Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 42 - Zenith
Sam Wilson wouldn't have admitted it out loud, but that weird, living black sand extension Grumpy Ex Machina over there thought to add to the seat of his chair so he could lay down and elevate his legs had, in fact, helped his head.
This certainly wasn't the first time in his life that he'd gone into shock. Probably wouldn't be the last. But he'd forgotten just how disorienting it was to feel like you were either running on pure adrenaline, or so faint your eyelids risked pulling you unconscious at any moment. Riding out the artificial high certainly came at a cost, and he was paying for it now, taking extra helpings of those deep breaths where he could, because he was certain of two things:
The first thing was that this situation buzzing around them wasn't resolved, and what was left of his nerves were telling him it was liable to get worse before it even had the remote potential of getting better.
The second thing, was that the last time he'd fought and lost the battle to stay conscious back at the Propulsion Laboratory, when he finally came to, the man beside him was already well into a second, or was it a third round of Winter Soldier Fight Club. And if Sam hadn't put things together as quick as he did, the Wakandans would have likely put what was left of his Partner down with the sort of permanency you don't come back from.
So that being as it was: Sam had compelling reasons to stay conscious, so he could save this idiot from himself.
"Keep talking," Said idiot reminded him as he pushed the tip of the ship lower, as if he was set on trying out for the Fast and the Furious: Wakanda Hovercraft Edition.
"Are we going to talk about what you're planning once we get to-" Sam began for not the first time, but he stopped short when he realized the pounding in his head had let up enough to acknowledge that the surrounding ships were no longer firing at them. That was the first indication he had that the game they were playing was about to change in a hot second.
As soon as the inside of their ship got deathly quiet, Barnes regarded the holographic read-outs before he turned an accusatory glance to Sam lying beside him, as if he had any damn clue what the Wakandans were planning.
Barnes actually got so far as opening his mouth in what Sam was fairly certain was building up to be an accusation when a sudden burst of commotion from the rear of the cabin instantly drew their attention.
Sam was in no position to see it, but he had enough flight hours under him to recognize the sound of a hatch blowing open to the air beyond. It took him only a second longer to put together that maybe the Wakandans were trying to board them? But why now?
He tried to use an elbow to prop himself up, but that was about as far as he got because happened in the frantic seconds after went something like this:
Barnes was still seated cross-legged in that utterly ridiculous yoga pose of his as the gaping wound on his torn foot adding a splash of color to his clothing as well as the interior of the craft itself. He had his left arm firmly clutched on the back of Sam's seat, as if he was a little-old-lady being extra mindful of how she was backing up her beloved Pontiac. Dour Driving Miss Daisy had a very peculiar expression cast over that angular face of his that Sam really, really wished he could have gotten a read-on, because his guts were telling him things were about to go sideways in a rapid fashion he wasn't going to like.
At all.
What he definitely hadn't expected was to hear none other than King T'Challa's regal voice from the back of the cabin. "Barnes," the mild-mannered man began in a soothing tone that would have calmed frightened strays and garnered a wave of donations to his favorite infomercial, "I-"
And that was as far as T'Challa got, because before he could say another word, Barnes lowered his left hand and placed it palm-down across the center of Sam's chest, forcing him back into a reclining position. Out of instinct, Sam flinched, afraid the move might be intended to punish him and cave his chest in, but the other guy spared his mangled hands and instead kept a steady, firm pressure over Sam's chest which didn't necessarily hurt, but it also didn't make a lick of sense.
What was the point in holding him down like that?
Right as the thought floated out of Sam's head, he watched as Cap'n Crunch there made a quick gesture with three fingers of his right hand.
The internal gravity inside the ship suddenly toggled off.
And everything went to Hell.
One moment Sam was laying in his makeshift vibranium recliner feeling no more movement than if he was in the passenger seat of a car leisurely roaming a Sunday parking lot, and the next, every part of him was keenly aware of the speed and direction the ship was going.
Which was no longer straight ahead: it was very much straight up.
So he may have screamed, because that is just what you do when a ship suddenly goes and changes direction in an instant like that, and you have nothing more than a vibranium arm attached to a half-amnesiatic cyborg holding all of you in place while your body's on a straight vertical with your feet above your head.
You scream. You definitely let out a manly-ass scream.
The sound of his own voice wasn't the only thing that briefly filled the interior of the ship, though. He was rather certain he heard T'Challa himself briefly vocalize some smattering of syllables from the rear of the ship just as it started its sudden skyward climb. The King's voice faded out around the time Barnes followed up the maneuver with what Sam felt was an entirely unnecessary side-to-side roll that made his stomach separate from his body. If gravity was any indication: it prolly fell out the back hatch after T'Challa.
As all the blood in his body rushed to his head, Sam was having trouble figuring out where to look: The view above was a bright blue sky littered with obnoxious little white clouds that were half-obscured by his own legs. Was he breathing? He thought he was breathing. There was that adrenaline again, like someone'd shot espresso directly into his veins.
Yeah. He was wide awake now.
Had they been over water or land? He hoped it was water, and that King T'Challa was presently dragging himself out of the drink like a waterlogged wet cat, and not, well. Not the deadly alternative.
The moment the ship leveled-out for a fraction of a second, Barnes removed his hand from Sam's chest and put it over the back of his chair as he surveyed the back of the ship. Sam used the brief reprieve to take a deep breath that ended in a wet cough as he caught sight of the towering city sprawl overtaking the viewport in front of them. They'd be entering the air-space of the city proper within seconds, if they weren't inside it already.
"You could'a given me the courtesy of a heads-up, you know," Sam complained, trying to get a read on Barne's tight expression. He was pretty sure that as a look of annoyance through-and-through, and for once: it wasn't directed at him. His face did seem paler than he remembered though. Maybe it was just the light? "I take it you didn't open the hatch."
"No," Snow White deadpanned as he flipped through holographic displays over his wrist, "they disabled the shields and weapon systems too."
