Winter of the White Wolf: Post S1 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

by KLeCrone

While Bucky would prefer to believe that his time as the Winter Soldier is long behind him, strange dreams and the shadows of missing memories prompt him to explore where the Winter Soldier ends and the White Wolf begins... This story dives into the bonds of friendship, the aftermath of betrayal, and includes a lively mix of banter, action, angst, and globe-trotting adventure.

94. Tangled Leash

I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday season and new year! California recently suffered some extensive and highly destructive wildfires that have impacted many people I know. Hopefully by the time you read this, they've calmed down, but I hope you and yours are safe wherever you are reading from in these wild and often trying times of ours, and I hope this story can be a little oasis for all of us.

Alongside this update, I've created an all-new angsty painting to go along with this chapter that took me a bit longer than I was planning, but I hope it's worth the wait! The full painting and further links and information can be found below the prose for this chapter on Ao3.

Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and links to my social media!

Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"

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Winter of the White Wolf

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Chapter 94 - Tangled Leash

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Summary:

While Shuri, Ayo, and Nomble rest elsewhere in the safehouse, Sam and Yama keep watch over Barnes during his prescribed sleeping regimen…

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Early into the dark morning hours, two utterly uneventful sleep cycles passed under Yama's careful watch. Well, if you could call them sleep cycles at all.

Yama found she had grown oddly accustomed to the predictable patterns of these timed responsibilities. It was not that she enjoyed watching over someone else as they slept, but she found it favorable compared to the far more distressing sequences of sleeping and waking she'd witnessed when their White Wolf had repeatedly endured the chill of both full and partial cryo for his many treatments. She had hoped they had seen the last of such times, but she did not know what the future held for him now. At least these periods of prescribed rest were sizably less troublesome.

Like the prior sleep cycle and those on the mountain, when her synced sixty-minute timer chimed at her wrist and his blue eyes rustled and fluttered open, she could immediately pinpoint his expression as uniquely 'Barnes.' She wasn't certain she could have articulated how she recognized him and his quiet grace floating above so much purpose and determination. It simply was. It was like trying to put into words how she knew her own palms apart from other hands.

While she still yearned for a solution for the ailments plaguing his troubled mind, the strangest thought had a way of flitting across her mind, like a butterfly startled into motion from an errant leaf. She did not know if she might ever speak with White Wolf again, at least not in the way his mind once was. Deep in her heart, a part of her had made peace with the possibility, and in doing so, she had made room for Barnes and the strange new life she hoped might open up for him. But like the darting maneuvers of a butterfly, Yama found herself wrestling with a strange thought of how she might have felt if their White Wolf had opened his eyes instead.

What only days ago might've been cause for immediate celebration felt off kilter now, like trying to eat off a table that wobbled if you put the weight of one of your elbows upon it. Yama didn't know what the Gods might have planned for them, but the thought of trading the man she'd come to know as 'Barnes' for 'White Wolf' now felt just as unsettling, but in a wholly different way. She didn't have the elegance of words for it as Nomble might, and while she told herself it was far past the time for maintaining a unwavering preference in these incredibly interconnected and nuanced matters, the best way she could quantify how she felt was that she no longer viewed Barnes as merely an echo of White Wolf. No, he was a whole person, and she chose to grasp the hope that things would turn out alright in the end, even if she didn't know what that might look like. She only wished that he had many more days ahead of him where his mind was still sharp with purpose.

Just as easily as she could tell that the blue eyes looking back at her were Barnes, she could also tell that — once again — he had barely been under.

"You are safe and among friends," Yama calmly recited words of reassurance while Sam sat beside her on the floor outside of the energy dome. She lowered the volume on the nature ambiance audio track meant to help him sleep. "You are in Symkaria. Your mind is your own. You are here because you sought answers for your many questions, and we shared in your curiosities. You are waking from your third of nine periods of rest."

Like the cycle before, their Lost Wolf sucked in a deep breath he reconstituted into a defeated sigh as he adjusted his shoulders and sat up from his bedroll. Running his fingers over his face and along the edge of his hairline, Yama got the feeling he was still half-expecting to find long strands of brown hair in their place. He turned and met her eyes. "How long was I under?"

"Technically? Your eyes were closed for fifty-eight minutes, but…" Yama made a gesture with her hand to open a holographic HUD and scroll backwards through a simplified hypnogram, "it doesn't appear as though you ever entered into NREM sleep. The readout categorizes you as being awake the whole time. Does that feel accurate to your experiences, or do you feel as though you've slept?"

Sam kept tabs on the conversation from a few feet beside Yama where he'd resolved to keep watch over the proceedings. He'd indulged her in casual chatter to pass the time, but in the periods surrounding Barnes's prescribed wake-up schedule, Sam traded in his penchant for conversation for a second set of alert eyes to ensure everything went smoothly with the transition. He'd made no excuses about the fact that this tender period between sleep and waking had a way of putting him on edge, and somewhere in the third hour he'd confided that his nerves had a way of replaying the most violent possibilities.

Yama hadn't pressed for details, but some part of her was glad Sam had been spared from the many times the man in front of her had awakened with only the vile will of absent shadows commanding his chilling blue eyes, and the violent intent centered there. In those times, it was easy to see him as the Soldier he so feared, but now Yama wondered if she saw them again, if she would be able to see the man she knew trapped inside, screaming for help. She wanted to think she could.

Barnes briefly glanced in Sam's direction. In response, Sam extended a single hand towards Yama, prompting him to answer her latest inquiry. "I don't think I slept. It's like I'm stuck at the surface, unable to go under."

The frustration was palpable in his voice, and she only wished there was more she could do to allow him to have a restful period of sleep. It wasn't the first time that he hadn't managed any truly restorative slumber, and she yearned for a way to negotiate with his brain to allow him some iota of reprieve from the worldly stresses that were continuing to weigh down. "Princess Shuri has said that we cannot prescribe sleep aids," she apologized.

"I know. I wish even this didn't have to be an uphill fight," exhaustion clung to his voice.

"Have you tried clearing your head?" Sam gently suggested.

The hint of annoyance along the leading edge of Barnes's lip said it all. "If you know the cheat code for that, I'd love to hear it."

Sam winced slightly but Yama raised an eyebrow at Barnes's choice to draw out a hint of dark humor concerning their situation.

"Can't say I know anything that cuts through the noise," Sam commiserated. "For me at least, eventually the exhaustion wins out, but I'm not sure if it's the same for you."

The three of them sat on the floor listening to the faint audio accompaniment of a sleeping forest while Barnes resolved to scan the room and crane his neck to check the time on the microwave.

"Do you have anything new to write down?" Yama offered up as a consolation prize.

Barnes shook his head, glancing back to the pile of journals stacked in and around his weathered black backpack. "Not really. I was mostly just laying there thinking about the stuff from yesterday."

"You're not the only one," Sam commiserated, prompting a heavy sigh from Barnes. It was always intriguing watching the two of them interact, for as much as Barnes might've preferred to picture himself as a lone wolf, it was clear he shared bonds with Sam and looked to him for both advice and comfort, even if the manner they vollied words sometimes reminded Yama of teasing siblings.

It made her wonder for not the first time how Barnes's — and White Wolf's — life might've gone differently if Sam had been able to track him down sooner, closer to when he had first pulled Steve Rogers from the river. Would Steve Rogers have brought him to Tony Stark for treatment, and would they have been able to help clear the worst of HYDRA's handiwork? Yama didn't know the full capabilities of their medical technologies, but she wanted to believe that in time, they might've been able to work towards a similar resolution as he'd found in Wakanda.

Separately, she wondered if Wakanda would have continued to remain sheltered from the world were it not for Ultron and the fall of Sokovia's capital. The city's collapse led the way for Zemo's vile actions and misplaced desire for revenge, but without those events and his choice to ensnare White Wolf in his scheme, how would White Wolf have ever made his way within Wakanda's borders so that gentler hands could try to make right so much terrible cruelty that was done to him?

The idle thoughts left the strangest connections floating in her periphery. Were it not for some twists of fate that had overlapped the lives of King T'Challa with Steve Rogers and their White Wolf, then there may have never been a Battle for Wakanda at all. Not only that, but they would not have rallied to unite in the Battle of Earth five years later that lifted the Decimation and returned the Vanished.

Wakanda wouldn't have known Thanos was coming, and seeing what she had, it was clear they wouldn't have been able to stand alone against him. Neither would the Avengers or any singular group of Guardians of the Galaxy, Masters of the Mystic Arts, Ravagers, Einherjar, or anyone else. It was only through their combined efforts that they managed to carve out a hard fought victory.

It was strange to think how differently things might have gone for the world and universe at large were it not for chance encounters and the small defining moments in their own lives.

Funny, that.

As Yama regarded Barnes, she found herself reflecting on how odd it was to think he remembered so precious little of the time surrounding those events, and with it, the bulk of their gravitas. You could only understand so much about a thing if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes (or in his case: couldn't remember). There was no substitute for the experience itself.

Which was part of why Yama felt her own empathy rise with Barnes's sheltered words. "It's… strange, knowing I was here before. Not in this room specifically," he quickly corrected, "but in the city. In Aniana. On some of the same streets we were on tonight. I don't remember most of the details. It's like the connections are just out of focus, but I can't help thinking that if I can just put some of them together, then maybe we can make something of it. Maybe find out if HYDRA's still active here, and what happened to those men I dragged here. I know it's a long shot but…" he faded off.

Sam leaned his weight back onto his palms. It was obvious to Yama that he was choosing his next words carefully. "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't wanna know what happened to 'em too. But it bears repeating that you didn't know what you were doin' back then. You can't blame yourself for what they made you do."

