Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 43 - Aphelion

The last time Sam felt a silence this sobering and outright oppressive was back when Bucky'd been crumpled over on the floor of Shuri's lab after being on the receiving end of a verbal lashing from Ayo.

The raw awfulness of that memory felt like an eternity ago, though Sam knew it wasn't even two days old.

If you'd asked him this morning, at least a handful of things had gotten marginally better since then. Things weren't magically resolved, and there were hurt feelings at-play, but it was apparent there was a way forward. The Wakandans had put aside their private grievances and were each trying to to work out the subtle nuances of what conversations needed to be had, and what "making amends" was shaping up to look like for each of them. Even Ayo, who still was long overdue to have a chat with Bucky about that vibranium arm of his, had at least stepped-up and tried to make some headway on things unspoken between them.

But now? As Sam looked out across the rear of the cabin, past the blood-slicked floor, back to where Barnes remained on his knees with his bruised face head downcast in submission while T'Challa stood over him, well: it seemed like for every step they took forward, life had a way of taking a few steps steps back.

And if your name happened to be James Buchanan Barnes, even if you didn't acknowledge that was your god-given name: it was probably more like ten steps for every one.

Sam wasn't sure who was piloting the craft, but he wanted to think maybe it was Shuri or someone he knew, because he wanted to believe he was in good hands and had one less thing to worry about in the present as he clung to the back of the seat like it was the last thing left to ground him. Whoever took over control had the wherewithal to close the rear hatch along the way. It was a mixed blessing in Sam's book, because it made the cabin feel smaller, more claustrophobic, but at the same time it eased at least one of Sam's frail nerves. Specifically: The one that hadn't missed the frantic look in Barnes's wild blue eyes when for a moment, just a moment, Sam would have bet every penny he had to his name that the trapped man had considered jumping out the rear hatch. And not because he suspected he'd have any hope of surviving the thirty or fourty-story drop: But specifically because he knew he wouldn't.

T'Challa couldn't have seen Barnes's face then because he was struggling behind him, trying to get Barnes into a firm carotid restraint. But T'Challa must've sensed it too, sensed the desperate possibility squirming itself through the other man's mind, because that was right when T'Challa'd triggered that had caused an arc of blue electricity to suddenly jolt over Barnes like a full-body taser, forcing the Hell-bent assassin to his knees a moment later.

The thing was, the electric hadn't knocked the fight out of Barnes entirely. He kept fighting, kept looking back at Sam with those fierce but confused eyes of his, as if maybe he was seeing fit to stick around because somewhere not-so-deep-down: he was worried about Sam, too.

Sam was quick to second-guess himself on reading too much into it in those wild few minutes. Or seconds. Time had a way of dilating itself when your heart was racing faster than the speed of light and every action counted tenfold. But after Sam'd howled a plea into the open air and T'Challa'd had the sense to try and use an old recording Bucky'd apparently left for him to calm him down, well, Sam's initial read on things only sprouted further credence when Barnes asked him if the Wakandans could help Sam. When he'd confirmed they could, Sam thought that what he was doin' was communicating by proxy that the Wakandans could help Barnes with that awful, split-open foot of his as well. That he was tossing the man in front of him reassurance that things were going to be okay.

What he didn't realize, was that Barnes was asking because he'd decided that he was willing to put aside his own life so Sam could get the help he needed.

The single, sacrificial act made Sam feel a lot of things at once. One of them was that, well, he knew well-enough that the Wakandans only wanted to help them both, so some logic deep inside him told him a heaping of the swell of emotions he was feeling were overblown simply because he was badly hurt and well past the point of shock and exhaustion.

This wasn't end of the world stuff. The fate of the universe wasn't on the line. Logically: simply being in the hands of the Wakandans was probably the best possible thing for both of them right then so they could get some help getting all this sorted out. Whatever this was.

But the other part of him, the wiser part knew what he'd seen and the deeper meaning no one was seeing fit to speak out loud. Knew that "his" Bucky, and Barnes by proxy, considered going back to HYDRA as being a dehumanizing fate worse than death.

And yet... Barnes'd chosen to resign himself to that dark and dehumanizing fate if it meant even the possibility that Sam could get the medical attention he needed to live.

The weight of that revelation was… something very particular.

Sam was finding he didn't have words for the gambit of complex emotions churning around in his head just then. Sure, all of him hurt something fierce, but it wasn't hard for him to drown out at least a portion of his own pain as he watched Barnes languish on the floor right where he was, as if he'd made the decision that even doing so much as rising up from the ground could risk breaking that fragile accord he'd made with the Devil for Sam's life.

He didn't do so much as even raise his head.

Though Sam could see Barnes wasn't displaying what some would consider the altogether proper emotions for the circumstances, he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man in front of him was scared beyond belief. And in his own mind? He had every right to be.

The most disconcerting thing about Barnes's expression was that it was like looking at someone who hadn't gotten a handle over what each muscle running under his angular face was supposed to mean. So instead of a unified read of discrete emotions, it was like Sam had to hunt through the subtleties like he was piecing together a jigsaw puzzle made up of a box of a dozen separate puzzles all tossed together and shaken up.

At first, he thought the only expression Barnes was capable of was that unsettling, flat neutral of his. The one with the locked jaw and narrowed eyes that Bucky sometimes did when he was caught staring and his mind was off elsewhere. The expression that undoubtedly reminded Sam a bit too much of the cold, predatory nature of the Winter Soldier.

So yeah, that'd been Sam's initial read of Barnes. But now he was able to pick out those subtleties he missed the first time around.

He saw the way he adjusted his lips now and then, switching between pulling in short breaths of air like it was punctuating his thoughts. Saw the way his wet and bloodshot eyes stayed focused on the ground below, but would crinkle together now and then as distress rolled over them in little private surges and waves.

