I had the incredible pleasure of working with Shade (Shade_of_stars on Twitter ) on an illustration she created to go along with an important scene from this chapter. Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and link to her Twitter and DeviantArt to see more of her incredible art!
*Huge* thanks to her for her artistry, and for bringing this scene to life.
Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"
Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 49 - Light in Shadow
In the hours after nightfall, there came a time when inspired conversations drew to a natural close, and the weight of the day slowly settled over the campsite like stars tossed into the velveteen sky.
While Barnes remained confused by the strange shifting hierarchy between the three women, none put up any debate against Yama's latest batch of demands, "If nothing is wrong, then you will not argue that I take a look at your leg before we turn in for the night."
Yama sat with her attention focused on the back of Nomble's head, which she presently inspected beneath a light cast from one of the beads around her wrist, but her words were clearly meant for Ayo. The woman in question had already gotten to her feet and brushed herself off before taking it upon herself to diligently tend to the fires.
Barnes didn't need to ask why Yama was seeing fit to inspect Nomble's eyes and the rear of her head, or what had caused the bruising. He remembered throwing Nomble off of him when she'd attempted to subdue him back in the lab. But now… now he found that he was relieved they no longer appeared to be at odds. At least for the moment.
Nomble flinched as Yama's fingers explored the darkened area on the back of her head, and when Nomble's eyes eased opened again, Barnes found them resting on his own as he sat, watching them. He didn't know how he was meant to feel. Was this what Teela had spoken of earlier? Regret, or something like it?
"I am fine," Barnes knew Nomble's words of reassurance were meant for him, but they briefly prompted Yama to glance between them.
"The scans I can take are not advanced, but I do not believe there is internal swelling that should concern us. The external bruising is in line with the initial impact and your pupils are responsive, so the concussion you suffered is likely mild. You would do well with an oral painkiller." Yama pulled a white tablet from a small metal box inside the medical case and placed it in Nomble's hand.
"Yes, Doctor," Nomble lightly rolled her eyes as she put the tablet in her mouth and took a long swig of her water bottle.
In response, Yama gave Nomble's shoulder a gentle shove before she turned her full attention to Ayo, who was doing her best to look busy as she laid out their bedrolls a short distance away, positioning them so that they encircled the larger of the two fires outside the shield. Barnes got to his feet and watched as she arranged the thick rectangular padding before tossing pillows onto the end of each makeshift mattress.
He felt as if he remembered someone tossing pillows like that before, but when? He didn't possess any back in D.C.
Or under HYDRA.
Barnes kept a steady watch over Ayo as she stepped lamely around the camp. Like the others, she'd opted to keep her spear collapsed after Yama mentioned it made him "uneasy." He was uncertain if her claim was accurate, but he couldn't help feeling that Ayo moved better when she used it for support, which she chose not to do presently.
Ayo took bundles of cloth into her hands and, one-by-one, spread vibrant orange, red, purple, and black woven blankets out atop each of the three bedrolls. As she unveiled the last one, he was relieved to finally conclude that they did not contain hidden medical supplies or instruments of enrichment, though they were far more ornate than any blankets he recalled seeing in the city. There was something casually familiar about the geometric patterns cast over them, though he couldn't place it. Was there a benefit to such designs and accoutrements?
He wasn't sure, but as the light of the fire fell upon them, he found they reminded him of the sunset he'd glimpsed out over the mountain.
Ayo didn't say anything as she set things in place, but he could tell that regardless of if she had her spear in her hand or not, she kept a close eye on him. He didn't know what her expression meant, and while he wasn't about to ask, he didn't feel it held the promise of threat.
That being as it was, he nearly jumped when she spoke. Her voice was quiet, though clearly directed at him, "You need not worry." The timber of her tone didn't hold the presence of command he feared would follow, "I do not plan to enter your den uninvited." She tilted her chin in the direction of the untouched bundles nestled just inside his shield, "Yama already offered a bedroll, pillow, and two blankets for you. I brought extras because I know you-" she halted her words mid-sentence before continuing, "-because I worried you might grow chilled overnight. I realize I do not know how comfortable this climate will be to you, but if you need another blanket, you only need ask one of us."
It wasn't a question or command, so Barnes wasn't inclined to respond. He remained standing, silently regarding his prior handler until she chose to look away, casting her attention back to where Yama sat patiently waiting for her. Yama offered her a small smile in response as she patted the grass beside her like she was trying to lure a cat.
The comparison came quick to his mind, though he struggled to trace its origins. Barnes recalled watching an older woman in Washington D.C. feed small, mottled birds he'd learned were called pigeons, though he also overheard two individuals identify them as "rats with wings." The birds were numerous and pushy. Boldly crowding out one another to get access to the carbohydrate-based resources the woman scattered out on the ground in front of her. He hadn't been clear on the potential benefits to such cross-species relationships, but he'd found them curious to observe.
Interactions between civilians, cats, and dogs were much easier to gauge due to the more obvious tells present in the body language of those specific animals. It became quickly apparent to him that many of the unleashed animals were far more concerned with securing food than being subjected to unnecessary touch.
Barnes found he could relate to that.
He was unsure what eventually compelled him to attempt such curious negotiations on his own, but when it was deemed appropriate during his watch over Steve Rogers, he did not find himself inconvenienced to place excess protein composites at various optimal locations. It was not a discreet mission objective, but he found it desirable that local strays sharing his territory could freely partake in optimal nourishment without being subjected to the performative, and often overbearing nature of human demands.
There was something satisfying about simply watching them, knowing that he had helped ensure some of their basic needs were met.
In passing, as he watched Yama successfully lure Ayo over, he wondered how those strays were doing.
Only once Ayo sat down did Barnes venture closer to investigate the nearby bundles of cloth Yama had tucked inside the shielded dome prior to their meal. He used his outstretched toes to approximate their overall density before repositioning himself and crouching down so he could inspect them more closely.
He kept his head down as he ran his hands over the colorful fabric, taking note of how different the weaves felt from the cloth and blankets he'd found and bartered for back in D.C. They smelled better too, though he struggled to understand why his mind so easily concluded that a value judgement existed between scents to begin with, and why these were deemed superior. It was curious, like how the mountain sage cast over the nearby fires was preferable to the numerous chemical fires he'd observed.
Strange.
A short distance away, Yama saw fit to make requests of Ayo, who sat with her left leg outstretched, "After this, I will need to part the vibranium weave so I can get a closer look." Yama pulled a small dome-shaped device the size of a thumbnail free from the outside of Ayo's knee, and Barnes didn't miss her flinch at the motion. Ayo said nothing, but Yama filled the silence with the sound of her own voice, "I can't believe you would leave before having Shuri look over your leg at least once. There is only so much I can do here, and the longer you pretend it is well, the more permanent damage you risk doing to it, regardless of how much we coax the nanites to block out your pain receptors."
"You would do well to be mindful of your tone. I am not deaf."
Yama chuffed, "And I am not your Lieutenant this night, or did you forget?" She used a bead on the strand encircling her left wrist to cut open a panel of fabric around Ayo's knee, revealing dark, bruised flesh underneath that Ayo cast light upon using a bead she held between her fingers.
"You will be my charge again tomorrow," Ayo grumbled, but by the way her lips flinched Barnes suspected it was not from irritation, but from pain. Seeing her like this had a way of freshly reminding him about his own injury, as well as the fact he'd caused her own. While they spoke, Barnes chose to discreetly arrange the bedroll, blankets, and pillow so that their configuration matched the ones outside the dome.
