and a hat. And when he returned, he found Sandy emerging from the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Presumably Bucky is still in there, cleaning himself off.

Sandy pads over to the takeout bag and pulls out a box for herself. "Chicks dig scars, y'know," she points out, mouth now full of food. Frank just rolls his eyes and doesn't offer a verbal response.

"Dudes dig 'em, too," Sam offers, though he doesn't really know why he says it.

"The right ones do," she agrees with a pointed look and raised eyebrow.

Before she can say more, and make no mistake she does want to say more, Bucky emerges from the bathroom at the same time that Sam's phone starts ringing. His phone is, like, mega encrypted, as Peter would say, and only a handful of people have his number. And the last group text he'd sent to said people basically told them to only contact him in an emergency until further notice. So this doesn't bode well.

And when he gets a look at the contact info, he knows for sure this won't be good. "Aw, Jesus Christ."

"What?" Bucky asks, leaning over to his bag and grabbing his good sweater.

"It's Sharon." Who would only call if it was an actual, real life emergency.

"Well," Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, "fuck."

Sandy, who once more has her mouth full, asks, "Sharon as in your one brain cell among the three of you?"

Rather than deal with that this instant, Sam just casts her a withering glare and answers the phone with a calm, "Hey, Shar."

"Hey, Sam. Where are you?"

They talked about this cover before, but if she's calling them to ask, Bucky and Sam know she knows something's up. The latter pinches his nose and tries, "Wakanda. Needed a vacation."

"Uh huh. So what's really going on?"

Sam, please trust me.

And he does. With his life. He and Bucky share a look, and Sam sighs through his nose. Mostly because it'll be easier for Sharon to hear Bucky, Sam decides to switch to speaker. His "be quiet" gesture at Sandy is met with a childish pout.

Bucky, now standing perilously close to Sam, has a question of his own, spoken in a quiet, curious voice. "Can we start off with why you're calling to ask where we are?"

"I suppose that's fair," she sighs. There's a short pause on the other end, filled with a rustling sound, meaning she's probably switching ears and walking to a more private area. Which is just great news.

Sandy must be thinking the same thing, because she mouths, "Yikes," at him.

Finally, Sharon continues in a low voice, "Reports just came in about a group of young girls in Rio claiming they were rescued by a couple vigilantes. Led by a man who looks an awful lot like Captain America. Sam Wilson Captain America, specifically. Which is convenient, considering your Do Not Disturb text. So the Accords committee is coming to me since they can't reach you."

Yikes indeed.

"It's on the news, and people are asking questions. So, as a friend, can I ask you to tell me the truth?"

With a shared look, the same thought crosses both Bucky and Sam's mind.

"It was us," Sam admits.

"I thought so." There's a smile in her voice. "I'm a little offended you didn't ask me to come along, too."

"Plausible deniability," is Bucky's answer. "You're safer the less you know."

"Plus," Sam adds, "we needed someone to watch our backs. And we trust you."

"And I trust you. Which is why I'm only going to ask a few questions. First one: are you okay?"

It's so soft and serious and concerned, not judgemental, and so Sharon, that Sam can't help but smile. Neither can Bucky, apparently, he notices out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, yeah. Been a bit rough, but we're okay. Be better when we can come home, though," he answers earnestly, watching the Call Time numbers on his screen tick higher.

"Good," she sighs, relieved. "Second question: how much longer do you need?"

Frank and Sandy—who's plopped down on the same bed as Frank, legs draped perpendicularly over his lap as she scarfs down the last few bites of her food—give him curious looks. Frank also adds a shrug.

That's not helpful. "Not much longer, hopefully."

"Good. The faster, the better. It's gonna take the committee some convincing."

"Hey, ask Shuri and T'Challa for help," Bucky says suddenly. "At the very least, Shuri can come up with a fake photo or something."

"Got it. And if they need more convincing, wanna talk to you?"

"Yeah, she can just like, I dunno…" Bucky waves his hand around uselessly. "Bounce the signal around. Something."

