Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 38 - Schrödinger's Soldier
The thing with flying, is it's an awful lot like falling.
Regardless of how many hours of flight time you've got logged under your wings, when the world suddenly drops out from under you and you're left in a momentary state of freefall, you never really shake the way your stomach gives up the ghost and swiftly surrenders to the call of gravity.
Like the first steep drop on a rollercoaster, that initial plunge is a surge of pure, liquid adrenaline. There's a very particular sensation that kicks in a few heartbeats later. The one where your eyes see the rails stretching out far below and convince your most basic, primal instincts that it's okay to give into the sensation, to even relish the thrill of it because things are under control.
Flying at its best, is a lot like that. The feeling of the air beneath you and sky above, and calling those forces to you, guiding and weaving with them with motion and intent like a dance.
But there's a very different sort of thing that happens in your brain when there's air all around you and it's partnered with the harsh reality that you're not in control, and neither is anyone else. The ground's simply approaching too fast, and there's no prayer left in the world that could slow it down enough to make a lick of difference.
Case-in-point: Sam didn't have a clue what the White Witch of Brooklyn had planned, but one moment they were running along the edge of the shaft in the middle of the Wakandan Design Center, and the next thing he knew, he'd been pulled into that giant hole in the ground.
And they were rapidly falling to their deaths.
Well, at least Sam was. Maybe the Winter Soldier could survive that kind of drop. Might even be payback for Munich. Their cruising altitude back then had been what, 200 feet? That was at least 18 stories more than was altogether reasonable to expect a man to jump out of a plane.
Somewhere in the back of Sam's mind, he wondered why his near-death brain insisted on pulling in guilt about that whole fiasco with Bucky about now.
Right: He was the one falling without a parachute.
The view straight down told him he'd at least have a few more seconds to see his untimely demise approaching face-first, and that, well: It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd envisioned dying to gravity's call. Shouldn't there be something comfortable about reliving familiar nightmares that led to this grand finale of his short life?
As they were free falling, Sam forced his thoughts to shift to Sarah and the boys. Around the time he wondered how much of the truth Shuri'd see fit to share with them, and how much of his body might even be left after a fall from this height, Sam felt his weight shift. Next thing he knew, he was looking sideways, watching the inside floors of the Design Center flash by like strobes of light and bands of greyscale sedimentary rocks.
He did his best to ignore the immense pain radiating out of what used to be his hands and felt himself getting faint and lightheaded as their churning momentum rotated him face up.
In the blink of an eye, he was gazing at a bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds overhead. While part of his brain screamed that it was preferable to be face-down so he could see his fate approaching in real-time, he found his lazy head pushed away the thought as it took in the view. He couldn't begin to make shapes out of the clouds considering how much everything hurt, but it was nice.
If the last thing he saw was the open sky, that'd be alright by him. He could think of worse ways to go.
He'd take the sight over the thought that the last thing he saw in this life might be those cruel blue eyes of someone he used to know.
He felt himself fade towards the edge of unconsciousness as the arms around him tightened.
Hopefully he'd just fade out before they crushed him.
The jolt from the impact came sooner than expected. It resonated through him with the force of a high speed car crash, yet something cushioned his back and cradled his head from the brunt of the blow as he went tumbling end-over-end like an escaped tire.
When his body came to a stop and the world stopped spinning long enough to register he still had a body to speak of, he felt the ground heaving under him and realized he wasn't looking up at the blue sky anymore, but an array of bright lights.
A rumble close to his ear groaned in pain, and then those firm arms around him slid apart so they could discard Sam to one side.
As Sam felt his body settle limply onto the hard, chilled floor, everything about him was screaming how broken he was, how he needed help, there was this...this moment almost, where he managed to summon up the energy to turn his head to one side, as if he needed his eyes to draw out clarity on what had just happened. Sam wasn't sure what exactly he'd expected to see, but Not-Bucky was laying there face-up beside him with a new assortment of bruises visible across his forehead and all along the crest of his nearest arm. After a second of glancing past the man beside him to the distance they'd dropped down the central shaft of the Design Center, Sam's mind made no hesitation in registering that whoever that man was beside him, he must've intentionally chosen to take the brunt of the impact, even though it would have been altogether easier to have just let go of Sam and let gravity take care of the rest.