Sam would've been lying if he wasn't at least the tiniest bit relieved to hear about the weapon systems, but he wasn't sure where the rest left them. With the shields down, they'd be easy prey for any number of those Wakandan ships, and as much as he didn't want to admit it: Barnes was probably right that the only reason they weren't being fired at now was that the weapons fire or the tumbling parts of a disabled ship had a chance of hitting their own people.
Which was why the plan had probably been to have T'Challa board them and wrest control that way.
Right?
But there went that idea...
Shit.
At that, Not-Bucky muttered something that Sam was pretty sure was a curse in one of the dozens of languages Sam didn't speak as he wove his right hand in broad, rapid strokes in the air in front of him like some sort of knock-off Gandalf in-training. As he did, a winding blue line lit up amid the holographic city display, weaving amid the buildings and city streets like a complex, three-dimensional version of the Snake video game he used to play on his calculator as a kid, except in this case: the maze of lines also overlapped and intersected.
A lot.
He only had a second or so to try and piece together what in the Lord's name that even was before Barnes turned the interior gravity back on and got up out of his seat, turning to clutch the stolen spear in one hand as he Winter-Soldier-stalked directly towards the rear of the ship.
Sam's eyes went wide as he frantically looked between the strange new graphic overlay ribbon winding about the map and the wounded, broody assassin playing at being a bargain bin Dora Milaje with that vibranium spear of his. Sam wasn't able to control the panic rising in his voice, "Where are you going? Who's flying the ship?!"
"Auto-pilot, obviously. Now stay down."
"Obviously? Did you fail to download a sense of humor while I wasn't looking?"
Sam couldn't see Count Olaf's frozen face, but that was probably for the best.
For his part, Sam valiantly tried in vain to turn his head around enough to see the front and back of the ship at once, but no thanks to the damage from Possessed WALL-E's hands around his neck, the best he could settle for was one or the other. He spared a second look at the holographic readout atop the console. While it wasn't auto-pilot in the usual sense, he could see a triangular symbol which he assumed was their ship tracking the line nearest them. There was a straightaway for a short period of time that appeared to take them between two spiraling skyscrapers, but he didn't miss the rapid series of 45 and 90 degree turns coming up in short order.
With a heave of effort, he rolled himself onto his side and over, using one elbow to support him and one forearm to pull himself up so he was facing the back of the ship. He recoiled when he attempted to use one of his hands to reposition himself, and instead relied on the few parts of him that weren't bruised, battered, or broken, which wasn't altogether much at this point. He planted his left foot on the ground and maneuvered his right knee on top of his makeshift recliner while he surveyed the back of the ship in earnest.
He saw a lot of things at once.
The first was that the hatch at the rear of the ship was indeed open to the air, and between Sam, Barnes, and the blue sky outside was a sizable trail of blood from the other man's left boot. There was enough blood there that the medic in him felt certain that, Super Soldier or not, Barnes would've been more than feeling the impact of that much blood loss. The fact he was upright at all was more than most people would be able to manage in his position.
It also probably hurt like a bitch and wasn't helping whatever cognition he was juggling over there like a wounded circus clown throwing and releasing any combination of chainsaws, knives, and flaming hoops barehanded.
The man in question was poised like a riled grizzly a few feet away from the hatch, while the fingers of his right hand moved in rapid gestures in conjunction with the holographic display surrounding his wrist. As his fingers flew over menus at a speed Sam couldn't even begin to get a read on, Barnes planted his feet and struck a battle pose, brandishing the spear in his left hand, as if he planned to make use of it against one of the ships visible outside.
And there were ships visible outside.
Initially, Sam counted two of them. Specifically the remaining oval-shaped vessel Barnes hadn't managed to body-slam down into the river, and the multi-winged bug-lookin' aircraft a ways back. (Some part of him felt a fleeting drop of shame that he would have at least made an attempt to memorize the proper names of ships like those if he realized there might be a quiz on it later.) That being as it was, seconds later a third slightly larger aircraft dropped its cloak and shimmered into view no more than fifteen feet directly behind their ship.
The gently-rounded, elliptic-shaped craft was piloted by a Dora he instantly recognized as Okoye, and crouched on top of the windshield like it was a damn flying surfboard was none-other than King T'Challa himself.
Bless: He was alive, and not even wet!
...well, that or maybe those suits came with dryers. Sam wouldn't be surprised if that was the case with what he'd seen of Wakandan tech in the last two days.
T'Challa thought it prudent to make his face visible for all the good it would do him, "I do not wish to fight you," his rhythmic voice decreed, "but I cannot let that ship enter our city."
Arguably, they were already inside the city, but Barnes didn't appear to be a stickler for details, "I'd like to see you try," he loudly challenged, apparently unintimidated by the ridiculous spectacle taking place a short distance away.
Sam saw him adjusting his grip on the spear, which is probably what led to Sam opening his own damn mouth. If he never saw a spear again, he swore it would be too soon, "Barnes…" he began, forcing himself to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the wind and engines outside, "Don't. He's not your enemy either."
In response, Barnes's head whipped around and his attention leveled on Sam. The Soldier's eyes narrowed when they saw he wasn't lying in place like he was supposed to be. But the icy blue eyes that fell on Sam weren't simply raw spitfire. There was a nuance there beyond the unspoken threat for him to stay put.
Sam swallowed, forcing himself to pull away from that lingering, primal instinct and the concept that he was daring to mince words with the freaking Winter Soldier and that creepy, unwavering expression of his. Instead, he thought back to the words he'd heard the same man utter only minutes earlier, back when he'd let the profound tiredness show in those blue eyes for just a fraction of a second, 'I just want them to leave me alone.'
Sam honestly hadn't meant to use his words as a distraction. He just wanted to get Barne's attention long enough that he could try to genuinely talk some sense into the man, to convince him out of the need to fling that spear against the King of Wakanda.