"I have already dealt with far more stubborn patients than you tonight," Yama retorted, "And your patella and tibia are both cracked. You are lucky the patella did not fracture clear through, or you would not have been walking at all. I will stabilize it as best I can, but you need proper treatment tomorrow and would do well to stop putting weight on it in the meantime, else it may fracture through and slip out of place entirely."
Barnes knew he'd been the one to deliver that particular injury too, and he expected at least one of them to look up and glance in his direction as Yama spoke. Instead, everyone sat in silence as they watched Yama wrap Ayo's knee with an elastic bandage. Once that matter was dealt with, Yama manipulated something on the holographic displays above her wrist, touched a bead to it, and then pressed the small dome-shaped device back into the outside of Ayo's knee. "There is only so much pain relief these supplies can offer you for an injury such as yours."
"I know."
None of them chose to glance his way, but he couldn't help but feel this was not the first time he'd injured those among them, though he did not know why his mind insisted that he'd once glimpsed Ayo's leg bloodied and twisted around so sharply it was almost severed.
And why some part of him recalled he'd once stood over her, readying himself to finish the job.
...Had she once been a mission target too?
He felt his eyes crinkle together as he cast his attention outside of the shield that surrounded him, wondering. About what had happened. About the mismatched images and fleeting sensations he glimpsed just out of his periphery.
About why, even though his mind marked her as a prior handler, he did not enjoy seeing Ayo or any of the others in pain.
As he silently regarded them, he was not displeased that some instinctual part of him hadn't chosen to meet their initial resistance with lethal force.
But he still didn't know why.
Once Yama was done tending to Ayo's knee and tidied up her medical kit, she turned her attention to Barnes and gave his injured foot a cursory glance, "If your foot is bothering you, I can give you another treatment to make you more comfortable."
He looked up at her, but said nothing.
In response, she shrugged her shoulders and huffed a breath of air, "I will not force this upon you. I will not even try to bargain for your favor, because as I have said, your body and your choices are your own. But I do not enjoy seeing you or anyone else in pain. And I hope that in the morning when you see no harm has come to you, that you reconsider my offer. You have seen fit to grant me the gift of your name, Barnes, so now you will find I am increasingly capable of mirroring your penchant for stubbornness."
He wasn't sure what to say to that, but he was certain he saw her expression shift from a smile to what she'd called a "gloat" as she turned and walked back to where Ayo was conversing with Nomble.
It didn't take long for the three women to sort out the shifts they planned to take overnight. While they spoke as if the purpose of their organized watch was simply to keep the fires stoked, it was clear to Barnes that they felt it necessary to ensure someone always remained awake to guard the camp.
Specifically: To guard him.
He couldn't fault their attention to detail.
While a part of him was discontent but altogether familiar at the prospect of having others watch him while he rested, strangely, another part of him was not necessarily opposed to the idea of having other eyes on alert for potential danger.
He wanted to attribute the instincts to a specific occurrence, but he found he had no suitable reference. When he had acted under HYDRA's commands, he was rarely permitted rest at all, and then, it was brief, and never while on field missions. He was to stay alert at all times, ever-prepared for contingencies, ambushes, danger.
"Sleep" was a term he heard used, knew the definition of, but felt disconnected from its intrinsic meaning.
When he'd initially made his escape into Washington D.C., he was aware that any time spent in an unconscious or sub-alert state could put Steve's or his own life at risk. So for days-on-end, he pressed himself to remain awake using whatever methods he had available to him, up to and including highly caffeinated beverages as well as a variety of purchasable tablets and medications he located within the hospital.
Though he couldn't understand it at the time, eventually his body fought back against his insistence to remain conscious, so much so that he could only conclude his initial plan to forego sleep entirely was not as sustainable as he'd hoped. While he had no desire to return to the chill of cryo, he remained frustrated at how efficiently the procedure appeared to negate general exhaustion as well as the body's physical requirements for rest.
Since he needed to maintain a vigilant watch over his objective as well as any HYDRA agents set on acting against him, Barnes modified his approach and instead began to rely on a series of progressively more irritating silent alarms from watches and cell phones in order to rouse him from brief periods of necessary unconsciousness.
This revised set of operating procedures became a worthy tactical approach for a number of days. That was, up until the point where the space between alarms must have grown too long, and… something had happened.
He still couldn't understand it, because most times when he closed his eyes, he saw nothing. This time, however, he saw images and heard voices he knew weren't there. But they also were.
And he didn't understand them. What they had to do with anything.
But he felt like he should.
What did the images and voices he saw when he rested for too long mean?
And if he saw them once again, would he wake up under duress in yet another lab?
But out on the mountain, Barnes could feel the weight of the cell phone in his pocket, and the subtle awareness that finding a way to use it as an alarm might prevent him from reaching a state of unconsciousness as well as the re-appearance of those images. Yet, to do so would give away the fact that he still had the phone. The device was arguably the only thing on him that could be used as a viable weapon if needed, as the wallets and contents of the wallets themselves were unremarkable at best.
There'd been a time not hours ago where it felt like his only goal was to run, to do whatever was necessary to get away, up-to and including taking down anyone who stood in his way. The latent desire to escape was still there, but now it was coupled with a new sort of confusion he was still trying to broach. He'd had barely any time to parse the contents of the phone, but he knew it might contain crucial information that could aid him. His mind insisted the beads around his wrist served a similar purpose, but what? To use either as simple weapons would have a chance of irreparably damaging them, and he didn't want to make that critical choice until it was absolutely necessary.
What if they held clues to what was going on?
Or only more lies?
How was he to tell them apart?
Unlike those times he forced himself to rest for brief periods on rooftops and inside abandoned rooms in the city, now he didn't even have to remain hyper aware that HYDRA was ever in pursuit, because they had him right where they wanted him. Trapped. Caged.
So what were they waiting for?
…And why was he no longer entirely convinced they were HYDRA?
But if they were not HYDRA, then who? Was he being loaned out to one of their allies again, or was HYDRA still in pursuit of him?
He wanted to put the pieces together, to understand, but there was little value in putting belief behind the words of strangers since they were likely only spewing more lies. More subterfuge to serve their unspoken purposes and end goals.
The only truths he could truly believe were the ones in his own mind, and none of those pieced together to form anything recognizable. Anything solid.
But his instincts remained conflicted at the situation he found himself in. Part of him wanted to remain awake, to fight the urge to rest. To push back against it knowing the vulnerable reality of giving in, especially when he was near-to three armed strangers that were likely to try to take advantage of his condition when he was unconscious.
Yet, while a part of him was tired and fearful of the possibility of what might happen if he wasn't alert enough to meet dangers head-on, something deep inside him saw fit to mark the three women not as threats, but as alert sets of eyes that would keep watch over one-another…
...and him as well.
Barnes wasn't sure how to feel about that, especially since their mannerisms had a way of implying they were not fearful of others coming for them. It was if the virtue of their remote location and casual guard had a way of making him feel less anxious rather than more.
Strange.
He wasn't certain how long it had been since Yama and Nomble prepared to retire to their bedrolls, but they'd done so without complaint after they each wished one-another as well as him a good night. Their words were subtly different as they addressed one another, but they were easy, casual, and without command.
When Nomble said that she hoped pleasant dreams would find him, and Ayo insisted he reconsider the virtues and warmth of his blankets, Barnes found he was no longer as quick to dismiss their casual suggestions simply to showcase that he was capable of choosing otherwise.
Their mannerisms reminded him of the exchanges Sam and Steve made with one another, or when certain civilians offered parting words before they went their separate ways. Barnes had witnessed them, certainly, but he had never been the subject of them. HYDRA never had a use for such things. The pleasantries he'd heard so often struck him as empty words, but as Yama thanked him for sharing the evening with them before wishing him a good night, Barnes couldn't help but wonder if there was something far more nuanced to these declarations that he'd overlooked. He felt as if he was expected to respond in-kind, but that there was a specific, correct response she was hoping for. He didn't know what it was, or what she was searching his face for as she regarded him, but he felt like he should know.