Bucky's not that much more helpful, either. Good thing Sharon's got experience, both with Bucky's occasional vagueness and the whole espionage thing.

"Okay. So, third question: who are the other two you're with?"

Sam winces slightly. "Uh... you're not gonna like the answer."

Without any pretense and because sometimes he just likes to cut to the quick, Bucky states plainly, "Frank Castle."

"Oh." The line is silent for a moment, and Sam can perfectly imagine the face she's making. "Jesus, that's a surprise, and I want details later. So the woman—"

"Long time no see, Agent 13," Sandy chirps. At least she's not talking with her mouth full anymore. "Or hear, in this case."

There's a heavy pause on the other end. "McIntosh?" she asks incredulously.

This catches Sam's attention. How in the hell do they know each other?

"The one and only."

"Holy shit. I thought you were dead…"

"On the inside, yeah. Otherwise, I'm still around, ktaking names."

"That would explain a lot of the whispers I've been hearing."

When Sandy starts bouncing her legs as if she's moving along to music, Frank sets his chilled drink on her bare shin. She yelps, kicks her heel lightly into his thigh, and gives him a disgruntled look, to which he responds gruffly without looking at her, "Stop wiggling."

"To answer your question, Sharon," Sam interrupts, "she's an old friend. We were going after the same guy, so…"

"All right. That's all I need to know for now, and if I'm on the phone too much longer, they'll get suspicious. Sam, Bucky, please be careful."

"Hey, Shar, wait!" Bucky blurts. Sam's eyebrows shoot up because he has no idea what's going on in Bucky's head.

"What is it?" Bucky's slight panic causes Sharon's voice to react accordingly.

"When you call Shuri, let her and T'Challa know we found the lab that was producing those bombs." He gives her the address they found, then continues, "It's probably full of stolen vibranium, so we'll let them handle that."

"Stolen vibranium bombs sounds super fun," Sharon deadpans. "I'll pass this along and get you guys a cover. In the meantime, if you run into any serious trouble, please don't try and be a big hero. I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you, Sharon. And we're sorry to have to put you in the middle of this," Bucky apologizes softly in that sincere way he has. Sam suddenly feels a strong rush of affection for Sharon and Bucky.

"Just send me an invitation next time and we'll call it even."

Sam chuckles, "Of course. Take care, and we'll see you soon." After he hangs up, he immediately looks at Sandy. "So two things." He holds up one finger. "Do you know like every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?"

"Of course not, Samwise. I used to do a lot of analysis for higher level agents, so I met a few of them here and there. Never met Barton, if that makes you feel any better." She tilts her head as a look comes across her face, and Sam knows she's gonna say something dumb. "I did get around, though. Before Frank and I shacked up."

"Don't say it like that," Castle groans.

I knew it.

Sam wipes his hand across his face. "I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole right now.".

"Are you—were you and Sharon a thing too?" Bucky asks at the same time.

"No, actually," she sighs ruefully, "we only ever met like once or twice when I dropped stuff off at her desk. She was more married to her job than anything at that point. Which is cool and all—"

"Anyway!" Sam interrupts, giving Bucky a pointed why did you ask her that? look. A second finger goes into the air as he refocuses his attention fully on Sandy. "Sharon is not the only braincell among the three of us."

"I have the other one."

Sam's mind goes over a million different ways he could wipe that smug grin off Bucky's face.

Flying.

Explosions.

Falling.

Reaching.

Missing.

Screaming.

Blood.

Sam doesn't have time to sit awake and go through his checklist to remind himself where he is. Bile is coming up too fast, and he barely makes it to the motel bathroom in time. Just because this isn't the first time doesn't mean it hurts any less. As he retches, his throat burns, his eyes burn, his head burns. The only relief, physical or otherwise, since he's focusing on staying upright enough to keep his stomach contents in the toilet, comes in the form of chilled porcelain pressed to his forehead and a hand rubbing soothing lines up and down his back.