Barnes didn't look so convinced. "I was the one that brought them in. My head might've been fogged, but I had a decent idea what HYDRA was planning for them. The basics, at least. I still did it."

"You wouldn't have if they didn't have power over ya," Sam gently correctly. "That awful nail business you went through wasn't part'a the realm of 'gentle suggestion.' It's valid to feel guilt or regret over stuff that happened, but blamin' yourself for their directives isn't gonna get you anywhere. You were a victim in all that. You get that, right?"

Barnes chewed the silence before finally responding, "Doesn't feel like it," he admitted unevenly.

"It might not, but it doesn't make Sam's words any less true," Yama added. "But we cannot tell you how to feel, only that should be suspect of accepting the burden of decisions that were unjustly forced upon you."

While the exchange didn't offer some miraculous veneer of closure, something in the way Barnes sucked in a breath of air and held it tight in his mouth before he slowly let it out made Yama feel as though he hadn't dismissed their words outright. He was percolating on them, evaluating them against unseen metrics in his head and years fraught with conditioning unlike anything she or Sam had ever witnessed firsthand. And maybe it was good he wasn't eager to simply abandon one set of principles for another. That he was clearly taking his time to think things through. To dare to speak candid words out loud he was forbidden for even thinking during his charged and very much prolonged conscripted captivity.

"I wish it was easier to sort out," came a faint acknowledgement from the tired man seated inside the orange energy dome. Yama didn't wish to draw attention to comparing Barnes to White Wolf, but there was a vulnerable candor in Barnes's voice that she knew was particularly difficult and uncomfortable for him to not only reach, but air out loud where his words were subject to judgment.

Something latent in their exchange apparently prompted him to shift his attention to the stack of journals nearby. He drummed his fingers as he focused on one in particular and reached across to it, pulling it into his lap and opening it to thumb through to a particular page. Rather than offer a question or commentary, Yama thought to offer him a few minutes of reflection before he prepared to sleep again. Perhaps if he allowed his thoughts to settle like the flecks of glitter in a snowglobe, he might be rewarded with a more restful period of slumber.

Barnes frowned as he looked over a lengthy entry penned in brown ink. Yama couldn't gain any context from the angle she had on the journal, but then, it was likely it was scribed in a coded language anyway. She hated seeing him distressed and unable to sleep, and regardless of the name he chose to go by, the guilt and regret he carried were familiar companions that she knew couldn't be whisked away in a few well-meaning words of reassurance.

She'd seen him wake up restrained and in far worse condition both physically and mentally, and could crispy remember times when he'd required medical intervention to still his struggles and the snarled words he'd spat at them in Russian. He didn't remember the encounters afterwards, not really. Early on in his time in Wakanda, Yama could recall him standing in silence beside Shuri as she played back footage of a period when his mind was terribly encased in fog so that he could see what had happened when he was not himself. When the Soldier he so feared had made himself seen by those in Wakanda that sought to cure him.

Even though the acts were not his doing, it was obvious he was ashamed about them all the same. Like they were a mark of weakness. After that, he didn't ask to see footage of what happened in the times when the Soldier rose or he was made to be obedient while in Wakanda. He chose instead to believe that Ayo and Shuri had his best interests at heart and that was that.

Those periods were strange and uncomfortable, certainly, but he was treated with the utmost respect at all times. The whole process was wholly unsettling and never got easier in time, but it was always a welcome relief when it was time for Ayo to release the reins around his mind so he could come into himself again. It was always her that spoke the words of reassurance that reminded him that he was safe among friends, and where he was. The transition of his consciousness was not always an easy thing to watch, but there was grace in the fact that each time the words were spoken, it was on the calm end of a storm.

But the times his mind had wavered terribly had scared her Yama most. Had made her worry that he might be stuck in that awful place forever without release, and she might not see the man she knew again. The gentle man with good humor who'd carefully tended to and bequeathed fitting names for a small favored herd of goats he called the 'Screaming Avengers.' It wasn't to say that his path to recovery had been straightforward, or without pitfalls, but…

As she sat cross-legged on the floor next to Sam, she watched Barnes — as her duty conscripted her to do — but she did what she could not to make her observation oppressive, because her mind had a way of circling back on itself to recall a particularly harsh memory she wondered if Barnes shared with her. She hoped he didn't. That he was spared from its terrible bite as White Wolf had been, but the memory stuck with her all the same, because outside of these cycles of monitored sleep, it was the only other time Yama had been the one to speak words of reassurance.

And that was because in another room in the Design Center, her Chief had been fighting for her very life after a sinister delayed failsafe had activated in her friend's mind.

Yama had not been there when it happened, but she was there in the minutes and long hours afterwards. She was there when Shuri rushed Ayo into surgery and both King T'Challa and General Okoye were called to ensure the Soldier — who'd been made temporarily unresponsive by Shuri's disabling code word — was shackled until they could figure out what to do with him.

It was one of any number of setbacks that was made all the more terrifying that once they coaxed him awake again, it was still the Soldier behind those icy blue eyes. And it was again and again for many increasingly long and strenuous hours.

Princess Shuri did not speak the fears aloud, but it was clear she worried for Ayo's life, and even once it stabilized, she still did not know if White Wolf might've been lost to them entirely.

Yama wished to see the man she knew behind those fierce blue eyes, but what she saw was a stranger to her. One that was suffering under a terrible poisoning of the mind he could not begin to understand.

And when they finally figured out the proper sequence of words to release him from that horrendous snare? As he lay there bruised, broken, and snackled, Yama could remember being asked to speak words of reassurance to him since her Chief was elsewhere in the Design Center in a medically-induced coma while she underwent treatment for her grievous injuries.

Yama did as she was instructed. She spoke every word with power and conviction while her General, King, Princess, and sword sisters watched on. But instead of being able to guide her friend out the other side of a harrowing experience, as his eyes lifted and he took in Shuri's lab and then Yama in Ayo's place, it was as if she could share in his growing distress in realizing something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"Where is she?" he'd immediately latched onto the person missing from the room as his wild eyes took inventory of the shackles restraining him. He didn't fight or even pay heed to the vibranium bindings as he repeated more emphatically, his voice cracking in terror, "What happened? Where's Ayo?"

Yama had seen him break down before, to wish nothing more than to thrown into the abyssal chill of cryo so he could not hurt anyone, but in brief span of heartbeats where he feared his hands had been made to kill his 'indawo enamanzi amaninzi,' his 'Oasis,' it was as if something twisted inside of him and broke. He didn't care about his own injuries or the ailments plaguing his mind, they were all deemed utterly inconsequential as he immediately latched onto the belief that he had done something unspeakable to which they might never recover.

Princess Shuri and those around her had quickly intervened to assure him that Ayo — while injured — was alive and well. That his worst fears hadn't manifested. They were, however, slim on details. In reality, her Chief had lost a great deal of blood and the injury to her leg was grievous enough that even Wakanda's advanced technologies could not mend it back to how it once was, no matter how much she stubbornly insisted it did not bother her. Yama knew better. But the weight the encounter left on White Wolf was far more long-lasting. The guilt and regret he carried was palpable. Even after many candid and reassuring conversations with Ayo, Yama knew he placed the blame squarely on himself for what had happened.

In the wake of those dire events, White Wolf had asked to see what they had, but this time Shuri declined his request outright. She would not have him relive or bear witness to how perilously close he'd come to ending Ayo's life and the time thereafter. Yama knew Shuri made this decision to protect him. That it would not dampen the ache of guilt he felt for events wholly out of his control. While Yama hadn't been with them when his mind had initially been thrown sideways and replaced by the will of the vengeful Soldier, the unexpected sight of both their bodies lying motionless on the ground was shocking enough, but to see her Chief's limbs twisted at unnatural angles while she bleed out on the grass was something Yama would never be able to unsee.

Times like those, while blessedly rare, had a way of leaving their mark. But they also strengthened their Pack's resolve to see their work through, regardless of if White Wolf found himself deserving of their continued help. Over the years Yama had wished many things for him, and brightest of those wishes were hopes of a future of his own making. One where he could finally shuck off the shadows that had haunted him for so long.

She might not have favored his decision to return to the states and cut off connection with them, but at least she had taken solace in the fact that he was free to live the life he so chose, even if it was removed from the bonds of friendship she'd once cherished. It was enough to know he would never be forced under the thorns of such cruel servitude ever again.

And now? She found she no longer felt bruised for White Wolf's trespasses or what might qualify as his absence, for part of him was here with her even now — albeit in a strange way indeed. Her time with Barnes had only deepened those bonds, and added layers of remarkable clarity blending together the parts of him she knew — or thought she knew — with tiny pieces that flushed him out further, and made her increasingly hopeful that they might still find some manner of resolution for the ailments plaguing his mind.

While Barnes's recent time in Wakanda had been fraught with trials that tested all of them, the last day was the first time where it truly felt as if they were working against an impending deadline that loomed closer by the minute. The weight of it bore down on her heart, and it was no wonder that he was struggling to still the waters of his mind enough to sleep.

She could see the frustration clear on his face as he turned the pages to regard another journal entry in search of answers to his many questions. As he ran his hand over the yellowed paper, Yama told herself that — powerless as she was — she would believe enough for the both of them that things would turn out okay. There was power in vision boards, and she would continue to do whatever she could to manifest a sagacious outcome. "Would a drink interest you before it's time to try sleeping again?"

He considered the question but shook his head. "No thanks. Not thirsty."

