Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 17 - Home

So Wakanda.

Upon careful calculation, Sam realized that over the course of his life, he'd technically been conscious and somewhere inside Wakanda's borders for a grand total of probably eighteen hours, give-or-take. Probably less. That time included the flight last night, the preparation for and Battle of Wakanda five years earlier for half the population (and a few months ago for he and the other half), and a few conscious hours this morning.

All-in-all, he felt like he'd been able to put near-enough together about the place and how it cross-compared to other places he'd been in around the globe. The buildings were different, certainly, but it shared that same warm, muted look that so many African countries did, the one where it seemed like the colors and pockets of shade trees and shrubbery were an extension of the land itself.

But within two blocks out, right around the time he looked up and saw a monorail that was literally levitating through raised hoops about three stories up, well, right about then he was beginning to see just how little he actually knew about the place and the people there. It was stunning as it was humbling.

And oh: it was humbling.

He found his mind struggling to formulate comparisons between anything remotely close, and falling short with each twist and turn. It wasn't just the seeming mismatch of globally advanced tech and the people rambling about on the ground: it was more than that.

Birnin Zana, the Golden City, was vibrant and alive in a way he'd never seen outside of crowds of Mardi Gras back in New Orleans. There were people spilled over everywhere, just smiling and carrying on as they went about their business. Some peddled gadgets, street food, or the latest fashion trends, but everything was just so... clean and bright and inviting. It was like stepping into a painting.

There was music everywhere, voices everywhere, smiles and laughter and just… joy spread all over from people that looked just like him, and it was at once the most bizarre and inviting thing he could remember, so much so that it didn't seem like it could possibly be real.

What was more, was that the entire tone of the streets was different than most anywhere he'd ever stepped-foot in. It was like the people here didn't find themselves accustomed to keep a wary eye over their shoulders in fear of their neighbor or authority figures. Were there police here in Wakanda? He couldn't imagine there was no crime at all, but if you looked out over the streets, it certainly didn't seem like anyone was concerned about the passing possibility. Were the Dora Milaje their version of the police? Even that comparison didn't land for him. The people he saw that glanced Yama's way didn't have that cautious fear in their eyes Sam was used to seeing from people so hollowly accustomed to the latest horror on the news, that they spent their private moments telling their kids how to talk nice and slow and de-escalate so they wouldn't accidentally get shot too.

The people here had to have heard about such things, but they didn't live it day-in-and day out. It hadn't sunk its teeth into them so deeply that they'd allowed fear to guide how they interacted with the people around them.

It was just… it was honestly beautiful. It felt like something near-to sacred to just walk among people that maybe hadn't been sullied by the particular brand of prejudice he'd seen and experienced firsthand so often in his life.

Yama strode her soldier's walk a few steps in front of them and Bucky kept pace a step beside Sam's right. Sam was pretty sure Bucky was walking a little taller on account of some combination of the shawl, daylight, and welcome sights. His friend had such a look of wonder about him. It was a good look on him.

"I take it a lot looks familiar?" Sam inquired.

"Yeah," Bucky confirmed. "I mean, some of it has evolved since the Decimation, like that building there," he pointed to a spiraling platform a few blocks away, "I don't remember a monorail stop there before, and some of the shops have changed hands, but it still feels the same. It's just a little tricky to get my bearings since I didn't usually head to the cafe from this direction."

"Mmm?" Sam asked, trying his best to multitask on his half of the conversation when there was just so much to take in. He would have to ask Shuri about some of those projected displays he was seeing: he'd never seen anything like 'em. How could you get something near-to that resolution in full-color and still have it be visible in broad daylight? It was truly something else.

"Well I didn't live on site in the Diplomatic Quarter," Bucky stated as if it was clear-as-day.

"You didn't?"

Bucky made a face like the idea was on the verge of insanity, "You thought I was in a suite. Like that. For two years?"

"I mean, honestly?" Sam defended, "Up until half a day ago, I assumed you spent it in a cryo tube. So this alternative history seemed a lot more reasonable and pleasant all-around."

Of all people, it was Yama who interjected a quip from somewhere just ahead of them without even missing a step, "You should tell him about the goats."

