Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 14 - Thin Floors and Tall Ceilings

There came a point somewhere between the deep of evening and the threat of sunrise that Bucky surrendered to the passing concept that maybe sleep could offer some resemblance of escape or better perspective on all… all this.

He'd spent what felt like an eternity just… struggling to even begin to process how profoundly his actions had hurt the people around him. He felt his arm quake as he took turns leaning into the wall for the support or crumbling into his knees as he forced himself to try to reconcile everything at once, on how he'd gone from feeling like he had things under control, that his life was going in the right direction and he was surrounded by smiling people that welcomed him to their close-knit community to… well, to this. To the stark realization that he'd not only pushed other people away, but that he'd betrayed their trust in him. Maybe part of the problem was he was still so prone to relying on his own flawed judgement on what was a big deal to him, that he'd barely stopped to consider if other people might feel differently. Intentional or not: every moment he took to retrace his steps found him seeping waist-deep in guilt for little things like not returning calls or tucking away the Kimoyo Beads so he couldn't be reached, to bigger things like Zemo, or realizing his apparent willingness to play the part of the Winter Soldier reflected back at all sorts of angles that he clearly hadn't stopped to consider.

In the moment, it felt like it was just about him. About his willingness to put himself out there in a profoundly dehumanizing manner because it showed that tracking down their lead was more important than his feelings on the matter. That was the reason, right? Because now he was starting to wonder if he felt he'd taken any of those steps because he felt had something to prove to Zemo. He'd put him on the list, right? That meant he'd been planning to track him down eventually, so maybe this had just been a convenient excuse? He wasn't even sure anymore. But he sure as hell hadn't thought about how it would look to see Zemo ordering him around like a weapon like that. Or how the Wakandans would feel seeing him play the part. That part.

Especially Ayo.

Bucky kept his eyes closed as he leaned down, unable to shake the look of fire and profound hurt and disappointment in her expression.

"Sikuncedile, wopha kuwe, sibeka ubomi bethu emgceni wokuba ubuyekezwe ngoluhlobo? Ngaba ukungakhathali kuya kuhoywa? Kukungazi?" We helped you, bled for you, put our very lives on the line for you to be repaid like this? With callous disregard? With feigned ignorance?

There was something in how she'd spat the word bled that hit a particularly raw spot in him. In that moment, he felt certain he could read her mind, could see the precise memory that churned up in her mind's eye. The spray of blood. Her broken bones jutting through flesh. The twisted spine that the Winter Soldier had dealt with of her own spear when a safeguarded failsafe unknowingly sprung to life hours later, courtesy of a particularly cruel and pointed time delay.

Neither of them had seen it coming. The shift had been so sudden. The retaliation, so swift that… if Shuri hadn't just happened to be working late, hadn't been in the same room to catch sight of the spike in his vitals, hadn't had the fortitude of mind to remotely blare a shutdown codeword override from Ayo's comms... Ayo would certainly have bled out in minutes. And Bucky? Bucky stopped himself from thinking about how many people might've died that night, starting with the children and adults in those nearby huts.

He remembered them too.

He didn't have anything to say for himself, so his mind just continued to spin aimlessly between violent memories of the past, and the look of utter pain and betrayal in her eyes.

It was just too much.

He buried his head deeper into his knees in a feeble attempt to drown out the world, and he could feel his hand trembling as he cupped it around the crest of his head and tried to catch his breath.

He was briefly aware of a ruffle of motion nearby, and then Sam's voice softly stepped into the silence as a hand came to gently rest on his shoulder, pulling him out of the depths of the mire of his mind, "You want an energy bar or something? I know you're probably not hungry, but we missed dinner and, well... super metabolism and all."

Bucky glanced up with one hazy blue eye and found an energy bar hanging a few inches away. The end of the wrapper had already been peeled open by some helpful hands that apparently wanted to ensure that there was as little barrier to politely declining the request as possible. While Bucky's stomach remained firmly knotted in tension for completely not-food related reasons, a voice too dry and hoarse to be his own acquiesced, "Yeah. Okay."

Sam nodded and stepped away to open his own field ration. He was obviously doing his best to look nonchalant as he took measured bites of it and made it a point to stare up and around the room, as if he hadn't already spent the last few hours memorizing every end table and geometric pattern on the wall. By the look of things, it was still dark outside, but a lamp across the room and the subtle blue glow of some Wakandan accent lighting offered the room a tempered atmosphere for ruminating. That being as it was, Bucky was well aware the man's ears were still focused squarely on him and how he was doing, and the truth of it was: he wasn't doing well at all, but he also didn't like feeling like other people had to worry about him and the mess he'd clearly made of things.