"Wanna try a different flavor of ambiance the next go around?" Sam offered.

Barnes bit his lip while he visibly deliberated the possibility.

"We could try soothing instrumentals, perhaps," Yama volunteered.

Sitting atop his bedroll, Barnes checked the time again on the microwave across the kitchen from where he'd set up camp on the floor. "The audio isn't what's keeping me from going under. If anything, it helps remind me that I'm not back D.C. Or back with them."

Yama raised her head. "Have you tried the breathing exercises Ayo showed you?"

There it was again: a bright flare of tension under the surface of his expression at the mere sound of her Chief's name. It wasn't the bubbling anger and distrust like when they'd first crossed paths on the mountain and he'd identified her as a handler, but a thorn in his paw, certainly. Yama knew that this wasn't the time to broach the underlying nature of such questions, but she wished the passing mention of Ayo did not cause him such undue discontent. Not after everything the two of them had been through together.

This time at least, he didn't shut down completely. He appeared to consider Yama's words before more quietly admitting, "I haven't tonight, but I can try." Yama got the impression he wasn't simply giving her lip service, and that he intended to carry through with her advice and give it an honest attempt. But before he could settle into anything resembling quiet meditation, he pursed his lips and leaned his body to one side so he could reach into his back pocket. She'd been half expecting him to pull out his phone, but instead he unfurled the enigmatic fist-sized star he'd coaxed out of a swarm of vibranium nanites. The one that apparently matched the shape of the object he's seen in the Dark Place and broken off. Barnes tested the weight of it before running his right thumb over the smooth surface. "I still don't know what this means. Does M'yra know about it? About the star?"

Considering the late hour, the blue eyes that sought out Yama were surprisingly alert. Though no one had strictly told him that Shuri was doing what she could to balance out the competing priorities of what certain individuals and scientists needed to know to perform their duties and what information was merely superfluous curiosity, truly Yama did not know if Shuri had made mention of the facsimile star Barnes had crafted out of vibranium nanites. Yama suspected she had not made mention of it to M'yra. That Shuri would have marked that as a puzzle piece more suitable for those at the Design Center to explore, if anyone at all. Yama knew that Shuri was protective of White Wolf's privacy, and that even now she struggled with what constituted consent when Barnes's mind was ailing as it was.

But this was a direct question at least. "I do not know. Why do you ask?"

Barnes ran his thumb across the edges of the five-pointed star. "She might be able to put something together that we haven't. From the journals. Or from here, if it has anything to do with Symkaria." He tilted his head up to meet her eyes. "Can you let her know? She's good at finding connections. It might mean something."

In light of their unusual introduction to one another, Yama found it fascinating how willing Barnes was to include M'yra in his quest. Perhaps it was his way of showing his respect for her? Well, if there was any scrap of closure they could manage, Yama would offer it to him. She felt certain neither Ayo or Shuri would mind. "Of course. I'll schedule a message for when she wakes up."

"You have any leads?" Sam inquired.

Barnes shook his head and closed the journal in his lap, resolving to rest his hands atop its weathered cover. "No. I was just thinking how the first time we recorded me visiting the Dark Place and finding the start was after you and I were here on Friday. Maybe there's some connection we're missing." His eyes slipped to his left where the other journals were stacked in a neat pile, and Yama got the impression that he wasn't so much avoiding eye contact as his mind was elsewhere as it sought out answers to his many questions. "I can't shake the feeling that it's important, but it wasn't mentioned anywhere in the journals. The shape, sure," he reached across his chest and tapped one finger against the the top of his vibranium shoulder where his chrome prosthetic was once emblazoned with a red star. "But not something three-dimensional like this." He looked up at the two of them. "Maybe it was buried so deep that he didn't know. Maybe I didn't know," Barnes quickly corrected, visibly struggling with how to properly frame his thoughts and sense of self against a life he didn't remember living. He adjusted his jaw as he more softly confided, "It's hard to explain."

"As confusing as this is for us, I can only imagine how much worse it is for you," Sam agreed with not a drop of teasing in his voice. It was obvious he'd picked up on the fact that Barnes was feeling vulnerable, and he wanted to show his support for whatever the man beside him was going through. "You and I didn't talk a lot about this kinda stuff," Sam admitted. "I never heard you talk about a star or that Dark Place before all'a this happened, so I don't know what might'a changed. Why you remember stuff now you might not've back then."

Yama wished there wasn't the orange energy shield dividing them. She understood its fundamental purpose, especially in the wake of the evening's events and the lack of a protective electrical node on Barnes's shoulder, but she hated the sight of him sitting there caged all the same. "We are here with you," she reminded him.

He nodded his head once indicating her words had reached him, and as she watched him adjust his grip on the star in his hand, she tried to think back to the many conversations they'd had about it and she found herself asking a question of her own. "I know you've said the shape is familiar to you, but when you hold it, how does it make you feel?"

He blinked once and cocked his head slightly as he drank in her question. "Now or…?"

"Now, or if you recall back to when you first encountered it in the Dark Place."

Barnes pursed his lips and closed his eyes as he ran his thumb across the smooth metal. "It felt like I recognized it. Like I was searching for it, and it was important. When I first touched it, a chill of sensation ran through me. Like goosebumps, maybe?"

"And now?"

She watched as his fingers protectively encased the star. "It's not the same, but it's like those sensations are still there, under the surface. Like it's right for me to be holding it. That there's a purpose to it."

"Should you feel satisfied then? Holding this important object you were searching for?"

"I don't understand what it means. What I'm supposed to do with it."

At this, Sam chimed in, "You said you broke it off when you were in the Dark Place. Do you know why?"

"I…" Barnes slowly blinked his eyes open, but it was as if Yama could pinpoint that something had shifted in his expression as he clutched the star like it was a piece of precious pottery. "I think I didn't want to lose it again. Lose it amongst everything else that was there."

"So you took it in order to keep it safe?"

Barnes's answer didn't come immediately. It was as if he was trying to be certain of his words before he finally spoke them aloud. "Yeah, I think so. I felt like I knew what I was doing with it in the Ukuphupha, but I didn't get it to where it needed to be."

"Where's that?" Sam inquired.

Barnes snorted lightly. "I wish I knew."

Yama regarded the dark silver star in his palm and wished she knew what riddles it held. Part of her questioned if the fixation latent in it was merely an outgrowth of the ailment plaguing his mind, but something in the way he held the fragment gave credence to the belief that it was a precious piece of some greater puzzle. She only wished he was guaranteed answers for some of the many questions plaguing him. That if the sun and stars saw fit to obscure the path before him, she hoped he might at least be granted some fraction of peace and closure for his efforts.

He deserved that, and so much more.

A haptic pulse at Yama's saw fit to wrist reminded her that they should not dally in commencing his next sleep session. Barnes caught it too, and at the sight of her silencing the offending alarm, he slipped the star back into his pocket and put aside the journal he'd been pursuing, resolving to resituate himself against his bedroll. With not a drop of complaint, he reclined his head onto his pillow and tucked the blankets over his body, laying obediently still and composed.

"We can talk more after your next session, but in the meantime, it would be good for you to try and rest again," Yama remarked. "Let us hope it is more fruitful than the last." She deliberated on her next words before she gently added, "Do what you can to ease your mind and practice those breathing exercises you were taught." She intentionally sidestepped Ayo's name so as to not risk distressing him, but she was certain Barnes grasped the subtext. "Perhaps the familiarity with their soothing patterns will help still your mind enough to allow you a period of genuine rest, for you cannot stay awake at length and hope to function tomorrow with a clear mind."

Barnes readjusted his shoulders against his pillow and closed his eyes. "I get it, but it's difficult to spend time sleeping considering how much time I might have left," he confided.

Yama hated the hollow surrender in his voice, but it was not the first time she'd heard it either. They could not give into the fear of hopelessness. "The situation we find ourselves in is not a lost cause, and neither are you. If you are tired — as you have every right to be — it is alright to lay down your burden awhile and rest. For I have enough fight and fire in my belly for us both."

When Barnes glanced her way, she could see strain and worry clear on his pale face, but his eyes weren't absent of resolve. Her words had reached him, and Sam was quick to chime in with a tilt of his head, "And I'll have what she's having. Get some rest, Barnes. We'll hold down the fort here so you can get some rest. I'm certain you'll feel better once you've gotten some genuine shuteye. G'night."

Yama dimmed the dome and adjusted the attenuation of the noise canceling, bringing up the volume of the nature ambiance as she watched Barnes reset his haptic alarm and she and Sam did the same. "Sleep well," she whispered. "May peaceful thoughts find you." With that, Yama brought up her augmented monitoring HUD and supplementary protocols, watching the timer in the corner slowly tick down the seconds from sixty minutes. She truly hoped that this period of slumber might offer Barnes some much-needed rest before whatever new day awaited them tomorrow.

As the numbers counted down and she double-checked his vitals on the holographic HUD to ensure everything was in order, she tried not to think about how many more sleep sessions Barnes might have before the ailment plaguing his mind sank its teeth into him. Just beside her, she suspected Sam was sharing some of the same thoughts, because rather than give his worries air, he instead opted to pull out his phone and text her a single sentence:

"I look forward to when something as simple as sleep doesn't feel quite so ominous."

Yama dipped her head and squeezed his shoulder in solidarity as they regarded Barnes lying motionless on his bedroll inside the dimmed lighting of the protective dome. The situation they were in was not an easy one.

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[Text Messages Between Yama and Sam]:

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Yama: Agreed.

Yama: I wish we could at least offer him the peace of knowledge in place of so many riddles.