His arms shake as he holds onto the rim, trying to anchor him to this reality. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare. Not real. Everything's okay.

"Food that bad?"

Mind still hazy, Sam doesn't recognize the low, raspy voice at first. It must belong to the person rubbing his back, at least. And it's not until a few moments later, when he lifts his head up to get a better look, that everything comes back to him at once.

Bucky. Frank. Sandy. HYDRA. Brazil. Myers. Avellar. The girls.

Everything is actually not okay.

Sam's stomach churns uncomfortably again, and he presses his forehead back to the cooled rim in preparation for another round. It doesn't come. After a few quiet moments of heavy breathing—mainly on Sam's part—and when he's confident enough to do so, he leans back, carefully lowers himself to a proper sitting position with his back against the wall, and lets out a slow, uneven sigh. The bathroom lights are just too bright right now, so he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, despite unsavory images dancing across the back of his eyelids.

"You know where you are?"

"Yeah, Frank." A reassurance, meant for both of them.

There's a shifting sound followed by a short nasally sigh. When Sam pops an eye open, he sees Frank leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, concern radiating off his features. "You're safe, okay? Sandy and Bucky are on the roof keeping watch. I'm right here."

Sam closes his eye again, nods, and manages a hoarse thanks. He doesn't open his eyes to watch what Frank's doing when he moves again. The faucet turns on momentarily, then a cup is tapping against his hand, accompanied by a gentle command to drink, which he follows, guzzling down the water in what must be record time. Frank quietly fills the cup two more times before Sam sets it down on the floor beside him.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam sighs. He finally opens his eyes all the way and finds Frank's taken a seat on the floor of the doorway, arms folded over the knees he's pulled to his chest.

Frank tilts his head to the side. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I should," is contradicted by a head shake. He sucks in a deep breath, then admits, "Flying. Dropped someone I was carrying. Too late."

"Anyone you know?"

"This time, yeah. Always changes, though. Sometimes it's Riley, sometimes it's Rhodey, sometimes Bucky. Doesn't matter anyway if I have a face and name. This—" Sam jerks his head towards the toilet—"always happens. Always feel the same."

"Yeah, I know. Makes you scared to close your eyes, right?"

Another nod. "I try to tell people it gets… Not easier, but you get a routine. Get 'em less often. Avoid your triggers best you can, you'll be okay. Some days'll be worse than others, but you'll be okay. Gotta try to remember my own advice."

"Carrying someone your trigger?" Although he phrases it as a question, it's not.

"Kinda hard to avoid that when you're Captain America and your partner doesn't fly. This doesn't happen every time, but, I try… not to let Buck see this happen. My problem, so I gotta deal with it."

"You should trust your partner. To see this, see you."

Sam leans his head back against the wall and shrugs. "I do, I do. But…I dunno, I'm just…It's hypocritical of me, practice what you preach and whatnot. But..."

Frank's brows lower in confusion, at first, then he outright frowns. Not angrily, as he's done many times before. Sorrowful, this time, understanding. "You're scared of looking weak. Like you don't deserve the title." Frank shakes his head. "Wilson, all of us? We know damn good and well you deserve that shield as much as Rogers did. I meant it when I said he chose right. May be hard to believe after the other night, but I don't say shit I don't mean. Hell, Rogers probably had his fair share of nights like this. You don't go to war and come out unscathed."

It takes several hard blinks to keep the tears from spilling out. Frank's words are touching, and as much bravado as Sam puts behind his words and actions and how much he tries to be worthy like he promised Steve... there's still a small part of him that has trouble completely latching onto the idea. It's part of the job, and he's only human, he knows, but still.

"You and I," Frank continues, "we may think we're better off dealing with this shit by ourselves, but if the last few years have taught me anything, it's this: you can't do this alone, and you don't have to. Our two idiots won't let us be alone, anyway."

God must have a sense of humor, because the second that sentence leaves Frank's mouth, the room door clicks open. Frank stands and leans out into the main room when Bucky asks where Sam is. His answer is a nod, and Bucky is striding into the bathroom and squatting down next to him almost immediately.