"What does that expression mean?" he finally asked, concerned that if he didn't, he'd miss the opportunity to understand.
She smiled then, but it was different. Not the one that meant "joy," or the one that shone in her eyes that was "gloating," but a more reserved expression, "I would tell you if I knew," Yama confessed as she regarded him. Her ornate regalia reflected brightly the firelight as she considered her words. They were slower in coming than he was used to from her, "I suppose it is many emotions at once. I am relieved you are alive and that your foot is sewn together. That you have shared nourishing food and stories with us without incident, and that even now, you seek out connection. These things bring me joy, hope, but they are coupled with distress since I do not know what your future holds, and I desperately wish for you to have a bright future on your own terms." She rolled her shoulders as she regarded him, "Beyond that? You have known far more pain than kindness at the hands of those who abused and misused you. I respect that trust is not easily earned, but I suppose I selfishly wish that when you saw us, you could see the kindness we hold in our hearts for you."
Barnes struggled to grasp the nuance of her statements or how he was meant to respond.
Before he could say anything, Nomble spoke up, "It is 'perseverance,'" she clarified, "Yama's expression and others like it. She sees someone before her she believes is worthwhile and intends to overcome whatever obstacles are necessary to earn not only his name, but his trust."
Yama turned her attention from Nomble back to him as she met his gaze again, "Good night, Barnes. I hope you sleep soundly. We shall talk more in the morning when you will find a Wakandan sunrise eager to greet you," She inclined her head towards him, and when he returned her parting gesture, she smiled.
It was that same smile that Nomble claimed meant "perseverance," and when Ayo glanced their way, Barnes felt certain she wore her own variation of that particular expression as well.
Ayo claimed the first shift, and after a short time, the steady rise of fall of the blankets covering Yama and Nomble signaled that the two had fallen fast asleep. Initially, Ayo'd stood in that focused stance of hers, and so Barnes had chosen to do the same, noting that each of them were attempting to downplay their injuries.
Within the first hour, she'd opted to change up her tactics and sat herself atop a nearby log so that her back was to the treeline and the nearest fire and expanse of the cliff's edge was a ways out in front of her. While she wasn't facing him, he was certain she could easily see him out of her periphery without even turning her head.
She didn't say anything, and the only time she moved was when she thought it necessary to add more kindling to the fires. Mostly, she simply sat, listening to the forest and night around them, and now and then looking up at the stars above.
While initially Barnes had found the sounds of the remote outdoor location uncomfortable in their foreignness, now he found he was able to pick out bits and pieces like familiar landmarks or notes in a melody. He couldn't see the waterfalls in the distance any longer, but he could make out the distant rumble of their presence. There were nighttime birds, frogs, the quiet chirp of unseen insects and the crackle and pop of the fires, the nearest of which cast a soothing warmth over his left side.
While the air moved around him where he stood, it was a soft, temperate breeze. The nighttime wind carried the scent of fresh grass, wild wood, and the subtle presence of detritus and soil. There were scents he could pick out, like the mountain sage, but there were many more he couldn't. One was sweet, like the afterglow of a memory just of reach.
Was it the food from earlier, or something else?
Eventually, Barnes determined that there was nothing to be gained by continuing to stand, and so he'd slowly lowered himself to the ground, seating himself atop the bedroll and blankets so that the wrapped portion of his injured foot was not touching the ground.
Yama wasn't awake, but he felt she would have approved.
He shifted around, placing the pillow under his left calf to relieve the pressure on his bruised and swollen heel.
Ayo turned his way at the motion, watching him carefully as he settled into place. His nerves were uneasy being the unilateral focus of her attention, but she said nothing. If she wished to use the code words against him, there was nothing he could do, trapped as he was.
Then, she stood.
She turned away from him, keeping her spear retracted as she slowly, painfully stepped towards her unoccupied bedroll and retrieved her pillow.
As she turned, she held the pillow in the crook of her left arm and regarded him before switching the cylinder of her restricted spear to the same hand so that her right hand was free. For a moment Barnes felt himself tense reflexively, fearful Ayo was about to speak. Instead, she did something peculiar.
She used her right hand to touch her forehead, swinging the tip of her finger forward in his direction. She paused briefly, then made a gesture of an open palm towards him before touching the upper part of her head then her chin.
He immediately caught on to the meaning, the language behind the gestures: "For your head."
He wasn't sure what expression his own face showed, but was inclined to nod once to acknowledge he understood the intention behind her silent motions. After he did, she took a few slow, careful steps forward towards the shield. Before she could get close enough to prompt him to stand up again, she'd already seen fit to gently toss the pillow inside so that it landed expertly near his right hand.
Then, without a word, she stepped back and hobbled to where she'd been sitting previously.
He ran his fingers over and under the pillowcase cautiously, searching it for any notable discrepancies that might not have been visible at first glance. Once he was satisfied, he looked back to her before retrieving the pillow and placing it atop his bedroll. Some part of him insisted it had to be some type of play to garner his sympathies, but why? Her choice would leave her without a pillow of her own if and when she chose to rest.
Barnes eyed her, cautiously lowering himself onto the pillow before shifting in place so he could still see her and the others resting beyond the campfire to his right. He laid on his back with his foot propped up and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. He was not unfamiliar with how the object was intended to be used, but the sensation of how the padding cupped his head and back of his neck was unusually soft. He quickly discovered that the device distributed the pressure in a way that offered a desirable amount of relief to the bruises on the back of his head, and after a few minor adjustments he finally settled.
It was not as useful as having more pockets, but he had clearly underestimated the value of pillows.
Initially, he kept his eyes open as he looked up at the star-scattered sky above. He found it surprisingly easy to pick out the constellations Nomble and the others had spoken of, and the far-reaching stories that went along with them. There were a lot more stars here than he recalled seeing elsewhere, though, to be fair: it wasn't as if HYDRA had seen fit to offer enrichment opportunities like this one. He still didn't understand the motivation behind it, but he found this portion of the exercise was not overtly distressing.
His instincts still offered resistance to his decision to lay on the ground when a prior handler sat at a higher elevation nearby, but he did his best to remind himself that the words she knew were what made her truly dangerous. And she was still more than capable of wielding those regardless of her injuries and their relative positioning.
But for whatever reason, she didn't seem as dangerous anymore.
Eventually, he concluded that it was worthwhile to determine if she planned to act upon him if she believed him to be asleep, so he closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, doing what he could to mime a suitably convincing respiration rate. As he laid there, he listened for footfalls, whispers, anything that would be a tell to a coming ambush, but found nothing out of place. If anything, closing his eyes just made him more aware of his surroundings. The subtle shift of the breeze and against his skin. The sweet, smoky scent of the nearby fires. The relaxed nighttime ambiance of the unseen natural world all around him.
Why wasn't it as altogether foreign and unsettling as logic told him it should be?
While he rested his eyes for just a moment, he continued to focus on his other senses and allowed himself to wonder if he had any further reasons to fear the summons of sleep. The last time he'd rested at-length, he'd woken up in that Wakandan lab. Who was to say it wouldn't happen again? That last time, he'd hidden himself inside an abandoned apartment. He wasn't out in the open like he was now, trapped within a translucent shield while others observed him nearby.
But what if the next time he woke up, things were amiss too? What then? What if he woke up and he was instead back with HYDRA, stripped of everything he'd been able to piece together since he'd escaped?