"The what?"

"You don't lead with the goats," Bucky defended, sending Yama something of a decided look.

Sam was definitely missing something, but he didn't miss the hint of a smile that crossed Yama's face when she glanced back at Bucky before offering Sam a casual, if apologetic shrug.

"I lived outside of the city," Bucky explained, gesturing off in a direction that had absolutely no meaning to Sam, "Between here and the Border Tribes. Not remotely the same accommodations, glorified camping in some cases, but it was honestly just nice to be out there in nature, away from the distractions." Bucky's tone of voice held a very particular spot of almost calm that Sam wasn't used to hearing from him, "Peaceful." Then a little something shifted in his expression and it went distant again as he added, "A nice change from places where the Winter Soldier was sent on missions at one point or another."

Sam was still trying to wrap his head about the idea of Bucky pitching a tent in a nature safari park when his friend saw fit to continue, "But anyway," Bucky added, trying to steer the conversation back on-track, "I don't know if it's still there, but maybe I can show you it sometime. It's probably the closest thing I've had to a home since…" his voice faded off as emotion began to weave its way between his words.

Sam looked over his shoulder to his friend and saw he'd gone back to doing the thing where he lowered his head and looked at his hand as if having focus on that alone was excuse enough for him to be dodging eye contact. He hadn't missed the word, though. It wasn't a word he was altogether certain existed in Bucky's vocabulary up until this point.

Home.

It'd never crossed his mind that Wakanda could've been that to Bucky. Not once. Maybe it was the part of his brain that leaned into the surface-level differences like his skin color or the clear cultural disconnect between the rest of the world and the absolutely bizarre mis-match of tribal custom and highly advanced technology.

Sam'd barely even heard Bucky mention Wakanda up until last night. If that was where he'd felt so much peace, why hadn't he just… gone back?

The logical part of Sam started to try and connect the dots, but the moment he started trying, he became ever-more aware that none of this was bound to be an easy, straightforward answer: If it was, Bucky would have already acted on it. Oversimplifying this would be about as valuable as the man's initial outrage on why Sam hadn't taken up the shield. It had been a simple question, hadn't it? But it wasn't something you could just… explain away to someone outright and hope they'd understand. It required a far greater context and history, as well as a hefty dose of profoundly uncomfortable introspection.

And Bucky'd held fast all the while. Even goin' so far as to do his own work to meet Sam in the middle, to understand, as much as he could hope to, and to also accept that there were nuances he'd never be able to fully grasp because he hadn't lived them firsthand.

Maybe this… maybe this was like that for Bucky?

Sam sighed as he looked over the faces of the people around him. Part of him even wondered if he had his own prejudices he hadn't spent nearly enough time digging into. As Bucky did that thing with his lips and stared at his hand like he might be able to tell his future by the lines in his palm, Sam tried to think back to how he used to think about Bucky, back when the Winter Soldier was right there just beneath the surface. Just lingering.

Okay. So the man had come from an era that wasn't particularly screaming with the value of diversity, but Steve had been as well, and he couldn't very well hold that against either of them. It was the time after that that got dicey, where Steve'd been on ice and Bucky'd spent the better part of those seventy years acting as an agent of HYDRA that were arguably literal Nazis, and all the hate and not-so-subtle racism that went along with it whether it was bolded in their pamphlet or not.

He wasn't proud of the thought, but maybe somewhere not so deep down, he'd initially kept watch to see if any of that bile had seeped and settled into Bucky unchecked? It sounded awful to put it that way, and Sam wasn't particularly proud of the thought, but the cautionary logic checked-out.

And he hated that it did.

Maybe that's part of why he'd initially been so upset when he'd learned about Isaiah Bradley and the fact that Buck'd hid him from Steve as well. It felt like it was just another example of a white man trying to obscure a history that wasn't to their particular taste.

But he'd gotten it, eventually. That Bucky was acting from a place of empathy and respect for what the man had been through. Maybe that was always part of Buck way back before Sam knew him, or maybe some new spark had taken root out here in Wakanda. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure if it mattered, either.

