I hope you've had a wonderful month! I've been diving into my new job with gusto and trying to work out a more sustainable work/life balance so I can dig into all sorts of passions and creative pursuits.
Speaking of, I have a short little video I worked on and a new gouache painting of Barnes that I've shared after we dive into this chapter! There's also an all-new piece of art by Ri ("partly_cloudie" on Instagram) that corresponds with a prior chapter!
…Is that a whiff of angst I sense ahead…?
Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art, video, and links to everyone's social media!
Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"
Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 86 - Phantom Limbs
Summary:
As Sam and Ayo hurry towards downtown to catch up with Princess Shuri, Yama, and Nomble, Barnes closes in on their perpetrator, well aware that he may need to intervene on their behalf…
Speaking strictly in terms of relative distance, Barnes was certain his recent jump had bridged the gap to bring him closer to his intended targets, but didn't take him long to realize that perhaps he'd been premature in celebrating his successful river crossing. After all, he wasn't out of the crumbling channel and onto mercifully flat ground just yet.
Moreover: While he'd worked his way along the edge along a thin lip where old stone blocks made way to fractured cement, he was presently at least two stories below street-level, and lacking any resemblance of appropriate tactical gear to support the urgency of his high-stakes climb.
If he just had a grappling hook or retractable zipline, this would all be a lot easier.
He should really talk to Shuri about building something into the arm.
As if the ailing arm was beset on finding ways to spite him, the torque in his left fingers briefly faltered, prompting him to catch himself with his nearest knee to avoid slipping. In response, he might've muttered something under his breath before adjusting his weight to compensate.
"You doin' okay over there?" Sam's winded voice chirped over their shared comms.
The other half of 'Team Underdog' was easily half a dozen blocks away — maybe more — but he still found a way to be just as annoying as if he were standing along the edge of the wall above him critiquing his ascent.
"Just fine," Barnes didn't have a hand to spare to mute his microphone, but he could do without the unnecessary commentary and ongoing Q and A mid-mission.
Tackling the elevation-gains on the western side of the river was slow-going, even by Barnes's standards. It meant scaling a series of sheer retaining walls where the only handholds to speak of were thin winding cracks in the cement that offered him shallow anchors for a few fingers or the tip of his boots. Up ahead, what looked like rebar protruded from the cement, and he angled his approach to work his way towards the hope of more rigid handholds.
He wanted to think that the climb wouldn't have posed much of a challenge in other circumstances. Aside from sorely lacking tactical gear, his sub-par physical fitness and poorly reactive left hand were continuing to slow him down.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something else was gnawing at him too.
He didn't know what it was and tried not to care. To push the sensation down into the dark where it belonged. All he knew was he clearly didn't have time for some vile HYDRA-era flashback when lives were on the line.
Barnes flinched as a crumbling sliver of old cement gave way under the fingers of his right hand and slipped into the black water below. He briefly lost his handhold on the wall and barely managed to shift his weight in time to catch himself with the pinky finger of his bad hand. The grip was trembling and nothing close to clean, but with what Barnes hoped was an inaudible grunt of force, he managed to latch another leather-gloved vibranium finger onto a crevice in the cement and jammed his boot into the wall to prevent himself from slipping back into the river below that reminded him a bit too much of the strange water he'd glimpsed in the Dark Place.
With growing urgency, he contorted his upper-body and stretched up and over his head to grab a hold of what he'd initially taken for rebar, but upon closer inspection, appeared to be a rusty horizontal bar that must've once doubled as part of an access ladder. The sides were bolted into the cement just above him, mirrored by the spacing of open holes above and below where absent rungs once clung onto the sheer wall.
If he hadn't been so eager to get back onto solid ground and stop relying on the questionable leverage of his trembling left pinky and ring finger, he might've thought to test if the metal bar was still load-bearing, but against his better judgment, he urgently wrapped first one hand and then the other around it and held fast.
For a second, it seemed as though his ambition had paid off. But the sensation was fleeting, because the moment he briefly released his footing in an attempt to haul himself upwards and entrust the bar to take on the bulk of his weight, the right mounting plate suddenly snapped free, lurching him towards the darkened water churning two stories beneath him.
The drop below his feet might've been largely inconsequential, but as a burst of bitter cold wind whipped across his face, he found himself scrambling to renew his grip on the buckling metal like his very life depended on it.
But it was the raw terror in the disembodied voice that yelled out to him that shook him to his very core:
"Bucky! Hang on!"
For a moment, it was as if he was in two places at once, with one reality laid atop the other.
He was looking up and to the right along a sheer cement wall capped with the silhouettes of steepled buildings in the distance that were backed with a starless night sky, but at the same time, he was seeing a curled wall of peeled corrugated metal sheeting surrounded by streaks of powdered snow rushing past an overcast grey-blue sky.
And screaming at him, reaching out to him, was none-other than Steve himself.
"Grab my hand!"
The other man was clad in a sullied blue and silver and clung to the side of the warped metal wall, stretching himself to his limits trying to reach him.
The cry of a distant engine rattled the bar he clung to with everything he had. Barnes couldn't understand what he was seeing, but he felt a wave of panic clutch at him as he extended his right hand, desperate to make contact with outstretched Steve's glove. It was so close. His feet dangled helplessly below him as he focused all his strength on reaching Steve. Just a little further and he'd be okay…
The metal groaned in defiance and then suddenly the bar in Barnes's left hand cracked audibly and snapped free from the wall. Before he could even register what was happening, gravity lapsed and he fell backwards, a guttural scream filling his ears.