Sam: Maybe M'yra can piece something together once she's up.

Sam: You think Shuri told her we're working on a compressed timeline?

Yama: I do not know.

Yama: Were I to guess?

Yama: I do not think Princess Shuri would have chosen to reveal it to her.

Yama: She wishes for M'yra to focus on her own recovery, and not matters out of her control.

Yama: That said, M'yra is sharp and FIERCELY observant.

Yama: She would rightly suspect we would not be in Symkaria under the circumstances unless there were further threads of urgency coaxing us.

Sam: Glad she's up to help.

Sam: I just hope she's not burning the candle at both ends instead of resting like someone else we know.

Yama: You'll have to be more specific.

Yama: I can think of many who remain wide awake trying to manifest third winds by sheer will alone.

Sam: Well I hope all of 'em can manage to get some shuteye.

Sam: I know Barnes is trying.

---

Yama nodded agreement and regarded Barnes breathing steadily a short distance away. Her diagnostic HUD still categorized his sleep patterns as 'awake,' but she double-checked that the audio-dampening field was in place before softly whispering, "One can only hope."

---

Barnes knew he wasn't truly asleep.

It wasn't as if he was explicitly pretending to do so, but he had hoped that if he assumed the position, closed his eyes, and remained still, that he might be rewarded with at least a few precious drops of unconsciousness.

If he was lucky, maybe they'd be dreamless.

Logically, he knew he was safe. Secure. While the sounds of a lifelike natural ambiance encapsulated him, he could still make out Sam's deodorant as well as the scent of some aromatic beverage Yama must've brewed. It smelled far too rich to be strictly caffeine-free, but the scent of it had a way of calming his nerves and reminding him of simpler times back on the mountain, so he hadn't brought it up to either of them.

Hindsight told him that his experiences high in the Wakandan wilderness could hardly be classified as strictly 'simple,' but they felt like it now. Back when he was still learning about what had happened, who he was, and the people around him, before there were so many unwitting timers suddenly attached to his life.

He wished he knew how much time he had left where his mind was deemed stable. Shuri had measured it in mere days, but how many hours was that? How many minutes?

Barnes took a deep breath in and out wondering how much time had passed since he'd started his latest prescribed sleep session. It didn't feel like it had been long at all, but for not the first time, he resisted the urge to check the time on the microwave or the Kimoyo Beads around his wrist, and did what he could to steady his breathing. If only he could convince his body that it was better to catch a few minutes of rest over none at all.

He was still confused and conflicted over the anger he'd glimpsed in Ayo's eyes in a time he couldn't recall, but he found himself willing to heed Yama's wisdom in seeking out the meditative lessons Ayo had taught him.

"It is a technique to calm oneself," she'd explained. "To take slow, deep breaths and draw out that which causes you distress. To center yourself as you listen to the world around you."

Barnes did what he could to listen. To take slow breaths and push out the tightness he felt latched around his chest. But no matter how hard he tried, it was like he was stuck struggling at the surface.

Was it because he was afraid of what he might find in the dark?

---

Another fruitless sleep cycle came and went.

Then another.

As the hours drew on, Barnes began to feel as though his attempts to sleep were simply becoming a way to pass the time even more slowly and heighten the building tension surrounding him. More than once, he found himself lying there in the darkness, reminding himself that his mind and body needed rest. He knew he was exhausted, and at least his body was getting suitable time to decompress, even if he couldn't say the same for his tired mind.

"The hypnogram shows you experienced brief periods of true sleep," Yama insisted, trying to suppress that even she was beginning to tire.

Sam eyed the graph intently like a novice medical assistant. While he might not have said anything, it was obvious that the bulk of the time Barnes had been under was nested within the golden 'awake' portion of the readout. "It's something though, right?" Sam was obviously trying to be encouraging, but privately Barnes questioned how restorative sleep could even be in such miserably short blocks. Was it better to just stay awake at this point? He'd certainly done it before.

It wasn't as if he remembered anything of value from those NREM periods, either. Mostly, it felt like he laid there and eventually his stress-addled mind would decide to replay the last twenty-four hours in painstaking detail like if was trying to pinpoint some critical element he'd overlooked. Some precious nugget of information that would lessen the guilt and frustration festering inside of him. Of not knowing how this all would end, or if he'd even see it coming.

Or if one day he'd wake up, and remember none of it at all.

Rather than be drawn into another round of small talk, Barnes sufficed with, "Let's try again," as he synchronized his alarm and laid back on his bedroll, starting the process over again. He lay there in silence listening to the murmur of a night forest while the minutes tolled on. Slowly, he sank down into the darkness.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Until he could no longer tell which way was up, and his worries finally wrapped their arms around him and pulled him under.

---

His head hurt. Everything hurt.

And he'd gotten careless for the second time in so many hours.

"Look, I don't know why you're, but I don't want any trouble."

The petite woman was in her late 20s or early 30s. She had on a light jacket and her blond hair was tucked in a tight bun, but loose strands fell around her ears, framing her face. She'd set aside the wired headphones she'd been listening to when they initially crossed paths in the back of the veterinary clinic, but he couldn't tell from her posture if she was worried he had interest in her portable electronics, or if maybe she was considering calling for help using the cellphone attached to them.

Either way, it was clear she didn't know what to make of him.

That made two of them.

Her eyes slowly drifted back to his hands. She'd caught him in the act of washing them in one of the sinks in the rear of the clinic across from the operating table, exposing not only the metal fingers of his left hand, but the egregious wound dominating both sides of his right hand. He'd removed what bandages and stitches he'd put in place in order to flush out the injury, revealing red, swollen skin that was still leeching blood from the deep puncture wounds that weren't healing like they should be. The painkillers he took for his head usually helped take the edge off of minor injuries, but they were proving ineffective.

That, or maybe his body was tired from being repeatedly peppered with bullet wounds, lacerations, and broken bones from trying to hold his own against the continued string of operatives sent to take him in.

His head throbbed, and some part of him was aware that he was not as composed as he should be. Oddly, the woman standing in front of him in the half-light at the back of the veterinary clinic didn't seem phased. Perhaps she'd seen worse?

"Dog bite?" she inquired, eyeing his injured hand.

Barnes narrowed his eyes as he carefully assessed the woman in front of him. He focused, rapidly running through a series of quick checks he cross-compared to his internal rubric on tells to evaluate if someone was trying to deceive him.

Eyes - Focused. Vision stable. Pupils responsive.

Pulse - Approximately 100 beats per minute. No noticeable change compared to rate taken prior to statement. Consistent with a heightened state of stress.

Breathing pattern - Unlabored. Steadily decreasing intake and outtake after being startled but steadily decreasing.

Perspiration - Nominal. Data deemed unremarkable for determining possibility of verbal manipulation.

The results could never be conclusive, especially when evaluating a trained agent, but the woman didn't appear to have any obvious tells that she was a handler, and something about her manner made him believe she wasn't HYDRA either.

Which was why he hadn't pulled any weapons yet, though he was ready to do so at a moment's notice.

He had access to two concealed sidearms and three knives, and he'd taken inventory of the room minutes earlier, counting more than a dozen scissors and surgical instruments within easy reach, but rather than seek out her own weaponry, the woman's eyes stayed steady on the exposed flesh of his hand.

"Looks like you got pretty torn up. You'll want to wash it out with soap and let it run under water for three to five minutes to irrigate the wound, not just a quick rinse. Then ointment and dressing. The usual. The punctures are deep, so it'd be a good idea to get it looked at."

He kept his eyes steady on her as he evaluated her and listened for movement in the back of the clinic. He could hear animals moving around in their cages, but no voices or footsteps. "No hospitals."

The blond-haired woman snorted lightly but her tone was surprisingly calm as she slowly used one hand to unroll her sleeve, revealing a series of raised scars along her wrist. "I've been on the receiving end of a number of bites from scared patients. I know how much they sting. Look, I'm not gonna call anyone if you just need to clean up. I get it."

Barnes could tell they were rapidly reaching an impasse of sorts. She might have indicated that she didn't plan on interfering with his activities, but it was also clear she was intending to supervise. The arrangement was far from his preference, and he briefly debated the virtues and drawbacks of taking her hostage and locking her inside an adjoining room in the clinic so he could do what he needed to without further interference.

Her face contorted and she pursed her lips. Barnes couldn't diagnose the meaning of the expression, but she gestured an open hand in his direction before adding, "Can I at least show you what to use so you do it right? The hydrogen peroxide you pulled out will inhibit the healing. There's a whole section about it here." Without wasting a moment, she turned and pulled a medium-sized book off the shelf behind her and began flipping through the pages, completely unaware that the man across from her was a trained assassin who was still actively monitoring her for cracks.

When she found what she was looking for, she slid the book along the stainless steel table between them. "Page on your right. Goes over what to do about bites that go deep and break the skin. You should try using that blue bottle with the 'wound care' label after you rinse out your hand again. You really need to keep it under the water awhile so it doesn't get infected."

Barnes dropped his eyes to the page and memorized the instructions before reaching for the oversized bottle she'd mentioned so it was closeby. Was she… really planning on supervising him while he washed his hands?

The woman made an impatient 'get on with it' gesture with one hand and crossed her arms.

Barnes considered his options again. He wasn't pleased at the thought of washing his hands while she observed him. It put him in a vulnerable position. But his head was killing him, his hand was throbbing, and perhaps the most direct course of action was to submit to her recommendations, especially if they resulted in an improved outcome to his worsening wound.

He was stubborn, but he wasn't stupid. It was clear she had experience with similar injuries. Maybe her observations would prove beneficial?