It was altogether uncomfortable to watch, and Sam only wished he knew the magic combination of words that could convince the man ailing in front of him it would be alright. That he was safe. That these people around him genuinely cared and truly were trying to figure out the best way to get him the help he so clearly needed. That they weren't going to wipe him, or toy with his mind like a game of glorified Operation.

...Right?

...

...Right?

He felt his own breath hitch at the thought.

Ayo'd said the Wakandans had never wiped him, and Sam believed them straight away. Period. But… would they be willing to force something on "Barnes" against his will if it had a possibility of getting their "Bucky" back...?

Sam… he didn't know what to think of that thought. About the possibility of treatment being at-odds with the man's free-will in such a terrible way.

Well: That assumed there might be a "treatment" at all. There might not be. And if there was, whose call was it on what was the "right" thing to do? It struck Sam as altogether unlikely that Bucky'd spent time on a living will or formal declaration for next-of-kin, and Barnes had made his opinions on the matter rather clear.

What a mess.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in place from his backwards half perch on the chair, adjusting the pressure on the inside of his elbows since it wasn't as if his hand were available to pick up the slack. He didn't feel like he could ride out the oppressive silence any longer, though he knew he didn't begin to have the words to get across all that he was running circles around his mind. But trying out some words on his tongue was better than none at all. Better than continuing to watch Barnes there on the floor languishing and afraid, alone in his own head, "Hey, Barnes?"

The words didn't earn him much, but Sam saw his friend's blood-dampened head move slightly. It was still directed to the floor like a punishment, but Barnes tilted it just enough that Sam could see one of those confused blue eyes regarding his.

Sam swallowed, doing his best to ignore the pain surrounding his tired, broken body as he kept his lips moving before he lost his nerve entirely. Or maybe found himself letting out those tears he felt threatening the corners of his eyes at the sight of the bruised and profoundly defeated man in front of him. The same one that'd given up all he had to help Sam. To help someone he didn't even really know, "Thanks. For getting me help. What it means isn't lost on me."

See me. See me trying to reach you. You're gonna be okay. We're both gonna be okay.

Barnes didn't say anything. But his lip twitched and his brow furrowed as he shifted his gaze back down to the floor like a pale, bruised and battered puppy.

He'd heard the words, but it was clear he had no reason to believe the truth running through them.

"We'll be landing momentarily," T'Challa observed. His eyes briefly met Sam's own as the King addressed Barnes below him. "I applied an electrical node to your shoulder as a precaution. As long as you do not attempt to disable the node or harm others, it will remain inactive." T'Challa's voice was clear in its directness, "I take no pleasure being pressed to do this, but you have gravely injured enough people today. I cannot allow further harm to come to those in Wakanda. Do you understand?"

Barnes turned his head only slightly towards the man addressing him, as if debating if or how he wanted to respond. It was clear the fight had already drained away from him, and the sight of such profound and self-directed defeat broke Sam's heart, "Yeah," Barnes kept his bloodied, sweat-soaked head down and his voice quiet as he added, "Ready to comply."

Sam saw Barnes swallow after he spoke the words, but it was T'Challa above him that flinched in response to them. The King shook his head sadly, his voice soft, personal, and infused with a very humanizing compassion, "Oh, my friend. It is not like that at all. I only wish I could help you understand, but we will get there."

Just then, the hum of the thrusters shifted pitch and quieted as the aircraft settled into place. Barnes warily glanced to the rear of the ship before settling his attention first to Sam's hands and then his face. There were all sorts of lines of emotion spread over that angular, stubbled face of his, but chief among them was fear. For himself. For Sam. For whatever awaited them outside of that hatch. Somewhere in there, Sam found the wherewithal to offer what paltry reassurance he could with his words, "Remember what I said, Barnes: It's gonna be okay."

Moments later, the rear hatch lifted open, revealing a half a dozen brightly colored Dora Milaje, two King's Guards, and led by none other than General Okoye herself. The soldiers closest to the front brandished their spears warningly, but Sam was able to pick out the subtle differences in their posture and expressions immediately.

Flanking Okoye were Nomble, Yama, and the Dora from the Propulsion Laboratory that had offered him a soldier's salute. While the figures surrounding them were almost unilaterally focused on where T'Challa stood over his bloodied captive, the Dora that knew him as more than a figure on a TV or companion to that "White Wolf" of theirs made it a point to look his way and make eye contact, as if they were set on reassuring him things would be okay.

The other poised and battle-ready figures must have been aboard the ships that had played laser tag with them before boxing in their own ship and forcing it away from the city proper. But where had they taken them to?

Once Sam took in the sea of faces, he was surprised to see not a building in sight: only a lush wooded area he didn't certainly didn't recognize. The foliage was thick enough that it didn't place them near the Design Center, so the best he could figure was this was the location they'd negotiated to drop Barnes in the meantime rather than hauling him back to the lab and the horrors he obviously thought awaited him there.

"Stand up," T'Challa calmly directed, "We will go outside and get you settled so the others can see to Sam's injuries and prepare him for transport."

Barnes kept his head low and submissive as he looked back to Sam and he got to his feet. This time, Sam didn't miss the tremble in the other man's leg as he put weight onto that ghastly, split open left foot of his. It was clear as anything those cogs were running circles around that cyborg brain of his, but Sam didn't get the impression Barnes was looking for a fight, but he didn't miss the subtle resistance in his body language. "You're going to help him?" Barnes asked, as if for confirmation. The question wasn't for Sam.

"Yes," T'Challa confirmed. A promise. "We will do everything in our power to alleviate his injuries."