His scream.
Steve's panicked voice called out after him, "No!"The syllables grew more distant by the thunder of each passing heartbeat, snatched and smothered out by an icy ambivalent wind.
Raw terror gripped Barnes's throat as he fell, but a sudden ghost of sensation through his left hand caught his attention, insisting the conflicting moment hadn't truly passed. In response, he tightened his grip, clinging onto the ailing metal bar as if life itself depended on it. All the while, his heart raced so fast it threatened to beat out of his chest, and all he could do to keep his eyes locked on the exact spot where some buried part of him remembered seeing Steve stretch himself to his limits to reach out to him.
But his eyes. Barnes couldn't shake the sharp fear and panic in those white-rimmed eyes.
He'd seen wide-eyed expressions like it before, but never like this.
The closest thing his shuttered mind could rapidly compare it to was a dozen different faces that knew death incarnate had found them. Ones that hadn't yet accepted that nothing they said or did would change the outcome.
"Buck?" The single syllable slipped into his ear only to be rapidly followed with, "—Shit, I meant Barnes, sorry." Sam rapidly stumbled over his words. "—Anyway! You sure you're okay over there? I saw your vitals spike just now."
It was like his mind was caught up in two places at once, but he wasn't following what Sam was getting at and he struggled to find his voice. The best he could do was to repeat part of Sam's question back at him to buy him time to think, "...My vitals?"
"Yeah, you shared 'em with me awhile back." A pause, "Well not you, you. 'Our friend,' whatever you want to call it.* I just happened to be looking at my phone and saw your resting heart rate is higher'n it normally trends."
Barnes managed to catch maybe half of that, but as he struggled to process the conflicting sensory experiences he'd just been exposed to, the transitory layer over his present reality rapidly faded away into the night like a puff of breath caught up in the chilled wind.
Had that been a memory? But from when?
He couldn't remember seeing anything like it. The closest thing was occasional entries in the journals which…
He could hear the swollen river chuning a distance below his outstretched feet as he gripped the bar with his trembling left hand. Before his thoughts risked slipping right along with him, he found his voice again, "Yeah I… I'm fine." He found his tone unconvincing at best, so he thought to quickly supplement the statement with reassurances while he dangled precariously over the dark and formless water, "Just catching my breath after gaining at least seven blocks, the span of one river, and almost two stories on you."
"—Wait. Two stories? You're off climbing buildings now? That's—"
"—-I'm still working my way out of the channel on the other side," Barnes corrected and did what he could to infuse some confidence into his voice. Even so, the words felt hollow on his tongue as he adjusted his weight and hoped his left hand wouldn't give out entirely as he tried to focus on the task in front of him.
Besides, he didn't want Sam to hear him fall into the water. He'd never hear the end of it.
Sam's mild grumble slipped across their shared comms as he backtracked, "Well good you're doin' okay, and we're closer to six blocks behind you, not seven."
"I told you: I'm fine."
"And that's the third time you've said that," Sam cooly observed, his voice edged somewhere between the valleys of teasing and genuine concern.
Before Barnes could frame up a well-articulated retort, Ayo interjected, "We're almost over the river's crossing, though I don't yet have eyes on you."
"You shouldn't be able to see me," Barnes confirmed, keeping his voice low so as to not risk being overhead as he hung on by one arm in the channel and tried to determine his next move. "It's not a straight shot. There looks to be some temporary structures between us at street level, and I'm trying to lay low and blent in." He considered adding that it would be a whole lot easier to focus if he wasn't having to regularly reassure Sam's hyperactive nerves, but he opted to hold his tongue. It wouldn't help his case at all.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten what he was doing or the pressing nature of the situation he was in, it was just those blue eyes… he couldn't shake the frightening clarity in them. The echo of them was so vivid, that it was increasingly difficult to separate it from his present reality. Those images gnawed at him, pulled him back towards a past he could only grasp in transient shards, like crystalline snowflakes coming undone as they fell against sun-stroked asphalt.
…Had that been when…?
No, he didn't have time for this. Not now.
Not when so much was at stake.
With a grunt of effort, Barnes shifted his grip on the slanted bar and kicked off the wall before the handhold risked giving way like the one burned into his memory. Using both arms and one knee, he forcibly hauled himself up to another break in the concrete and used the burst of momentum to crest over the final ledge. The haphazard tactical maneuver put him back on street level behind a collection of tattered tents and makeshift lodgings surrounding a homeless encampment.
Barnes stayed crouched behind the tents as he briefly regarded the Kimoyo Beads surrounding his wrist to confirm the latest location of the Shuri and the others and the latest intel on their pursuer. Their current trajectory took them north along the main street just a few blocks west of him. To avoid another unnecessary round of call and response over their shared comms, Barnes alerted his companions, "I'm out the other side. Working my way to them now."
"Copy," Ayo succinctly responded before adding, "Sam, let's cross at the next intersection."
"This part'a town's a lot more crowded," Sam grimly observed.
Ayo didn't say anything, but she grunted an affirmative into her microphone that spoke to her displeasure surrounding the observation.
A distance away, Barnes wasted no time in getting to his feet and winding his way around the edge of the homeless encampment. From what he could tell, no one had caught sight of him emerging from the river's edge, but he still had a ways to go to catch up with his target.