So Barnes resolved to use his left hand to turn on the spigots, and once the water had reached an optimal temperature, he moved his right hand under the warm water, remaining at the ready to deliver a counterattack if threatened.

She tilted her chin, indicating the clock on the far wall. "Five minutes. I'll keep an eye on the time." She paused a beat before inquiring, "So whose dog was it?"

…Had she just… reversed their roles so that she was now interrogating him?

"Stray," Barnes answered succinctly as he folded open up the angry flesh hanging off his palm with his left hand to flush out the material that was showing latent signs of infection. It radiated with pain that tested even his sizable thresholds. "No collar."

"Ah," she sounded disappointed, "I was going to say, it would've been good to know if it was up-to-date on its vaccinations."

"Vaccinations?"

She nodded sagely. "Yeah. With bites that deep, you need to watch out for rabies. If it gets into your system, it's fatal. I know you said no hospitals, but we don't stock post-exposure rabies vaccinations for people here and you should really get started on the series as soon as you can."

Barnes narrowed his eyes, not following, "The series?"

"Day zero, three, seven, and fourteen," she recited. "I can write it down for you if you like."

"What about the dog?"

She glanced up at him. "Did it lunge at you?"

He considered her question as he peeled back the loose flap of skin over the back of his hand and continued to irrigate the wound. "It bit me when I was trying to inspect its limb. It appeared to be fractured."

Her face contorted itself again and Barnes found himself wishing he could grasp what the change in expression meant. His catalogue of faces pinpointed more differences than similarities. "Might'a just been scared, then. We get patients here all the time that lash out because they're in pain." She tilted her chin up at him and the loose strands of her blond hair framed her face. Barnes couldn't parse her expression, but there was a subtle element that conveyed that he'd supplied a correct answer. "Good on you for trying to help." She glanced at his hand, "Sorry you had to go and get the raw end of the deal, but we'll get you sorted. I'll set out some dressing for you since I take it you're planning on a DIY job."

He found he wasn't inclined to argue as he watched her turn and lift her hands to access a shoulder height cupboard. Perhaps her medical supplies would be superior to the ones he'd sourced previously?

Nearby in an adjoining room dogs began barking in their cages. Barnes lifted his head, alerting to the possibility they'd keyed in on a new threat that he hadn't sensed. He tried to listen for it over the drumming of the water on the stainless steel drain, but as the cacophony of their voices grew in volume, it felt as if it was rattling the nails and all-consuming buzzing and grinding in his head. His balance swayed uneasily as a sudden wave of vertigo hit him hard.

Against his will and better judgment, he squinted his eyes shut trying to shut it out.

---

The grating noise was rapidly replaced by the sharp blare of a car horn far below that faded into a hollow whine.

Despite the distant throbbing in his head, Barnes remained motionless as he squinted his eyes and surveyed the rooftops of nearby buildings, rapidly comparing them to their appearance to the night before. There were no apparent changes and no one to be seen. Good. An ambivalent moon provided adequate lighting for him to finetune his approach as he stepped forward out of the shadows and wrapped his hands around the metal of a dilapidated fence, readjusting his grip to favor his left hand before he pried apart the perimeter of his makeshift enclosure.

It was dangerous to stay in any one place for too long, so he'd opted to relegate the injured dog to a rooftop pen in a secondary surveillance location where it could be monitored during an advised ten-day quarantine period to see if it displayed any signs of rabies.

Barnes wasn't sure why he'd opted into taking on this supplementary mission on top of his existing mission to monitor and protect Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. No one had requested it of him. Even the vet tech had suggested that most shelters were likely to euthanize a stray that exhibited aggressive behavior like he'd described. If he wanted to ensure the animal didn't suffer or injure someone else, it would have been more efficient to put it down himself, but even though the dog was not his responsibility, for a reason he couldn't explain, he was compelled to look after the animal's welfare and to determine the next steps of its care.

Unlike the local feline population that congregated on his primary surveillance location about seven blocks away, the dog remained uninterested in complying with this plan, and during the daytime, it repeatedly clawed and chewed at the makeshift perimeter fence in an effort to escape.

When Barnes bent the metal fencing back into a solid wall behind him, the dog immediately spotted him and tucked its head low and ears back as it limped to the far end of the enclosure. He estimated the dog's weight to be around sixty pounds, and although its ribs were visible under its short fur, it appeared to be less emaciated than it had been when he'd first taken notice of its broken leg. The dog's faintly mottled brown and black coloration and pointed muzzle indicated a blended heritage that likely included a German Shepherd or Malinois somewhere within its mixed pedigree. The white blaze on the center of its chest resembled a lopsided four-pointed-star, but when the dog lowered its head, only the tip of the mark was visible. The dog's amber brown eyes watched him warily while it paced back and forth along the back of the enclosure with a nervous energy Barnes recognized all too well.

With an impressive amount of effort, he'd managed to fit the animal with a basket muzzle the vet tech had suggested. The terminology was one he wasn't immediately familiar with, but the accessory ended up being a rubberized cage enclosure constructed to loosely surround the dog's mouth. He wasn't sure if she'd intended for him to take the one she'd shown him, but she hadn't put up an argument against it.

Sneaking up on the dog and restraining it to fit it with the muzzle had been a more arduous task than he'd originally anticipated, however. It had also nearly resulted in a second bite. Barnes had wrestled numerous human targets many times over the dog's weight class that submitted with less strife, but the animal was intent to fight him with every ounce of energy it had.

Barnes found he could respect that too.

Initially the dog had struggled to remove the basket muzzle, but eventually it appeared to consent to the appliance. The configuration of the rubberized bars allowed the animal to freely open and close its mouth and regulate both its food and water intake, but the muzzle's rigid shape shielded Barnes from the possibility of further bites.

Over the last week, Barnes's hand and even his perpetual headache were showing steady signs of improvement, no doubt thanks to the significant amounts of painkillers he'd taken from both the veterinary clinic and a nearby hospital. He even regained enough feeling in his hand to complete a tertiary mission and splint the animal's broken leg. Like applying the muzzle, the maneuver and subsequent binding of the animal's limb hadn't gone entirely smoothly, but the dog appeared to be in less overall distress after the encounter, and had finally stopped trying to disturb the material binding the splint after a few days.

It probably hadn't hurt that Barnes had hidden painkillers within a slice of cheese like the vet tech had suggested. He wished there was a similar salve for the ever present headache nipping at his own periphery. The painkillers helped numb the pain, but not as well as whatever medical cocktails HYDRA had once laced him with.

While his own flesh mended quickly, the dog's body was far slower. It still had a visible limp and Barnes suspected there was a possibility the leg might require further surgery to properly repair the break, but it appeared to be significantly improved from how he'd initially found the animal. It was readily apparent it was also in less pain than it had been, which he found preferable.

In the time since their stressful encounter a week earlier when he'd splinted the dog's leg, it had not made any further attempts to bite him and had all-but stopped growling. Barnes didn't have enough experience with dogs to diagnose the change in behavior so he found himself trying to compare it to human captives. Was the dog feigning good behavior in order to lure Barnes into a false sense of security? What were its motives? Judging from its insistence on testing the stability of the perimeter fence, it still wanted to escape, but even if it managed to make it through the walls of the chainmail enclosure, it would be trapped at the top of a building with limited options. That's why Barnes had chosen that location to begin with, though he was admittedly appreciative that the dog wasn't overly inclined to bark, as it would have added additional complications to his mission.

With resounding focus, the dog perked an ear and kept its amber eyes locked on him from the far corner of the enclosure while Barnes took a few silent steps and refilled the stainless steel water bowl he'd set out for it, followed by pouring a suitable amount of kibble into the bowl beside it. Barnes had rapidly learned that he was required to keep the bag of food outside the fence, or the dog was liable to find a way to tear into it like he had on their first day together. He'd read it was important to portion out the food, particularly for malnourished animals. That 'free-feeding,' or leaving out an excess of food could actually lead to them becoming very sick, even to the point of death. As a result, Barnes continued to regularly monitor and provide for the animal's food intake with a clear intention of not foregoing meals as a means to punish or manipulate it.

He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of fickle handlers.

As soon as Barnes finished refilling the bowls, he moved back and took up position along the edge of the perimeter wall so he could watch the animal for any behavior that might be an early indicator of rabies.

The dog kept its head low, but its tail wavered slowly from side to side as it watched, interested. Barnes stayed still and slowly crouched down in an attempt to make himself appear smaller while he attempted to piece together the nuances of its body language, but it was difficult to see past all the fear and confusion.

It shivered lightly where it stood, but its hackles didn't raise as it shifted its attention back and forth between the man watching him and the bowls set out halfway between them. A long minute passed with only the sounds of the city below filling his ears, but slowly the dog cautiously limped over to the food bowl. Its amber eyes remained locked on Barnes as it sniffed at the chunky kibble and lowered its head, angling itself so that it could eat small bites of food through the larger slot in the front of the muzzle. It didn't appear agitated or outright aggressive. If anything, it looked wholly uneasy.

Barnes found he could relate.

But the sight stirred something within him. Something gravelly and raw. Barnes understood the fundamental purpose of the muzzle and he hadn't made the decision lightly, but seeing the dog struggling to take small bites of food through the openings in the appliance had a way of reminding him of times when he'd been made to ensure similar treatment. When he'd been forced to drink bitter liquids through a straw shoved into an opening in the front of his mask, or when his mouth was dry to the point of tasting blood, but he'd been commanded to keep his mask on. He could clearly remember pressing the openings of bottles and canteens against his mask, trying to pull in some fraction of moisture by desperately sucking on the inside of the restrictive layers in a feeble attempt to wick the liquid through the small holes and dense fabric. He could still remember the sour taste of it even now. How it had made him feel like he was suffocating even as he struggled to breathe and quench his thirst at the same time. In other memories, he recalled people around him that had seemingly made a game of stuffing rotten food and chewing gum into the breathing holes in the front of the mask.

