Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 13 - Heart of the Darkness

Sam wasn't sure how long they stayed there on the tile floor, but eventually there came a point were Bucky's breathing transitioned from short gasps to long breaths, and he managed to exhale out a request that was only a hair louder than the hum of the nearby electronics, "I think I'd like to get out of here."

The sound was so faint it took Sam a moment to even register it "Okay. You need help up?"

Bucky shook his head and didn't say anything as he used his remaining hand to push himself first to his knees, and then, with a deal less grace, the rest of the way to his feet. He wobbled for a moment but kept his head down as he did. Once he was up, he just stood here, holding his arm over his belly and rubbing his fingers harshly together, as if waiting for Sam to take the lead from there.

The next half hour or so was one of the most uncomfortable extended silences Sam'd experienced in his entire life, including the aftermath of those fiery spats he'd had with Sarah over the years. The group retreated back with all the gravitas of leading someone to their last rites, and even though Sam told himself he was being over dramatic to compare the two, the sullen, lifeless expression on Bucky's face made it seem not far off the mark. Seeing him stripped of his arm like that, willing or not, cut deep even if Sam didn't have a damn clue what had been said between the two leading up to it.

Nomble silently led the way to the way as they worked their way back to the jet with Yama trailing behind Bucky, spear in-hand. Sam didn't miss the curious glances the Dora Milaje scattered around the complex sent their way, but none said a word. They'd likely already seen Ayo pass through with the arm, and seeing Bucky with his head down in Sam's wake was likely enough for them to put enough of the story together for themselves. Most of these people were just faces to Sam, but he found himself wondering how many more Bucky knew, and how many of those had seen what had gone down in Madripoor.

No one said a word as they finally entered the jet and the Wakandans walked to the front while Bucky split off to cram himself in the rear of the jet like a scared cat. Sam situated himself nearby while Nomble took the helm and got the jet airborne.

Sam wasn't altogether sure what the Wakandans were thinking about the whole encounter, but whatever they were feeling was infinitely more subtle than Ayo. Yama's posture was still the rigid attention of a soldier that was on-duty, but she kept finding reason to glance back towards Bucky. It wasn't the concern of a guard watching a prisoner, or the look you give someone when you're relishing the opportunity to see them suffering: it was something else. Something quiet and coated in private history that Sam was clearly realizing there was a heavy heaping of going around.

The flight was blessedly quick and confrontation-free, and when they finally landed and the back of the jet opened, Sam was relieved to see that no one stood out on the tarmac waiting for them. He was all for the presence of a meet and greet, but not after what'd just happened. He was pretty sure the only reason Bucky was even remotely functional at the moment was that people'd taken a break from slinging more words his way.

Nomble departed the plane first, walking at attention with her staff as she went. Sam got to his feet and glanced back at Bucky, whose head was lowered down again in that way he did when he was on the verge of shutting down. His eyes were crunched together and his mouth was trembling something fierce, but it took Sam a moment to start to even piece together what he'd missed in the timespan of just a few seconds of looking away. Then he saw it: the way Bucky was clutching that duffle bag of his like it was the only thing keeping him grounded in the present. By the way he was leaning, he must have gone and grabbed his duffle bag with one hand and aimed to maneuver the rolling suitcase with the other… only to, well…

Only one hand.

Damn.

Sam hurried to adjust his things to free up a hand, but Yama beat him to it, silently stepping forward and using her free hand to grasp and gently guide Bucky's rolling bag, pulling it to the side of the cabin. Bucky didn't say anything audible, but he gave off something near-to a whimper as he gripped his duffle bag protectively in one arm and used his elbow to push himself to his feet. Then he just stood there with his head down, as if he no longer trusted himself enough to even decide if it was time to deplane.

That painful silence continued as they made their way down to the guest quarters, Bucky trailing a few steps behind Sam like a lost puppy. Once they arrived, Nomble remained outside, but Yama made it a point to roll Bucky's luggage inside. When she stepped back, she caught Sam's eye and nodded. Sam wasn't altogether sure what was custom or what she was trying to communicate, but it felt right to nod back so he went with his gut and did that. That seemed to be the right thing, and the two Dora Milaje stepped away as he closed the door. Part of him wondered if they'd be standing guard outside overnight, but he decided it wasn't worth concerning himself with such things: there were more pressing matters.