"I will see to Sam Wilson," a crisp female voice behind T'Challa personally volunteered. It took Sam a second to look past T'Challa and realize that it was Yama that had spoken, and by the expression on Okoye's face: he was pretty sure it was a break from protocol.

From the stern expression on the General's face, she might have had something to say in response, but she instead made a quick gesture with her finger towards Yama and the Dora beside her. After the two Dora Milaje stepped aside and disappeared from view, Sam decided it was as good a time as any to say something sufficiently reassuring to Barnes,because he wasn't sure how many more opportunities he'd get, "I know them. They're good people. They'll take care of me."

Barnes didn't say anything, but he set his jaw and offered Sam one of those hauntingly empty but somehow overly-complex expressions of his beforeT'Challa pivoted him in place, and Barnes allowed himself to be led out the back of the hatch to the tune of four Dora Milaje two King's Guard, and one Black Panther.

After what Sam'd seen today? It wasn't necessarily overkill.

Before he disappeared from view, the limping man with his partner's face glanced back over his shoulder one last time as the troop of Wakandans led him away to a fate worse than death, but one he willingly embraced because somewhere under the blood, the bruises, and the overwhelming intensity of his remarkably alien gaze: he believed Sam was worth it.

And just as quickly, he was gone, and Sam was left alone with his thoughts for the first time in what felt like days, if not weeks.

He felt guilt building in his belly and the fleeting question of if it would be better to ask to stay behind to make sure someone was looking out for Barnes when he caught movement out the back of the hatch, and Yama and the Dora from the Propulsion Laboratory hurried back inside. There was something different in Yama's mannerisms that he caught sight of immediately, a familiarity and openness that was present and straightforward, as if she'd dropped any pretense of that soldier's neutral expression the Dora so often wore when they were on-duty.

He felt like he could have cried for how much of a relief it was to see her face, "Yama-" he started.

Yama wasted no time in leaning her spear and putting it aside as she cupped a gentle hand atop Sam's nearest shoulder in a gesture of reassurance that soothed him in ways he didn't know he so desperately needed up until that very moment. "I am relieved you are once again safe on the ground," Yama admitted as the Dora beside her put aside her spear and opened the metal case on the chair beside Sam, obscuring the slick of crimson blood hidden beneath.

Yama immediately made a wide gesture with her right hand and brought up a set of holographic medical menus around her wrist, "Sam Wilson, This is Teela. Teela, this is Sam Wilson, Captain America."

Sam snorted, feeling like anything but that merchandised figurehead at the present moment, "I remember you," he confirmed, "I'd offer to shake your hand, but…" he offered weakly, gesturing a blackened mitten in her direction.

Teela nodded acknowledgement and raised an eyebrow in his direction as she brought up her own HUD display over her wrist and mimed a rectangular shape with her hands, "If you have humor left to spare after such a trying ordeal, it is a good sign." She tilted her head, observing him, "I saw what you did back there. So willing to trade yourself, even after what he'd done to you."

"Well, I'm sure my therapist would peg the humor as a 'coping mechanism,'" Sam admitted, "But whatever it is, the tank's running close to empty, but it's still running." He settled his attention onto her as he watched her work the menus over her fingers. His tone grew more serious, "And you had the opportunity to end things," he observed, "You didn't."

The corner of Teela's mouth raised in something of a smile as she casually rolled her shoulders, "It was clear your eyes saw something mine could not. Who was I to quash hope?"

It took him a moment to realize he could go back to asking questions and actually expecting answers again, "What are you doing?"

"He doesn't speak Wakandan," Yama supplied helpfully as she procured cleaning swabs, fresh gauze, and medical tape from the med-kit and tended to the oozing crater in the middle of his face while Teela worked some type of Wakandan hologram magic over her fingertips.

Teela quickly grasped the subtext and changed the language display of her HUD to English so he could better understand what she was doing. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn't as if Sam's blood-drained, tired mind was keeping up with much right about then.

"I'm programming a portable stretcher out of vibranium nanites," Teela supplied, using her left hand to motion to the angled black extension along the base of Sam's chair, "Was that the Wolf's work too?"

"Nanites," Sam repeated. It explained how they'd come to life and formed up, but it was as if the more you went and explained Wakandan technology, the less sense it made to his aching head. "Yeah, he used his hands and made some gestures to put it together when he thought I was going to pass out on him."

Teela made a curious face at that. It wasn't an expression of disbelief, but surprise. As if he'd just gone and suggested a stray dog had somehow managed to solve a calculus assignment on the first try. "I did not know your White Wolf was so adept with our technology."

It took Sam a moment to altogether register and place the name, because it was still more than a little difficult to resolve the two words as a moniker to Bucky, no less Barnes. "I mean, that's not Bucky," Sam felt the pressing need to clarify, "but I see what you're getting at, and believe me, Teela: I'm getting a fresh read on that, myself."

As he watched, Teela wove her fingers in tight gestures to pool the remaining sea of vibranium nanites from the console and combined them with the ones at the base of his chair. Like a murmuration of starlings, the black nanites flowed together to form a body-sized stretcher of sorts that Teela ran a hand over before placing it off to the side. In response, Yama finegled his chair and rotated it around so it was facing the rear of the ship, giving the two women more room to work.

"The Soldier could not speak our tongue, nor manipulate our technology," Yama casually offered.

"Wait, really?" Sam rolled that statement around a little, "So who is it I need to give a firm talking to about teaching whoever that is to drive?"

"Okoye or Ayo. Nomble is not so tempted by impassioned thrills."

"And Okoye and Ayo are?"

Yama chuffed, her voice playful, "I do not think I should enjoy being demoted in the wake of answering such a question."

"So Okoye," Sam hedged his bet.