But all of Sam's hopes and dreams didn't mean a damn thing, because seconds later, the fight came to them.
Barnes made the mistake of looking over his shoulder for only a fraction of a second to glimpse that Sam was no longer lying down as he had been so clearly instructed. The oversight was just enough for the man clad in a black skin-suit to leap smoothly across the not-insignificant distance between their ships and bowl him over as he boarded the vessel for a second time.
The grapple was quick, clean, and effective, and the other man immediately took up a fighting position in the center of the craft facing Barnes, who pivoted in place to meet him.
Barnes didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward like a living weapon, and his first punch connected with the other man's chest with enough force that he saw the armor briefly pulse purple. He followed with an underhanded second swing from the spear, intending for the blade of it to slash across the midsection of his opponent, but instead he was momentarily startled when the other man managed to catch it midair with one hand.
The force he'd put behind the swing was not insubstantial. It should have been able to tear through the armor of the glove, if not the hand itself, yet the material as well as the hand under it held firm in a display of force that he clearly underestimated.
He was a Super Soldier too.
"I do not wish to fight you," the other man repeated in that deep, eerily calm voice of his.
Barnes didn't care. He had his back to the open air and this stranger was within striking distance of Sam, so he used his other hand to grab onto a lower point along the shaft of the spear and he pivoted it horizontally and charged him head-first against the left side of the alleyway.
His opponent reacted by using one forearm to prevent the shaft from catching him under the flesh of his chin, but at the impact, a pulse of purple radiated from the strange suit. It bore more than a passing resemblance to the one Shuri'd suddenly been able to don out on the battlefield, but Barnes felt certain this man was far more of a threat. He was agile, and wielded the blades on his hands like weapons themselves. With frustrating efficiency, his opponent managed to wrap Barne's metal arm around his back long enough that he was able to wrest the spear from his grip. As Barnes twisted in retaliation, set on grabbing the man's throat, the more nimble figure in black flipped away, landing on the far side of the ship. He ran his hand over the central section of the spear's shaft, and in response, the spear instantly retracted into a compact cylindrical shape no larger than a can.
Without another thought, his opponent smoothly tossed it out the back of the ship.
"That was not one of our Dora's spears I just saw you toss from that ship like so much rubbish." It took Barnes a moment to key into where the faint female voice originated from. It sounded as if it was from the direction of the other man. Was he wearing a communications device?
His opponent stayed poised and still as he pulled a finger up behind his ear, "I suspect our friend can hear your words, so I am silencing my coms while we talk."
Barnes used the distraction as an opening, rushing across the short distance in a burst of unbridled motion like a predator going in for a kill.
"T'Challa!" Sam cried out a moment before Barne's fist could connect with the other man's head.
His opponent ducked and darted out of the way in just enough time that Barne's metal fist struck the side of the cabin instead. The strike of metal against metal clashed in the tight space with enough force that the shift of the arm's dark plates was audible as they reset themselves after the impact.
Shouldn't that have at least left a dent in their wake? What was this arm even made of? And why didn't the jolt radiate through his shoulder like it usually did?
He didn't have time for questions. Not now.
The other man danced backwards, briefly closing the distance between himself and Sam before Barnes could make a second attempt at inserting himself between the two, "Leave him out of this," Barnes snarled.
The man Sam called 'T'Challa' glanced between the two of them, his expression tight, guarded, while a few feet behind him, Sam clutched onto the back of his seat with one of his arms as he faced the two of them and hollered, "Left turn, left turn!"
Barnes's eyes flickered up as he saw their ship headed straight for a skyscraper growing rapidly larger in front of them. In preparation, he used his left hand to grab onto a handhold inside the ship and adjusted his wrist to ready the command to toggle off the craft's internal gravity. But just as he did, T'Challa closed the distance between them, grappling his arm and obscuring his ability to input the necessary commands as the two fighters braced for the upcoming turn.
"Any time now, Shuri…" General Okoye spoke as she watched the stolen ship in front of her bank left at a sharp enough angle that her own Royal Talon Fighter had to rapidly pivot and reverse thrusters to account for the tight maneuver. Even the Dragon Flyer and Talon Fighter behind her knew to give them berth so they did not risk colliding with one another as they trailed the highly maneuverable aircraft they pursued.
Why could he have not stolen something simpler that did not fly?
"I've brought the shield and weapon systems offline and encrypted them so they cannot be easily re-enabled, but the Remote Access Kimoyo Beads were meant to take control of inactive systems. They cannot override manual inputs or active navigation systems."
"Barnes is clearly not actively piloting the craft." Okoye observed, trying not to notice how close each of the ships came to structures within the Golden City. It was like witnessing a bachelor herd of spooked water buffalo running loose in a pottery guild, "He is presently engaged in a brawl with your Brother inside the rear of the craft while Sam clutches onto one of the forward seats. The ship turns on its own, so Barnes must have set it on auto-pilot before it was boarded."
"Well I am also locked out of modifying the navigation array while it is set on auto-pilot," Okoye knew that the irritation in Shuri's voice was not directed at her, but at herself. This entire situation had many questions they did not have time enough to parse in the present, but which burned with the need for answers in Okoye's mind.
The Princess continued, "The auto-pilot must be disabled for me to take control. But let me see if I can access the current path."
"And how do we disable this ship's auto-pilot?"
"I'm downloading their flight path data now," Shuri offered impatiently.
"I will patch it through to their ships once you have it," Ayo supplied over their coms, obviously set on delegating the task herself so her charge could focus on the more pressing matters in front of her.
The shared communication channel went silent briefly as everyone who had access strained to overhear what was going on in the stolen craft through T'Challa's planted microphone. Okoye could see the three of them through the opening in the rear of their ship, and how Barnes paced from side-to-side like a caged animal, determining his next move against her King, who stood with his back to Sam. The same King who chose to keep his face exposed and at-risk of injury.