The luxurious suite, frankly, put the accommodations at the old Avenger's compound to shame, yet Bucky'd already managed to locate a not-altogether inconspicuous spot on the floor of the far side of the room, and had apparently decided that was all the space and comfort he deserved.

He leaned against the wall and used his hand to rub at the raised glyphs cresting over the spot where his other arm should have been while his eyes remained distant and ungrounded, his expression a blank canvas of rolling pain and anguish.

It was better than half an hour ago, but only barely.

Sam was midway through trying to figure out the best approach when Bucky found his voice and spoke confessionally, "...I didn't even think about putting them on the list. It didn't even cross my mind."

Sam cringed, putting his luggage, suitcase, and shield to the side as he stepped across the room towards Bucky, "Well, I mean, you put together that list to make amends for stuff you did when you were the Winter Soldier." he reasoned, "That wasn't really the case here, right?"

Bucky didn't respond, but his face twisted painfully in a way that said a lot.

Oh. Oh shit…

His friend was making that choking breathing thing again and Sam stepped over, seating himself across from Bucky on the floor. At first Bucky didn't say anything more, but for the briefest of seconds he glanced up, as if daring to risk seeing Sam's expression, to see if it was filled with judgement as well. His blue eyes cut back away quickly, as if he couldn't stand the contact.

"Yeah. They definitely knew him too."

"Oh." Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. He was feeling like he was still lacking an awful lot of context, but he had some damn good guesses, and they were more than a little grim.

Bucky's voice was ragged as he spoke, his eyes going back down to his hand, "I got… really close to killing her. Ayo, I mean." He shifted uncomfortably, remembering, "I'm pretty sure she would have died elsewhere it wasn't for Shuri's tech." He shook his head, trying to clear the thought before rubbing his hands over his face, "I mean, sometimes I can try to separate myself from all that, but… other times it just doesn't feel fair trying to hold a conversation with someone when, at one point I-"

"You didn't have a choice," Sam reminded him, his voice low and serious.

Bucky made a non-committal face, "But you can't tell me you don't remember it."

Sam was so deep in trying to imagine what must have happened here in Wakanda that he wasn't ready for Bucky's eyes to be back on him, talking about him.

This was the last thing they needed to get into now, "Hey, we're good," Sam said, meeting his friend's eyes, hoping the sincerity in his words might make it through the fog.

"I -" Bucky began.

Sam cut him off. Neither of them needed a play-by-play of the past, "You don't need to lay out the details, Buck. I was there. That wasn't you."

Bucky grumbled something, but went back to stewing into that quiet, personal hell of his.

Every word Sam had said was sincere. When he saw Bucky now, he saw a man that was struggling with a profound amount of trauma as a direct result to being a victim of HYDRA in the truest sense. And in those times when the curtains of all that were pulled back and he actually allowed himself to feel the sun on his skin and the fact that, yes: people around him actually cared about him and moreover, that he was worth caring about, sometimes you'd get one of those genuine ear-to-ear smiles of his that lit up a room. The kind of smiles where he was wholly in the present, just allowing himself to be who he was rather than having to wrestle with the fall-out or the way HYDRA and even assholes like Zemo had manipulated his life for so long.

That being as it was: Bucky was also not wholly wrong.

There was a time, and if Sam were being honest: not even altogether long ago when Sam looked at Bucky and the first thing he initially thought of was the other guy. The one that'd repeatedly shot at him with an intent to kill, ripped off one of his wings and hurled his ass off the side of a helicarrier, flung him head over tail across a room without any concern for if he died or ended of paralyzed: that guy. While he wanted to believe better of Bucky on account of what Steve had told him, that was who he always saw first when he used to look at Bucky. It wasn't conscious, it was just his default. He'd spent years fine-tuning his nerves to react to threats, and having a grand total of two massive, chaotic fights versus Thanos where Bucky didn't turn his gun on him wasn't exactly enough to convince his nerves that they could stand down and this guy was an ally rather than a threat.*

But as pissed as he'd later been about Bucky trying to insert himself and his raw feelings about the shield to the Flag Smashers case, it'd honestly been the shake up the two of them needed to start to see each other as actual people beyond their respective ties to Steve.