Yama said nothing, but the small smile on the corner of her mouth gave away the humor lying latent in his statement. Slowly, carefully, she and Teela helped loosen his elbows from the bull-rider's death-grip he had around the back of the chair and turned him around so he was seated properly. Well, minus the ridiculous crossed-legs yoga bit.

Once he was settled and he'd adjusted his sore and remarkably stiff neck, Yama looked over his hands and then her skilled fingers began to gently explore and, well… catalogue his long list of injuries. He had enough time in pararescue to recognize someone who was searching out each wound and working to stack-rank their severity rather than assuming the most obvious one was the one that required immediate attention. Her methodical nature and gentle medic's touch had a way of soothing his frayed nerves. As she focused on her task, he could feel his body relaxing, as if he was finally permitted to let himself breathe for the first time in what felt like years.

Part of him wanted to mention that recording she'd left over the Decimation for Bucky. The one where she'd said she'd decided to start training to learn more about their sciences and medicines so she could help other people as well as Bucky, himself. It didn't seem like the proper time to bring it up, but he wanted to think that the impassioned woman he'd glimpsed in the recording would be awfully proud of how far she'd come in the years since.

Yama's thoughts were apparently latched onto the topic of names, "Sergeant Barnes? White Wolf? Bucky? Barnes? James? This is new for you, and the way he presents himself now is new for us as well, but it is still him. Just… different parts of him, I think." She looked up from her diligent work to confidently meet Sam's gaze, "It is easy to lose hope when the eyes that regard you are not altogether familiar. But," she rolled her shoulders, "it is not the first time. Though I had hoped we had seen the last of such troublesome snarls."

Sam found himself blinking at that. Yeah, he'd gotten pretty deep in his own head that for a moment there, he'd almost forgotten this wasn't even close to the first time Yama'd seen something like this.

As if sensing the dip in Sam's thoughts, Yama pleasantly offered, "I will say that when he last sought to injure me, he did not think to build me a recliner while I recovered. It is a peculiar but thoughtful gesture." The lightness of her voice faded as she thoughtfully added, "Not all were so lucky today, but hopefully all will live."

Sam's eyes went to Teela. It was tricky to know how gravely she was injured on account of the full-body coverage of the Dora Milaje's signature uniform, but he didn't miss the bruises on her face and hands. Before he could even say anything, Teela cut ahead of his thoughts, "I will mend, though I worry for M'yra who caught the peak of the Wolf's rage."

Sam found he didn't have to ask who that was. She must've been the Dora that had thought to pin Barnes down by spearing his foot clean through, not that Sam could blame her for trying to get things under control. "I hope she'll be okay."

"She's in Shuri and the medical team's care now," Teela confirmed, accepting his well-wishes. "The best minds Wakanda has to offer. And you will be in their care soon as well."

Yama's attention returned to the elephant in the room that was Sam's hands, and she regarded them with a medic's intention, "Put your hands out," she instructed, pulling a Kimoyo Bead from those on her wrist and toggling some commands into it, "And do not be alarmed. I'm going to give you a nerve blocker to dull the pain in your hands."

Sam did as he was told and Yama gently pressed the bead into the flesh on the inside of his closest forearm. When the bead made contact, there was a brief moment where a trail of purple energy pulsed and lit up the inside of his nervous system like a torch before it faded out. When it did: any feeling from the elbow down went away entirely.

The instantaneous relief was a welcome change from the blinding pain, but it'd been awhile since he'd been on the receiving end of a nerve blocker, and the sudden and complete lack of sensation had a way of being a double-edged sword, because it ratcheted right up that unspoken fear that this is what things could be like from here on out if one or both of those hands required amputation.

As Yama performed the same procedure on his other forearm, he finally dug up the courage to ask, "...Do you think there is anything that can be done to save them?"

Yama blinked at the question and looked up at Sam with a face that wasn't hiding anything, "Shuri would know far better than I on what may be possible so I do not wish to speak out of turn, because it is well beyond my expertise to repair." She paused in what Sam was realizing was the woman's particular manner of sharing the proper bits before she offered her own insights, "I do not wish to give you false-hope, but our science and techniques are far more advanced than those outside of Wakanda. We have had five years to further refine our synthetic skin replication and printing assemblage, so I would like to think reconstructive surgery may be a viable option to help repair the damage that has been done, especially since it appears your fingers, while…" she searched for the word, "'redesigned,' have managed to retain healthy blood flow."

Yama rolled her shoulders in what Sam thought was a gentle attempt at humor as she added, "Our friend's time in Wakanda had a way of advancing many technological fields by proxy," she touched her left wrist, "The Soldier once broke my wrist. You would not even be able to see the scar it left today. But in the wake of it, I teased our White Wolf that it was why he was able to beat me in some video games."

Okay so that was a lot to take in all at once, but Sam's mind latched onto the last bit, "Wait, you play video games?"

"Many people play video games," Yama saw fit to clarify, "It is a noble and skilled hobby requiring excellent hand-eye coordination as well as refined taste." She inclined her head to him, "But regarding your own hands, I can show you a preliminary scan if you're curious to see more of their current internal condition."

"Yeah, sure. Have at it," Sam breathed, reminding himself that the fact he could no longer feel his hands wasn't any indication that they were no longer there or necessarily destined for amputation, just that the nerves had been deadened.

Yama bobbed her head and ran the Kimoyo Bead in her fingers near enough to Sam's hands that he almost pulled them away reflexively. Moments later, a three-dimensional scan that looked something between an X-ray and an MRI popped up in the air above it and… it was something alright.

"What did he do?" Teela spoke, her voice thick with a mix of confusion and horror.