Who was this guy?
Sam didn't know what to make of that. His mind was still turning circles over itself when that same man groaned and shifted his head to look at him. Then, without trying to, Sam found his eyes inches away from the Soldier's own. They just stared right back, with that same empty expression of his.
Though now it didn't seem quite so empty as he remembered.
He could swear right then, he heard Ayo's voice repeat the words she'd said when Bucky was in cryo and Sam thought to ask what she thought the serum might've amplified, "I believe one of James Barnes' most fundamental, basic instincts is to protect."
He could see 'em, those blue eyes he knew, but he still couldn't figure out what was goin' on behind them as… Not-Bucky, the Winter Soldier, whoever it was... shook his head clear and set his squared, stubbled jaw. He narrowed his eyes and regarded Sam for just a moment longer before he turned his attention over his left shoulder and pushed himself into a seated position that seamlessly transitioned to a feral crouch.
Sam couldn't see what Darth Vader was looking at, and frankly? He wasn't sure he had the energy left in him to care. He could've stayed on that nice, chilly floor all day. He coughed once and shuddered as he considered it might be wise to roll onto his side at some point so he could breathe a bit better. But that seemed like an awful lot of effort.
This was good enough for now.
He was so tired.
Yeah. He wouldn't mind giving his eyes a little rest. Just long enough to catch his breath.
His thoughts faded out as he imagined the lights overhead were the warmth of the sky above him.
As the soldier got to his feet, he took quick inventory first of his hostage, then himself, and then the room at-large.
Sam Wilson was breathing and had appeared responsible before going unconscious again. The latter was not ideal, but at least it meant he couldn't interfere further in the meantime. It was possible his hostage might need further medical attention when the opportunity presented itself, or that he'd simply gone into shock due to the multiple injuries he'd sustained. It was folly for his hostage to believe he would have been able to squirm away unnoticed. It brought him no pleasure correcting his behavior.
The soldier turned his attention back to running brief diagnostics on his own body. His arms and ribs had taken the majority of the impact. He felt certain he'd sustained a number of hairline fractures for his efforts, but the discomfort was minimal, and wouldn't slow him down. Aside from the occasional trembling in his fingers and continued questions running through his mind, his condition was optimal.
His keen eyes surveyed the Propulsion Laboratory and the viable options before him. The cavernous room was cast in monotone greys and even less populated than it had been when they'd passed through the other side of the far glass. The only motion his eyes keyed-into was the quick scramble of bodies moving away from where they'd landed, and the resulting secondary shuffle as the tribal women rearranged themselves between him and the figures donned in white lab coats and dress uniforms.
He took a quick inventory of the layout: behind him was the opening to the landing deck and central shaft, to his left were the tribal women and scientists who stood with their backs to an indoor firing range a short distance away that was lined with what appeared to be an assortment of mounted weaponry. Roaming robotic machinery came to a standstill as remote-operated drones turned in place to hover and still themselves nearby distant command consoles.
To his right, Sam Wilson lay passed out on the floor. Beyond his form were a number of tables strewn with parts, and further back were different configurations of small aircraft and personal fliers in various states of completion. Some were merely rough, skeletal forms, while others appeared to be further along, though it was unclear from this distance if any contained viable offensive weaponry.
His eyes drifted back to the devices secured nearby the firing range. He had to assume those were optimal targets for acquisition.
He just had to get to them.
The soldier turned his attention back to the nearest row of four tribal women. They'd collectively chosen to step closer to him, and while they were still a good twenty feet away, they lowered their spears to face him in an obvious show of intimidation. He knew he'd taken them by surprise, but he got the feeling they were reading out of an altogether different set of mission parameters than the ones he'd faced-off with previously.
He waited and watched for the first tell of their plan.
He didn't have to wait long.
The closest woman to him, one with tattoos across both cheeks, shifted to a wider stance, and as soon as she did, a bolt of blue-white energy fired from the end of her spear. He wasn't able to dodge the discharge completely, but he was able to pivot and bring up his upgraded arm in enough time to take the brunt of the impact. The mechanisms inside the protective plating screamed defiance at the hit and the force blew him off-balance. He stumbled backwards, slamming his hip into the edge of a nearby table in the time it took for the band of four tribal women to start to close the distance between them.