With increasing urgency, he hurried across an access path followed by a short sprawl of emaciated brown grass. The flattened vegetation seamlessly blended into a tangled assortment of gnarled vines and bushes that clung to an outcropping offering a view of the river below. While the terrain on this side of the city was at a higher elevation than the east side of the river, it was mercifully less steep than the quadrant he'd just escaped from, but far more compact and built-up, giving the tightly-pressed buildings a claustrophobic ambiance.
As he cut through a thick, thorny hedge towards his destination, he found himself wishing for not the first time that it were easier to identify when he'd last been in Aniana, and through this part of the city specifically. Attempts to calculate the passing of time based on the maturation of trees and shrubberies alone was a flawed measure, because not only was his limited exposure to the city was stunted by missing gaps of time, but it was increasingly apparent that the residents altogether preferred to cut down and replant trees rather than to let them grow and flourish uninhibited.
Or maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe they'd simply never managed to take root properly? Or maybe the plants themselves were purchased and transplanted with aspirational intent, only to be often overlooked when it came time to tend to their care?
No matter the cause, Barnes was certain the shrubberies and withered branches hadn't looked anything close to this the other times he'd passed through.
Whenever that was.
The buildings were largely familiar, though. While their faded lacquers didn't always match the exacting colors in his mind's eye, their silhouettes and musky alleyways harkened back to bygone eras. Barnes found it difficult to tap into the details, but it was as if he could skim the surface of what HYDRA'd buried deep below.
And right now, he couldn't risk sinking deeper into those dangerous wells of memory. It only risked distracting him from the present.
The sleeping city rose up around him. Everywhere he looked, seas of compact shops and boarded-up stores occupied the street level like a veritable three-dimensional maze. The base of the buildings were stacked high with dilapidated residences stretching up an additional two or three extra stories, but the precarious construction prompted some buildings to lean out and over the cobblestone streets and alleyways like they were trying to crowd out one another.
Or maybe that wasn't it at all? Maybe the city itself was suffocating and struggling to breathe?
Whatever the case may be, Barnes found himself oddly at home within the city's labyrinthine passageways. They didn't always match the images in his mind, but he found he was able to quickly navigate its winding footpaths without the assistance of the maps Shuri'd preloaded onto his Kimoyo beads.
It was like it was oddly second nature.
…It just would have been easier if there weren't so many differences.
Key junctions had been adapted over the years. Sometimes the architectural evolution consumed nearby buildings, folding them together at poorly-masoned seams, but other times, buildings had been torn down in what Barnes took for an attempt to widen the ill-fitting streets and accommodate an increased flow of traffic that some sunken part of him noted was also wide enough to accommodate standard wartime tanks.
But the bones of the city were still there, buried beneath the thin veneer of "progress."
Barnes frowned as he darted in and out of a series of tightly winding alleyways, intentionally avoiding intersecting the known location where Yama's Cry of Ngai bead had been activated a short time ago. Instead, he circled east, keeping a distance from the pinpoint burned in his mind, but he chose to run parallel to the main street so that if it so happened that the other accomplice was still lingering nearby, Barnes could catch sight of him.
M'yra hadn't offered up a detailed description of him, but out of the corner of his eye, Barnes caught sight of a lone man lingering in that particular alleyway. He leaned forward, wavering in place as he kept one palm pressed firmly against the wall in a fight to maintain his balance. Even from this distance, Barnes could make out the sight and acrid smell of the waste sprawled around him. The man kept his eyes tightly closed as he wetly burbled up his dinner onto his shoes and the refuse at his feet.
At the very least, he wasn't presently a threat.
Barnes kept moving and cut across a narrow alleyway marked in Symkarian with "No Trespassing - Private Property." A few steps in, he jumped another fence before sparing a moment to regard the moving pinpricks of light along his wrist. His targets were headed north on a main street less than three blocks from his location, but he knew it would be wise to stifle the compulsion to run headfirst through the crowds M'yra'd mentioned in an effort to catch up to them. It risked not only drawing undue attention to himself, but his years of experience insisted that it was tactically advisable to scope out the pursuant ahead of any potential confrontation rather than freely giving up the element of surprise.
But when a set of blue eyes from a passing stranger briefly glanced Barnes's way, he found himself needlessly searching them for familiarity. He was first to break the unintended contact, but his mind swiftly pulled him back Steve's eyes, and the abject horror he'd glimpsed in them.
But that hadn't been an illusion. He felt certain it was a memory from a bygone era that HYDRA'd snatched away like so many others.
Barnes only wished he could shake the sight of it. He had to focus on the present and the host of unknown dangers lurking ahead and not give into emotional impulses or introspection.
Separately, he found himself struggling in the moment to separate what he might've been compelled to do in a different era. Back when his mission objectives were set by a Handler's directives and often all-but ignored collateral damage. He wanted to believe his latest urge was driven by his own desire for clarity and answers and not some holdover from the conditioning he'd endured for so long. Because as much as a part of him wanted to overtake the pinprick of red light ahead and swiftly pull him into the shadows for questioning, he knew their pursuer was out in the open, surrounded by crowds of onlookers. Choosing to directly engage him unprovoked would carry significant consequences, therefore it was imperative he temper his straightforward desire for answers, and be more calculated in his approach.
This wasn't a kill mission. He didn't need to overcommit.
But it also didn't hurt to have a contingency if things went sideways.