As he looked out over the lively, crowded streets with its sea of smiling people, Sam felt certain this was about as far a cry as you could get from hanging out with a bunch of white folks who'd long-since determined what religions and pantones could be in their little club. And there was something a little strange, but also kind of sweet imagining Bucky walking among them as not an outsider, but just another smiling face in the crowd. He liked the idea of that. He liked the idea of this being what Buck associated with a feeling of home.

"It's just up ahead," Yama spoke up helpfully, her rich voice at a respectful level that was just loud enough for them to hear over the chatter of the nearby crowds.

"Sorry," Bucky apologized, but it wasn't clear who or what the apology was meant for, "This is just a lot at once."

"You'll feel better after you eat," Yama replied as she looked back and gestured for Bucky to take the lead the last bit of the way to wherever they were heading, "You're probably far behind where you should be for someone who usually eats the lion's share."

And for not the first time, Sam raised an eyebrow as he realized Yama: the same warrior who hadn't said a single word when she'd promptly whooped his ass and put him in his place in Zemo's condo in Latvia, that even she was no stranger to Bucky's metabolistic whims. He'd just… he'd assumed she was one of Ayo's lieutenants, not that even she had known Bucky way back when.

Huh.

Something in his surprise must have shown on his face, because as Bucky stepped in front of her, the ornamented Dora Milaje spared a moment to look back at Sam. Her face evaluated him by some unseen metric before she stepped into line to follow behind Bucky.

Sam couldn't hope to read the signage on the tan and blue building, but he could certainly make out it was a makeshift cafe on account of not only the colorful patio seating that spilled into the street, but the smell of something rich and lofty on the air that immediately reminded him of his Nana's kitchen.

People all around them were chattering right on, but Bucky'd managed to weave his way around a decorative placard that displayed what Sam assumed were the daily specials. He'd hardly had a moment to glance at the projected pictures of plated food when a sturdy woman dressed in red and black that looked to be about five or ten years his senior belted something out in Wakandan, dropped what she'd been carrying on the nearest table, and rushed towards Bucky.

One moment Bucky was standing there looking cautious and pensive, and the next, he was being bearhugged by someone who was holding him so tightly you'd have to assume they were family. She used her hands to cup the sides of his face as she continued chattering at him with a wide smile, hollering something behind her that got the attention of a slender woman in the back who promptly hurried out and took Bucky's hand in hers, as if unsure he was really there. The newcomer swooped her free hand in Yama's direction, urging them forward, and the Dora Milaje nodded to Sam for him to follow.

They herded the group to a round table near the rear of the restaurant, and it was then that Sam caught the dialogue switch to welcome English.

"Oh, from the States?" The first woman said, turning to address Sam specifically, "My manners, my manners!" She led with a bright, radiant smile and quick hug before she pulled Sam back to get a better look at him and introduce herself, "I'm Majeema. Most folks just call me Mamma on accounts that they only wished their Mamma cooked like me."

"Still humble as a lamb," the taller woman laughed as she wrapped an elbow around Bucky's own in an apparent excuse to be free to elbow him at-will, "Five years without her missus and she still thinks it's her solemn duty to keep the whole city fed."

"Well we can't have 'em eattin' any of that imported rubbish," Mamma insisted from beside Sam, "Some of the kids these days, they don't hardly know the differences between spices and soil." She made a gesture to him, "I can tell you're a man of refined tastes who can tell up from down."

"He and his sister actually have own family fishing business," Bucky was able to interject, "and by the way, Ch'toa, Sam WIlson, Sam Wilson, Ch'toa."

Before Sam could even fit in a word, the woman beside him saw fit to offer a soft whistle, "Oh that's marvelous! And ah: I knew you looked familiar! A mighty-fine looking Captain America if I ever saw one, too."

"Uh, thanks?" Sam managed to slip in, taking note of a few nearby patrons glancing his way at the declaration. He decided to just try to blend in with the locals.

Mamma rolled her eyes, "You'll have to excuse her. Finds it a spot of fun to make gentlefolk self-conscious if she gets the chance."