Barnes hadn't understood it then, and passing thought made him uneasy. He still didn't have any answers for what had happened to him or why, but he knew he didn't want this creature to receive the same treatment he had.

Even still, he was doing what he could to balance the animal's basic needs while managing his surveillance missions. These conflicting priorities were often complicated by his poor sleep and the continued searing pain in his head, not to mention the array of withdrawal symptoms from cutting himself off from HYDRA and whatever addictive substances they'd mixed into their medical cocktails. The hint of freedom didn't make things any easier. He was tired of running. Tired of fighting. But there was no other way forward except to keep going.

He was just so incredibly tired.

With a heavy sigh, he lifted his right hand and ran the gloved fingers of his right hand along his scalp, feeling for the heads of the embedded nails scattered irregularly across the surface. The sensation was anything but pleasant, and he winced when his fingers made contact with the sensitive flesh holding the metal heads in place.

Sixteen. He'd never known the number until recently. Even when he'd finally escaped from HYDRA, part of him had been afraid to touch them after so many years of it being explicitly taboo. When he'd finally dared to, he half-expected a failsafe to activate and immobilize him.

They wouldn't kill him. That would be too simple. Even now, they wanted him alive. Wanted to drag him back. Make more of him.

Make him forget.

Steve. Everything else. How much more was there he didn't remember?

Who had he been in the time before? Did it matter now? He didn't have anyone to model himself after, and the slim taste of freedom felt like it was at risk of ending at any moment. Like this was some kind of behavioral test or fever dream.

His head throbbed. He didn't remember the procedures clearly, but some part of him understood that the metal rods continued deep under the surface, and he wanted to tear them out. Finally free himself from their cruel bite. But he knew better. Knew it was liable to incapacitate him or cause him grievous if not entirely fatal injuries. The puncture wounds they left behind would be deep, but how deep?

The thought of the wounds they'd leave reminded him of the bite itself.

Barnes rolled his hand over, regarding his leather glove intently before slipping it off so he could survey the tight white bandages he'd wrapped around it. It had been a little over a week since he'd been bitten in their initial encounter, but the wound had finally stopped seeping. The redness and early signs of infection had all but lifted, and the once tender flesh had begun to knit itself back together thanks to some persistent wound care and a replacement set of stitches he'd applied himself.

In a few weeks time, he might not even have a scar to show for it. Idly, the sight made him wonder how many more injuries he'd endured that he couldn't recall even now.

He'd done his due diligence concerning the risk of being stricken with rabies. In the wake of encountering the vet tech, Barnes read up about the viral disease and followed through on the prescribed regimen of staggered inoculations he'd taken from a nearby hospital. He had no way of knowing if the shots and transfusions HYDRA had given him included the vaccination, but considering how bad he'd been feeling, he thought it couldn't hurt to err on the side of caution. He couldn't hope to remain vigilant and protect Steve if his constitution wavered significantly.

Like the vet tech had said, rabies was considered fatal once it took hold.

The dog watched him touch his scalp as it ate in hungry bites. But rather than finish its food and immediately retreat back into the far corner like it usually did, it did the strangest thing. The dog whined quietly and sat down, regarding Barnes with upright ears and soulful amber brown eyes he couldn't parse. But there was some attempt at communication lying latent in them too. Some primal understanding that transcended words.

While he didn't have any way to quantify the romanticized idea that the dog recognized his own suffering, some part of him believed it did in its own way. That, or maybe it felt guilty for lashing out at him when he'd first tried to help.

Maybe it had its own programming it was fighting? Maybe it had a story like his, where it was hard to tell the difference between hands that harmed, and the ones that sought kindness.

Especially when the ones that meant harm were so good at hiding their intentions.

Barnes was unable to diagnose what the dog was trying to convey, but eventually it resolved to lay its muzzled head down on the ground and got comfortable before closing its eyes to rest. Oddly, the animal's tail then resumed softly lapping behind it.

Barnes found that he saw a little of himself in that dog. While he didn't know what the future held, he found himself hoping that the dog continued to be asymptomatic. If so, then then maybe he could give the dog a fighting chance for whatever came next. Maybe it wasn't like those feral children he'd read about. Maybe it could integrate back into the city below.

Sirens wailed somewhere far below them, and while Barnes knew had other responsibilities to get back to, there was something to be said about the quiet act of trust the dog had shown to him. That it was willing to close its eyes and rest awhile despite — or perhaps precisely because — Barnes kept watch nearby.

He did what he could to ignore the throbbing in his head as he slowly lowered himself to a seated position atop the chilled cement. The dog's nearest ear twitched, but its eyes stayed closed as Barnes breathed in a whiff of burning oil and smoke from an unkept engine far below.

---

When he briefly closed his eyes to listen to the sounds of the city, the scent of the rooftop twisted into something far more astringent, disorienting him as he suddenly fought to force his heavy eyelids open.

The pungent chemical concoction mixed with a thick haze of old cigar smoke and grating noises beyond the distant shadows. His mind lurched as it struggled to process waves of conflicting sensory information, because the only thing he was certain of was that he was dully aware body was in a rigid seated position. His limbs felt heavier than normal although he wasn't sure if that was due to the sedation in his IV line or outside factors.

The soldier's body felt sore, tight, like a prison. The sensation was familiar, and though he wasn't supposed to have preferences, the feeling was at odds with his desire to remain alert. Although he'd completed his mission, his handlers hadn't reconditioned him yet. He wasn't sure why. It had been longer than usual, hadn't it?

It wasn't his place to ask.

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to sort through recent events. His primary handler's whereabouts were unknown to him, and his temporary handler Nikoli and his associate had departed hours earlier after subjecting him to repeated rounds of enrichment. The soldier didn't question the necessity of the structured events that included submitting to the request that he break two of his own fingers and maim his own flesh, and that he remain still as they extinguished cigarettes on his body, but in the wake of the encounter he was secured and instructed to stay where he was.

Something felt different. Was it his shoulder? The soldier couldn't pinpoint the root cause, but a twinge of pain shot through his left shoulder into his chest, causing his breathing to hitch. The weight was off. He couldn't pinpoint why that might've been, but he'd heard people around him mention a new graft and that he wasn't permitted to undergo cryo until it sufficiently healed. His shoulder bothered him more than it had when he first came out of reconditioning. So did his head, which reeled in pain and disoriented him.

His recent mission was deemed a success, but he was told he wouldn't be receiving further painkillers. He would have to wait until after his fingers and flesh healed on their own. Nikoli mentioned that this was related to 'What you did to Fedor's hands,' and because they didn't didn't want him to turn 'soft.'

The soldier didn't remember anyone named Fedor. Was he supposed to? He didn't understand what they meant, but he complied.

It wasn't his place to question.

Just like it wasn't his place to question why his latest succession of targets hadn't been armed. Neither the woman and the two boys, or the father he'd dispatched a few blocks away shortly thereafter. A part of him felt something stir deep in his gut at the thought of the worn photograph he'd seen resting atop a mound of clothes haphazardly stuffed into a nearby suitcase. The soldier was unable to diagnose the sensation, but it stuck with him, unanswered, just like the inexplicable behavior of his last target, who he intrinsically categorized as a prior handler.

No one had asked the soldier to recount such specific details, so he kept them to himself. But he could clearly remember that as his target lay dying, the man with the open throat had taken great efforts and labored breaths to slowly mouth, '...I'm… sorry...' before the soldier pulled the trigger and ended his misery. The procession of the encounter continued to play over and over again in his mind to no avail as he struggled to understand what it meant. What was different this time, and why a sensation he couldn't articulate stayed with him long after.

He's accomplished his mission, so why did he feel so discontent?

He wasn't supposed to feel anything.

He'd been told his target — Dmitri Korovich — had been a prior handler. A temporary handler. The soldier accepted the classification as a fact that helped determine his take-down strategy, but he was unable to recall any indication of interacting with Dmitri as a handler in detail. But there were slivers. Glimpses. He couldn't remember the commands made of him, but he could remember Dmitri's eyes as he spoke. How they were somehow different from the people around him.

His head blurred with another round of sharp, searing pain. If they only offered him some painkillers, perhaps he would have been able to still the questions circling around his periphery.

But his handlers knew best. He was not to question their orders.

An unusual sound pulled his attention. Soft murmurings that echoed across the stone walls like drops of condensation pooling on the ceiling before falling into puddles on the floor. The soldier could hear the buzz of electricity and the hum of machines, but what stood out most as out-of-place was the shuddered breathing he could barely make out.

"You're too stupid to even realize what you did," a woman's raspy voice rose up from the static in his mind.

The soldier fought to force his eyes open and squinted against the harsh overhead lighting. Whatever chemicals they'd put into his latest IV drip must have made them more sensitive than usual, but he caught sight of the owner of the voice almost immediately. A blond-haired nurse in a lab coat. One that he recalled tending to his wounds. Humming. Brushing his teeth. Threading the knots out of his hair with a thin pink comb.

Some part of him insisted that her name was Sofia, and that she had gentle hands.