"He squeezed 'em," Sam admitted, "more'n a few times." The scan itself was… it was something. They scans bore more than a passing resemblance to ones he'd seen of people that used their hands to brace themselves in a high-speed crash, but even then: There were usually more identifiable bones to be found. What he saw floating in the air above him looked more like someone had used a mallet to crush things up into no more than slivers and shards where carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges were supposed to be. It reminded him of those Thanksgiving turkey drawings he used to make by tracing his hand when he was a kid. Only this time, the only faintly recognizable part was the warped and bloated outline, "Shit, that looks bad."

Yama breathed, "It is impressive you're conscious at all."

Sam decided he was altogether content to change the subject, "Does Shuri have any idea what happened? I thought Bucky was supposed to be in control?"

Yama latched onto the pivot in conversation, "We have more questions than answers yet, I'm afraid. But you have been with him the whole time, so I'm certain Shuri is eager to speak with you, to compare what we have seen to what you witnessed with your own eyes."

That was due to be quite the debrief. "Hey, did he ever ask you what an expression meant? When he was recovering here in Wakanda, I mean?"

Sam didn't miss the moment that Yama's hands slowed before resuming their established pace, "Yes. Many times. They..." Yama's lip twitched as she considered her words and her tone grew more serious than he ever recalled hearing from her, including surrounding that whole Madripoor and Zemo fiasco, which was saying something.

Probably nothing good, but something.

Yama chose to momentarily stop her work so she could focus her full attention on Sam, as if it was important that he could soak in the intention of her words, "It is not that I wish to push aside this topic but... it is not a brief thing. It will make me angry at those that did this to him, and I cannot permit myself be angry right now when I must focus." Sam could feel the apology in her voice, but even still, she wanted to at least try to answer the question he didn't even realize he was asking, "But they took greatly from him. To make him obedient. Compliant. So that when he saw faces, he could not understand them. The difference between a smile and barred teeth. Laughter or a scream. It was an act of suppressing the potential for many things, chief among them: compassion."

Sam found himself sucking in air through his teeth as he pretended not to notice that at least one of them was missing. He had at least a hundred questions that could have followed her statement, but he respected the woman in front of him enough to know this apparently wasn't the time or place to explore that particular thread.

"When you see Shuri, after you seek treatment," Yama specified, as if the order was important, "You can ask that she shows you the scans from when he first arrived in Wakanda, but I will warn you: they are not for the faint of heart, Sam Wilson." She looked to Teela then, "He is ready for transport."

Teela nodded and moved the vibranium nanite-based stretcher into position while Sam drank in Yama's warning. He told himself he'd table the topic for later, and turned his attention to the stretcher and how it was literally levitating beside him, because of course it was.

…Did these qualify as drones too?

"Stay still," Teela instructed.

"And do not try to assist us," Yama added, slipping back into her humor as they carefully moved Sam onto the stretcher, "I want to be able to brag to those I know that I carried Captain America."

Sam snorted and let her carefully arrange his hands over his chest so they were less likely to be jostled or bumped… not that he could feel them. He had a second sense that Yama wanted to say something more, so he waited her out.

"Did you…" Yama faded off, choosing her words carefully, "Did you feel he knew you? By the end, I mean."

Sam took a deep breath as he rolled that one around in his mind, "He wasn't exactly forthcoming, but I don't think so. At least not now-me. If I had to guess? I think the crux of his mind's stuck somewhere after Steve and Nat uncovered HYDRA'd infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and Project Insight was blown out of the sky back in 2014. Barnes made reference to remembering me shooting at him, which made for a great conversation starter, by the way, but by the end? I wouldn't say he was cordial, but it was obvious he was trying to sort things out and place how I fit in with whatever's churning around in his mind. So I don't think he knew me, but he was wondering if he did." He regarded her seriously, "You planning to talk to him?"

"I am. Ayo's permitted Nomble, Teela, and I to stay behind so I can see his foot is tended to while General Okoye and the royal family determine next steps. In the wake of… events… this matter has become higher profile than we might have hoped."

That last part didn't surprise Sam one bit, "Well, friendly word of advice then?" Sam offered, "Don't try to push him to remember stuff. That's how both my hands ended up like crumpled origami cranes. I tried out one of Steve's lines that worked for him, hoping it would get a reaction out of the Soldier and 'wake up' Bucky, but I only managed to royally piss off Barnes. I tried telling him about what year it is and such too, but I don't think he's been able to make heads or tails about believing any of it. All things considered? I can't blame him."

"Not to worry," Yama reassured him, "I am up to the challenge and am working on a plan that accounts for his highly reactive nature." She turned her head to Sam, and that spot of a smile returned to her face, the one she used like a salve to ease his nerves, "You would enjoy the name of the ship Teela selected for our daring rescue."

"Oh?"

"The Sun Falcon," Teela supplied.

That got the smallest snort out of Sam, "Good name," he agreed, "Does this one we're in have a name?"

Teela shook her head, "Not yet, but after the events of today, I'm certain there will be many colorful new options to consider, and you would be given a voice if you had a suggestion."

"You know, I can't tell you just how remarkably okay I am leaving that consideration for another day, Teela." He felt the smile fade from his face as his attention shifted, "Look, I know this isn't your first rodeo, but… I think Barnes is scared. He truly believes you're working for HYDRA, and all that entails."

The light didn't fade from Yama's expression. It was as if it simply transformed into something else entirely. It spoke of a very particular conviction Sam was certain he'd seen for not the first time today, "Then we will simply have to find a common language and show him otherwise. He is not the only one capable of being highly stubborn."

Barnes wasn't certain where he was being led, but as he stepped off the ship into the long grass, he found himself trying to catch a glimpse of his surroundings in the hopes some solemn landmark might offer him any clue on where these Wakandans had chosen to bring him, and why.