"Oh, you like it well-enough," Ch'toa shot back playfully, "Wouldn'a married me otherwise."

Bucky was smiling from ear-to-ear with one of those genuine grins he often wore during cookouts, and it looked just as natural here. He took a seat first, and then Yama and the others followed-suit.

Ch'toa apparently wasn't done and leaned conspiratorially close to Bucky, "Didn't you name one of those goats "Sam?""

Yama appeared to be struggling to keep a straight face: the Dora Milaje was rapidly failing.

"Wait, you named a goat after me?"

"I named goats after a lot of people," Bucky defended as if that made things any better.

"I didn't get a goat named after me," this was Yama. Wow.

"Look, Shuri had a whole deal about the power of choice, and I never claimed I was good with names. I just named them, I don't know, people I guess. You don't need to make it weird."

"I also didn't receive a namesake," Ch'toa commiserated with Yama.

"I still can't believe your hair!" Mamma went in for a change of topic, "So handsome! I nearly didn't recognize you. That blue looks mighty good on you too," Mamma observed, gesturing to the patterned shawl slung around his neck that was draped over the far side of his torso, "matches your eyes."

"Thanks...?" Bucky acknowledged uncertainly. It was like the man's face didn't know how to accept a compliment.

Wait… did this mean these two hadn't even seen him any other way than without the arm?

Mamma got to her feet, "But we can't sit around chatting while you and our other guests starve. Give us a few and we'll whip something up. White Wolf over there said this is your first time out and about in the city, so we'd best be setting the bar so high that you'll be too spoiled to even look at other food."

"Simply ruined for the rest of your days to dream of what you tasted here in our kitchen," Ch'toa agreed.

Bucky's face held-fast in a grin, "They're not wrong." He regarded Sam with all the air of a mock-apology, "I hope you enjoyed other foods while they lasted."

Sam never caught a whiff of a menu, and apparently they didn't need to, because about five minutes later, a jug of water and wide, etched gold and black bowl were passed around for them to wash their hands, and then food just…. started coming out from the kitchen a few feet away.

It started in a little trickle. First came a series of small, savory pastries that were filled with some sort of rich curry and tucked away in brightly-colored baskets like some regional equivalent of Dim Sum. The contents of each of the woven baskets had a particular flavor, but the only stuffing he thought he recognized was okra, but it was prepared in such a way that it tasted almost closer to grilled sweet peppers.

Then came a spicy cup of some sort of hearty red soup that was accompanied by something that reminded him of fried plantains, but only just. Each were arranged with care in little handmade clay pots and accented with leaves and a spring of berries.

The steady rhythm of street musicians filled in the gaps between the conversation as plated vegetables were passed around, served family-style with hot, steaming bowls of rice that came out with grains in a host of colors, including black and purple. They had the air of butter, garlic, and spices he couldn't begin to identify, and he found something soothing about the feeling of dipping his fingers of his right hand into it to combine with some of the other bits of this and that around him.

Across from him, Bucky was doing the same, sparing a moment between bites to victoriously meet eyes with Sam, as if to say I told you it was going to be life-changing.

When they were out in public, sometimes Bucky had this habit of looking to Sam as a gauge to determine how much and how quickly he should be eating in what Sam assumed was an attempt to downplay the whole super-metabolism thing, as if he was self-conscious about how much he could put down given the chance. That wasn't the case at all here, and it was readily apparent that their signature chefs were portioning out extra helpings of food with him in mind. Sam'd have to bring that up with Sarah when he got back so they could take a page from this particular playbook.

Stewed and grilled meat came next, the latter of which was glazed with something that was too rich and not nearly ketchupy-enough to be considered barbecue, but the dipping sauce that came along with it was twinged with molasses so sweet it reminded him of wildflower honey. A little tower of thin crepes offered a way to roll the meat together with other savory items like some Wakandan version of a taco. Or burrito? Sam wasn't sure, but there was something comforting about them all just sitting around a table eating and conversing, even if he wasn't always certain what he was eating. It had all the feelings of a safe space, and neither Bucky nor the women hadn't been wrong: the food was utterly incredible.