What about Sam?
He cracked an eye open briefly, checking to see if Nomble and Yama were still asleep, and what Ayo was doing. As far as he could tell, she hadn't moved at all. She sat atop the log with her injured leg outstretched and her head raised skyward, as if she was taking in the view of the stars. The cylinder of her spear was placed on her lap, and the thumb of her top-most hand fidgeted, as if relaying that she was still awake, but deep in thought.
She was a short distance away from the nearest fire, and the light danced over the metal accents of her regalia. There was enough illumination that he could pick out the patterns of red, orange, brown, and silver criss-crossing over her poised form, but for whatever reason: she didn't seem out of place here. His mind marked her as part of the scenery, though he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if she was camouflaged, but like the sounds of quiet wood: that she belonged.
His mind searched through what she'd said to him after she'd tried to use the code words back in the lab.
"We do not wish to fight you."
"You're confused."
"We're trying to help."
"What is your name?"
Of all the questions she could have asked him. All the commands. Orders. In the heat of battle, why had she thought to ask him his name?
If they were HYDRA, why would it have even mattered?
If.
It wasn't the first time he'd been asked the question. Even the individuals who prepared his hot or iced Venti White Chocolate Mocha requested his name, but the more time that went on, the more he saw fit to wonder if there'd ever been a correct answer other than 'Soldier.' He felt like there had been. But that it was buried. Hidden.
But when Ayo had spoken the words 'White Wolf,' he was certain that was meant to be a name as well.
But was it his?
Barnes fought to remain alert, but when he blinked his eyes closed and focused on his other senses, he could feel the full-body exhaustion surrounding him finally creeping in.
Eventually, it won out.
Barnes's last conscious thought was that he swore he could remember the sound and feel of the cool water of those distant falls up-close, though he had no idea how.
Then dark pulled him under.
The sound of running water and murmur of distant voices drew his attention away from the muffled darkness and quiet hum of machinery that echoed around him.
His eyelids felt thick and heavy, and he found he didn't feel inclined to fight the weight of them just yet. Wherever he was, it was musky and cold. There was a suffocating astringent, chemical smell in the air that sought to drown out the reek of blood and odors bespoke of primal fears. The pitch of old smoke lingered in the air. Not the scent of burning fire, but the aftermath of years of cigarettes and cigars stuffed inside poorly ventilated rooms. His lips twitched and he felt his jaw shift reflexively, bearing down into a thick, rubbery mouthguard between his teeth.
He simply listened, struggling to place the voices. Two of them. One male, one female. Why couldn't he recognize them?
Close by, he could hear breathing. Shuffling. The rustle of fabric and the subtle click of moving parts and ammunition shifting inside loaded canisters.
I felt as if every breath he took, every heartbeat sent shots of pain straight through his head. His left shoulder and leg ached fiercely, reminders of something, but he wasn't sure what.
He wasn't certain how much time passed, but eventually, he forced his eyes open, hoping that his surroundings might offer him a clue to his location and who the distant voices belonged to. As his eyes fluttered open, he willed them to focus, to see through the sweat-slicked long hair that plastered his face and obscured the view from his right eye. He winced at the sickly yellow light bearing down on him from overhead. He was inside, but where? How had he gotten here? A handler had issued him a command to remain still, but what had come before? Above him, mechanical half-circles hung in the air, suspended on either side by adjustable cranes. He recognized the devices, knew they fit over either side of his head, and that they brought pain. He was told the pain was necessary.
So that was what he believed.
Many things were necessary. It wasn't his place to question.
When he glanced down, he made brief eye contact with an armed guard in an oversized, fur-lined winter jacket at the far end of the room who gripped an oversized assault rifle in both hands. The man flinched reactively, quickly readjusting his weight to pivot the weapon towards him. He only lowered the muzzle when a man in a tactical vest a few feet away chastised him in Russian, "Keep your finger off the trigger, amateur. We're here to guard the Asset, not to put bullet holes in him."
The older man's gruff voice wasn't one of the distant ones he'd heard before, but the soldier swiveled his attention to the new voice reflexively. He felt like he should have recognized it too. Did he? The other man met his gaze, and a corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he pulled out a small metal case. He plucked a cigarette free from it before casually lighting the tip and replacing his rifle in one thick, calloused hand.
The soldier identified him as the greater threat of the two.
The room itself was windowless and walled in painted concrete that had already begun to discolor and peel with age. It was crammed full of sullied medical equipment, rigid metal desks, whiteboards, military-grade cases, filing boxes, and an assortment of mismatched tech with labels in at least half a dozen different languages. Green and black display screens provided live updates to unoccupied access terminals, but no people milled about the keyboards and clipboards.
His mind insisted that sometimes there were many more people here, but he wasn't sure why or when.
Strands of loose hair fell across the soldier's nostril, disturbing his concentration. When he attempted to pull his hand up to subdue the sensation, he found himself suitably restrained. On second glance, he noted that two tubes ran into an enclosure surrounding his right hand. One contained a tube of clear liquid, while the other ran across to a stand nearby where a discolored pouch collected crimson liquid.
Blood.
His blood.
His right arm was harshly restrained at the wrist, elbow, and shoulder, but his left arm… the lower half of it was gone, torn off by the look of the misshapen break and the wires that crudely descended from it. The top half of the chrome metal stump was incapacitated courtesy of a rigid shackle that stretched across his bare chest.
For a moment, he was confused. Why wasn't it bleeding? Some part of him recalled the stump bleeding.
A thick leather strap ran over his forehead, preventing him from examining the rest of his body. His best guess told him that he was seated, resting in a medical examination chair with additional restraints encircling his neck, waist, and calves. His body ached all over, especially his left leg. Had he been injured? He couldn't recall.
Why couldn't he recall?
He felt as though there was pressure around his waist, which told him he was wearing minimal clothing of some sort, but he couldn't feel much of anything else.
It was so cold.
His nose still itched, and there was nothing he could do.
It was not his place to request assistance with such a minor inconvenience.
In the distance, he could just barely make out footsteps and the burst of a stream of pressurized water searing against aluminum. It rang out, bright and clear before it stopped again, and the two distant voices spoke to one another.
"How many more times do you think they're going to wipe him before they put him back on ice?" a woman asked.
"You got me," a man answered, "Doc wants us to get him prepped for cryo as soon as possible so he's ready for whatever the commander's planning next, but they need to resolve the mess of injuries he got in Goyang before they shipped him here. He heals fast, but it's not instant like some of those idiots were claiming. They want to make sure their Soldier's mission ready when he comes out of a thaw, but it's not like we had spare prosthetic arms just lying around. They're going to need to send in a specialist for that, and I don't think Zola wants to risk blowing his cover if he can avoid it. Especially not this deep in enemy territory. It was half a miracle they were able to get him past the Latvian border at all."
"Fair enough. Just seems unfortunate to keep having to wipe him. He seems pretty domesticated to me. At least when they aren't toying with him."
The man snorted, "If he was that domesticated, the top brass wouldn't see fit to keep him restrained."
"You ever find out if he was a volunteer or a recruit like the others?"
"Beats me. His brain's so scrambled, it's not like it matters. Prolly for the best, though. Can you imagine waking up one day and barely remembering how to piss, eat, or even dress yourself? I'd rather someone just shoot me and spare me the humiliation."
"Yeah," the woman's voice sounded fainter somehow, "me too."
There was the sound of water again and the whiff of something that smelled like soap. Moments later, two pairs of approaching footsteps fell behind the squeal of a cart with a broken wheel. The harsh sound echoed down the hallway, drawing the attention of both guards stationed in the soldier's room. He wondered what this place was called. What was behind him.