How long had it been? He strained to one side, but realized he couldn't see the clock from the floor. Oh well. His watch was off on the bed somewhere, tossed aside when he was feeling like anything around his wrist was too constricting, too reminiscent of those restraints.

He felt like he'd spent the better part of the last few hours wavering between drowning in emotions so potent and new that they didn't even feel human, and finding himself reaching out to understand, to find something to keep him afloat. Some way forward.

He found that every now and then, he'd try to see if he could get a read on Sam's expression in the half light, to see the judgement and disappointment on his face, like Ayo and Shuri's. But instead, he just looked concerned, and that sent Bucky right back into feeling guilty about inadvertently dragging him along on not only Madripoor, but all this. And some part of him likewise insisted that once they were out of Wakanda, Sam'd probably rightfully reevaluate his thoughts about Bucky and the burden he clearly was, and that he'd cut him loose. Part of his brain insisted it was a foregone conclusion, that Sam was just counting his minutes until he could be back home and away from the absolute mess Bucky had clearly made of things.

But right then, Bucky watched as a bottle of water and second energy bar were laid near his hand, and then Sam settled himself nearby on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the bed like they were on two sides of an L-shaped couch. Bucky briefly regarded the offerings, sending Sam a question with his eyes that his friend returned with a casual shrug.

He made quick work of the second bar, and acknowledged that water may actually help his parched throat. He grasped the bottle in one hand and for a moment, just the barest of moments, he felt himself instinctually reach for his other hand to help him twist open the top of the water bottle. Before he reached the crest of that desire and the complex emotions that were about to start pouring out on behalf of the other arm not being there, and moreover why the arm was no longer there, the cap easily fell free in his fingers: apparently Sam had already loosened it for him.

He made a face to himself, but didn't say anything as he put the opening of the bottle to his mouth and downed the cool liquid in not insubstantial gulps. Sometimes the silence felt too heavy, but he was appreciative for the space Sam let him have to himself right them. He just didn't have anything left to offer him.

But Sam also knew when he needed to part that fragile silence too.

"Are you feeling like you might be able to get some rest? Or you want to stay up longer?"

Bucky crumpled the remains of the wrapper and used his fingers to shove it into the empty water bottle. The way the half-light reflected on the folds of the metallic sheen of the wrapper reminded him of the fireflies AJ and Cass caught back in Delacroix. He wondered if there was a long list of ways he'd hurt them and Sarah too. Or maybe that was just the sort of thing they had to look forward to if they spent more time around him. He could hear himself saying words, but his mind remained fixated elsewhere, "It's late. You can head to bed, I'll be fine."

"That wasn't my question," Sam responded pointedly.

Bucky made a face before Sam added, "You didn't sleep on the flight over to Symkaria, and I'm betting whatever rest you got on route to Wakanda wasn't restful, so if you think I'm not perfectly capable of outlasting your stubborn ass: try me."

He grumbled something just to let Sam know he'd heard him and started to roll over into the wall where he was, "Fine. Sleep then."

"Wait," Sam crisply objected, "No c'mon man. There are two perfectly good beds here. Just pick one."

Bucky made it a point to use his hand to slap the side of the nearest one, as if laying claim to it by proxy, "This one. See? Easy." He spent a moment debating if he wanted to spend the energy taking off his shirt or if he should just lay there in the clothes he had on. You know what? This was just fine. The other options were clearly too much effort.

"Buck, c'mon. I dunno what this is about, but laying on the ground and probably guaranteeing yourself an awful night's sleep isn't going to make you feel any better come tomorrow."

"I'm fine. It's comfortable." Okay, that second part was a lie.

"There's a sofa by the window too."

"Floor's fine. I don't even own a bed." He said it for emphasis because he wanted Sam to just leave him be and not make this a thing. He was a grown-ass 106 year-old man. If he wanted to wallow and rot away right here on the floor, he was well within his rights to do so.

There was that silence again.

"Wait. In Brooklyn?"

Oh. His apartment's prominent lack of interior design and his general disinterest in furniture just… hadn't come up, "Yeah, look it's okay. I'm fine. This is fine. The floor's fine." He was definitely avoiding looking to see whatever expression Sam had on his face.

Then there was another rustle of movement off to his right and he felt someone toss a blanket over his legs. When he looked up to object, a pillow landed near his head. Not close enough to hit him, but clearly within range of his hand and the bottle he was still fiddling with. He'd expected a snappy reply, but instead the silence continued to linger.

Sam's tone softened and shifted as if he was remembering something, "Okay. I get that." Another pause, "Floor it is."