He counted five ships, including the one he'd piloted, settled in small clusters atop the surrounding plateau. Unlike the sparse vegetation directly outside of what Sam claimed was a research center, this area was lush, forested, and by all-perceptions: remote. If there were structures nearby, they lay hidden, and judging from the steep drop a distance away: the location was likely meant to be accessed exclusively by air.

A prison, then.

T'Challa had released him from his steely grip, and had instead fallen into step close behind while a tribal woman with an ornately tattooed head who was clad in golden embellishments led the group towards the treeline and away from the drop of the plateau. He recognized her as being the pilot of the ship that had been trailing them, but some part of him insisted she was a prior handler as well.

How many of them were there?

The wary armed warriors surrounding him kept their spears trained on his torso as they walked at a slow and steady pace, and he did what he could to feign his left foot wasn't feeling as lame as it truly was.

He'd have time to deal with that later. Well, assuming it wasn't dealt with while he was undergoing reeducation.

Regardless of the change in circumstances, his nerves remained raw and heightened as he carefully scanned the crowd of faces around of him. His instincts and sense of self-preservation insisted he should be trying to formulate a plan of escape, but some part of him argued that to do so would put Sam's own well-being at risk. He glanced back over his shoulder, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of an assurance that Sam was being tended to, but found his view blocked by T'Challa and the guards flanking him. That showy, retractable cat-helmet of his was off again, and Barnes inadvertently caught the man's steadfast gaze.

"Do you recognize this place?" T'Challa asked from a few steps behind him. He used one of those claw-tipped fingers to gesture beside him, and as he did so, one of the men flanking him stepped aside so Barnes could see past.

Barnes took the other man's words as an invitation to look beyond him. He was hoping he might catch sight of Sam, but instead he saw only a wash of muted browns, blues, and greens. A series of waterfalls and small pools punctuated the distant mountain range across from their own, but the rolling waters and carved earth meant little to him. If there was more than a passing familiarity, he suspected it was only because he'd likely flown through similar passages in his attempt to escape from this cursed place.

He was aware T'Challa was waiting on him for an answer, and while there was a part of him that resisted indulging the other man in a response, he knew it could be perceived as a lack of compliance subject to retaliation.

Was a question about their surroundings worth Sam's life?

"No," Barnes responded flatly. He didn't recognize the wooded area, but for the moment he silently deemed it was more acceptable than a lab. He was certain he would be brought there eventually, and this delay of theirs was only serving another purpose. Clearly they needed to refine their containment technique. But perhaps he was intended to be transferred to another facility altogether?

Maybe this whole thing was some sort of test?

And what was the purpose of that hologram T'Challa had shown him, if not to further confuse and distract him? Media could be manipulated, faked, but it was such an oddly specific choice to use someone that bore more than a passing resemblance to him.

Somewhere deep down, he entertained the fleeting possibility of the video being something more, but it was absent of too much context for him to formulate any concrete theories that didn't already conflict with things he'd seen with his own eyes.

But this place? If he'd been here before, it must have been between wipes. Between whatever periods of "enrichment" they were playing at.

"I see," T'Challa continued, as if Barnes cared about recognizing one nearby tree from another, "Well this is a quiet, peaceful place. Somewhere safe and away from people where you can recover while we determine how we can best help you. You are to remain here until such a time that you can be shown to not be a threat to yourself or others."

A prison, Barnes silently confirmed. It seemed altogether unlikely that it would be so simple, though. How were they planning to keep him contained here?

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

The guards surrounding him herded him forward at spear-point towards an alcove that was backed by thick trees. "Remain still," the tribal woman in ornamental gold instructed. As he watched, she made a circle around him, pressing two beads into the wet earth at an even distance about six feet away on either side of him. Once the task was complete, she and the others stepped back as she pressed a bead on the inside of her wrist. Immediately, a blue dome of energy enveloped the grassy area he was standing in the center of the top half of a semi-transparent bubble. She adjusted a setting on the HUD above her wrist and the shield cycled from blue to orange.

The highly tattooed woman who he pegged as a prior handler turned and regarded him. She wore an intense expression across her face, and kept her eyes leveled on his as she spoke, spear-in-hand, "The shield extends beneath the soil. You will not be able to force your way through the boundary or dig beneath it. Any extended contact with it would be ill-advised, as the electric field generated by it has the potential to damage both you and your arm."

Barnes knew which arm she was talking about, and his right hand reflexively clasped the top of his left wrist, feeling for the subtle movement of the interconnected plates. His fingers traced the lines dividing them, and he tried not to notice the subtle differences from the feel of the ones his memories insisted should be present there instead. Like so many things: He didn't have a viable explanation for the change, but he certainly didn't trust his captors to provide him with a reason.

Still...it was strange how now and then he swore a ghost of sensation radiated from the contact.

The tribal woman clad in gold stood regarding him from across the other side of the shield, and made a smooth gesture with her hand that prompted the surrounding guards to lower their spears and position them beside them at a soldier's attention. Barnes felt certain she was searching his face for something, but he wasn't sure what. It was as if she was expecting a response of some sort, but she hadn't asked him a question.

Eventually, she glanced to T'Challa, who offered her his attention, but no further explanation for whatever they were planning. Barnes felt his body tense as she turned her attention back to him.

"Uthetha ulwimi lwethu, ewe?" You speak our language, yes? The woman inquired.

"Ewe." Yes, Barnes confirmed. Apparently this was now an interrogation.

"Uyifundiswe ngubani?" Who taught it to you?

He considered the question, but didn't have a clear answer.

Before he could formulate an acceptable response, she added, "Ngaba kukho umntu omaziyo phakathi kwethu othethile nawe ngolu lwimi?" Do you recognize any among us that spoke to you in this tongue?