The two of them appeared to be alone in the darkened lab, but the expression on her face was far different from how he'd seen her before. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her breathing was labored and irregular. Tears ran down her face as she stood a few steps away from him, visibly shaking as she clutched her fists together. "All Dmitri wanted to do was to get away, and you killed him and his family, for what? Because that asshole told you to? His family didn't know anything. They thought he had a cushy government gig!" Her voice cracked as her face twisted and contorted itself.

The soldier regarded her, unable to parse her expression or its meaning. It was all foreign to him, just like the increasingly unstable tone of her voice. He knew she wasn't his handler, but some part of him was compelled to focus on her every word like he might be able to puzzle it together if he tried hard enough.

He didn't understand, but some part of him knew it was important.

Had he done something wrong? He searched what flickers of memory he had from what he thought were the last few days, struggling to piece together the chronology that had led to this sudden change in her behavior.

He'd successfully completed his mission. He'd eliminated Dmitri Korovich and his family, precisely as his handlers had requested of him. He'd accounted for every detail, and disposed of the bodies without incident.

There were no loose ends. No witnesses.

But tears streamed down her face as she kept her voice low and focused on him. "He was trying to do right by them. Raise his kids right, like any father would. This wasn't what either of us signed up for." She flailed a trembling hand in the direction of an adjoining hallway with a dim amber light flickering at the far end. "We were supposed to be building a better world. Saving lives. Solving for sicknesses and diseases. Finding cures. Not trying to play God."

She snorted bitterly. "And you don't even care about those men you dragged in! Well, if you couldn't tell from the fact that one of them stopped screaming yesterday, one of their bodies finally gave out. Couldn't withstand whatever stupid tests and clinical trials the night crew subjected him to. I don't know what happens between this world and the next, but I hope it's better than what they have planned for the other man you captured. They're still trying to turn him into another one of you. And if that doesn't work? He'll probably end up as another rat in a lab that preaches miracles at the hands of saints." Sofia spat on the ground in front of her.

The soldier couldn't remember a mission involving captured men, only individuals he was tasked to eliminate. What was she talking about? What men?

It wasn't his place to ask or to question, but some part of him grasped that the words Sofia was saying were important to her, so the soldier wished to understand.

"And it's God's greatest irony that you don't realize you're the lucky one. You could run! Get away from this godforsaken prison and never look back, but you can't help but listen to their every poisoned word. And I'm trapped here with you. Because I can't leave either. They'll do the same to me and my family if I even so much as thought about it."

The nurse opened her mouth and choked out a laugh that cracked halfway through. "And to think, I pitied you. Pitied what they made you into. But you don't care! You don't feel! You're just a monster I thought deserved better."

And then she wailed out an inhuman word that turned into a primal cry and curled one of her shaking fists into a ball in front of her chest. Her expression twisted as the soldier met her eyes and held them there. If he looked hard enough — and concentrated hard enough — he might be able to grasp what was going through her mind. To understand.

But from her body language, it appeared as though she was preparing to strike him like Nikoli and his associate had earlier.

Although unlike the broken fingers and burns of the cigarettes, something about this approaching round of enrichment felt different. Off kilter.

The soldier knew he was capable of defending himself. That he had no active command protocols or mission objectives that prevented him from blocking the coming blow, but he found himself disinclined to intervene against the blond-haired nurse with the gentle hands.

He only wished he understood.

Tears ran down her face as she spread her fingers into an open palm. He held her gaze, unwavering as she squinted her eyes shut and howled towards the ceiling, delivering a heavy-handed slap to the side of his face that resonated into his skull.

---

At the strike of contact, his world suddenly went dark and spun topsy-turvy. There was no floor or ceiling to orient him. Pressure bubbled and churned against his skin and when he opened his mouth to suck in a breath of air, he instead found himself choking down a mouthful of chilled liquid.

Where was he?

Panic rising in him, he tried to form words but nothing came out. Unseen currents pushed and pulled against his arms and exposed chest and lapped over his bare feet as he became dimly aware they were settled into something. Sand? He squinted, struggling to make out anything in the darkness around him, but all he saw were shadows and indiscriminate forms. Hints of shapes but nothing more. Nothing he could recognize.

But wait, did he recognize this place? He thought some part of him did. Was it normal that he could breathe, that he wasn't drowning?

His foot took a step forward, and he could immediately sense a temperature shift. It was colder, but only just. Before he could process the implications, he found himself moving cautiously in that direction, trying to get a read on what direction the chill was coming from and paused in place. Was he supposed to be pursuing something cold, or was it warm? He couldn't remember. Before he could make up his mind again, his body moved again. Was he in control, or was someone else?

Was he merely a passenger?

He couldn't see the jumbles of objects around him, only the impressions of them. Cautiously, he ran his hand over the nearest shadow, but his fingers slipped through the forms like they were merely smoke. Figments without substance. But others briefly made contact before falling away like brittle ash.

Yes, this place was familiar. He'd been here before. Or was this the same visit?

He tried to pay closer attention, to envision what each enigmatic object might be in his mind's eye as he continued towards the origin of the cold. It was as if it was calling to him. The further he went, the more effort it took to move his body. It wasn't painful, but difficult, like walking through thick snow. The sensation was strangely conflicting, because although his feet were bare, they weren't cold.

Was that normal?

He stepped carefully through the shadows and focused his attention on the unseen objects piled high nearby.

Certain shapes caught his attention, but the specifics were just beyond his reach, the associations dim and dull, like figments from a story he'd been told long ago that had been weathered away with the passing of time. A bowl, something like a ladle, a book, perhaps? He felt like he should have some sort of emotional reaction to them, some latent familiarity, but they were only just out of reach. His hand reached out of its own accord, pressing fingers into the shadows in an attempt to connect with them and explore their enigmatic shapes, but they continued to give way like dry sand, as if they were intent to obscure their true forms.

An eerie silence surrounded him as his palm searched and suddenly settled over a smooth, pointed shape. A chill ran through him. It was solid. Familiar. There was some sort of connection with it he was seeking out. It was a strange sensation, and though it felt as though he had to stretch himself to make contact with it, he strained to do just that. To lean into the strange sensation playing just out of reach of his fingertips.

He leveraged the fingers of his other hand to cup the rear side of the precious object. Yes. This was it. It felt right, purposeful, solid. This was something he'd been searching for. He was certain of it.

He needed to protect it.

From what?

How long had it been here? Who'd put it there?

He… had he hidden it there? Was it supposed to be somewhere else?

The thoughts clung to him as a flicker of a sense of self percolated into his nebulous thoughts. This moment, he remembered it. It was an echo of a time he'd been in the Dark Place. He hadn't experienced it firsthand, but some part of him had. The part of him that was 'Barnes,' but not. That knew things he didn't. Remembered things he didn't.

But had that other part of him known something about the object Barnes didn't? Or were there parts buried deeper yet?

The part of him that was a passenger seeking answers in the experience suddenly twisted when he realized the approaching moment. His anxiety spiked as his own hands reached towards the smooth object — the star, was it? — and he found himself grasping his fingers around the solid shape in preparation to pull it free.

No! Stop! If he pulled, something terrible could happen like it did before!* He could wake up confused again and hurt people. Hurt the ones he cared about. Forget the time he'd spent with them.

No! He didn't want to forget. Barnes strained his mind to will his fingers to release the object, but they continued to ignore him, and he found himself caught in a state of helpless paralysis as he could only watch as his body strained to break the object free in his hands.

No!

---

"Do you think there are records of what became of that stray dog he mentioned?" Yama inquired as she glanced at Barnes's readouts. He had a little under three minutes left until it was time for his haptic alarm to go off, and while the noise dampening fields were currently active to help ensure he had the best possible chance for uninterrupted slumber, she wasn't holding tight to the belief he'd managed anything resembling truly restful sleep.

The small saving grace was that the hypnogram tracking his sleep cycles indicated that he'd managed to experience periods outside of being awake, which collectively tallied into just over twenty minutes and change of Non-REM sleep. He'd made it all the way into the third stage of Non-REM sleep just four minutes earlier, and while Yama wished she could delay his alarm in favor of allowing him a longer stay in that deep, restorative sleep cycle, she knew it was important to maintain their agreed-upon arrangements that her princess had subscribed.

"I'm not sure how much info they might've had on it," Sam said, leaning back on his hands as he glanced between where Barnes was resting inside the dome and the holographic charts hovering over Yama's fingers, which were displayed in English to benefit Sam's curiosity. "He mentioned March, didn't he?" When Yama nodded, Sam continued, "I'm assuming he was talking about 2014, back when he was still camped out in D.C. If that's the case, it's possible the vet or shelter might'a had info, but I'm not sure if that's the sort of thing that would'a gotten saved for posterity."

"But it's possible?" Yama pressed.

Sam snorted lightly. "Yeah. Guess it is. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up, but next round while he's under, I'll see if I can narrow down what clinic he might'a visited way back. There can't be that many that were within spitting distance of my old apartment. It's still a hell of a thing thinking he was — you know — out and about in my backyard."

"And inside your apartment."

He raised a calculated eyebrow in her direction, but his expression edged on playful rather than critical. "C'mon, you know you'd be a little bit creeped out findin' out after the fact too. 'Specially when he makes it sound as though he was comin' and goin' for a while."

Yama considered his words as she watched the timer continue to tick down past the two-minute mark. She hefted her shoulders in an easy shrug. "I would have been surprised to learn where my own leftovers and left socks took up refuge, but I can also find his intention of guarding over you endearing. I'd like to think he found your home to be a place of refuge and safety in the wake of years without."