They obviously showed no desire to feign interest in negotiation or manipulation. He could respect that.
It wasn't one of their smarter moves, but they would learn that soon enough.
He was ready for them.
The soldier recovered in enough time to see the tattooed woman in front lining up for a second shot, but this go around, he grabbed a leg of the metal table and flung the contents back at the charging warriors, flourishing it as a makeshift shield while they reacted to the sudden chaotic spray of heavy tools and debris. The sonic bolt hit the flat expanse of the table with an audible bang and flash of bright light as the electric projectile reflected back in the general direction of the tribal women. He watched in satisfaction as they narrowly pitched out of the way to avoid the unexpected return fire, and he instinctually took note of their chosen methods to dodge and roll. They moved more like dancers than soldiers. More like Widows.
The scientists were not nearly so nimble. They scattered like confused pigeons, bumping into and scrambling over one another as they frantically got out of the way of the rogue debris. An oblong gearbox struck one of them in the leg and he let out a shriek of pain as he stumbled and collapsed.
Nearby scientists dragged him to safety, and appeared to conclude that staying out in the open was not worth the show.
He'd get to them soon enough.
Even still, the impact had struck the table with enough force that the soldier had to wheel himself around to regain his balance. He cradled his free hand close to the ground to pull up an electronic wrench of some sort that he concealed against the side of his body before he pivoted his momentum, adjusted his footing, and sprinted directly towards the scattered warriors.
He was hoping when he ran the table into them like a battering ram and then swug it wide that he might get lucky and make contact with at least one of the women, but when no contact came, he braced for their countermove. They took advantage of the tight space under the table's lower edge as well as the immediacy of the tactical opening following the swing, and in no short order he found three spears flourished in his direction from close, threatening angles.
None immediately connected with his body nor limbs, but he felt the organization latent in their tactical maneuver. He was able to knock away the tip of the first spear with his wrench and seamlessly pivoted the weight of the table back so that it connected with the owner of that particular spear with an audible crack that sent her flying back into the group of cowering scientists.
The other tribal warriors wasted no time. The one closest to him used the hidden energy weapon in her spear to blow the table out of the Soldier's hand while her compatriot spun her spear with a flourish. They were highly coordinated, moving with practiced precision against him in quick slicing motions that didn't give him enough time to calculate which were feigns meant to corral him, and which were finishing maneuvers meant to subdue and disable.
Even still, it appeared HYDRA insisted on taking him alive.
Being in the center of three of them was strange, though he could not put his finger on why the sensation accompanied their collective movements. Was it familiar, somehow? Or were their elegant, serpentine motions connected to something else. Like being caught in the middle of a dance. Or parade?
He didn't think he recalled either.
The warrior that he'd flung back yelled something in another language as she ran to rejoin the fray, "Hlala ngaphandle kwengozi kwaye u-Ayo no-Okoye bazi ukuba zeziphi izibonda esijongene nazo!" His mind translated the words to 'Remain out of harm's way and let Ayo and the Okoye know what stakes we face!'
The soldier let them juggle their quarry a little longer as he planned his next move and continued to prevent them from herding him away from where Sam lay nearby nor, allowing any to flank him. With calculated precision, he allowed one of them to land a hit on his side in the hope the momentary promise of victory might leave her open to a parry.
The soldier felt a quick wave of pain shoot through him as the blow connected to his ribs, but he ignored the sensation and instead used one hand to grip the spear, and the other to hurl the wrench towards the wielder's face as he went into an upright gator-roll.
The woman was able to use the silver armor along one wrist to block the wrench, but the defensive move cost her her own spear. He swung the brunt end wild and wide, catching impact against one of the other spears.
He realized too late that the spear was meant to draw his attention. It was the one to his left he hadn't seen coming.
The thrust was just out of his periphery, and by the time he saw it, the spear had already speared clean through not only his boot, but the ball of his left foot and into the floor below.