Why must he be so stubborn?
Even from this distance, Okoye could see the dark discoloration of Sam's hands as he wrapped his arms around the back of his chair: she had not realized just how badly they had been brutalized by this man who called himself Barnes. She could hardly tell if all his fingers were intact, and she could see blood steadily dripping from the opening in his broken nose.
The sight of him stirred many things within her that she pushed down knowing there were already gravely injured Doras and scientists back at the Design Center that would benefit from Shuri's attention.
And if they were not careful: There could be more from Birnin Zana joining them.
"Sam, are you alright?" Her King's voice came through the shared coms.
"Never been better," Sam replied without hesitation, "Look, I know you're aiming to help, but he's trying to run, we're trying to run. To get away. Think you can help a brother out before this gets even worse than it already is?"
That was as much as Sam managed before Barnes snarled, "Get away from him!" and rushed T'Challa. The fight between them continued in earnest as Barnes traded increasingly more wild blows that her King sought to dodge and block. Why would he not at least put on the protection that surrounded his face?
She did not like that he'd felt it necessary to silence his own communicator so that Barnes could not risk listening in to the plans of their conversation. Had his hearing always been so finely-tuned?
Okoye continued to trail the other ship and looked down briefly to accept a prompt on the onboard HUD from Ayo and gestured her hand, overlaying the ship's auto-pilot trajectory over her own console. It was… unlike anything she'd seen before. It was as if someone had thought to unspool skeins of blue yarn all around the map of Birnin Zana. It was frightfully chaotic, winding and overlapping itself so tightly and precariously that it was near-impossible to visually track. It reminded her of trails wild game would leave when they would circle back to mask their movements.
Ayo's voice spoke up, "I've already sent out a request to ground all air traffic in Birnin Zana but the current flight path continues to take us... quite close to various structures."
If this chase had been out in the wilds it would have been bad enough, but the paths led the ship straight into highly populated areas, and the mere sight of it made her jaw tighten. Were this any other ship, she would have seen it shot down minutes earlier. The possibility of that reality brought her no joy, but it was up to her and her King to be willing to put the needs of Wakanda ahead of the needs of two men, no matter who they were.
If the events of this day continued to worsen, it would be by her own failure in judgement.
The moment Ayo had alerted her of the events in the Princess's lab, Okoye knew as-ever that the possibility was a very real one, though she only spoke of it aloud once she and T'Challa had hurried to the Royal Talon. The two of them knew why they went alone, and why they cloaked their ship as they did.
If there were no other options available, if they decided the stolen craft must be shot down, T'Challa insisted that it must be on his own watch, by his own decree and no other. He would neither accept nor allow anything less than to bear the weight of such a decision on his own conscience.
That was the kind of King he was.
He was also the kind of King who believed in hope. So he and Okoye had hurried from where they were and finally caught up to the stolen aircraft as it approached the city's outer bounds, T'Challa was quick to insist they give the Dora struggling below more time for their far-fetched plan.
Even as Okoye insisted they were out of time, that they needed to act: her King believed.
And as the two of them listened in on the communications channel shared by Shuri, Ayo, and her Doras, heard the fierceness of their intention interplayed with the music score one of them had seen fit to play through the channel (which in any other circumstance would have been met with swift rebuke), Okoye found she wished to believe too.
But as she trailed the stolen craft and was forced to take the long way around a narrow market alleyway it dodged vertically between, she also remained mindful that they may yet need to ground the aircraft if the proper opportunity presented itself.
As the colorful city streaked by below her, she tried to turn her attention away from the familiar buildings they wove between like an obstacle course. Even with the overlay of the path to guide them, it was surprisingly difficult to keep up.
"Shuri…?" Okoye spoke up as she regarded the scene in front of her with increasing unease.
About twenty feet in front of her, T'Challa was doing what he could to counter each of the other man's powerful swings, but Okoye feared it would only get him so far. This Barnes did not seem interested in negotiation, and though Sam had thought to offer that his goal was to run and get away, they could permit no such thing.
The Princess's frustrated voice came back over their shared coms, "Barnes has locked-in the auto-pilot. I cannot modify it. The only way to disable it without risking the other onboard systems would be to divert the ship far enough from its set path that the system is forced to request manual input."
"And how can we accomplish that?" Okoye drolled.
"I'm working on it," Shuri insisted.
"Down, down!" Sam's voice came through the coms before the stolen ship ahead of Okoye dove downwards and the ships trailing them rapidly pitched to match them. Okoye could see Barnes grab hold of T'Challa and attempt to physically toss him out the rear of the craft, but he spun in place, clinging on to the vibranium arm Ayo had thought to return to this violent stranger not an hour before like it was some cruel joke.
"You remember me," T'Challa tried once again to get through to the man fighting him.
"...Yeah... not a great approach," Sam offered, "Don't think you two met until what, 2016? In Romania?"
"I don't care." Barnes snarled, "Stop talking and stand still," he retorted, striking T'Challa hard in the chest before being thrown backwards by a retaliatory burst of blindingly purple kinetic energy from the suit.
Sam's ear-piercing scream cut through the shared communications channel like a knife.
"- What was -?"
"- What has happened -?" Shuri and Ayo's concerned voices rapidly grasped for clarification.
For a moment, Okoye couldn't see Sam or Barnes at all, and she felt a chill run up her spine as she pulled her ship higher and closer and prompted her display to show an overlay of the occupants of the stolen aircraft.
She counted three.
None had been blown out the hatch.
"They are all still inside!" she assured the others on the channel, but it took her a further moment to realize the blast had thrown Sam from where he'd been perched on his chair. From the looks of where he lay on the floor of the forward compartment of the ship, he'd tried to catch himself on his hands out of instinct and failed terribly. He was writhing in pain in something of a fetal position, but as her King tried to come towards him to render aid, Barnes had already gotten to his feet and pounced atop T'Challa's back like a wild animal.