It just didn't help that it was practically second-nature for the man to do that staring thing that drained his face of real human-looking feelings. Hell, maybe now that he was thinking about it, maybe that was why the staring thing bothered him so much sometimes: that it reminded him of the Winter Soldier with not enough "Bucky" clearly visible in there to get a clean read on what he was actually feeling.

He'd have to give that some thought some other time, but the thoughts made something click together in his head, "Wait, was that why you used to dodge my calls?" He elaborated, "You thought maybe I still had a grudge against you for that other stuff?"

That got a little reaction out of Bucky, who glimpsed up at Sam with one eye, "Maybe? I dunno. I wasn't in a good place. I didn't even listen to the voicemails. I'd just delete them." he cringed at the admittance, sitting and thinking as he continued to rub his fingers together, "I guess I thought if I just stopped responding, then you guys wouldn't have to deal with any of it. It's not like you owed me anything." His face distorted as he added, "And I guess I felt like they'd done enough."

The Wakandans.

Bucky grumbled something that was barely audible, "I'm sorry I got you involved in any of this. If I'd had any idea… or that they'd seen what I did in Madripoor... I wouldn't have asked you to come along."

"Oh come on, man. I was there too. I'm not exactly blameless here. Madripoor wasn't a good look for either of us."

Bucky's lip faltered, "Zemo wasn't your idea. And you -" he started making that awful choking noise again. "I can't even argue with anything Ayo or Shuri said. I don't have any good excuse. And the only one I have is even worse."

Sam cocked his head, "Worse?"

Bucky nodded once and licked his lips before he dared to raise his eyes to Sam's, as if this was important, "That I got so caught up in the Mission that I just… didn't care about any of the collateral damage. Any of the people I was hurting were just a means to an end. Did you see what I did in that bar? I was just-"

"You-" Sam started, but Bucky forcibly raised his voice just enough to cut him off cold.

"I stabbed someone, Sam. I broke at least one of those guy's arms, and I'm not altogether sure if I saw the one that I kicked through the table get up." His eyes were still on Sam's but they were wild, unfocused, "I want to think I could've stopped. I would've stopped, before -" he choked out something, "But I was just so focused on just... making it look real. That I just…" His eyes met Sam's, "How's that different from what Walker did?"

Now that bit caught Sam entirely off-guard, and for a second it felt like his brain was trying to catch-up, "Hey, no. Not the same thing. Very much not the same thing."

"So because he gave into his anger, that makes him better or worse than what I did?"

He was biased, but the answer was blatantly obvious to Sam, "Worse. He ran down a man who wasn't fighting back, and instead of arresting him, he executed him, horrendously I might add, all the while knowing he wasn't even the one that killed Lemar."

Bucky's face twinged again, with one of those very particular I'm ruminating on yet more awful- thoughts, "Yeah, well. After that explosion at Nagel's lab, while we were trying to get away, I impaled someone through the shoulder with a piece of metal pipe." He just… lobbed the comment out there, like he was almost hoping to get a reaction out of Sam.

Sam grasped for control over whatever expression his face instinctually wanted to make. Okay, that was an awful mental image, "Wait, were they shooting at you?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Okay, and I'm going to repeat: Not. The. Same. Thing." It wasn't. Sam'd been in that fight too. The people that'd come for them were definitely the sort that preferred dropping bodies over taking prisoners.

"I could have blocked the bullets," Bucky insisted, because apparently his head was fixated on the idea that hindsight was great and all when you weren't in the middle of a firefight.

"Heat of combat, man. You think you're the only one that second-guesses decisions you made when the bullets stop flying?"

That got Bucky to stop for a moment, at least. For emphasis, Sam added, "You're not."

Bucky leaned to one side, as if trying to become one with the wall for all the good it would do him, "Yeah, but that was something he would have done."

He knew exactly who that was meant to refer to, and Sam did his best to keep his voice level and reasonable as he spoke, channeling all those years he'd worked as a counselor at the VA, "Okay. Let's even say that's true. I'm not agreeing but let's pretend: Do you think it's reasonable to believe that it's gonna take time to work through? I saw you out there in Munich, you know. You, you," Sam emphasized. "When we first brawled with those Flag Smashers out on the transports, I was pretty sure you could've taken 'em all yourself. But you didn't. And I'm stubborn enough to believe it's because you, like me and everyone else out there, are trying to navigate the way forward to be the best version of yourself, and in your particular case, you didn't know who they were or what they were fighting for or against, but you knew it wasn't bound to be an even playing field on account of the serum and such. But rather than brazen right through it without a care, I see you, man. I see you trying to temper things and go for those disabling moves when you can rather than a quick kill. Doing that takes a lot more conscious effort and focus, too."