Barnes's jog slowed as he reached the end of the adjoining alley to the main street and he regarded the sprawling sight before him. Even though it was nearly midnight, this section of downtown was noticeably busier than any of the other areas he'd passed through tonight. Scattered groups loitered and smoked cigarettes in the open spaces between a pair of congested bars and a dimly illuminated pawn shop with a flickering 'Open' sign. The surprising density of people, passing cars, and rolling colored lights combined into an overabundance of movement that prompted Barnes to spend a few seconds running broad threat assessments on each individual while he scouted the rooftops and exposed patios for anyone occupying optimal surveillance locations. Tapping into that part of his brain was second-nature, and he rapidly cataloged each person by various factors and crossed-compared to known threat vectors, tracking each figure as they threaded between one another and in and out of run-down establishments with various levels of urgency.
His mind operated unhindered as it committed the individuals moving along the cobblestone sidewalks and streets to memory, but it was increasingly distracting how his fractured mind struggled to work with him. To make sense of what he saw and place it among the warped timeline of his fractured life. How it insisted the pawn shop's signage was overlaid with declarations by different owners from at least two eras. How the display pieces behind its barred windows changed and shuffled so much that it was impossible for him to pinpoint the chronology of the various times he'd passed by them.
But one thing was certain: While the area was more crowded and congested in his mind's eye, but was busy enough at this late hour that he was surprised Shuri and the others had opted to wander this deeply into downtown on their own.
What exactly had they been set on doing?
Barnes waited for an opening after a passing group of chatty teens out well beyond their curfew before he stepped out onto the dimly-lit sidewalk and folded easily into the space in their wake. He made it a point to keep his head down and his hands in his pockets to signal he was inclined to mind his own business, and reached out with his senses to absorb his surroundings. The little flickers of conversation. The rumble and whine of passing decades past needing a tune-up. The damp and rancid smells of decay no amount of city rainwater could wash away. Barnes took it in all at once, like he was trying to feel out the scars in Aniana's fingerprint.
The street wasn't brightly lit by any means, but when he chanced to glance up to take note of yet another renamed local business, he found himself squinting from the abrupt increase in illumination, courtesy of a pulsing streetlamp accompanied by a blaring neon sign that promised 'Liquid Death' to those that entered.
The next street lamp was out, and Barnes used the gift of dappled darkness to hurry around the slowly moving teens ahead of him on the sidewalk to expedite catching up with his intended target. Unfortunately, this section of the city was level and crowded enough to make it difficult to pinpoint the wolf lurking in their midst through a sea of shoulders, heads, and obnoxious winter hats. Even so, he quickened his pace to bridge the gap towards the last known location of the pursuant.
As Barnes hurried past another darkened street lamp, something about the repeated sight of shattered lights gnawed at him in a very particular way, and he found himself beset on diagnosing why his sharp instincts insisted it was troubling. It wasn't as if the odd dead streetlamp was innately cause for alarm, but he had enough lived experience to know that the bulbs contained in them weren't liable to explode on their own and shatter the frosted orb surrounding it. Like traffic signals, the bulbs were housed inside of thick plastic casings for protection, and to ensure that a passing group of teenagers with rocks and too much free time couldn't easily make a game out of testing how many they could extinguish in one idle evening.
But why were so many out in this area in particular? His instincts insisted it was too many to be a coincidence.
Before Barnes could register another conscious thought, a sharp flare of pain shot through his left shoulder and radiated deep in his torso. His step briefly faltered from the flash of sensation, and if he hadn't caught a brief sizzle of energy near his left ear, he might've mistakenly thought he was under attack. Instead he reflexively clenched his teeth and quickly recovered his footing, hoping that no one had noticed, or if they had, that they'd taken it as merely a stumble caused by the uneven cobblestones at his feet.
It would have been preferable if the pulse was short-lived, but this particular instance persisted longer than the others had. The sensation clutched at Barnes, forcing him to ball his hands into rigid fists within his pockets while he held his breath and rode it out.
He knew it would pass, like the others. He just wished it didn't remind him of the times HYDRA'd stopped his heart or deprived him of oxygen just to see how close they could push him to the edge. All the while, they valiantly disallowed him from embracing the finality of the blackness that surrounded him, and the soundless end to the pain that he lived with every moment of every day.
Yeah, he could ride this out.
He'd dealt with far worse, after all.
Barnes reminded himself of the records of just how long HYDRA had logged him capable of holding his breath, and focused on keeping his feet moving one after the other. He was uncertain of the underlying cause of the persisting malfunction, but his best guess was something in the localized EMP detonation had inadvertently caused a short in the electrical node on his shoulder. He felt certain the interaction between the reprogrammed Kimoyo Bead that'd masked his traversal across the river and the cautionary node that King T'Challa'd affixed to the back of his left shoulder to subdue him a little over two days ago wasn't intended, but it didn't make it any less painful or distracting. Thankfully, the latest pulse wasn't nearly as debilitating as that first encounter with the King had been. Even still, the sensation felt noticeably stronger than the ones he'd experienced when trying to cross Aniana's river.
There weren't enough data points to extrapolate anything conclusive, but he hoped it wasn't trending towards increasingly stronger impulses. Regardless of his resolve, it could put the mission at risk if it got much worse.
As he gritted through the pain and waited for it to finally start to subdue, some part of him noted that he should tell Ayo at some point. Not now. Maybe later once he had affirmation Shuri and the others were okay. At the very least, Barnes hoped the pulses weren't interfering with the live-data collection surrounding his brain. At the very least: receiving the occasional jolt of retaliatory electricity wasn't anything close to accidentally falling into a period of unscrupulous REM sleep.