A few moments later, two figures in white lab coats stepped through the archway and into the harsh yellow light of the room.
The soldier searched their faces for recognition, even a name, but found nothing concrete to latch onto. The only thing he had to fall back on was the knowledge that his handler had explicitly instructed him to obey the commands of the male scientist as if they were his own.
He'd also said that if anything happened, he was to get that scientist to safety at all costs.
The guards acknowledged their entrance in different ways. The younger one offered a crisp salute followed by a proclamation of, "Hail, HYDRA!" while the older guard in the tactical jacket simply lifted his head and snorted derisively. "Hail, HYDRA," each of the scientists agreed as they approached the chair where the soldier sat.
The scientist that was his secondary mission objective had a heavy brown beard and cast his eyes over the soldier's left leg, evaluating it against some unseen metric in his mind. This one was a medic of some sort. He'd seen him before, hadn't he? "So this is how this is gonna work. You're probably getting to the point where you could use some painkillers. That right, Soldier?"
Was this a trick question? He hoped not as he chewed on the rubber mouthguard surrounding his teeth and promptly answered. "Yes."
"Okay, well, I'll consider giving you something for the pain if you stay still. You offer any resistance or make things difficult for either of us, then I'll recommend Enrichment and we'll have to start over from square one. We clear?"
"Yes."
The Soldier watched as the blond woman in the lab coat moved to a terminal and quickly tapped in a sequence of keystrokes. Moments later, the chair beneath him shifted, reoriented itself so that he was marginally more upright.
While the woman wheeled the squeaky cart closer, the medic with the beard turned to regard the larger of the two guards, "Can you at least have the decency to put that out while I'm cleaning his wounds?"
The burly guard with the cigarette used two fingers to pull the rolled paper from his thick lips. "Mmm? Or what?"
The soldier could sense a shift in the dynamic of the room. A quick flare of tension that echoed across each of the poised figures in the room.
"Nikolai…" The soldier could recognize the warning in the scientist's voice. The guard pretended not to hear him as he stepped forward, swinging his assault rifle in one hand and the cigarette bud in the other. As he did, the soldier could feel something inside him shift and tighten, alerting him of the growing risk of confrontation.
"Must be comforting to find yourself in a position where you can issue frivolous demands, mmm? The guard gruffed, replacing the cigarette so it dangled from the corner of his mouth.
The guard made a very particular expression and took a long drag from the cigarette before he leaned the side of his lips towards the soldier and heaved out a billow of dark smoke directly into his face. The soldier kept still, breathing in and out quickly to try to clear his lungs and suppress the urge to cough. In response, the guard's yellow teeth gleamed as he adjusted his grip on the cigarette and pulled it from his mouth, allowing the lit end to waver precariously close to the scientist's right arm.
The soldier's eyes flashed between them, gauging if it was necessary to intervene. He knew that if the bearded man showed any further distress, he would be obligated to break free from his restraints. Even with only one good hand, he was confident he could easily swivel Nikolai's weapon around and fire upon both guards before they even had a chance to react.
He saw it play out in his head. Planned the smooth moves in quick, efficient detail as the guard's ashen breath fell on him and the man hovered menacingly over them. His temporary handler must have sensed it too, because he held up his left hand as if to still the soldier from acting prematurely on his instincts.
The burly guard said nothing as he showed more of his polished, yellow teeth and leaned forward to pressed the lit end of the cigarette directly into the soft flesh along the side of the soldier's ribs. The soldier felt a sharp burst of pain and the sizzle and sear of burnt flesh as he braced himself and stayed firm against the pain.
He had to remain still.
Always, still.
The sensation burned, but some part of him felt like this wasn't the first time he'd experienced it while being met with those gleaming yellow teeth.
But he didn't understand why.
Had he done something wrong? Or was this a necessary part of his training?
He only knew it wasn't his place to ask.
"So useful and well-trained," the guard mused, "That parlor trick never gets old. Can hardly see the mark from the last time, either." Nikolai stepped away and smoothly slipped the remainder of the cigarette into a small metal case he retrieved from his pocket. When the soldier caught his eye, the guard winked at him.
He didn't understand the meaning of the gesture.
He didn't return it.
Neither of the two scientists said anything as they organized supplies on nearby trays. As they did, the soldier lowered his eyes to regard the bloody bandages along the top of his left thigh. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten the wound, but that it had been given to him by the same individual who had severed his left arm at the elbow.
When was that?
The bearded man in the lab coat used the tips of his fingers to carefully pull up the corners of the medical tape holding down a rectangle of gauze that surrounded a sizable portion of his left thigh. He applied a yellow liquid onto a cotton-ball before running it on either side of what the soldier diagnosed as a knife wound of some sort, "You're lucky he only nicked your femoral artery rather than severing it. Super-Soldier or not, you would have been liable to bleed out otherwise."
"Might've given him the chance for a nice matching leg," the guard named Nikolai casually remarked. The other guard chuckled.
The soldier didn't understand the meaning behind the vocalizations and he knew he was not supposed to have preference, but he found he did not prefer the concept of a prosthetic leg. Though he had little to compare the possibility to, his left shoulder was far more painful than the right, and so the thought of an artificial leg might necessitate more pain.
He did not desire more pain.
The man examining his leg glanced didn't look up from his work as he swabbed the wound and the woman beside him watched from a few steps away, passing him supplies and tools and silently disposing of used materials in a nearby receptacle.
"The wound's healing nicely, at least. I know they said it'd be fast, but your regeneration rate is incredible. No wonder they're trying to crack the code on whatever's bottled up inside of you. It could save a lot of lives."
The Soldier didn't know what all of that meant, but it wasn't a question, so he did not respond.
"His breath's awful," the woman in the lab coat remarked from just to the soldier's right. The blond-haired woman looked up to meet his eyes, "When's the last time you brushed your teeth?"
Was he supposed to answer her question? He looked to the bearded man for guidance.
"I don't think anyone's brushed them since he arrived here. You volunteering for the honors?" his temporary handler remarked offhandedly.
"I definitely wasn't," she clarified. "Just an observation. Something's liable to go rotten in there if no one sees to them."
"Well, if the strict diet he's on is any indication, I don't think they view teeth as a requirement for the position. But hey? I'm sure you could add it to your resume if you wanted to. Alina said she wants credit as his makeup artist."
The younger scientist snorted, "For applying that black gunk around his eyes? She would."
His temporary handler turned his attention back to the soldier, and when he did, his expression shifted, becoming more self-conscious, and layered in a way the soldier didn't understand. "Speaking of which, Sofia here prepared your dinner for you." He gestured to a tall glass filled with a thick, mottled brown liquid topped with a white and red straw. "Don't get too excited though. It may look like chocolate milk, but there's nothing in there that's liable to taste a thing like it."
"...Would you… mind getting his mouthguard?" Sofia inquired, "I saw what he did to Fedor's hands and…"
"I'll get it," the man in the lab coat reassured her before swiftly turning his attention to the soldier, "Open up and I'll get that out so it's easier to drink. Don't move."
The soldier opened his mouth and didn't offer resistance as the bearded man pulled the black rubber from his teeth, seeing fit to add, "You're right though. Something's gone rotten in there." The man regarded him evaluatively, "Does your mouth hurt?"
Everything hurt. It was making it difficult to concentrate, and his nose still itched.
"Yes."
Was his temporary handler still intending to offer him painkillers?
The man regarded him for a moment before nodding, "Not sure what we can do, but I'll put it in the notes." He turned his attention to the blond woman beside him, "You feed him that protein concoction while I work on his leg and then we'll switch out his lines."