While they ate, sparks of conversation abounded, often led by one of the two owners, who saw fit to take turns stopping by between directing the other waitstaff and serving nearby patrons. Their interest and engagement was as genuine as it came, and they had a warm manner about asking questions and occasionally shared stories about Bucky.

Apparently their earliest memories of him placed him as not very easy going around food, so they'd seen fit to turn that right around and encourage him to understand the ingredients, but also learn a little cooking (Which whoa: Where had that Bucky been hiding if he could cook anything remotely like this?). It was news to Sam. He recalled Bucky politely asking both he and Sarah if they'd wanted help cooking back at the house, but they'd shot down his offers without a second thought. Why'd they been so quick to dismiss them, though? It wasn't like the man had a history of burning things. The nearest Sam could reason was he'd inadvertently painted Bucky with the same broad strokes as Steve, whose cuisine capabilities maxed out somewhere between boiling water and microwave meals.

The two smiling women took turns asking questions of Bucky, including wanting to learn know more about how he'd been these last few months. It was strange and a little sad to hear Bucky's own take on recent events, "I mean. The world's changed, so I guess I'm still getting used to that," he confessed, but his eyes were also briefly on Sam, with that look of We should probably avoid the elephant in the room that is Zemo, "Still figuring things out. I got an apartment in Brooklyn, though, and visit Sam and his family in Louisiana when I can."

Sam was about to speak up, but Mamma beat him to it, "Brooklyn?" she seemed genuinely surprised, "There something for you there? I would've thought you would'a come back here."

Bucky's face was doing that uncomfortable thing again, "I mean. There was. Sort of. I got a pardon for all that other stuff, but the government insisted I complete some court-mandated therapy to go along with it," he dipped his fingers back into some rice before adding, "I went, but I wasn't really in a good headspace."

"And that therapist was awful, man," Sam backed him up as he pulled off some chunks of tender meat and popped it in his mouth. Did they have chickens in Wakdana? It tasted like chicken, but the cut of meat looked bigger. Maybe it wasn't poultry at all? He decided he didn't care what animal it belonged to. Bless that mystery animal: it was downright delicious.

Ch'toa's tone was compassionate as she turned back to Bucky, "Have you talked to Ayo about it?

And right then, Sam watched that tension flood right back into Bucky's face. He wasn't the only one that caught it.

"...Oh. Did... you two have a falling out?" Ch'toa tenderly inquired as Mamma slid into place beside her to listen, "You were always so close."

The man seated across the table from Sam took a deep breath as he tried to still whatever was going on inside his head, and nearby, Yama silently watched and listened as she ate, "Yeah. I… I made some bad calls. The kinda ones I'm sure not I can ever really come back from. I want to try to make it up to her and others, but it's gonna take a lot. And even then, I don't know."

Mamma nodded sagely, taking in his words before she ventured a reply she accented with a gesture of something that looked like a spear of asparagus, "The fall-out from the Decimation hit us all differently, Ayo included. You know, she used to come by and talk with me about her worries for the future? If she would ever see King T'Challa, Shuri, Nomble, or the others again." Her eyes raised sympathetically to meet Bucky's, "And she worried for you too. She hoped she'd see you again. She was so proud of you, of how far you'd come. It kept her focused on even the hardest days."

And right then, Sam couldn't help but think that the next time she'd see Bucky after Thanos… it would be not a welcome homecoming, but in her role as Wakanda's security chief as she set out to track down how Zemo had managed to escape a high security prison in Berlin. Damn...

Across the way: Sam was certain Bucky was sharing the same awful, somber thought, but he managed a tight nod, as if he didn't trust his voice in that moment.

It was Ch'toa's turn to chime in, and she did so as she rested a hand on Bucky's shoulder, "We're all born into this world alone. Some are lucky enough to be blessed by a family that loves us. That wants what's best for us. Wants to see us flourish." She leaned down so her warm brown eyes were close to Bucky's glossy ones, "But the luckiest of us, the very luckiest, are blessed by Bast to discover the richness of found families," she used her free hand to squeeze her wife's hand, "And those bonds, the ones tempered with time and understanding: they are not as frail as you may think them to be, White Wolf."