No, he'd be fine. He was probably just overthinking things.
That, or Sam was starting to rub off on him.
He wasn't sure which was worse.
Around the time he was wondering if oxygen deprivation was starting to formally kick in, he felt the pain emanating from his shoulder finally start to recede. He sucked in a long breath of chilled air as the raw sensation in his shoulder was drawn back into a dull ache that blended in with the various muscles and tendons that insisted his current fitness level was sub-par. As the world around him stabilized and came back into crisp focus, he noted that he'd managed to maintain an acceptable forward momentum and was a block closer than he'd remembered being.
He was just a little winded.
Totally fine.
As if to solidify his resolve, Barnes flexed the fingers of his vibranium hand one-by-one. They complied to his will, but there was something subtly off about their responsiveness. Or maybe it was just his overactive imagination? It was difficult to be sure, especially when his distracted mind found reason to replay the harrowing moment he'd glimpsed when he was dangling precariously from the metal rail along the canal wall.
When was that? Was it from the before times Steve'd made mention of? One of those hinted at in the Smithsonian exhibit and peppered throughout his mismatched journals?
Even though he acknowledged that in some strange way, he'd been the one to pen them, the bulk of those passages still felt like they were written by someone else. Their detailed observations offered shades of intent cast over blocks of text, numbers, and simplistic diagrams. But it was like reading a story secondhand. Or in this case: not a story, but raw facts, data, and unhinged moments collected together into an amalgam that was anything but chronological, and often absent of solid connections that Barnes could directly relate to.
But this… this wasn't anything like that he'd read in those journals. It was like a shot of vivid color straight through his oxygen-deprived brain.
He didn't understand it. How each passing breath fit into the larger picture of his fractured life, yet he acknowledged it was him holding onto the rail high in the open air. He felt every aspect of it, down to the bone-cold chill of the metal in his palm and the icy wind cutting across the hair on the back of his hand.
He'd felt it all on a phantom limb he couldn't remember having.
And moreover: His mind hadn't been fogged with someone else's will and commands. He was sure of it. He hadn't been sent on a mission to kill Steve Rogers.
He'd known him. Recognized him.
It was who he was before. Before HYDRA's drowned him in a mire of their slanted beliefs. Before they'd made him into a weapon.
But that was long ago.
It had to be.
And Steve was dead.
But how? What'd happened?
Did it matter?
It felt like it did. Like it should.
And Steve'd called him 'Bucky.' Looked at him like he knew him.
But Barnes… he hadn't bristled in resilience to the word either. It was like…
The blare of a nearby car shot him straight back to the present. To the slippery, eroded stone sidewalk and the musk of crowds and mildewy jackets milling nearby.
If there was something more that the eerie glimpse into his long-forgotten past meant in the here and now, he'd have to deal with it later. Barnes didn't have time for such considerations. Not when lives were at stake.
Not when he could make a difference.
Barnes ground his teeth and discreetly rolled his ailing shoulder within his sleeve as he quickened his pace and hurried around a businessman who was too enraptured with pecking about on his phone to care about whether or not he had the right of way to cross the next intersection.
The car horn bellowed again, and Barnes heard the driver yelling at the distracted businessman who casually struck the car's bumper with this briefcase.
"Can you see them yet?" Ayo's eager voice rose through their shared comms while Barnes threaded through the nighttime crowds.
He hadn't forgotten she, Sam, and potentially M'yra still occupied the audio channel, but hearing her voice again had a way of reminding him that he was presently withholding information from her about the status of his arm and the surreal moment he'd glimpsed while climbing out of the river canal. Barnes wanted to believe that neither were pressing matters, and that under the circumstances, it was inopportune to raise them as concerns. They weren't concerns, afterall. Just facts. Barely footnotes in a status update.
Then why did letting them go unsaid make him feel so unnecessarily guilty?
"Negative," Barnes timed his whisper so it was all-but drowned out by the sound of a retaliatory car horn.
"We're still workin' our way over the main street you're on," Sam observed. "You sure there's nothing wrong with your vitals? There was another little spike maybe a minute ago, like—"
"I'm fine," Barnes insisted. The statement came out as more of a growl than he intended, and the woman ahead and to his right briefly glanced over her shoulder and sized him up. With trained experience, she shifted her purse to her far shoulder, clutching the strap securely in both hands.
The reaction wasn't out of the ordinary. Barnes knew he'd been a very particular sort of predator in the past, but it wasn't the variety people like her were rightfully worried about. That wasn't how he operated back then.
At least, not that he could remember.
He hated not being able to remember.
With premeditated steps, he opted to give the woman an especially wide berth as he passed her, waiting for the long-distance reply he knew Sam was chewing his way to, "That's the fourth time you've said that now. For a livin' lie detector, you do know you're not altogether convincing, right? We're all on the same team here."
There was an element to Sam's statement that gave Barnes pause and made his frown deepen. As much as Sam was lightly ribbing him — as Sam was often prone to do — it was obvious he was also genuinely concerned. But Barnes wasn't lying. He was fine. And besides: he'd dealt with far worse. His desire to defend himself with a verbal retort was wholly rooted in emotion, not logic, and he forcibly pushed down the inclination. It was ill-advised to speak up and risk delaying his pursuit. Not when he was closing in on his quarry.