The sear of sharp pain caught him by surprise and he had to adjust his right foot to keep his balance when the next volley of motion came his way. The two warriors to his left used the spear that was planted in the ground as a make-shift fulcrum, leveraging the position of the spear in his hand so that he had to choose between pinning his left wrist against the spear, or forcing the shaft of the spear in his hand against the front of his own neck. The other two women appeared to use this as a cue, and within seconds they'd repositioned themselves so the shafts of their own spears flanked his neck. They tightened the unyielding metal rods around his throat as they unleashed a fresh burst of electrical current that coursed through the shafts and forced him to the ground.
The surge of blinding energy arched through him, igniting his nerves and momentarily seizing the servos embedded deep within his arm. His jaw clenched reflexively, but he didn't cry out: He met the pain with a feral snarl of utter defiance and wild eyes.
The four of them struggled against him, and due in no small part to the electrical current, they managed to get his right knee to the ground, forcing him to kneel while the triad of metal surrounding his neck tightened, preventing him from taking any further breaths.
They may have been set on subduing him, but he was fighting for his life. For his very identity.
He wouldn't let them win. Couldn't let them win.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glass double doors along the hallway on the far side of the room slide open. Three more tribal-clad women rushed across the expanse of the Propulsion Laboratory. He knew there wasn't much time. Once they joined the fray, he was liable to lose any remaining advantage he had.
He glanced over his right shoulder to where Sam Wilson coughed once, but remained motionless on the ground, and he felt his resolve solidify. As the warrior-women sprinted to close the distance between them and join the fray, he put all of his force into yanking his left foot back.
Tough leather and raw flesh severed at the toe of the boot in a sickening, audible tear. His reclaimed left foot was once again his own, though fresh blood pooled out the front of it and collected under the sole.
The Soldier continued to hold his breath, fighting down the pain the sacrificial move had caused him. He snarled, adjusting his shoulders against the continued jolts of electricity coursing through the shafts of his captors' cruel spears.
The energy output wasn't tuned properly for someone like him. He just had to break the contact.
The soldier twisted his head to focus his attention on his nearest captor. He looked into the eyes of the woman with the tattooed face who'd driven the spear into his foot. For a moment, just a moment, he let her see him, let her realize the utter folly of her mistake.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the only thing more dangerous than a caged animal, was a wounded animal that was fighting for its right to not simply survive, but to truly live.
He would kill her first.
Nomble was already in motion by the time the Soldier… James… whoever he was, leapt with Sam into the central shaft of the Design Center, and for a moment, Ayo felt that her own legs were unable to move because she feared what she would see if she did.
Her heart dropped out from under her with such gravity that she found it difficult to even breathe, no less process what had just happened. This was not how their plans were supposed to have unfolded! They were supposed to have been able to negotiate with him, and if it looked as though he'd meant to do harm to Sam, then they would subdue him with an energy bead from the cloaked drone Shuri'd set up nearby.
But none of them had planned on him feigning a move to draw their ire, nor that the Soldier's enhanced senses would have allowed him to locate the concealed drone.
Ayo shook off the thoughts and propelled herself to motion, though her bad leg screamed at her for the suddenness of her movement. Yama and Shuri were close behind Nomble as they ran ahead to the edge of the central shaft. Before Ayo could catch up to them, Nomble's voice called out for their attention, "He did not free-fall! He meant to leap into the Propulsion Laboratory!" Relief was apparent in her Lieutenant's voice.
Ayo felt breath return to her lungs as she thanked Bast for that grace and reached the edge of the precarious drop that separated the surface from the depths of the vibranium mines far below.
It wasn't easy to see them from such a height, but her eyes scanned the opening of the landing platform, and just inside the bay, she could just barely make out two forms laying face-up a short distance away. Gravity could not have accounted for their positioning alone: James had leapt with intention.
She was certain she saw them move! There was hope yet.
Ayo's Kimoyo Beads lit up with messages from not only Doras across the complex, but two scientists within the Propulsion Laboratory as well. She focused on the responsibilities of her role and the order that she must act in all haste. Behind her, she could hear Shuri speaking aloud as she did the same, "I'm letting our on-site medical staff know to prepare as if they may be needed in the Propulsion Laboratory, but to remain where they are for the time being." Her charge's voice was straightforward, all business. Ayo appreciated Shuri's ability to compartmentalize when the need for such things required it as they certainly did now.