When the Soldier's vibranium hand went for the King's face, T'Challa finally donned his mask as seething metallic fingers scratched against where eyes had been only moments earlier. Barne's own howl of defiance was so loud in Okoye's ear that he might have well been inside the Royal Talon itself, "I said, get away from him!"
Okoye had not bore witness to the Soldier as many times as Ayo had, but she'd seen enough to know that the man in front of her was not one in the same. There were frightful similarities, certainly, but his actions were swift and deadly in their merciless intent. Never once had he shown any interest in seemingly guarding someone beyond the one he deemed to be his handler.
It took Okoye a moment to remember that the others listening in could not see what she did, "Sam fell onto his hands but is alive. T'Challa continues to spar against Barnes, but the other man's movements appear to be growing more desperate. He appears to have lost a great deal of blood from the gaping wound on his foot. But..." she chose her words carefully, "I do not know what he intends for Sam, but he appears to be intent on guarding him and grows increasingly hostile when our King draws near to him."
"He's chosen to protect Sam," Ayo stated plainly.
"But you said he was the one that caused Sam such grievous injuries to begin with," Okoye sought clarification.
"Perhaps he finds he regrets them?" Ayo offered.
Okoye frowned as she saw their ships approaching a towering residential building edged in thick vines. Though she could see that the path of the auto-pilot was set to turn the ship right before it would impact the structure, the knowledge certainly did not resolve her fears and greater duty she had to Wakanda. "Shuri…your plan..." she began again, hoping that she at last had a plan to disable the stolen ship's auto-pilot.
But it was not the princess that replied, but Nomble, one of Ayo's soft-spoken Lieutenants, "I have an idea, General, but you may not like it."
Sam was doing everything he could to keep from screaming out a second time as he clenched his eyes and tried counting to ten in a feeble attempt to offset the fresh burst of pain in his hands. Stupid, stupid reflexes.
He understood why the two pit fighters in front of him were jockeying for position. Neither of them wanted the open sky at their back, and both seemed to feel a standing obligation to shield Sam from the other man, but it was apparent it wasn't getting either of them anywhere.
Barnes had been, well, maybe not pleasant, but somewhat tolerable when they were puttering along on their lonesome, but his standing set of mannerisms had transformed entirely when T'Challa had boarded their Last Starfighter here. As soon as he had, whatever programming was running inside that cyborg brain of his had brewed up a new low and threatening set of behaviors that reminded Sam an awful lot of a wounded, cornered wild animal set on protecting its cubs.
Not that Sam viewed himself as a helpless cub. It was just a comparison. He was…
...He spared a look at those twisted mittens of his…
...Okay, so maybe the comparison was a touch more apt than he was altogether comfortable with, but the point was: The more riled Barnes got, the more of his blood that slicked up the floor, the more Sam worried he might be willing to do something altogether desperate, and as world-wisened as Sam was: he was frightened to think of what that might entail. As it was, it seemed pretty apparent from where he was laying, curled on the floor, that Barnes had not a single misgiving about killing King T'Challa if it meant getting him off the ship.
So as they flew through the city at the whims of that auto-pilot from Hell, Sam watched the structures zip past at more elevations than he cared to consider. No, of course Barnes couldn't have them flying about like it was a hedge maze, he had to go and make it all precarious and three-dimensional, so one minute they were going over and around stacks of condos, and the next, they were flying vertically and so low to the ground he could have practically scooped up some food from the colorful market stalls they sailed over.
So help him: If they managed to get out of this, he was never allowing Barnes, Bucky, R2-D2, whoever near a steering wheel or whatever the hell they called this in Wakanda ever again.
God as his witness: he would trade in his wings if need-be!
Sam watched the three ships trailing them rapidly maneuver around one another to keep up with them. The shapes and sizes of the ships were all subtly different, which meant they rarely followed single-file, and instead zipped around them like some frightening aerial version of tag.
Or was it duck, duck goose?
Which, to be fair: He'd seen some crazy shit back in his Air Force days. Maybe even participated in a drop himself, but none of the aircraft in the U.S. Military had a fraction of the combination of speed and handling he was seeing on full-display here.
That was the problem.
Sam was still lying on the blood-smeared floor deliberating on the series of choices he'd made over the course of his life that led him to this, when he chanced to catch the precise moment when he would have bet money Barnes was considering turning off the internal gravity of the ship again. He knew it, because he could see the man's blue eyes dart to him, as if he might've been willing to do it to get rid of the man he was fighting with, but not at the cost of losing Sam out the back of the ship in the process.
Which on one hand: That was something. Maybe even something a little sentimental.
But it also didn't resolve shit.
"Then when?" T'Challa's voice shouted out, and Sam was damn certain the question was meant for him.
"Not sure. Thinkin' sometime after he escaped HYDRA in D.C.."
"Shut up," Barnes somehow snarled in two directions at once.
"If you haven't noticed, I'm altogether trying to help, Barnes, but you've gotta work with me here." Sam coughed once, noting his nose was bleeding again. Great. Why did he always have to be the strong, level-headed one in these situations? He wouldn't've minded someone else stepping in and reassuring him things will be okay about now. Watching his Partner's shadow nearly gouge out the eyes of the King of Wakanda wasn't something he'd exactly prepped for this morning. Especially not while they zipped around aboard a stolen experimental ship that was liable to crash head-first into one of those nearby occupied buildings if the automated onboard systems weren't tuned to utter precision when they responded to the auto-pilot's instructions.
Swear-to-god: He saw a group of people up top one of the buildings waving colored strips of cloth like it was a glorified pod race.
What had his life turned into?
Barnes managed to maneuver himself so his back was mostly to Sam. He was breathing hard, which was new. Not just new for Barnes, but new as in 'Sam couldn't ever remember hearing his Bucky breathing like that.'