And not when he was the only one who might be able to reach the others in time.
"We're approximately seven blocks behind you," Ayo observed. She kept her voice more tempered as she added, "If you see anything…"
"I'll let you know," Barnes whispered in confirmation. When he sighted increasingly dense crowds ahead of him he thought to add, "but I'll need to keep our exchanges to a minimum."
"Understood."
Barnes took the reins on the rhythm of his body and paced his breathing, slowing it down so the mist was barely visible in the air in front of him as he walked. He leaned into well-honed efficiency, lowering his stubbled chin into the rim of his jacket, and adjusting his hands to the tops of his pockets with casual precision and the intent to blend in and disappear into the scenery. He quickened his steps and smoothly threaded into increasingly more occupied areas in search of the tall, brown haired man with the dark green jacket that was presently stalking his friends somewhere a block or so ahead.
Barnes was familiar with solo missions, but the criteria of such war games always carried exactingly specific success parameters that were absent of any sort of emotional attachments. He performed what was asked of him without hesitation, no matter the target.
That's what he'd been led to believe, at least. That as the Fist of HYDRA, he'd served as an unshakable asset to his captors' private goals. It was only more recently that thanks to the fractured images in his head and the scattered words in those journals, he'd become increasingly aware that wasn't always the case.
On more than one occasion, he'd apparently hesitated or disobeyed, even if he couldn't understand why at the time. And while those decisions were swiftly corrected with pain, drugs, oxygen deprivation, electric pulses, and enrichment in the name of a healing salve, he wanted to think that some part of him, even then, realized something was wrong. That being unable to parse the expressions on the faces of the people around him wasn't as it ought to be.
Wasn't as it always had been.
Maybe that was why being able to read all those faces now was almost overwhelming. Because it made him realize the people around him had lives too. Histories. Hopes. Fears. Dreams.
But when he'd been made to be numb to so much — when he couldn't remember anything else — it made missions and blind obedience an evermore straightforward line to walk.
Back on the streets of Washington D.C., Barnes couldn't pinpoint why he's been able to change his mission parameters to keep Steve — and Sam by-proxy — safe: he'd simply done so. Some part of him acknowledged that he was acting against the last set of orders HYDRA'd had for him, but he did it anyway, going so far as to kill any of the agents they sent in his wake.
This was different, though. Not just the location and the people, but the emotions the pursuit churned up in him.
Like his efforts surrounding Steve, there was a deep rooted desire to ensure the people around him were safe and unharmed. A sense of underlying responsibility and intent. But there was more too. It was as if the act of acknowledging the bond he shared with Ayo, Sam, Shuri, and the others — the Ukupakisha ibhondi or 'Pack Bond,' Yama had called it — pushed him to give no less than his all to their case.
But there was another layer too. One that was increasingly difficult to articulate.
It was like he was now not only keenly aware of wanting to avoid collateral damage or put others in harm's way, but although he didn't feel compelled to seek out violence against either of the men that'd provoked Shuri and the others, Barnes felt personally invested in getting to bottom of what they wanted, and to find out if they were working on behalf of someone else.
"M'yra," Ayo's voice smoothly inquired, "Do you still have a visual on the others?"
After a brief pause, Sam interjected his latest wholly unnecessary observation, "...She must still be gettin' things sorted with her mom. Hey, would you be able to take care of that lock with your—?"
Sam's remark was cut-off mid-sentence by a reverberant hum that Barnes quickly identified as a vibranium spear activating, followed by a short metallic *clang.*
"—That works too. I still don't know how you can run in those heels. The last time I was wearin' anything close, I—"
"—Just a moment, my Chief," M'yra's diplomatic voice intervened before Sam could clutter up their shared channel with yet another idle side-story to fill the perfectly accommodating silence. M'yra's words briefly grew more distant as she directed her attention to someone on her end of the call, "Thank you for your quick thinking."
There was a quiet snort in the background, and if Barnes listened hard enough, he could just barely make out Nailah's voice in the fringes of M'yra's microphone, "It is hardly the first time I've drawn your mother's attention away from a chosen pursuit. Hopefully this time she'll be occupied long enough to believe you've sufficiently returned to 'resting.' Until then, I'll be posted in the hall. If you need anything…"
"I'll let you know," M'yra assured her sister Dora before turning her attention back to Ayo with a renewed intensity in her voice, "Yes, the others are still headed north, but their pursuant has not gained on them. It may be that he believes he remains undetected in their wake. The others, they are…" she made a small evaluating sound with her throat, "...well, our Princess and Yama's expressions are both surprisingly jovial. I believe it to be an intentional misdirect to feign comfort in their surroundings and blend in."
"A wise approach if they do not wish to call attention to themselves or coax the predator to engage them," Ayo noted approvingly.
A distance away, Barnes lifted his eyes just enough to note yet another dead street light accompanied by a mounted traffic camera. He kept his head low as he wondered if M'yra was tracing his progress with it too. He couldn't be certain if anyone had caught his activities on either side of the river, but he'd tried to be as subvert as possible under the circumstances.
Had anyone else taken interest in the local live feeds?
Had M'yra been the only one that'd hacked them?
As if reading his mind, M'yra's voice slipped back into their shared communications channel, "You may want to stop looking up at the cameras so often, Sam," she politely advised. "If other eyes are sharing the feeds, it may appear suspicious."