Well, mostly.
"Stop staring. It is not as if you have not seen similar, and I cannot return my clothes to the way they were before." Ayo looked up long enough to realize Shuri's words were not for her, but for the six other Doras Ayo had stationed as guards for their Princess.
It was clear by their expressions that Shuri's sudden change in wardrobe had come as a surprise. It was not as if they hadn't seen their king don a similar weave of protective vibranium nanite technology, but few had reason to know Shuri concealed a contingency of her own design.
The form fitting armor was not without reason. Had the thin edge of the cell phone managed to strike Shuri, the black fabric might've been the only thing that spared her life. Instead, Ayo had managed to throw herself in harm's way and had taken the impact against her own armor, which was certain to earn her a bruise but nothing more.
Ayo's own fingers focused on communicating with those inside the Propulsion Laboratory while she entrusted her Lieutenants to address the immediacy of other matters. They spoke only as much as they needed to to ensure their goals and actions were clear in case further modifications were necessary between them.
"I am in communication with Okoye and those inside the Lab," Ayo relayed. She questioned for a moment if this was the proper role for the Chief of Security, but considering the array of weapons available in the lab, it seemed clear to her it was not simply a choice flavored by heightened emotion.
Yama spoke next, "I will recall the topside Doras as well as the ships we scattered so they were not visible."
"I will work my way back through and hasten to get to the lab as quickly as possible from the inside," Nomble supplied, though Ayo could tell her Lieutenant's eyes remained focused below as she added for those closest to her, "I feel certain he recognized what I spoke, even if he did not understand it. If it is true, then his mind may not be moored so entirely in the past as we feared."
"What did you say to him?" Shuri had the bandwidth to inquire as her fingers flew over her Kimoyo Beads and pulled up a set of secondary monitors that captured the view from inside the Propulsion Laboratory.
"It was a book's quote, in Sindarin," Nomble clarified.
"Sindarin?"
"Elvish. Like the books of fiction James has long shown preference to. It is a language we learned together as a challenge to one another. And a book he did not know before his time with HYDRA, The Fellowship of The Ring."
Ayo met Nomble's eyes: Her Lieutenant was convinced James, or at least some more recent part of him was still in there, "I wish to believe as well, but we are running out of time. If he acts with further aggressive intent… they cannot subdue him..." Ayo's voice faded away.
Nomble frowned, her expression awash with concern as she nodded agreement and turned to sprinted back towards the entrance to the design Center.
Ayo prayed they were not too late.
Sam was subtly aware of the clash of metal and the thunder of nearby voices, but all they amounted to initially was a jumble of noise until realized he must've closed his eyes at some point.
The next thing he knew, he was trying to sort out what they were saying, and when he came up blank, he thought it might be proper to let them know to settle down because he was trying to rest.
Why were they so loud?
He coughed, and when he squinted his eyes open and rolled his aching head to the left to see what the fuss was about, it took him a moment to piece together what he was seeing a rather short distance away.
Initially, Sam saw the flashy red, silver, and brown of the Dora Milaje and thought maybe those figures he saw were people he knew. It took him a moment to realize he counted four of them, not three. He squinted at them through puffy eyelids: It took him longer than he wanted to admit to catch sight of their faces and put enough together in his aching head that he didn't think he recognized any of them.
His attention shifted to the figure with his back mostly to him. That was the only person he did recognize: those four Doras were grappling with none-other than the Winter Freaking Soldier.
He had mostly a reverse-view of the confrontation going on, but there was a whole heaping of fresh blood pooled around the Soldier's left boot and smeared across his shirt, pants, and shawl. The blue, black, and gold shawl was the outlier in Sam's mind that drove him to focus in just enough time to watch as the hulking figure lifted his left foot and slammed it into the nearest Dora with such pointed force that she was helpless to do anything but tuck her body as she went flying backwards, slamming hard against a mechanical assembly with a very particular bodily *crack* that instantly brought him to his senses quicker than if someone'd just thrown a pail of water over his head to wake him up.