Altogether: it was probably not a good sign, either
Seemingly in response, T'Challa stepped back so his right leg was braced against one of the walls. He retracted his helmet again, apparently remaining hopeful that face time might do him any good. Sam didn't miss the sweat dappling the man's beard and forehead, nor the way T'Challa's eyes darted to the smears of blood spread across the floor that led back to the gaping hole in the front of Barne's foot.
"We can help you. Help you both," T'Challa continued to try to negotiate in vain.
"We're not going anywhere," Barnes spat back with palpable venom in his voice as he stood protectively in front of Sam.
"I do not wish to fight you. You must sense that."
"You're trying to manipulate me," Barnes leveled with him, his voice growing low and gravelly. Dangerous. "To get me to go back. I won't go."
Sam wasn't sure if T'Challa could hear the dark implication in Barnes's tone just then, but it shot Sam straight back to when Bucky's confessed he'd have been willing to do whatever it took to prevent HYDRA from reclaiming him back when they'd been wandering around Wakandan National Aeronautics Museum and not running for their lives:
"And besides: I- he, whatever - wasn't close to a whole person then, and I wasn't sure I even wanted to be. I just knew I didn't want HYDRA to find me and put my brain back in a blender again. I am pretty sure I would have been willing to end things myself to prevent that."
Sam was about to say something in a feeble attempt to diffuse the situation when motion above his peripheral caught his attention.
Straight overhead where there was once only a field of blue sky shimmered into focus an upside-down cockpit and three tribal-clad women in red, silver, and brown. It took Sam a moment to even piece together what he was seeing, because the rest of the ship remained cloaked and invisible save for the tight aisle lined in glass.
He identified the Dora Milaje in the forward position piloting the craft as Nomble. Behind her was one of the Doras from back at the Propulsion Laboratory, the one that had fought with Barnes and offered Sam a salute when he'd been dragged off like a carnival prize. In the aft position stood Yama, who was smiling and waving enthusiastically. She was also pointing to a holographic readout being projected from her wrist that said in large, bold blue letters, "Hang on!"
In all his life, he wasn't sure if he was ever so relieved to see a sea of familiar faces. But what were they planning?
He glanced back to Barnes and T'Challa, confirming Barnes still had his back to them as Sam mouthed 'What?' to the window above.
Yama eagerly pointed to the display above her wrist, which changed to a numerical read-out:
...10...
...9...
Sam wasn't sure what they were planning or what he could factually do to brace himself, but he nodded once to show he got the message and summoned what strength he had remaining to soldier-crawl himself back onto his elbows.
...8…
Everything hurt. His body screamed protest at every movement and shift of his weight, but he had to push through it. Had to.
...7…
With great effort, he latched an elbow around the back of the chair and pulled himself onto the elongated chair.
...6…
...5...
Once his ears stopped ringing, he looked up once more to confirm his internal countdown matched the one Yama was projecting above.
...4…
He met her eyes and she held up a hand, pressing it against the glass as they shimmered out from view.
Had they changed position? Or were they still there, but cloaked? He wasn't sure, but he looped his elbows around the back of the seat because that was the best option he could figure.
...3…
...2…
Sam took another deep breath, suppressed a cough, and hoped for a Wakandan miracle as he watched the city sprawl continue to speed by outside the rear of their ship.
As the fight drew on, Barnes could feel his energy slowly draining from him. Where his moves were once tactical, focused, he could feel the desperation building in him, the need to get this stranger out of his ship so they could get away. His mind didn't know what to make of him, didn't know where to place him, but he couldn't shake a feeling that this was not the first time they'd fought. Or perhaps it had been someone in a similar suit of armor? He wasn't sure, but his instincts insisted this 'T'Challa' was deadly, and was using his own injury to slowly wear him down.
Barnes had started prowling forward in an attempt to try and grapple and force his opponent out the back of the aircraft when he watched the trailing ship physically ram itself into his own vessel, obscuring the rear hatch entirely.
He stumbled slightly, slipping on the blood-slicked floor as the ship jolted underneath him. All around him, metal creaked in violent objection to the impact, and moments later there was the searing noise of engines trying to compensate as another strike pounded against the hull beneath them, then above. Had the other ships physically surrounded his own? All he could hear was the shriek of metal scraping against metal and the roar of competing engines as the ship wobbled in place.
As it did, the man clad in a black cat's ridiculous ornamental armor suddenly chose to close the distance between them and grappled with him anew, weaving behind him and focusing his attention on securing Barnes's right hand. T'Challa clutched his own hand around Barnes's, forcing the fingers into no more than a claw-shape and preventing him from making any further gestures that controlled the ship or any of its systems.
"Get off me," Barnes yelled, slamming his head backwards into T'Challa's in a feeble attempt to divest him of his combatant, but the other man held firm. He could hear a crack as he flung his head back again and his skull made contact with something rigid.
He didn't care, he just kept struggling, lashing out as desperation rose in him.
All around him, there was the sound of metal groaning and the scream of engine-fire. He didn't know what they were doing, but the ships outside had surrounded them and were obviously coordinating their movements to do something. Something that if left unchecked, would ensnare him like before.
His eyes flashed to Sam, leveling accusingly on him as it felt like the world was closing in around him. Had the man's words been empty, just like all the others? He had to have known.
Somewhere off in his periphery, he was dully aware of a proximity alarm going off among the screams of metal surrounding the tube he was trapped in. He could hardly hear it over the pounding in his own head, in the renewed wave of fear that gripped him, that it was all happening again.
He lashed out with everything he had, ignoring every bit of him that ached and cried out, because none of it would matter if they took him. He couldn't let them take him.
If they did, he would lose everything. Every memory he'd fought so hard to regain. Every fraction of personhood. Everything.
He'd go back to being nothing more than an Asset. A thing. A bullet in someone else's gun.