He wasn't sure just what she was getting at, but he let his eyes wander to the armed men and women on either side of her. He couldn't place them either, but one of them stood out. A woman with a vertical tattoo running from her forehead down over her right cheek. It was the same woman who had spoken to him in that other language earlier. Some part of him was certain he'd heard her speak in this language too, but when? Back in the lab? Or was it an echo of a time before his last wipe? The woman's eyes rested intently on his. What did she know?

While he didn't understand the value of this information, he didn't want to run the risk of punishment, so he answered to the best of his ability, "Andazi ukuba ndiyifundiswe ngubani, kwaye andiqinisekanga ukuba ngubani othe wayithetha nam ngaphandle kwakho naleyo kuthiwa nguT'Challa. Umphumi-mkhosi ngasekunene kwakho, mhlawumbi?" I don't know who taught it to me, and I'm not sure who has spoken to me using it besides yourself and the one called T'Challa. The warrior to your right, perhaps?

The corner of the woman's mouth quirked as she glanced over her right shoulder, and inclined her head towards the soldier Barnes had made reference to, switching back to English, "Nomble. She will be among those who guard you."

Sound from behind her drew her attention away from Barnes, and she made a motion with her hand so those behind her would step aside, offering Barnes a clear view of where two similarly-dressed tribal women walked on either end of a hovering black transport stretcher with Sam lying across it. He'd turned his head to the side to face Barnes.

Carefully, the two women guided the stretcher closer, where it came to rest just a few feet away from the nearest curved edge of the undulating orange shield.

Sam appeared… well he didn't look great. He had a square of gauze taped over his nose, and while his skin had been cleared of blood, he was bruised and the deep stains along the front of his shirt told of the blood he'd lost. His eyelids were puffy, and while they were open, it was apparent from the strength and focus it required that his energy level was dropping again.

"Hey," Sam spoke softly, "I just wanted to see where you got off to before they get me airborne again." His eyes looked past Barnes as he regarded the landscape, "It's… certainly rustic."

Barnes didn't say anything, he just kept his eyes steady on Sam, watching for any signs that he was lying or being unduly coaxed or influenced by the people surrounding him.

He didn't see anything: just a tired, battered man in need of medical attention on account of the numerous injuries Barnes had dealt out by his own hands.

Barnes was certain he hadn't said anything to prompt Sam to add, "I know you didn't mean to hurt me as much as you did. But we're good, okay?" He looked around, as if reminded they had an audience, "Just try to lay low for a little while and don't hurt anyone. I'll get back just as soon as I can so we can get all this sorted out. "

Barnes flexed his fingers, eyeing the sea of armed figures encircling him from the glorified cage they held him in.

"You heard me, right? Barnes?"

Barnes's eyes returned to Sam's as the ailing man added, "I want to make sure you're gonna be okay before I go."

That expression cast over his face was there again. The one he claimed meant "sad" and "scared." Barnes wasn't sure how to respond, but it appeared as though Sam was delaying his own treatment while he chose to wait for a response. But how was Barnes even supposed to respond?

It felt so needlessly performative, but at the same time, some part of him he couldn't begin to understand also didn't want Sam to go. As if the mere act of his departure might seal both their respective fates.

T'Challa spoke over the silence, "General Okoye and I will transport Sam so he can get treatment for his injuries. You have my promise he will receive the best care we can offer him."

From beside T'Challa, Okoye turned her attention to directing the surrounding soldiers away from the shielded dome encircling Barne to new posts on the nearby ships. In short order, the armed figures cleared out and returned to their ships, leaving behind T'Challa, Okoye, Sam, two armed men, and three tribal-clad warrior women.

"We will meet back at the Design Center," T'Challa spoke to the two men flanking him, "Okoye and I will travel alone with Sam Wilson. We have much to discuss." The enshrouded men dipped their heads and made their way back to the triangular aircraft Barnes had taken from the Propulsion Laboratory. Moments later, it lifted to the air and was soon joined by other departing ships.

After another ship took to the air, Okoye turned to address the three remaining tribal women, "You will stay behind to maintain guard over him. A patrol ship will keep rounds nearby as a necessary precaution." She regarded the women surrounding her intently, "Your actions have saved many lives this day."

"Thank you for giving us the time we needed, General," the one called Nomble spoke, inclining her head as she addressed first Okoye and then T'Challa.

T'Challa nodded and responded in kind, "We will leave you to your task, and I will ensure my sister keeps you updated. Though, knowing her, you are likely to learn news before her own brother."

He turned his attention to Barnes and met his eyes, "Know that you are safe here, and will not come to harm while under our guard. Now is the time to rest and reflect, but I'm certain we will talk again soon." T'Challa turned to Sam as if prompting him to speak.

"They're good people, Barnes. Give 'em a chance like you gave me, okay?" Sam coughed lightly, and Barnes found himself reflexively taking a step forward at the raspy sound.

The warriors around him took note of his motion, but they did not brandish their spears in a unified response: either they did not consider him a threat, or they held sizable confidence in the protective shield that held him.

For not the first time, Barnes felt as if it was expected of him to answer Sam, but he didn't know what he was to say to the non-question he'd been asked. But further delays would only continue to postpone Sam's care, so he parroted back a simple, if non-committal, "Okay."

The response appeared sufficient, and Sam's expression changed as he rolled his head back into the cradle of the transport stretcher. In response, T'Challa made a gesture to prompt the stretcher to ease into motion, propelling itself in front of T'Challa as he stepped forward to board the gently-rounded, elliptic-shaped craft parked a short distance away.