The woman beside him nodded, looking warily to the soldier, "I'll put this end of the straw to your mouth, but you'll have to do the rest yourself."
His nose itched, but the soldier stayed still as he'd been instructed to do while the woman carefully stepped closer with the glass. He didn't miss how her hands trembled as she came close to him. Was it a fear reaction? He didn't understand.
When the straw was just barely out of reach of the soldier's lips, Nikoli's booming voice broke the silence with a resounding "BOO!"
The woman's hands fumbled at the sudden noise and the glass went end-over-end, spilling the thick, brown liquid over his shoulder, chest, and leg. The upended glass struck the soldier's hip and tumbled to the stone floor, shattering into pieces that scattered across the floor.
All the while, the two guards positioned nearby howled in shared laughter the soldier didn't understand.
The crash and laughter momentarily deafened him, ringing through his ears like a painful crescendo. As his eyes found their focus, he watched the shards of glass spread like pinpoints of light over the dark stone floor, then the blur of motion shifted, pouring out over a smooth black floor bespoke with sharp white geometric lines.
When his eyes lifted back up, he was aware his surroundings had changed, and he was facing a curved wall of glass that looked out into a deep tunnel. The light above him was crisp, illuminating a lab that was far more neat and organized, and pocketed with various screens and colorful orange and blue holographic displays.
He was seated, restrained, but it was different from before. He was more clear headed. Less confused. He knew each of the people around him by not only name, but temperament, and he found it easy to pick out what they were saying, as well as what they weren't.
"Do you have something planned in case I break free from the restraints?" he heard himself ask.
"You won't break free from them, Sergeant Barnes. You and my brother have both tested them," Shuri reassured him from a few steps away. He could tell by her tone that it wasn't the first time he'd asked.
He frowned, looking from his empty left shoulder to the metal coupling clasped around his right wrist. He gave it a testing tug, "Yeah, well, with all respect," his eyes glanced up, as it making sure the man across the room could hear him, "a test like that can only go so far, because only one of us would be willing to injure ourselves to get out if it came to that."
T'Challa stepped closer, and Barnes didn't miss the intensity in Okoye's expression as she kept pace beside the King with her spear. T'Challa's timber was calm, patient, "The restraints held fast. And if they do not, I will be here." His declaration was meant to be reassuring.
"We don't even know for sure what the code words do," he heard himself insist.
"We don't," Shuri agreed, "But the simulations favor the likelihood that it is a control sequence based on the areas of the brain that the primary syllables have been shown to activate."
He frowned, glancing around the laboratory. It'd been locked down as a contingency, and the only people present were figures he quickly identified as T'Challa, Okoye, Shuri, Ayo, Tasdi, Nomble, and Yama. The legendary Black Panther and his genius sister, and five of Wakanda's esteemed warriors: the Dora Milaje, all there to watch him and guard him in preparation for when they sought to test a set of code words Shuri believed were central to HYDRA's programming.
"Do you still wish to do this?"
The voice came directly from Barnes's right, and he turned to see Ayo regarding him from just a step away. There was an intensity to her expression he didn't remember. A focus. "We will not force it upon you if you have reconsidered."
He licked his lips, "No I… I need to do this. There's no way forward, no future if we can't get this mess sorted out. I'm just…" He bit his lip, trying to piece together the words he wanted to say.
His thoughts were momentarily stilled as she spoke, "It is okay to be scared. It is human to know fear, especially as you have. But it is no longer your fight to shoulder alone. We have chosen to take it on with you, if you would let us."
He took a deep breath and nodded, letting her know that he didn't discount the candor of her words, "I just don't want to hurt anyone," he confessed for not the first time.
"I won't let you," Ayo spoke, and he could feel the promise and conviction in her voice.
He watched as Shuri moved about a few steps behind the row of Dora Milaje as the princess saw fit to silence the quiet pings that signaled his heartbeats to those present in the room.
As the room fell to silence, Ayo spoke again, "Are you ready?" her brown eyes remained steady on his.
"As I'll ever be," he admitted.
She nodded and turned, making a gesture to those behind her and inclining her head to Okoye. Ayo didn't say anything, didn't need to as Shuri retreated a few steps further back and the Dora Milaje present in the room took up position around him with their spears flourished so they pointed towards his torso. They weren't menacing, but they were poised, ready. Their attention focused on him and him alone. While T'Challa was outfitted in his vibranium suit, he bore no weapons in his hands, though he adjusted his footing as he stood beside Okoye. They were every bit the warriors Barnes knew them to be, but he'd never seen them standing against him as a unified front like this, and the mere sight of it was distressing in a very deep, particular way.
Barnes could feel his heart race at the sight of people he knew, trusted, prompted to raise weapons against him as a precaution, even though he understood why it was necessary.
He just wasn't convinced that even lacking an arm, it would necessarily be enough.
When Ayo was satisfied, she looked back to Barnes, as if for confirmation. He knew what was to come next, and that she would not proceed unless she was certain he was ready.
He took a deep breath, trying his best to focus on his breathing as Ayo had taught him, but in reality, it felt like his heart was beating so fast it was liable to jump out of his throat. Even so, he forced himself to squint his eyes and nod once.
Only then did Ayo speak the first of the words he feared.
Ayo kept her eyes locked on his as she spoke. He'd been told the ten terms were Russian, and as she uttered the first word, he heard it deep within him, and the strange and subtle pull of it calling for his attention. "Желание." Longing.
But just as quickly… it faded from his mind, leaving only awareness and a subtle terror in its wake.
He tensed reflexively as some deep, buried part of him recognized the word and its underlying implication. Was it one of the words Zemo had spoken, or another sequence? Why couldn't he remember?
His panicked eyes briefly darted around the other faces in the room, but they returned to Ayo's. Only then did she speak again, her voice calm, pointed, and yet somehow apologetic, "Ржавый." Rusted.
Like the first word, he heard it, held it in his mind, only to have it slip from his grasp. He did what he could to focus, but all he wanted to do was to ask her to stop. That he'd changed his mind. He didn't want this anymore.
What if he hurt someone?
What if he lost his way and never returned?
What if HYDRA or someone else found him? Used him?
He felt as if he was choking on air as he forced his eyes to remain on Ayo's. He was terrified, and increasingly aware of the creak of metal around his wrist. His eyes flashed briefly to the noise, to his trembling, white knuckled fingers and how they gripped onto the armrest as if it were a lifeline.
"Семнадцать." Seventeen.
The words passed through his ears, and he heard them, he was certain he heard them before they faded again. There was a strange calmness to them. A siren's song. It was as if they were bidding him to listen and remain alert yet unconcerned.
Ayo kept her eyes focused on his, but it was as if her voice was dry, hoarse, "Рассвет." Daybreak.
What if they couldn't control him? He knew they were skilled, but he had so much blood on his hands already. What was there to guarantee the Soldier didn't extinguish them one-by-one before they even realized what was happening?
...What if he broke free of the lab?
"Печь." Furnace.
He struggled to maintain his breathing. Everything was happening at once, and as each word wrapped itself sickly around him and slithered back into the darkness of his mind, it felt like some fractured, unspoken corners inside him were breaking open.
A suffocating weight hung in the silence that surrounded him. He hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes at all until the deadness of the room lingered, strung out like his head was held underwater for too long. His lungs burned as he reminded himself to breathe, and in the process of doing so, prompted himself to force his eyes open and see through the strands of hair covering his face.
He knew there were others in the room, but all he saw in that moment was Ayo looking back at him. She didn't say another word, but he could sense the question she wished to ask: 'Is it too much? I will stop if it is too much.'
He could feel emotion at the corners of his eyes, and he wanted so desperately to speak. He knew he could, but if he did, they'd be no closer to a solution.