It made Madripoor look like child's play.
Sam pulled himself onto one elbow as he helplessly watched nearby scientists scramble over to the fallen member of the Dora Milaje. He couldn't see if she was moving, and his mind immediately returned to Lemar. To the killing blow Karli'd dealt.
It was like watching it all over again, except it was the person he thought he knew dealing out death.
Unfazed, the Soldier's right hand raised and gripped the shaft of one of the spears set against his neck. White hot electricity arced through it, casting a frightening glow over his fearsome features as he closed his fist around it and cruelly twisted, throwing his weight behind the move and the Dora who'd been holding the spear with it. Sam watched her head and torso strike the floor and bounced from the force of the impact. Her body shifted as it collapsed in on itself, but from the angle he was at, Sam wasn't sure what condition she was in or if she was even still alive.
He hoped she was still alive.
The Soldier wheeled his left arm around with an audible, mechanical whirl and used both hands to clear the spears of two remaining Dora off from around his neck.
Then he went in for blood.
Sam could only watch in horror as the man in front of him fought with a recognizable intensity that was a far-cry from any paltry sparring tactics. He struck out with a verifiable willingness, a desire even, to deliver finishing blows. He wasn't sure why he was so certain of the shift. Maybe it was the predatory way the Soldier held his shoulders, his wide, menacing gait as he stuck out and traded blows with the Dora Milaje, or the way he lowered his head like a wolf ready to tear a rival limb-from-limb when he surged and changed position. Whatever it was, things had gone from bad and outright dangerous to… well… Sam'd seen firsthand what he could do. The broken bodies and lifeless corpses he was capable of leaving in his wake.
Then, he saw them: Somewhere to the right of his peripheral, he saw three Dora Milaje sprinting their way from across the room. But as he leaned up on one bruised elbow to get a better look, to see if it was Ayo, Nomble, and Yama, his eyes widened as he saw two of them raise their spears and pull them back, twisting their bodies as they prepared to launch them…
...directly at Bucky.
In that instinctual moment borne out of pure fear and adrenaline, Sam didn't care who the other man was, or what names or reality he acknowledged: Sam wasn't about to stand...or lay… idly by as his Partner was speared clean through, regardless of maybe some part of his mind worried if it was justified or not.
Sam wasn't sure what parts of his broken body he used to propel himself forward the short distance to where the Winter Soldier was trading blows with the Dora Milaje, but he thought he heard one of his wrists crack as he pulled himself towards his Partner. He did his best to ignore the pain surging through every part of him as he hooked an elbow around one of Bucky's shins and yanked back with everything he had in him.
"Buck, Stop!"
It wasn't much, but the unexpected motion was enough of a waver that the first soaring spear that looked to be aimed for Bucky's torso missed its mark by mere inches, striking the glass behind him with a deafening *Bang!* And the second spear… the Soldier caught the second one in his right hand.
As soon as he did, the Soldier's cruel blue eyes looked between the approaching Dora, down to Sam at his ankle. For a second, Sam felt certain he might've seen a hint of confusion amongst the tumble of primal instincts spread across his bloodied and bruised features. A question.
Sam's body tensed, fearing that the foot he was clinging onto like a lifeline might be planning to knock in his skull and finish the job, but he found himself summoning all the remaining energy he had in him to fill his lungs with air. He wasn't sure who his raw voice was for, but he heard a voice that was hardly recognizable as his own begging, pleading, "He's my friend. Please stop. Please. He doesn't understand what he's doing! He's confused! Please don't kill him." His mouth kept on, running like if the words stopped flowing, there'd be more bodies littering the floor nearby, "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Buck, Soldier, whatever you want me to call you. Please. I know you're angry. I don't know if you're scared, but I am. Please. Please don't hurt 'em. This isn't you. This is what they made you."
Sam wasn't sure if the words had actually gotten through at all, but he saw the two nearest battered and bloodstained Doras take a step back and point their spears back at the Soldier. Maybe they were just preparing for another go-about once the other three joined them, but either way: Sam could only hope that they thought to consider if their only option was to flat-out murder the man in front of them. Even the Soldier stilled, his chest heaved as he took inventory of the armored women around him with a jackrabbit's alert gaze.