"I wasn't—" the man in question half-sputtered before resorting to an indignant grumble, "Always at least one critic in the peanut gallery…"
What was it with Sam and food-centric remarks?
The combination of the flat roadway and tall buildings to either side of him made Barnes feel as though he was corralled into a man-made valley. Under the circumstances, Barnes privately acknowledged that the street was the most direct method of approach, even though it ran counter to his preferred methodologies which valued key vantage points where he could observe crowds from afar.
There was something to be said for the comfort that came from working through a scope from a distance, knowing his sniper rifle was at the ready as a viable contingency.
As it was, Barnes was forced to constantly reevaluate and run threat assessments on his surroundings while he hunched his shoulders forward, trying to make himself look smaller so he could seamlessly blend in with the pockets of distracted people meandering in opposing directions along the narrow sidewalk. With every step, he remained vigilant of further dangers or accomplices lurking nearby.
Just because they weren't overt didn't mean they weren't there.
While Barnes still hadn't managed to catch sight of any of his targets, he frowned when he noticed the name on a cross-street and realized that their current trajectory connected with the residence of the unreported break-in M'yra'd located the day before. The city wasn't as large as some of the ones he'd passed through, but he couldn't imagine the others would have been blind to their relative proximity. If anything, it made him wonder what exactly had prompted Shuri and the others to come this far into downtown. It could be mere coincidence, but he didn't get the impression any of the Wakandans operated with a level of decided disregard for the potential danger that particular location posed.
Especially when the available evidence seemed to indicate the involvement of a professional.
Could that have anything to do with why so many lights were out along the same street?
Barnes waited until there was an opportune moment and he could use the cover of someone coughing nearby to mask his words. He kept his voice whisper-quiet as he inquired, "How close did they get to the address up ahead?" Hopefully M'yra would latch onto the subtext.
"They did not previously approach the premises," M'yra swiftly confirmed, though Barnes didn't miss the tension riding between her words. She knew exactly what he was getting at.
"What premises?" Sam asked, not following.
"The location of the unreported break-in. It's a few blocks directly north of our Princess's current location."
"...So you think they were planning to scope it out?"
"I do not presume to know my Princess's intentions," M'yra quickly clarified before more delicately adding, "but it would not be outside of the realm of possibility."
"Well…" Sam breathed, "All things considered? I suppose it wasn't like we weren't doin' a flavor of the same."
"...''The same?'" M'yra repeated, not following.
"It was not the same," Ayo swiftly interjected. "We were merely investigating the history of our location."
In passing, Barnes found he now understood why HYDRA had insisted on keeping chatter to a minimum on their communications channels. The flow of cursory conversation was needlessly distracting from the present.
"I will discuss it with them at our earliest opportunity," Ayo noted over their shared comms, indicating the topic and related inquiries should be tabled for the time being.
Barnes scented alcohol on the air and had to take a step to the side to avoid colliding with a trio of oblivious bar patrons that were deep in conversation about the merits of drawbacks of various mixed beverages. They passed by Barnes's eyeline just as he caught sight of a green-jacketed man up ahead who dipped his head before crossing the next intersection. His movements weren't overtly threatening, but his nervous energy and the way he kept his attention unilaterally focused a distance ahead of him made Barnes swiftly conclude that he'd located his primary target.
About a block beyond the brown-haired man, Barnes spotted his Pack-mates on the sidewalk maneuvering through the crowds single-file. Obscured in a long braided wig, Nomble led the way while Yama, outfitted in her signature grey knitted cap, positioned herself protectively between the threat in their wake and Princess Shuri close in front of her.
At some point, Shuri's apparently chosen to don a set of glasses since he'd last seen her. Perhaps they'd gone shopping too?
A wave of mild relief washed over Barnes at the visual confirmation that he wasn't too late. The three of them indeed were uninjured as M'yra had claimed, and did not appear to be in immediate danger.
…Was Shuri on her phone? Strange. From what Barnes could tell, loathed just devices. Perhaps it was her means of blending in with the populace?
But what was she so focused on?
Had she found something?
…Or maybe she'd been alerted to his vitals too? He wanted to think it hadn't been that bad. Sam was probably just overreacting.
Barnes couldn't get a good look at any of them, but their movements didn't appear overly anxious, likely credit to their significant training. They stepped through the crowds with almost jovial intention. Well, except for Nomble. From this distance, Barnes couldn't make out her exact expression, but there was something to be said for the methodical way she led them through the sea of people, threading them back and forth across the sidewalk in a tight 'W' that kept them constantly in motion, so much so that it was even difficult for Barnes to track them.
After affirming their condition, Barnes adjusted his pace to fall into step behind a particularly chatty couple so he could blend in long enough to evaluate his target and rapidly diagnose the man's intentions.
He was tall, slender with a mess of brown hair that looked to be more happenstance than intent. The jacket he wore was too large and worn around the edges and elbows. Probably secondhand. His dark boots were a more recent acquisition, but the sort of accessories someone selected in preference for traction over the rain slicked streets rather than footwear that favored stealth or style. He walked along the sidewalk with his right hip along the storefronts to help him sink into his surroundings, but he moved with surefooted intention and kept his head locked forward with a predator's intent. His hands were tucked tightly into his pockets, and from his silhouette and the tension in the man's right wrist, Barnes was fairly certain he was armed with a small handgun of some sort. If it was equipped with a standard magazine, that put it at around a dozen rounds, give or take. It didn't appear he was novice enough to walk with his finger arched around the trigger, though. No… it looked more like he'd adjusted his grip to try and obscure the rigid shape in his pocket.