"That's one way to put it." Sam's easygoing smile hitched and faded when he caught sight of his phone, which indicated the final sixty-second countdown until Barnes's haptic alarm was set to go off.

As before, their conversation came to a natural pause while they waited for the timer to run its course. When the Kimoyo Beads around Yama's wrist finally thrummed with notice, she straightened her back and patiently for Barnes to stir, slowly lowering the audio dampening field between them along with the interior-facing natural ambiance of the mountain Nomble had thought to record the night before.

When Barnes did not immediately blink awake, she did not give into concern. Instead she recited the soothing waking words she'd heard variants of many, many times over the years. "You are safe and among friends. You are in Symkaria. Your mind is your own. You are here because you sought answers for your many questions, and we shared in your curiosities. You are waking from your sixth of nine periods of rest."

Nothing.

The haptic alarm around Barnes's wrist pulsed with light again, and Yama found herself double-checking that she'd properly adjusted the audio dampening field so he could hear them.

"He can hear us, right?"

"The dampening field between us is off," Yama confirmed, raising her voice a slight bit louder than when she'd spoken the reassurances. "Barnes? Are you awake?" As she asked the question, she glanced at the readouts again. They indicated he was not awake, and that he remained in the third stage of Non-REM sleep. Even so, he was usually remarkably quick to wake. Perhaps he was just exceptionally tired, and the day had finally caught up with him?

Yama was aware that the timer that normally counted down from sixty minutes and automatically stopped when Barnes woke continued to count down, drawing into increasingly larger negative numbers that pulsed in a worrisome red color.

"Should we, I don't know… shake him awake or something?" Sam's voice carried with it an edge of unmistakable concern.

She briefly delayed in answering Sam in favor of touching her Kimoyos to send out a stronger wave of haptic pulses around Barnes's wrist. Surly that would wake him from his restful slumber.

She waited.

Nothing.

When Barnes continued to lay motionless and asleep, Yama tried not to let her pulse rise as she warned, "We should not enter the Lion's Den while he is asleep. If he's startled awake, he might be quick to retaliate. But yes, contact should wake him. It's only more jarring, which is why it is not my favored approach."

She tried to ignore that Sam's breathing was coming out faster now too. Her own chest felt tight with worry, but she wouldn't let anxiety have its way with her. It was premature to give into the fear of possibility.

Yama wasn't thrilled to be forced to use the blunt end of her staff to prod at Barnes like a shepherd checking waterlogged lumber for crocodiles, but it was an acceptable compromise given the circumstances. Even if he was startled, he would understand once his nerves had gotten time to regulate again.

With smooth determination and a shallow breath of air, she got to her feet and extended the full length of her staff in both hands, keeping the tip of the spear retracted. She didn't wish to scare him any more than this act was likely to do. If he grabbed hold of it, she'd have to make a quick choice between twisting it so she could pull it away from him, or letting him have it until he came into himself.

She found that in that moment she didn't care which outcome came to pass, so long as he woke up.

Sam watched her with an increasingly tense expression as she held her breath and then slowly — gently — nudged the end of the staff against Barnes's nearest shoulder.

His breathing remained steady, and he didn't move.

"Yama…?" she tried to ignore the heightened panic rising up in Sam's voice, for she felt it in her gut too. This should have woken him. And after everything that had happened today, she did not think it wise to add a further hint of an energy discharge to her instrument for fear of what might happen. No, this contact should have been more than enough.

So she did the next-most logical thing and readjusted her grip, allowing her suitable leverage to press the blunt end of her staff first across his cheek, then his lips and nostril. Surely such sensitivities would wake him.

She held her breath as the red numbers continued to count down over her wrist.

Still, nothing.

It was as if someone had swung open a floodgate in her chest, spurring her heart to race forward. She kept her panicked eyes fixated on Barnes and called out for help, "Sam! Go and wake the others. Tell them that Barnes won't wake up!"

---

[Chapter 94 Chapter Art, by KLeCrone]

[ID: A painting by KLeCrone showing an emotive Barnes from the chest up. He is dressed in a portion of the black leather tactical gear from when he was the Winter Soldier, and is fitted with his signature chrome arm with the red star. His long brown hair is loose and wild, and his expression appears distressed. God rays of light stream down from behind his head. He's focused on his signature Winter Soldier mask, which is dangling from straps around his left hand, and is seen against a smoke-filled pale blue and brown background. End ID]

There are scenes from movies and TV shows that stick with you, and many, many years ago when I first watched the movie Ladyhawke, I remember being compelled by a moment near the film's conclusion.

The super-short version of the film is that a Knight (Navarre, played by Rutger Hauer) and a lady (Isabeau, played by Michelle Pfieffer) fell in love, but because a bishop was also in love with her, he put a curse on them so that they could never truly be together: By day, she would turn into a red tailed hawk, and by night, her beloved would turn into a black wolf. Forever together: eternally apart.

After quite the journey and some new friends they made along the way (including a very young Matthew Broderick), the finale has the evil bishop and his forces facing off with the knight, but because of a solar eclipse, for a brief time the knight and lady both become human, and the bishop sees the two of them, and the curse is broken.

Anyway, it was an enjoyable and very formative movie for me, but what really stuck with me was one scene in the finale where the lady goes and approaches the bishop, and he's cowering before her like he thinks she's going to slap him. It's apparent he still loves her, but he's so very, very far past any realm of redemption. After all, he'd been the one to lay the curse upon her and the man she loved.

But rather than say anything or strike him, Michelle Pfieffer confronts the man that cursed her and… dangles the leather falconry jesses between her fingers, reminding him of the terrible bondage he'd placed upon her to bind her to that animal form during day time. Without a word, she took back her power from him, and the imagery made the silence extremely poignant.

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Ladyhawke showing the character of Isabeau inside a church facing the camera and dangling a set of leather falconry jesses in her fingers as she faces the bishop that cursed her. End ID]

I suppose I was trying to capture a flicker of that here in my latest painting. I knew that Barnes couldn't really take his power back in the same way Isabeau could, since the atrocities burdened upon him were the handiwork of many different members of HYDRA over countless decades, but I felt like there was some shared connective tissue between Barnes's mask or muzzle and Isabeau's leather falconry jesses, and the act of being able to hold them in your hand rather than to have them lashed onto you against your will.

Early on when I was creating this painting, I debated trying to capture a moment within this chapter (or implied to have occurred offscreen), where Barnes was instead holding the basket muzzle from the dog, and the symbolism of it, and how he, himself had once worn a similar muzzle, but I instead decided I wanted to show him holding his own mask. That dehumanizing appliance that HYDRA had once latched onto him and shackled him with.

That said, I don't know if this scene itself actually took place somewhere in my own WotWW headcanon (maybe!), but I hope you enjoy the visual as much as I enjoyed making it. I'm really pleased with how it turned out, and feel like I leveled up artistically in the process. :) That said, this painting took me around 44 hours from start to finish, so between the craziness of the holidays and wanting to finish up this painting to share with you, I hope you can empathize with why this chapter took a bit longer to post than I'd originally planned.

Two of my favorite details are the hints of blue you can see in Barnes's eyes, and the city skyline reflecting in the chrome plates near his elbow. If you look closely in the close-up, you can see all the individual, painstaking brush strokes too!

Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see all of the art!

---

Author's Remarks:

I appreciate your patience when the holiday season got away from me, and I somehow ended up wanting to do a meaty painting to accompany this chapter (oops!). But hey? At least we made it to a bit of a cliffhanger… I'm sure there's nothing to worry about…

In other news, it's wild to think that Captain America: Brave New World is just around the corner next month too! It will be great to see Sam back on the big screen again, and I'm excited to see what Marvel has in store for us!

* - This is in reference to what happened during first time we saw into the Dark Place in Chapter 32: "Nova", when Bucky suddenly 'flipped' into Barnes after he apparently broke off that strange star he'd found in his dream, and well, things suddenly got very interesting inside the Wakandan Design Center...

· Barnes and the Stray Dog - One thing I really wanted to craft this chapter was the idea that recent conversations and experiences have had a way of seeping into Barnes's subconsciousness and coaxing out tangential memories. The dog one in particular has some important undertones, and I liked the idea of that blond vet reminding Barnes of Sofia, even though they aren't one in the same person. I'm with Yama in wondering whatever happened to that dog…?

· Sofia, Dmitri and the Captured Super Soldiers - Apparently at the time of this particular memory, one of the super soldiers the Winter Soldier captured had died from experimentation at HYDRA's hands, and it sounds as though there might've been some connective tissue between that and why that one doctor wanted to desert HYDRA. That is the same doctor and temporary handler we saw with Sofia in Chapter 49: Light in Shadow., and the same man that the soldier remembered being sent to kill at Nikoli's request in Chapter 83: Light Echoes and Chapter 89: The Crux of Trust. That said, this is the first time Dmitri has been mentioned by name in this story.

· A Return to the Dark Place - It appears as though Barnes was reliving a prior experience in the Dark Place, but there were a few little new breadcrumbs, like the thought he needed to protect the star, but from what? Who'd put it there? Had he hidden it there? Where had he been taking it to? So many questions…

· Chapter Title Origins: Tangled Leash - The title of this chapter is a little more straightforward than others. I wanted to play off the conversation about the stray dog and the feral children from the prior chapter, and how there's a lot of stuff jumbled up in Barnes's head. If he could only straighten it out. He's trying so hard to do just that…

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Thank you endlessly for your readership and thoughtful comments, questions, and words of encouragement on this creative journey. They truly help keep me fueled to create, and I'd love to hear your thoughts or even just an emoji if you're reading along. :)