The Soldier's next move was so quick, so clean, Sam didn't even see it coming.
One moment, Sam was splayed and half-crawling on the ground with one one elbow hooked around the Soldier's right leg, the next, he'd been snagged around his chest and hauled to his feet. He didn't have the strength to fight back as he was flung around like a full-body shield and rotated so he was facing the remaining Dora Milaje.
Sam didn't need to see the tip of the spear the Soldier had snatched out of the air to know it was there at his throat, completing the fresh threat.
He didn't fight it. He knew none of them would survive if he did.
The sudden burst of motion stilled the Doras around them, and all Sam could hear was the steady, haggard breathing of the man behind him, the way his breath hissed a little from what might've well been a collapsed lung. The Soldier didn't even feel the need to verbalize the threat, he simply stepped backwards with Sam out in front of him, nice and slow.
A predator's retreat.
Sam's attention went to the Dora on the floor a few feet away. He saw one of her shaky hands slide against the floor as she struggled, but failed, to get up. His eyes flashed to the scientists in the far back of the room, how they huddled protectively around the fallen Dora that'd been kicked across the room. She hadn't moved from where she landed, but he thought he saw her eyes and mouth moving. From the position of her legs compared to her torso, Sam worried her spine might've been snapped or severed.
As he felt himself being slowly pulled away, dragged to an unknowable future, his attention returned to the two closest Doras. The bruised and battered warriors regarded Sam with compassion in their eyes, and though he didn't know them, didn't know their names, they were no longer just faces to him. He committed them to memory, imagining they were friends of Ayo, Nomble, Yama, and Shuri. Vibrant, wonderful women in their own right who'd trained for years and were doing everything they could do the right thing and protect the best interests of Wakanda. He wasn't upset with them, couldn't, wouldn't blame them for trying to interject themselves into an awful situation.
Had he done the right thing, warning Bucky? Preventing them from bringing the Soldier down so he couldn't hurt anyone else? Sam wanted to think he'd made the right call, but part of him acknowledged that if anyone died after this point, the blood would be on his hands for letting it happen. For enabling the Winter Soldier's continued reign of terror in the hope his friend was still locked away somewhere in there.
The other three Dora Milaje, including the two that'd thrown their spears and the one that kept hers pointed his way kept a bit more distance between themselves and the Soldier.
All things considered: it was probably the right call.
Sam tried to memorize their faces too.
The Dora Milaje closest to him kept her brown eyes locked on his and he was pulled away.
Without words, he found himself mouthing 'I'm sorry…'
He could only watch as her left hand pressed against her chest in a one-handed soldier's salute. In understanding. Maybe she didn't know him, didn't know Bucky, but he could read the concern and resolve in her eyes plain as anything.
In that moment, she reminded him of Sarah.
The next thing he knew, the metal arm around him hauled him backwards up a ramp.
As the hatch closed behind them, Sam did everything he could to stay focused on those intense eyes of hers, and not the fear and pain struggling to reclaim him.
Sam was hurting far too much, and questioning far too much to feel brave. His misshapen hands were ornamental at-best, and he figured he'd effectively traded his life to make sure none of the other Doras died, so he didn't put up an ounce of fight as the Soldier turned him around and promptly marched him across the length of whatever experimental contraption this was. It didn't look like the inside of any vehicle he'd ever been in, and it bore only a passing resemblance to the sleek jet Nomble'd picked them up in back in Symkaria. This one was narrower, more compact, but didn't have any controls to speak of across the front. Only a section that looked to be filled with graphite-grey sand. Strange.
Sam couldn't help but glance out at the claustrophobic view in front of him. There wasn't much to see beyond a cavernous wall a short distance away and a few skeletal underpinnings of ship designs between here and there. He didn't see anyone visible outside of the ship, but his instincts told him people just out of sight in that room were no-doubt scrambling nearby to react to this unexpected change of plans. How? He had not a clue.
Megatron's grip on him loosened as Sam was led towards a floating pair of pilots' seats at the front of the vehicle. And after a moment, he was directed to sit in the left chair.