And then the man chucked a second pillow like a frisbee, sending it so that it lightly bounced off the couch by the window and settled immaculately on the floor about six feet to Bucky's left. Then Captain America himself gathered up a blanket in his arms and walked over and neatly tossed it out in formation, folded it once over like a sleeping bag, and used one hand to pull the tag on the lamp before he just… laid down right then and there. Even as Bucky's eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out Sam kicking off his shoes, taking off his shirt, and then resting face-up with his hands beneath his head, elbows stretched to either side like triangles for wings as he wiggled to get comfortable.

You've gotta be kidding…

"Sam…" Bucky complained. He tried to put force into that objection, too.

"I used rocks for pillows in Afghanistan," Sam stated evenly, "If this is what you need, then this is how we're doin' things." He fluffed his pillow once for emphasis, "No point arguing."

Bucky wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Conflicted, mostly. Guilty too. But also more than a little confused about why Sam felt like he was worth all of this. He shifted himself around and decided it wouldn't be the worst idea for him to take off his boots too, so he squirmed and did just that. Loosening them with one hand was a challenge, but he eventually got them off and shoved them against one side of the bed.

Once that was in order, he slid so his back was fully on the floor and laid the pillow under his head. He worked his neck to adjust himself enough that if he was leaning just a little to one side, he could almost forget about the arm. Almost. He wasn't ready to explore his feelings on that particular Pandora's box tonight.

From this point of view, the room looked massive. The vertical supports accenting the walls of the room stretched up and out like trees opening their branches to reveal the sky above. The faint blue of the accent lighting hit the bumps on the ceiling in uneven patterns, and something in the quiet calm of the moment made him think back to that place by the lake, and how the night sky there looked nothing like it did anywhere on Earth that he'd seen before or since. The sight of it had made him feel so small and insignificant compared to all that open space and the overwhelming majesty of the stars dappling the sky above with their secrets.

This view from the floor reminded him of that. And he realized part of him missed that.

"You good?" Sam asked from the darkness a few feet away.

Bucky felt his voice go dry with the beginnings of emotions he did his best to shove down again but he managed a, "MmHmm."

He laid in silence looking up and trying to make Wakandan constellations out of the bumps in the ceiling and slowly, he felt the tension he was holding in his chest loosen. He debated saying the next part out loud, but he felt compelled to make a request of the darkness, "Can you wake me up if you hear me... saying anything in… not English?"

The reply was immediate, "Of course."

Silence slipped in and enveloped the room again, thought it didn't feel quite as stifling as it did even ten minutes ago.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

He was finding words difficult, but this was too important to keep to himself, "Thanks."

He could practically imagine the gentle smile on Sam's face as he easily replied from somewhere off to his left, "Anytime, Buck. You know I've always got your six."

There was still a sea of doubt, unresolved threads, and problems that needed solving swirling around Bucky's head, but something clear in those simple words made him believe Sam truly meant what he said.

And in that moment: that mattered.

Author's Remarks:

Sam is a good bro. We all need someone like him in our lives.

I know the angst is getting a little (understandably) heavy here, but I hope the tail-end of this chapter offered you a few drops of levity. As someone who also sometimes gets so caught up in things that I forget simple things like the importance of calories scattered throughout my day, it's nice to know someone is there to watch out for your best interests, even if your mind is anywhere but in the moment.

Also to be clear: I believe the Dora Milaje to be utter badasses, and that many of the best among them would be able to potentially hold their own versus the Winter Soldier in a fair fight. That said, if things are completely calm and not out of the ordinary and a time-delay failsafe went off that suddenly triggered the Winter Soldier out of nowhere, it makes sense to me that he would be able to get the jump on them, or pretty much anyone else for that matter (Maybe not Spider-Man? But I digress...). But I want to make it clear that head-canon like that isn't intended to imply that they aren't immensely skilled warriors in their own right (they are!), but that there were a lot of really trying times all around that happened in Wakanda beyond "Oh, it was hard on Bucky," and the fact that these people continued to want to put time and effort into helping him showed not only their resolve and strength of character, but that he was worth it to them. Their friendship mattered. Hence, his later missteps really stung.

Tangent: I remember when I was in middle school, I got what was in my child-like eyes, the world's worst haircut. I'd come in for a trim, and come out with something of a travesty that was MUCH shorter than I was comfortable with, and I remember feeling traumatized by the whole experience. I begged my parents to let me stay home from school the next day, and when my best friend came by to see if I was okay, I remember being near-tears about the whole experience.

And what did she do? She went out that same day… and got the very same haircut, so I didn't have to deal with that feeling on my own.

It's gestures like that that can mean SO much when your world (even a middle-schooler's world) feels like it's crashing down. Human connection can be one hell of a salve to a world-weary soul.

Written to "Alexander Pierce," by Henry Jackman on "Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), and "Thin Floors and Tall Ceilings," by ODESZA.