But he was so immeasurably scared. Terrified of doing nothing and pretending all was well, and at the same time, even more terrified of what might happen if Ayo spoke the remainder of the sequence. Of what could happen if control was wrested from him once again.
So much blood...
He struggled to breathe, to remain calm, to tell himself he was safe even though he felt anything but. He was vulnerable, strapped into a chair while weapons were wielded in his direction by those he trusted most because in everyone's best interest.
He'd come so far, but he wasn't sure he could go any further. This was all too much.
Barnes squeezed his eyes shut again, listening to his breath wheeze out in heavy bursts. His mind was a jumble. He didn't know what he wanted at that moment other than to not be so goddamn broken. To not be a burden, a plague upon anyone and everyone around him.
And then, he felt the presence of a warm hand crest over top of his own. It rested there a moment before it squeezed his. At the sensation, he opened his eyes and looked up to see Ayo standing a step in front of him, her steady presence focused on him, and him alone.
She'd switched her spear to her left hand and regarded him with a calm and unhurried expression. It was patient, sympathetic, and did not speak of pity, but of respect. Of acknowledgement that she understood.
The question in her eyes remained, but as he regarded her, he was reminded of the oath she'd made to him, that she would not let him hurt anyone, and would not ever command him to partake in actions thought to be against his will. It was a very particular act of trust, to give up everything he had, everything he was, and place it in someone else's hands.
But he trusted her.
He was scared, shaking, but he trusted her.
That he was worth all this.
He caught his breath and found the strength to nod, bidding her to continue.
She squeezed his hand once more before she replaced her hand to where it held fast along the shaft of her spear. Then she stepped back into formation. Only then did she speak, her voice rough with emotion, with apology, but also with strength, "Девять." Nine.
Some buried part of him sought to fight the pull of the words, but he did everything he could to focus on her. On her steadfast presence. On the promise between them. On the knowledge that he was safe even if he felt anything but.
"Добросердечный." Benign.
The word chimed in his mind and fell away like water poured over outstretched fingers. The rhythm of the syllables was soothing, as if it sought to quiet the fight lingering in his chest. Some part of him knew he should resist, but he was starting to question why.
Ayo's voice continued, and he could feel the subversive power in her commands, "Возвращение на родину." Homecoming.
It was as if time slowed with the beat of each solemn syllable. As if the anxiousness in him had finally started to fade out in surrender.
"Один." One.
He was casually aware of subtle movement in his periphery, but he didn't see a reason to track it. Instead, he felt himself drinking in the words, letting them wash over him while he focused on the woman speaking them.
Ayo.
He didn't know why, but he found it important to commit her name to memory.
Why?
The last syllables were a whisper of apology, "Товарный вагон." Freightcar.
The soldier felt something shift in him and his head jolted upright and alert as he quickly took inventory of the seven faces surrounding him. He easily identified the notable figure who had spoken. For a moment, no one said anything, then…
"...James?" the nearest figure asked, then her expression changed as she added, "Солдат?" Soldier?
"Я жду приказаний." Ready to comply. He immediately responded as he focused on his handler, imprinting on her as he waited for further instructions, knowing that it was his duty to protect her unless commanded otherwise.
He thought he saw her lips tremble as she regarded him. Behind her, figures spoke in a language he couldn't understand. Unimportant. He ignored them, choosing to focus on his handler instead.
She didn't take her eyes off him, but she didn't issue any immediate commands.
Eventually, she spoke again, though her words were tight, focused. Her voice was fainter than he thought it should be, "Remain still. You are safe and among friends. Shuri only needs to run some tests. They will not cause you pain or distress. Then together we will find a way to undo this. To set your mind right again."
He wasn't certain what all of that meant, but his handler requested he remain still, so he did just that.
When she asked him to close his eyes, he did that too, choosing to focus on the rhythmic patterns of the coded language the individuals around him were speaking in, hoping they might drown out the quiet confusion encircling his mind.
He didn't know how or why, but he was certain he knew his handler's name.
Ayo.
Muffled voices surrounded him, but they fell away at once like they were yanked under water.
When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but darkness.
Was he blindfolded? Blinded?
He put his hands up in front of his face, but he couldn't see them either. He touched his brow with his left hand and could feel the cool metal fingers make contact with his skin.
Some part of him was alarmed that he couldn't see anything before him, but he didn't feel the need to panic, though he wasn't certain why. If he couldn't see anything, why was he inclined to feel as if he'd been here before?
Where was here?
He was standing, at least he thought he was. Languid currents moved against his body even though he couldn't see them. He almost felt like he was deep under water, but that didn't make any sense either, since he could still breathe, couldn't he?
His eyes were doing him no favors, so he concentrated on his other senses,
He couldn't see his feet, but he shifted them in place, and he could feel the sensation of sand moving under his heels and between his toes. His left foot wasn't bothering him, but he balanced on his toes as Yama had suggested so as to not sully the injury she'd cleaned, mended, and wrapped.
...Wait…
...Where had they gone to?
The images he saw in his mind were usually flashes of otherness, so what was this, then? Why was he self-aware? Were the women from the mountaintop here too?
Or was he alone?
He turned to look, but was greeted only with more emptiness. If they were there, he couldn't see them, couldn't hear them. For a moment, he considered speaking, but some part of him pushed back against the idea, though he wasn't certain why.
He could feel the current shift as it pulsed across his bare chest. As he moved his right hand to search out what had happened to his shirt, he became aware that he was already holding something in his right hand. Had it been there before?
He used his thumb to explore it. The palm-sized object was solid and smooth, etched with fine ridges and extending to points like a small pinwheel. It was cool to the touch, but not frigid or uncomfortable. His mind sought a way to use touch to map out its shape, but it was as if it changed just enough each time he pressed his fingers against it to foil his attempts. Even without being able to identify just what it was, some part of him insisted it was not only familiar, but precious. Important. He felt inclined to cup it in his hand, shielding it from the strange, shifting current or the possibility of dropping or bumping it against anything in the utter blackness that surrounded him.
Some part of him insisted that the void around him could contain dangers, that he should be braced and on-alert, but that didn't seem right either.
That hidden in the shadows didn't seek him out. They lay immobile. Waiting.
Still clutching the token in his right hand, he ran his thumb over his chest, feeling for his shirt, but found nothing but bare skin. When his knuckles neared his clavicle, he could feel the weight of a chain around his neck and what he identified as two dangling dog tags, imprinted with hammered letters he couldn't make out. He could feel the smooth, spherical beads surrounding his right wrist, too. Pants. A belt. Had he been dressed like this before? His mind saw fit to argue the point. When he'd last fallen asleep in Washington D.C., he hadn't had the bracelet or the necklace, and he'd remembered wearing a shirt and jacket on as well as socks, shoes, and pants outfitted with pockets and weapons expertly organized for an array of possible contingencies.
What about when he was in the woods? No, he was wearing a shirt there, as well as that strange piece of fabric encircling his neck. T'Challa'd called it a shawl. That it was a gift meant to remind him of something.
But what?
He kept his hand tight around the precious object in his fist and ran the back of his hand up to his scalp. No sign of the nails or pins. Short hair.
Like the figure on the ID.
And the one on display at the Smithsonian.
He turned his head, catching a subtle shift in currents. It was as if he could sense an area a few steps in front of him where a pointed chill was emanating from. Curious, he slid his left foot forward, inching it carefully until he felt an unnatural cold make contact with his outstretched toe. Only then did he stop where he stood.