It was a solid monologue, but Sam wasn't sure how much had actually gotten through to Bucky. He just looked so defeated as he said there against the wall, shifting between staring at his fingers and staring off into space.

For a moment, Sam thought things might've been starting to settle in his friend's mind, but suddenly, the mood shifted and Bucky choked something out and his head went back into his hand as he started sobbing again, words seeping their way out between breaths, "I thought. I was. Doing. The right. Thing."

Sam felt his own face twinge in pain at the honesty of the words, and he shifted his position around so he could sit beside Bucky so his back was sharing that rigid wall of his. Bucky was so lost in himself, in the emotion of the waves washing over him and drowning him that it wasn't clear if he'd even noticed Sam move. So with all manner of care, Sam reached an arm around Bucky and just hugged him, letting him know he was still there. That he wasn't alone in the heart of the darkness. That someone was listening.

Bucky accepted the contact with the torn enthusiasm of an abused dog that wanted so much to trust people, but had spent too many years on the streets learning that it was wise self-preservation to be timid of even the most gentle touch. Bucky didn't pull away from the hug, but he didn't lean into it either. Sam felt certain that some part of his damn cyborg brain was still stuck calculating if he deserved even that meager amount of sympathy or human companionship. It was heartbreaking.

After enough time passed that Bucky's breathing had calmed and he was willing to lift his head up from the view of the ground again, Sam found his voice, "The way to Hell's paved with good intentions and all that," he commiserated. "And we did what we had to. Did the best we could. Can't fix the world in a week and change, you know? But we did a lot of good." His thoughts drifted to Karli, who he'd still been hoping so much he could save. He shifted his focus back to the present, "And it sounds like there were blind spots and I'm guessing by Ayo's tone, missteps along the way, but now you've gotta ask yourself who you want to be. Do you want to be the person that prefers a clean start? To walk away because seeing what they're feeling hurts too much and feels like they're holding up a mirror to something you don't like, or," Sam rolled a hand face up and did his best to meet Bucky's eyes as he spoke, "Or, do you feel like you're the sort of person that can stomach some tough love because you see those other people out there as being worth your time, because somewhere deep down, you actually do want them in your life, despite them seeing some of the shadows along the way?"

Bucky's chest had stopped heaving: he was listening, so Sam continued.

"Look. One of the things we learn as we get older is we don't owe anyone anything. We don't owe someone friendship just because of something in the past or because someone shares a mutual friend. It's gotta come from a good place and for the right reasons. That's the only way it's genuine. So don't make the same mistake I did and assume the Wakandans were just doing Steve a favor. What I saw tonight was not that, and I think you know that."

Bucky chewed on his lip and they slipped back into silence for a few minutes while he went back to that dark place of his. Eventually, he came up for air, "You ever read about feral children?"

Again: the tangents this man's mind went off on. At least this one didn't seem like a deflection.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Feral children," Bucky went on, "I read about some of them on the internet."

For a moment, Sam had to push down a part of him that wanted to make a quick joke about Bucky and technology to lighten the mood, but he pushed it down. Bucky must have picked up on it anyway, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he got a glimpse of his friend's particular brand of humor, which also had a few drops of pride in his voice, "Yes, I use the internet. And I'm probably better with most tech than you are besides. Also: Wakanda." He paused, lifting his jaw, "Anyway, feral children are kids where something awful happened to them early in life where their development got stunted. Like kids raised by wolves, that sort of idea, but in reality, the circumstances are usually pretty dire and abusive. Kids spending years locked in a room, that sort of thing."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably before he continued, "So when these kids get rescued they're all out of sorts. Mentally, physically, the whole deal. And I guess some people would assume things just, well… get better from there. That they get nice homes that care about them and get a fairytale ending after all that pain. But the thing is, even after years of teaching and trying to reintegrate into normal society, some still can't talk. Others aren't really functional or barely want to interact with the people around them. Some hit a spot somewhere in the middle, where they aren't truly feral, but their wiring also only lets them get so far, and they just... don't fit in."