Bucky nodded, but his eyes looked to Yama next, who sat diagonally across from him and said nothing: what Sam would have given to read their minds in that moment.

"I'm going to try to make things right," Bucky said finally. He was saying it aloud, but Sam had the distinct impression he was also saying it to Yama specifically, "I know apologies only go so far. Actions are more important. And I want to make my actions count."

Initially, Yama regarded him with that neutral expression of hers, but then she gave Bucky a small nod of acknowledgement before she returned to her soup.

It took until that very moment for Sam to really grasp that what he was seeing here before him wasn't simply a foreigner trying to fit in like he would have assumed not even weeks ago, but someone trying to come to terms with the fact that Bucky had all-but the makings of a family here in Wakanda, and he wasn't even sure the man even realized it.

Speaking of: Maybe that was even why he got along great in Louisiana? He'd never stopped to consider how Bucky'd managed to just… slip right into things there like he'd always been around, but maybe all his time in Wakanda had nestled itself into him in ways he hadn't even begun to unpack?

The therapist part of him confirmed: This was a lot.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Ch'toa offered with genuine conviction as she squeezed Bucky's shoulder, "And when you do, you make sure to come by with her so we can celebrate."

That got the smallest of hopeful smiles out of Bucky, "Thanks. Means a lot coming from you."

"Let me see what we have in the back to hold you over, since we should have our own little homecoming, too," at that, Ch'toa shot Bucky one of her signature smiles and hurried off.

Not a minute later, later she returned with what looked like some sort of small white and black-speckled cake. Wait. Were those…? Did they have actual Oreos in Wakanda? The chocolate-dipped cookies arranged around the edges looked even more decadent, and the light in Bucky's eyes told Sam he was the only one at the table who wasn't properly braced for what was coming.

Mamma immediately got to work cutting slices and Ch'toa handed them around with the first actual cutlery Sam'd seen yet.

As he bit into that heavenly slice of moist and delicious cake, he realized that Bucky Barnes hadn't been wrong: This experience was indeed going to ruin his relationship with food, potentially for the rest of his life.

And he also realized that was just fine by him.

Author's Remarks:

... I'm starting to feel like a chunk of this fic is part of my way of making up for the fact we didn't get nearly as much Wakandan backstory in regards to Bucky in the movies and series as I wanted… and I'm not sure what we might ever get, so… I'm all-in now, friends. I am SO committed to this ride.

But hey? In terms of this chapter itself: Wild sights, banter, good food, and reflective angst with a side of hope?

I also love the idea that we are getting little breadcrumbs about Ayo along the way (Can you imagine how she felt to make so much progress with Bucky, only to then lose him in the Decimation? ;_;), as well as Yama, whose current approach seems to be to see who Bucky is now and decide what she thinks about him and what he did (Yama did not get dusted, so it's been years for her since she's been around him with any regularity. Same with Ayo. Which also helps explain yet another reason why Ayo feels so hurt and betrayed. Like goddamn it, Bucky: Some of these people hadn't gotten to spend time with you in FIVE YEARS, why did you ignore their calls/texts/progressively more annoyed Kimoyo bead voicemails?).

Also Free Head-Canon: Bucky was terrible with coming up with names when he was recovering in Wakanda and probably named the goats after some of the Avengers he met during Captain America: Civil War.

Also Google tells me goats live 15-18 years so. …. I'm just saying…..

Full respect to the following:

- Bucky and goat memes, may they never tire.

- Content creator Nicquemarina (on Tiktok), who will never allow me to look at Oreo cake the same way again, and gave me life throughout when TFATWS originally aired.

- Cookies_With_Milk (on AO3), for being genuinely awesome (and for all the great memes, links, and discussions that have enlivened my day-to-day). 3

- NonBinaryStars (on AO3), for allowing me to step outside my own life experiences and just listen, and in doing so, try to grow my spark of empathy further.

Anyway: Thank you all once again for the love and support! Your comments give me life for what's grown into quite an undertaking, but I would have it no other way.

Written to a heavy amount of reflective silence as well as "Hold Me Up," by Sam Tinnesz.