As he struggled to break from from T'Challa's steely grip, the orbiting HUD encircling Barnes's right wrist changed to red and chimed a piercing warning that immediately drew his attention away from fight. His eyes flashed to the front of the craft, where a blinking readout above the console warned its occupants that the ship's auto-pilot had been disengaged. But how?
Then he saw it: A dark shadow fell over the cockpit from a ship pressed tightly above them, and when he looked to the tracking systems at the front of the ship, he counted see four ships pressed in a tight formation around his own. They must have been working together to force his ship on a new flight path so that the auto-pilot would disengage.
When he started to move his fingers to take back manual control of the ship so he could pilot it, his opponent grabbed Barne's hand in one of his fists to stop him, "We'll crash!" Barnes snarled as the unmanned ship he was standing in headed straight towards one of the spiraling towers of the city.
All around him, he could hear thrusters screaming and the scape of metal blaring against the hull of the ship as the aircraft sheared and fought for traction against one another.
But before they could collide with the approaching wall of glass, the view out the windshield shifted skyward as their ship drew higher, turning away from the city as the surrounding aircraft guided it away, and someone unseen took over the helm.
Only then did the ship behind them back away as if its job was done.
It was like he was seeing his chance at freedom slip from his fingers in slow motion.
He continued to fight that possibility with everything he had as his opponent managed to get him into a choke-hold. Barnes raked the flesh of his fingers against the dark armor, clawing for leverage, for any vulnerability, but the man's grasp held firm. If Barnes had words, he wasn't using them. Every instinct in him ran on desperation as the harsh reality of the inevitable drew closer around him.
"I'm not going back!" he roared out. He could feel a wave of dampness course down his face, but he didn't understand why, "I'M NOT GOING BACK!"
Sam's expression met his. It was the one he'd said meant "scared" and "sad." He didn't understand it, but he recognized it, and saw something deeper in it. He hadn't realized Sam was yelling too, "Stop! You're scaring him!"
Barnes staggered backwards, eyeing the back opening of the craft with desperate intention that the man holding him sought to block.
That's when the pulse of electric came.
It shot from his shoulder through his chest and arced through him as it screamed into his vision and made him see nothing but blinding white. It wasn't enough to drop him, but forced his breath out of him and he felt his legs give out as the second shock brought him to his knees.
His left arm was sluggish but responsive, like it knew something he didn't.
Even still, Barnes kept fighting.
He had too much to live for to stop.
Sam's voice cut through the static in his head, "Barnes, no, we'll figure this out. I told you I'm not going to force you to do a damn thing from here on out, and I meant it." Sam's attention turned to T'Challa, "He doesn't want to go back to the lab. Promise him you're not taking him back to the lab. He doesn't understand. He thinks you're gonna wipe him, just like HYDRA did."
The arms holding Barnes held firm. He tried to struggle to his feet, but the grip of the man holding him in place did not waver. "None of us are HYDRA," the man behind Barnes spoke in that deep rhythmic voice of his, "You are a victim of their poison, and we only wish to help you. I promised you once I would do everything in my power to help you find peace, and I stand by my words even as you strive to injure those around you because you do not remember them."
Barnes felt one of T'Challa's hands shift slightly, and in the wake of that motion, a new holographic display appeared a short distance in front of him.
It was formless at first, appearing as nothing more than a shimmer in the air that coalesced into a one-armed figure wearing white pants and a matching white tank top. He instantly recognized scraggly brown hair and rough beard framing the man's face.
The face he'd seen in the Smithsonian, the one called "James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes" looked a lot like his, but the resemblance he saw between his own face and the face in front of him was remarkable as it was disconcerting, down to the pocket of silver metal plates extending out the left side of his tank top.
But where was the rest of the arm?
"Hey T'Challa. King T'Challa, I mean." The stubbled holographic figure began in a voice that sounded something like his, but only just, "Anyway. I know we haven't gotten to talk much. I'm still trying to get the hang of these Kimoyo Bead things Shuri gave me, but I… look, I don't pretend to understand the politics here. I just know one minute I was on ice, and the next minute some of your people were pulling me out of a thaw to get me out of the lab there in a hurry because some civil unrest was brewing and someone thought to worry that the new guy in charge wouldn't take kindly to a foreigner who was forced to serve HYDRA as a slave-on-command for the better part of seventy years."
Barnes watched the other figure speak. The tone. The inflection. The expressions he couldn't parse but wanted to understand. He heard the words, but he was transfixed on the figure saying them. It could just be another trick. It probably was.
He couldn't see the reaction of the man holding him in place, but he saw Sam's eyes meet his own. Did he understand what they were seeing?
The figure with his face continued, "I know you're probably busy being King and all, but I… I just wanted to let you know I was really relieved when I found out you and Shuri and Ramonda and the others were okay. And to thank you again for being willing to try to help me even though you don't owe me a thing. No one does. But...I... I guess after hearing about what happened. About all those people that got hurt and killed at the Battle of Mount Bashenga, I just wanted to let you know that it meant a lot that anyone even thought to come back for me. And… again I don't really know how this stuff works, or how familiar you are with your soldiers, but your Chief Ayo told me that Yama, Nomble, and Tasdi were the ones responsible for getting me out before the new guy came looking. I wanted to make sure you knew what they did for me while you were away recovering with the Jabari. J'Abari? Am I saying that right?"
Barnes listened, not grasping nearly as much as he wished he did, but he kept his eyes focused on the holographic form of the figure in front of him, and if it was important. A clue. Like the images he saw sometimes when he slept.
"Anyway, I'm not great at this stuff. Talking, I mean. I've been on my own awhile, and I'm trying to be better. I just...I don't want to go back to that life. I don't want to hurt people just to survive. So I guess I also wanted to let you know that if it's safer to keep me under ice: I understand. And if something ever happened, and… you couldn't… I…" The stubbled figure's gazed shifted to another direction, "If you need to stop me, I'd understand that too, okay? I wouldn't blame you. Any of you." He sighed and swallowed, wetting his lips as he ran his hand through his shoulder-length brown hair, "But thanks for being willing to try to help get this stuff out of my head. I hope one of these days I can even begin to return the favor." The figure made an expression with his lips and faded away.