Bucky cringed as he spoke, "Sometimes... I feel a whiff of that. Like I wonder if all that HYDRA did to me, all the programming and the torture and the wipes and freezing and thawing, and the blender they made of my brain for years and years, if they just… if whatever part of people helps them with things in how they relate to other people… what if I…just... can't?"

There were a whole series of words there that Sam'd never heard Bucky say out loud, and it took him a moment to even process, no less consider what he wanted to say next, but it was cut short by a sudden knock on the door.

The sound was enough that Bucky jolted, looking up with renewed panic spread across his face.

"Stay here," Sam instructed, getting to his feet. He couldn't imagine who it might be, but Bucky had endured enough for the night. If anyone felt a need to hash things out with him, he told himself they'd have to come back another day. He wasn't just going to stand there and let his friend get kicked while he was down.

He walked to the door and upon realizing there were apparently no peep-holes on Wakandan doors, asked, "Hey. Who is it?"

A pause, "Ayo."

Goddamn it. Not more of this.

For a half second he debated simply pretending he hadn't heard her, but he decided it was important to be the better man and pulled the door part way open. Hopefully he could convince her if she wanted a round two on grievances, she'd need to come back another day.

But the first thing he noticed when he opened the door was that she… wasn't wearing her customary Dora Milaje ensemble, nor was she holding a vibranium spear, or the arm. She was dressed in a long red and purple top with ornate silver patterning with coordinating brown and red leggings that made her almost unrecognizable as "Ayo" for a moment. Did this amount to off-duty civies?

She regarded Sam calmly, but her searching eyes were clearly trying to travel behind him to see if Bucky was in view.

"He's on the other side of the bed," Sam offered helpfully, tone clearly no-nonsense, "On the floor. This isn't a good time." He was hoping she'd get the message.

When her eyes flicked back to him, he felt certain he had. Something in her terse expression softened, like a wave something like compassion crossing her face.

"I am still angry," she said, loud enough that Bucky would have been able to hear her, "And I feel that much of it is justified."

Oh no, here we go.

She set her jaw and continued, "But that didn't make it right for me to say the last word I did. I thought better of myself than to stoop to that level." Her eyes were cast not on Sam, but deep into the room, "I know I cannot take back the sting from a lash that has already been dealt, but that letting it linger in the air serves no purpose other than to feign enjoyment or disregard in letting the pain fester." Her voice was clear as she spoke, her eyes coming back to rest on Sam's. The intensity of her expression and resolve were still there, but there were other layers on her complexion he found himself unable to parse, "I would appreciate it if you would let James know that I regret it, and will mind my tongue so it doesn't happen again."

Sam took in her words for a moment, trying to read her eyes before he nodded, "I'll let him know."

She might have considered saying something more, but instead she dipped her head in acknowledgement as something in her expression shifted again. With not another word, she turned away and headed back down the hallway at a soldier's gait.

It wasn't much, but Sam appreciated that even though sometimes it seemed like they came from different worlds, even Wakandans weren't above trying to avoid going to bed angry.

Author's Remarks:

I'm so appreciative for all the kind words you've shared on this story so far. I'm so excited to have all of you with me as the journey starts to further unfold. If it's any indication of the scope of story I'm planning... I have fifteen more chapters outlined...

In any case, the last few sections have been super emotional to write and just... thank you so much for letting me know your thoughts along the way. It continues to mean so much to me, and is a wind in my sails to keep on putting pen to paper.

Also: At least someone finally gave that man a hug!

* - I considered adding some of the events of Captain America: Civil War in here, but technically we have a period of maybe 48 hours in there, during which yes, Bucky doesn't go after Sam in the Romania/car/airport sequences, but since he did in the middle after Zemo triggered him, I can't imagine Sam would look back at that span of time and go "Yeah, that encounter clearly counts in my mind as an example of when we were all good and I wasn't a target."

Written to "Alexander Pierce," by Henry Jackman on "Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), and "Heart of the Darkness" by Sam Tinnesz.

"Heart of the Darkness" by Sam Tinnesz.

"[...] The quiet, it swallows us
What's waiting around the corner
Senses we cannot trust
Hunted by unseen horror
Shadows, they can't even reach us now
There's no speck of light that can lead us out, no
Here we are in the heart of the darkness [...]"