His mind had been picturing that he was in a vast, empty room with a sand-lined floor, but as he faced the cold, it was as if he felt it seeping into the front of his exposed skin, like the reverse of sun beating down on a sweltering day. It wasn't draining, or even painful, but like being steps away from a wall of open freezers.
He clutched the object protectively in his right hand, and reached his left hand forward, curious if it might make contact with the source of the cold he swore had to be somewhere closeby in the darkness in front of him.
He splayed his metal fingers open, and when his arm was nearly extended, he felt them make contact with something. He was met with resistance. It pressed into the seam of his left shoulder, as well as the fingers themselves.
He felt it. The sensation.
Felt it.
It wasn't solid. It was more like stroking the surface of thickened water, only the liquid hung suspended in the air as a sharp vertical wall that stretched beyond his reach. He couldn't understand how it was there or what it even was, but when he pressed his hand further into it, he was met with enough firm resistance that he was disinclined to push harder. Something in his mind insisted it was safer to remain on this side of the liquid wall.
Had he been here before?
What was on the other side?
While he couldn't see the wall itself, when he'd made contact with it, it sent out a wave of ripples that spanned as far as he could see to either side and upwards. The disturbance along the vertical surface of the liquid structure made faint pockets of light briefly dance across his vision like a wave of stars churned to life. He felt like he was supposed to be able to make out more than that, but they came and went so quickly that he couldn't register them as anything more than an ocean of noise.
He turned away from the strange, chilled wall and stepped sideways, listening to the subtle shift in the drone and hum of the unseen world surrounding him.
It was dark, but it was as if his eyes could just barely make out strange forms piled around him like objects stuffed into shelves or crowded into a pawn shop or overrun antiques store.
Had he ever been in an antiques store? His mind insisted he knew what the inside of one smelled like. Stale. Dusty. Dry.
He couldn't see the objects themselves, but his eyes could just barely make out the irregular silhouettes that separated pitch black emptiness from shadowed forms. He stepped closer to the nearest mound. His toes dug into the gritty sand beneath his feet, and he stretched out his left hand, hoping to use it to feel out contact with the unseen world around him. As he moved, he kept the precious trinket in his right hand tucked tightly against his chest.
Now and then, it was as if the fingers of his left hand made fleeting contact with solid forms, but they would pass through with little-to-no resistance, as if they were made of ash that fell away and reformed as soon as his fingers slipped by. But what were the structures? One looked almost like a complex machine. A book. Jewelry. A collection of papers that shifted and wavered like frail shadows in the unseen current surrounding him.
He didn't understand. He wanted to understand.
How did all of this relate to the other images he'd seen in his mind over the last week and a half?
Why was there no one here?
Where was here?
He looked out over the sea of cluttered objects and forced his attention back on the small token in his right hand, hoping he might be able to make out any details he'd missed that could offer some sort of explanation on what it was and why he felt an undeniable connection to it. That it was important. That he needed to keep it safe. Protected.
Was it a mission, or something else that called to him?
It was instinct more than a conscious thought that bid him to gently run two metal fingertips over the curious object, and when he did: something happened.
It was subtle at first, so faint that it took him a moment to even register anything had changed. Then, he caught the glimmer of pale warm light illuminating his skin. The golden glow was surreal, and it emanated from between the plates of his metal arm like the luminescence was coming from deep within. The light was wispy, casting an ethereal luster over the strange swirls of dust surrounding him. They moved, churned, as if they were alive.
He wasn't certain if the light grew brighter, or if his eyes simply saw fit to adjust to the radiance emanating from between the plates of his left arm, but he was at once able to make out more. His own hands, arms, the strand of spherical beads surrounding his right wrist that now shone with carved runes that glowed with a quiet white-blue light.
He recognized those symbols, too. Wakandan.
His eyes fell to the objects around him that were once cast in profound shadow, but were now just barely discernible thanks to the warm glow cast by the inner light of his left arm. He could see papers. Books. Small rounded objects with short stems that looked like fruit of some sort. A coffee cup. Keys. Buttons. Pliers. A backpack. Masks. Notebooks. Clothing. A skull. Journals. Pens. Knives. A jar. A globe. A rimmed hat of some sort.
It was more than he could take in at once, but he tried to see it all, to catalog every detail, every flicker of illuminated shadow cast across his vision.
His attention was suddenly drawn back to the thin object clutched in his right hand. He bid his eyes to focus on it as he held it. Intently, he raised his left palm, hoping he could leverage the outpouring of golden light and finally identify it.
But no matter what he did, he struggled to make out the exact shape or nature of it. He couldn't tell if it was because of the play of the light and shadow, because the object itself wasn't completely tangible, or because it didn't want to be seen.
He regarded it, confused until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked out across the void to see the glowing light of his arm reflected in the surreal wall of water a short distance away.
The light reflected against the undulating surface of it, but for a moment, he could see through it to the other side.
Then, everything went dark.
[ID: A painting of Bucky standing within a dark, dream-like place. He is shirtless, dressed in pair of blue jeans, and has a pair of dog tags hanging from around his neck and a strand of Wakandan Kimoyo Beads around his right wrist. He is looking at an obscured, flat silver item in his right hand. His left arm is a Wakandan-made prosthetic that is gunmetal silver with gold seams that appear to be glowing. The objects behind him in the half-light are faint, but appear to include plums, a Starbucks cup, a book, papers, a notebook, and a HYDRA emblem. End ID]
I had the incredible pleasure of working with Shade (Shade_of_stars on Twitter ) on an illustration she created to go along with an important scene from this chapter. Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and link to her Twitter and DeviantArt to see more of her incredible art!
*Huge* thanks to her for her artistry, and for bringing this scene to life.
Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"
I remember many, many moons ago when I started this story, that I knew there would be a number of diverse dream sequences. I was hoping I could capture the surreal "feel" of them, particularly the one(s) that were not simply stark nightmares or reflections on past events.
This one was one that I've been looking forward to, because the visual was so clear in my mind's eye. It's hard for me to put into words on just *how* much Shade knocked the illustration she created out of the park, and how utterly *thrilled* I am that with it.
Author's Remarks:
This is another chapter where logic-me considered dividing it in two (or three…), but I felt like I wanted to put the whole experience out there in one go.
- I enjoyed showing more of gentle play between the various Dora, and how much they obviously care about one-another, as well as the complex and ever-evolving relationship between Barnes and Ayo.
- I love the idea of Barnes in Washington D.C. just… casually feeding strays. Not even trying to pet them, just trying to make sure they had food too. There is a very particular sort of empathy I imagine he had, and moments of selfless compassion like these really resonate with me. (Bonus: Even though I imagine he wasn't trying to pet any of the animals, I bet some developed a fondness for him.:) )
- There are lots of stories out there about moments of utter torture that the Soldier no-doubt suffered, but I wanted to show something that was more grounded. How *would* they have dealt with him in the aftermath of major injuries when they couldn't simply shove him back into storage for the next mission?
- And building off of questions about Bucky's past: We saw in "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" what it was like for Ayo to finally speak the code words and for Bucky to be "free," but what about the *first* time she spoke them…?
- And strange that we have apparently returned to the place we last saw "Bucky" in Chapter 32…
I wanted to get this chapter out before my Birthday this weekend (yay!), and I hope you enjoyed it. We still have quite the adventure ahead of us! Any ideas on what you think might happen next?
I've been doing a lot of overtime on this end, and I thank you for your continued support as we travel through some interesting times for our cast of characters. This particular chapter is one I've been looking forward to writing for many months, and not only am I thrilled to *finally* share it with you, but I feel so immeasurably blessed for your readership and continued company along the way. I'll say it once and a hundred times more: your comments, kudos, and encouragement continue to be a light in the darkness. As ever: Thank you.