T'Challa was the first to speak, "You may not remember, but the shawl you wear even now was a gift to remind you that you are among friends and allies."
Barnes briefly glanced to the blue, black, and gold fabric trailing around his neck and over his left shoulder. He kept his voice low as he spoke, "What are you planning to do with me now?"
T'Challa didn't answer immediately, and Sam sought to fill the silence in the cabin with a question of his own. His voice was weak, tentative, "You doing okay, Barnes?"
Barnes wasn't sure how to answer that, so he said nothing.
"I have disabled the silence on my coms," T'Challa spoke in a grave tone Barnes could not place. The man's gloved hands kept him pinned in place, though they were no longer quite so constricting, "I can now hear you, and I suspect Barnes can as well."
The first voice that spoke close behind Barnes's right ear was one he recognized as Shuri's. Her tone was rapid in its urgency, "Brother, I have control of the ship's systems now, including navigation. Sam Wilson requires immediate medical attention if he is to keep use of his hands, and Barnes as well."
A female voice Barnes couldn't place spoke next, "Then make haste to the Design Center."
Barnes kept his eyes on Sam's as their voices spoke through T'Challa's communicator. He didn't miss the trembling in Sam's hands as they clutched the back of the chair, nor the bruises, swelling, and fresh blood trailing his face. "Can they help you?" His question was for Sam alone.
"Yeah," Sam managed, meeting his gaze, "And I trust 'em." His puffy brown eyes dropped to the gaping wound on Barnes's foot, "You've lost a lot of blood, too..."
Barnes set his jaw, considering his options carefully. He could tell Sam Wilson was fading and required urgent medical intervention. His own injury wasn't presently life-threatening, but he got the impression that there was only so much leverage he had remaining to negotiate for aid.
The only leverage was himself. The Asset. Their precious Winter Soldier.
He met Sam's eyes, and wished so much that he could read the expression he saw there. To grasp more than "scared" and "sad."
In passing, he wondered what his own expression said, if he had one at all. Was it like the stranger's face in the hologram?
He turned his head slightly so it was clear T'Challa knew he was being addressed, "If you think you can help Sam, then do it. I won't resist." He felt the tension twisted in him churn and reframe into compliance as he awaited whatever fate these Wakandans had planned for him. He could only hope they would accept the trade and ensure Sam received proper treatment so that he might live and his injuries be eased.
Ayo's voice cut in. Barnes felt certain more than ever that she was a prior handler, "Yama can see to instructing Barnes how to stabilize his injuries out on the field. I do not think it necessary we force our hand and scratch away at any remaining goodwill between us."
"If not the Design Center, then where?" T'Challa asked.
"The remote location in the woods where we used to do our work," Ayo spoke evenly.
Somewhere in his periphery, Barnes was aware they were talking about him. Making plans. He knew it would be wise to listen, but as he lowered his eyes to the blood-slicked floor at his feet, he couldn't help but wonder how many times he'd been in this position before. How many times had he escaped, only to be recaptured?
How was he to know?
Sam's weak, ragged voice cut through the pain and concern wrapping themselves tight around his mind, "We'll figure this out, Barnes. Okay? I wasn't just giving you lip service. We'll figure this out together."
"I just want them to leave me alone," Barnes whispered softly to no one in particular as he closed his eyes.
"You're not alone anymore," the bleeding man in front of him quietly insisted.
Author's Remarks:
Well four months, 42 chapters, and 200k words later (wow!)... We are certainly in the thick of things!
So we know Bucky was in Wakanda during the events of "Black Panther." But did you ever wonder about what happened to Bucky during the attempted overthrow by Killmonger? Because I sure as hell did!
So we know that the Dora Milaje and King's Guard are loyal to the throne, which is why when T'Challa was thrown off Warrior Falls, members/friends of the prior royal family (including Shuri, Ramonda, Nakia, and Everett Ross) had to get away before Killmonger's troops came for them.
In my head-canon, much like Okoye remained loyal to the throne, Ayo did as well… but *also* in my head-canon, both she and Shuri realized that Killmonger's troops were likely to kill or order Bucky killed if he was found, so I'm going to guess they… skirted around technicalities and the following happened: Ayo, knowing she could not *technically* order her Doras to do something to benefit the prior royal family told Yama, Nomble, and Tasdi they were released from duty for a time to tend to "their mutual friend (Bucky)." The three got him out of cryo in a hurry and took him somewhere remote (like the huts or woods), and then later returned as if they were coming back from a set shift, thus allowing them to be present and accounted for during the later fight on the mountain the next day.
So there you have it! Anyway!
The idea of Bucky using one hand to hold Sam down so he wasn't beholden to gravity actually comes in-part from a "quirk" from one of my high school friend's mother's. So the story goes: When she grew up, she was in cars without seat belts, and as a result, when she got older, she was inclined to physically reach across the aisle and hold you bodily against your seat if she ever had to hit the breaks with even remote pressure. So you had to sort of brace yourself when you were driving alongside her so you didn't accidentally get forearmed in the face at stop signs and stop lights. XD
Also Barnes being willing to turn himself over to HYDRA/The Wakandans to potentially save Sam's life = ;_; The feels!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! There's definitely a *lot* going on all-around!
As always: Thank you *so* much for all your comments, kudos, questions, and kind words of support on this ongoing story and labor of love. I hope you've been enjoying these recent action-packed chapters, and are braced for what's in-store ahead! This is a living story, and I can't begin to thank you enough for keeping me company on this wild ride!
Written to "Morning's Wings," by Tony Anderson, and "One Million Voices," by Thomas Bergersen.