Okoye turned her attention back to Barnes and held her head high as she succinctly addressed him, "My heart is glad to see you alive, regardless of how your mind plagues you." She regarded him only a moment longer before tapping the butt of her spear into the ground.

The three remaining warriors tapped their spears in unison and offered Okoye a fist to chest salute before she turned and strode up the ramp following T'Challa before stepping in front of him and the transport stretcher holding Sam so she could pilot the ship. From where he was, Barnes couldn't get a good look at Sam, but he felt certain he saw the other man's shift around slightly within the cradle of the board supporting him.

And then just as quickly: the hatch closed and the blue light of the thrusters came to life, lifting the ship skyborne and hovering in place for just a moment before it rapidly banked left and took off, quickly disappearing beyond the curve of the nearest mountain.

The engines eventually faded off into the distance, leaving an unnatural stillness behind in the wake of their departure. When they did, a cacophony of unseen wildlife filled the void, resuming the soft calls of their demure daytime symphony.

What should have been no more than background noise drew in Barnes's attention with the supreme "otherness" of the surrounding ambiance. His highly-tuned senses cued into each sound as his tired mind struggled to identify them against his catalogue of knowns, and in many cases: drew blanks.

He was trained to pick up footsteps. Voices. The subtle, telling shift of gear and ammunition. The play of interlocking parts. The whisper of a tense and heavy breath. While the familiar world he knew under HYDRA was hollow and muffled when he was forced to bear witness to it from behind glass, it came into focus when he was moved from room to reverberant room for training. For testing. For modifications. For reeducation. For enrichment.

But what he could place was almost exclusively indoors, with its tight rooms and musky smells accented with pungent chemical odors. That's part of what made missions different, compelling: That for just a little while, the world shifted and got bigger in strange and complex ways he barely had time to start to experience before he was pulled back into the living between tight walls or under glass.

It was part of what had made things so overwhelming when he'd finally managed to pull himself free from HYDRA's net. That place he found himself in, Washington D.C., was stacked with sounds, smells, and a frightening density of people as well as animals that made it difficult for Barnes to maintain a clear line of focus on what was mere background noise that could be ignored, and which constituted risk factors for himself or Steve.

The plethora of sharp and subtle sounds continued at all times of day and night: voices, cars, sirens, and more. The city never slept, and so neither did he. He couldn't. Not while Steve and he were being hunted by HYDRA operatives. The most he managed were short pockets of rest accented by a silent alarm that ensured he wouldn't sleep so long as to risk drawing out those unexplained images and voices in his head.

So as Barnes stood there, looking out over the cut and rolling green mountain ranges and trying to piece together the meaning of the sounds and smells around him, he found this strange isolation almost stifling. He was no longer hidden away in buildings or tucked into the corners of rooftops or stairwells to avoid detections: he was unarmed, injured, and trapped out in the open. He was caged by an energy shield, guarded by three skilled, foreign combatants who worked under unclear motivations.

And he didn't know what any of it meant.

A nearby voice broke the pervasive, natural silence, "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Barnes turned his head to acknowledge her. Nomble, Okoye had called her. She had a vertical tattoo running from her forehead over her right eye and along her cheek, and she regarded him with another expression he couldn't parse. It was confusing in its subtleties.

He was hungry, but she didn't have to know that. "No," he responded succinctly, completing his part of the limited compliance he owed her by proxy. Would she force him to eat? It was likely that drugging his food would be a desirable method to subdue him.

"We're likely to be here awhile," she added.

It wasn't a question or command, so he didn't respond. He simply turned his attention back to the direction the ship with Sam, T'Challa, and Okoye had disappeared to, and permitted a moment to let his thoughts wander.

Barnes couldn't be certain if Sam was or wasn't working for HYDRA, but he was at least willing to entertain the possibility he wasn't based on what he'd seen. The same consideration couldn't be afforded to these Wakandans, because unlike Sam: They'd clearly been set on pursuing him at any cost.

But where did that leave him? Leave Sam?

Sam claimed that he trusted these people, at least some of them, but Barnes knew more than most how misplaced trust could be in the wrong hands. And if they were HYDRA...

...Would he ever see Sam again?

If he did, would Barnes even recognize him, or would his memories have already been wiped clean by that point?

Or would Sam remember him? Could the Wakandans be prepping him even now to undergo something not unlike what had been done to him?

Had Barnes unknowingly delivered Sam to a similar fate?

...Did James Buchanan Barnes know him?... know this Sam?

As he watched a flock of slender white, black, and red birds lift to the air in the distance, he told himself he'd probably never know.

Author's Remarks:

It felt great to have an extended scene with Sam, Yama, and Teela, and being able to pay-off the fact Yama'd decided to take up getting some medical training during the Decimation. I also love the idea that she is a very "open" person, so she's being very straightforward and honest with Sam. And for her? That means interspersing a little levity where she feels appropriate.

Yama throwing a little shade at Okoye's "style" of piloting amuses me greatly.

Also: Yama is working on a *plan.*

Poor Sam. :( While I considered inserting some "sassy" one-liners from him, it felt like it would be a little out-of-character and tone-deaf in the face of Barnes basically sacrificing himself for Sam's sake.

Also: Poor Barnes… x1000. Things just aren't adding up, and I really feel for him trying to sort things out, while also feeling like he can't really trust anyone. And the nearest person he has to someone he can "trust" he gravely injured and is being teleported away while he's left behind to only watch and hope for the best, all the while assuming he will be wiped in short order.

That "Ready to comply" line broke me. :(

In any case, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one should have some guest art attached to it as well (!).

As always: Thank you so deeply for all your comments, thoughts, kudos, and kind words of support on this ongoing story. I hope you're enjoying this brief reprieve while things settle down, because I'm sure as you might expect: It's not due to stay this way for long...