"Hey," he whispers. "You okay?" At Sam's weak nod, Buck settles down on the floor next to him, cross legged and flesh hand on his shoulder. He's still dripping from the rain, and had Sam not already been drenched in sweat, he would have made some comment about getting him wet as well. Instead, he gives him a watery smile.

Sandy then comes into view, wringing her tiny ponytail out and smiling. "I was going to make a joke about how wet I am, but…" When she sees him, her face drops. "Oh, Sam." She softly pads over to his other side and sits on the floor as well, almost perfectly mirroring Bucky's position. Sam's afraid he might just drown, swimming in the love radiating from the ocean of blue eyes surrounding him.

Frank stays in the doorway, seemingly afraid of crowding him, but he gives Sam a smile, deep brown eyes acting as guiding light, offering him a chance at solid ground should the ocean of love become too much.

Sam doesn't think it ever will.

REVIEW:

Lewot: Thank you so, SO much for the detailed review. I'm trying to put a lot of thought and effort into the plot details for this and creating a story that hopefully can actually feasibly exist within the MCU without derailing the canon events that have already happened. Though, lmao, I have entertained the idea of Civil War, Infinity War, and Endgame rewrites with her in it. Sandy's got all her own little adventures within the universe, but she's always been the most fun when interacting with our favorite characters, so I tend to wanna do that more often than her solo stuff (but I've got some little one-shots and an actual written out timeline I plan on posting in their own separate document eventually, because honestly your review inspired me to do that and show where she's been during those major events, and I'll credit you when I post it).

As far as the gore and swearing, in the comics, these characters cuss a lot (Sam not as much though), but it's bleeped out with symbols and whatnot. And the Punisher definitely brings all of that tenfold with him wherever he goes. And, being an adult myself, I hear people cuss a lot more IRL than they do in the movies. It's totally understandable given Marvel's a Disney property and also meant for kids to see, so they don't use a lot of curse words. But this is fanfiction, and I'm a pottymouth myself, so I feel like if we were given the unfiltered view of these characters, there'd be a lot more bleeping out lol. Plus, three of these guys were in the military. Military members are known for their bad language, and I'm just having a bit of fun with that. And you're totally right about the baddies deserving it!

With Sandy's powers, I try to keep them at a minimum for 2 reasons: (1) like you said, it's an insta-kill, so she saves them, especially when she's trying to be a little sneakier. A power limitation I'll note later, but might as well point out here, is that the amount of water she can produce is limited by the air quality and amount of space. Smaller rooms mean there's less oxygen and hydrogen atoms to pull from without affecting hers and others' capacity to breathe. And building enough water pressure in pipes and stuff takes a second to do, but she can do it if necessary. So it's easier to just make the water most of the time if she's trying to be fast. She can also fill up people's lungs with water (like she did to the guy in CH 5), but it also takes a lot of concentration to feel out where the lungs are or to keep the water flowing into nostrils and mouths and stuff. So she doesn't do it that often, especially when she's not one-on-one with someone. (2) she's such a melodramatic bitch (and I love her so much) that she saves it for the drama. In some of her other escapades, she uses her powers a lot more, but this one doesn't call for them to be totally necessary all the time, and guns can be quicker in some cases.

So Sam definitely got the ATLA reference (and any and all other pop culture references she makes), but he was just trying not to egg her on. Bucky eventually has it explained to him, but I didn't feel it entirely necessary to say all that in-story. Maybe I will go back and add a line or two about it, though?

And dude it makes me so happy to hear you say this is one of the best OC stories you've found. Like you have no idea. This just started out as a self-indulgent daydream and I'm so glad other people are enjoying this, too.

I promise this will get finished, and it's more than halfway done and I have major events plotted out already, I'm just a little slow at it because life gets in the way sometimes and I get stuck on planning things occasionally and have to really work to flesh it out before I can write it.

Again, thank you very very much for taking the time to read and review this!