Or maybe he was keeping his hand on it to self-soothe? Like he was second-guessing what he was trying to do here?
With each passing glimpse at the man ahead of him, Barnes was able to pick out small tells that expanded his ever-expanding read on his target. Like how even though the other man was surrounded by crowds of people, he didn't spare a single cycle to take inventory of his surroundings or take advantage of the reflections in nearby shop windows to help inform him of anyone who might be looking his way.
No, this clearly wasn't a trained professional — that much was clear. But that didn't make the situation any less dangerous. Even an idiot with a gun could still be just as deadly.
He just wouldn't be wise enough to be thinking ahead, or self-conscious enough to consider that anyone but his elusive quarry might have eyes on him.
That gave Barnes the advantage.
His rough evaluation of the other man prompted Barnes to quickly run through the gamut of the perpetrator's possible intentions. It was obvious he was unilaterally set on stalking the women ahead of him, but what did he want with them? Had he recognized Shuri or identified them as Wakandans? What was his end goal? Their pursuer was determined, but he wasn't trying to rush into catching up with them. But maybe he was just waiting for them to make the mistake of wandering into a less-crowded area before he chose the right moment to strike?
Whatever it was: Barnes would be ready.
[Chapter 86 Chapter Art, by KLeCrone]
[ID: A gouache painting by KLeCrone showing a portrait of Barnes's face and part of his chrome left shoulder. He has a distant expression and has long brown hair and stubble and is seen against a green and blue background. End ID]
A couple months ago I completed this two-sitting gouache painting of Barnes that is based off of a scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier when the Winter Soldier is in a chair being interrogated by Pierce at the bank prior to being wiped. I really wanted to capture that feeling of confusion and disassociation he feels when he sinks into memories he doesn't understand and can't fully grasp the context of, similar to Barnes in this chapter when he's having a flashback of falling off the train.
I hope you enjoy this piece of art. I'm especially proud of the colors in his skin tones and look forward to doing some painting again soon!
[Chapter 30 Chapter Art, by Ri]
[ID: An illustration by Ri showing Barnes and four Dora Milaje in full regalia locked in battle inside the Wakandan Propulsion Laboratory. An overturned table and broken experiments lay sprawled behind the figures. Barnes is wearing a dark grey t-shirt, blue and gold shawl, medium blue pants, and has black and gold vibranium arm. He is bruised and bleeding and has a sneer across his face. Barnes is crouched down on one knee glaring at the Dora Milaje to his right who is holding a spear, the tip of which has been thrust into his foot, pinning him to the ground by the tip of one blade. She and the other Doras grip the shafts of three other spears which they have clasped around Barnes's neck. They pulse with bright blue-white electricity while the Dora's holding them struggle to subdue him. End ID]
The Propulsion Laboratory fight from Chapter 38: "Schrödinger's Soldier" has always been such a poignant story beat for me, and I loved playing with reader expectations about if this was "The Soldier" or not, and the eventual reveal at the end that he wanted to be called 'Barnes.' I am so incredibly humbled that Ri ("partly_cloudie" on Instagram) was keen to illustrate such an action-packed scene between Barnes and the four Dora trying in earnest to subdue him (including M'yra on the far right!).
This is such a compelling and dynamic scene, and I love how much tension she was able to infuse this pivotal moment. Their poses, and little details are all so wonderfully handled and evocative, and I love the energy and sense of resolve you can see in Barnes's fierce eyes.
Please check out her Instagram account to see more of her beautiful and vivacious art. Her characters have such wonderful life and personality to them!
Once again: A *huge* thank you to Ri for capturing such a poignant moment between these characters.
Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the gorgeous art and links to the artist's social media pages as well as the video below!
Author's Remarks:
I've started a new position as Lead Artist, Seasons for Diablo IV at Blizzard Entertainment, and it's been a wild month as I work on settling into my new role!
To celebrate the occasion, I made a little video to go along with it, featuring Vaeflare, my Diablo III Fallen Hound forum avatar. You can find my announcement video on my YouTube or linked from Ao3 and my social media accounts.
Also a huge heaping of thanks to Anna Morgan for not only being an incredible friend and enabler, but for lending her editing and creative magic to bring this piece to life!
As another note: The next chapter should also be coming sooner rather than later, as I ended up dividing this particular chapter up since it was getting a little long.
* - Bucky shared his vitals with Sam way back in Chapter 30: "Remembrance" after he'd come out of a partial cryo freeze and wanted to go out on his own to apologize to Nomble.
- Barnes is Doing Fine, Really - I'm sure his arm is great and those flashback he had of falling off the train aren't at all distracting him from his current mission… Nothing to be concerned about…
- Chapter Title Origins - 'Phantom Limbs'- The title of this chapter originates from Phantom Limbs, which is a sensation many amputees experience to varying degrees. This felt especially relevant to Barnes in this chapter, since he didn't really recall ever having a flesh-and-blood left arm.
Say hi and connect with me on social media:
- "KLeCrone" on Twitter and Tumblr
As always, thank you for all your wonderful comments, questions, thoughts, and words of encouragement on this story. Knowing that others out there are following alongside me on this crazy journey truly keeps me fueled to keep on writing, especially on these more intricate chapters which take a *lot* of time to plan, write, and edit. I can't wait to share what's ahead with you!