"Stay put," the man with his friend's face said from the other end of his spear. Sam considered acknowledging he was altogether receptive to the request, but it didn't seem like a good idea to say anything right about then. Whether it was the blood and bruises spread across Not-Bucky's face and arms, or the way he moved like a big cat, there was something very particular in the Soldier's expression that gave him pause.
More so than usual, that was.
Sam watched as the Six-Million Dollar Assassin seated himself in that strange hovering chair beside him, and for a moment, he thought about all the different ways the next minute or so could play out: Was the ship even operational? Armed? Could it get off the ground at all? Maybe all those increasingly worrisome possibilities juggling around in his periphery were nothing more than shadows, because even if the ship was capable of flight, it wasn't like this Borg asshole could actually fly it?
…
…
...Right?
...
….Because that would mean…
Sam watched as the man beside him flexed the fingers along that stolen spear of his and looked out over the sea of vibranium sand in front of him.
And then the bloody Winter Soldier made a gesture with that right hand of his and not only did a three-dimensional map of their surroundings sprout right out of the command console like a living piece of sand art, but a set of Wakandan holographic displays appeared across the edges of the viewscreen as well as in the air a short distance in front of the Soldier's chest.
...Oh… Oh shit...
The Soldier regarded the displays for only a moment before he used his right hand to mime grasping the nearest one. Small graphical circles and symbols appeared to attach themselves to his fingertips in midair as he motioned his hand off and to his right.
Sam struggled to understand just what he was seeing beyond the obvious: that the Soldier was very much looking like he was setting out to control the craft one-handed while his left hand, the one closest to Sam, remained firmly gripped around the spear beside him like a makeshift Amazon warrior.
As the Soldier made discreet gestures with the fingers of his right hand, Sam was certain he heard the engines kick on from either side. Moments later, the view outside the ship began to rotate to their right.
...Shit!
Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when the man beside him snarled more than spoke, "Don't call me that again." The voice was a rough and graveled warning.
Sam considered staying silent, he really did, but he also didn't understand or even remember what he'd said even thirty seconds ago. Had he accidentally let one of those names slip out without realizing it. He tried to temper his tone, hoping the other man would realize he wasn't trying to play dumb, "Call you what?"
"Soldier."
Sam blinked, taking that in. He found himself helpless to stop his loose lips from asking the obvious, "...What do you want me to call you then?"
The man beside him remained silent as Sam held his breath and the ship lifted off the ground and turned to face the central shaft of the Design Center. Sam felt certain they were going to slip right back into that uncomfortable silence of theirs, and their unspoken gentleman's agreement that only the other guy, the one with the spear, the glower, and that bloodied metal arm was allowed to ask questions.
Instead, the man's intense gaze remained solidly focused on the task in front of him. He didn't take his eyes off the view out the windshield as the ship jolted into motion and out into the daylight.
He replied simply, "Barnes."
Author's Remarks:
On Ao3 I've posted a loose little sketch of Barnes I did earlier this week. I didn't want to delay posting this chapter, so I might update this doodle if I continue to work on it further! :)
...Do you happen to remember this innocuous little comment from waaaaay back in Chapter 20 when Bucky and Sam were touring the Wakandan National Aeronautics Museum, and Sam remarked that he didn't realize Bucky knew how to fly…?
| There was a pause as [Bucky] gestured for Sam to follow him into the next room of wonders, "I… had something of a reputation." |
… Can you see my waggling my eyebrows from here? I hope you didn't think I would drop a little breadcrumb like that and then miss out on the opportunity for some follow-through, just… not how you might have expected it…
In any case, there was a lot to cover in this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it! There were some interesting trade-offs as well: Not-Bucky intentionally landing in such a way to spare Sam the likely deadly impact, Sam inserting himself in the middle of the fight to potentially save the Soldier's own life, and…! Now we have a name of sorts: Barnes!
Thank you again for your support and for sharing your comments and thoughts with me as we dive further into this particular story arc. I hope you're having as much fun reading it as I've enjoyed writing it! I love feeling like I'm sharing this journey with all of you: It's almost like joining in on a long-distance, episodic watch-party! :) So just… *thank you* for all of your continued enthusiasm. It makes *such* a difference in my life!