Zhelaniye

Vision came out of the room carrying Wanda in his arms, with such attentive care and respect it moved Steve even through his haze of confusion and dread.

“Is she going to be alright?”

Vision’s undecipherable eyes moved to him.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe so.”

It occurred to Steve the last time he’d really talked to him was in the Avengers Tower before he flew for London. He wasn’t even sure why Vision had come to help.

Similar thoughts seemed to run through Vision’s mind. “There is much to be discussed. But that can wait.” He stepped aside. “Go take care of your own.”

Steve did not need to be told twice. He walked past Vision, into the medical room—and was assaulted by an intense smell of sweat and fear.

Bucky was still sitting in the chair. His long hair was sticking in clumps to his temples. He had an empty look in his eyes Steve recognized. Not from the Soldier, but from Azzano, 1945.

Before Steve could do anything, Bucky’s haggard gaze zeroed on him.

“Steve,” he said in a wisp of sound. Then, miserably hopeful, “Steve?”

Steve had to speak past his closing throat. “Yeah, Buck. It’s... it's me.”

He wanted to step forward, but he didn’t know whether he was welcome. Before he could attempt anything, though, Bucky spoke again.

“Zhelaniye.”

Steve froze.

“Rzhavyy,” Bucky said, in a hoarse whisper. “Semnadtsat’.” He smiled wanly. “I could go on.”

They stared at each other for a long second.

“You didn’t have to take that risk,” Steve whispered eventually.  “I would’ve waited—”

He cut himself off. How dared he.

“I’m sorry,” he let out. “I don’t have any right… What I said last time—”

“Steve,” Bucky said hollowly. “It’s not like I left you any other choice.” He looked so exhausted. “I’ve been such a goddamn coward.”

“Bucky—”

“Hiding behind my triggers so I wouldn’t have to make any sort of choice about myself. I could’ve at least had the decency to go under for good. Let you move on. But you said you’d come see me and I’m so weak. I wanted it too much. I couldn’t say no.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’ve been so fucking cruel to you. The worst part is, I still want it.” He screwed his eyes shut. "I still want it. I don't want you to leave me."

“Bucky.” Steve said at last. “Bucky, Christ, you deserve to have it easy. You don’t owe me anything. You weren’t a coward—you were just tired. With good reason to be.”

Bucky said nothing, staring at the ground.

“You didn’t have to make a choice if you weren’t ready,” Steve went on, but his words sounded empty, carrying no comfort. “And—and if you want to sleep even now, then that’s fine. You’ve earned it—you don't have to fight all the time anymore, you're…”

His voice trailed off when he heard his own words.

This wasn’t right. He was running in circles. Bucky had just showed him the way. Steve just had to be brave enough to follow it.

“You’re…”

He swallowed. Somehow it was the most difficult thing he’d ever said. Even more difficult than telling Bucky he could sleep forever.

“You’re… you’re right.”

Bucky looked up at him.

“You’re right,” Steve said again, and his voice was suddenly breaking with sobs. “It’s been killing me, Buck. You can go back under. But I don’t want you to. I’m not strong enough. I can’t take another minute of this hell. I just want you to come home with me.”

Bucky let out a shaky sound and got up from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Buck—”

“No,” Bucky exhaled, wrapping his arm around him, “I’m sorry,” and Steve held him tight in return, pushed his face into his shoulder, breathed him in until he felt drunk with it. Bucky’s voice was broken with tears and breathy with relief. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m here. I’m with you. It’s over. I’m sorry.”

Steve felt it in his bones, in his heart, and it was as if he’d been holding his breath all this time, ever since he’d woken up from the ice; as if he'd only just now remembered how to fill up his lungs.

*

They’d ended up staying in Wakanda for almost a week.

Wanda’s and Vision’s intervention had lasted almost four days; and Bucky had passed out for a solid twenty-four hours afterwards. When he’d woken up, Hsari had taken him to the labs. T’Challa was making good on his promise.

Steve wanted to stay while Bucky’s arm got changed, but Hsari had unceremoniously thrown him out, and so he was hovering aimlessly by the window. The beginning of November was making the skies silver and the canopy darker. Steve thought of the house in France. The others were probably worried sick.

He wasn’t surprised when Vision came to join him.

“How is she?” Steve asked.

“Still asleep.”

“Aren't you concerned?"

“No.” He sounded so deeply certain Steve himself was a bit less worried.

There was a silence.

“Thank you for what you did,” Steve said. “I’m glad you and Wanda weren’t broken apart despite—everything.”

“So am I.” Vision looked at him. “Did you have the chance to speak with Mr. Stark?”

Steve huffed. “A little.”

“And?”

“I don’t know if it was a step forward. I guess we both wanted it to be.”

“That is progress in itself.”

A movement at the edge of their sight caught both their attention. T’Challa was stepping into the room.

“They’re finishing up,” he said. “Your friend will join us in a moment.”

“Your Majesty,” Vision said. “We didn’t have the chance to talk. I feel I must apologize for the disturbance.”

“I have taken the Winter Soldier in my home,” T’Challa said. “I expected something far more deadly. Instead…”

He paused, then smiled.

“I despised the Avengers for a long time, even before Vienna,” he said. “A group of American vigilantes. Full of themselves and of their own power, no doubt.”

“That’s not untrue,” Steve said.

T’Challa huffed a laugh. “Not entirely. But as I come to know you, I realize. Each of you is moved by devotion first and foremost.”

Vision inclined his head in agreement.

But then he said, “Some would say that is precisely what makes us so dangerous.” When Steve looked at him, he added, “Your friend deserved to be helped. That is why I came when Wanda called me. But I have not changed my mind about the Accords.”

Steve huffed a laugh, looking away. “I don’t think any of us will.”

“We shall have to keep finding ways around it,” Vision said pensively. “Perhaps that is not an impossible way to live.”

*

Bucky’s new arm was a muted black, with a white star on his shoulder. It moved without a hitch, sleek and silent. Panther, Steve thought every time he looked at it.

He knew he would owe T’Challa for the rest of his life, and he was content with that thought. There were much worse men to be indebted to.

Before leaving, Bucky wanted to do one last thing.

“You don’t have to come,” he said, walking through the royal gardens. “He tried to kill the both of you.”

Neither Steve nor T’Challa said anything, and Bucky didn’t insist.

When they got to the small indigo pond where they’d sat down once, he stopped and opened the bundle he was carrying. It was his old shoulder piece, silver with a red star.

He dug a hole in the dark rich soil with both his hands. When the piece was buried, he took a sleek slate of obsidian from the ground and engraved the letters with his metal fingers, one letter after the other.

S   O   L   D   A   T

Steve remembered the video. The Soldier’s frightened, helpless look. Is this termination?

He couldn’t make sense of the tangle in his chest. He wasn’t sure the Soldier had ever been truly separate from Bucky. He wasn’t sure if they were burying a person or a part of James Buchanan Barnes’ past. It didn’t matter. This was a burial anyway.

Bucky got up and dusted his pants. He was still dressed in white, and the grass stains were there to stay. They’d have to go buy him some clothes in France, Steve thought. And suddenly he was dizzy with the overpowering realization that Bucky was coming back with him—that the war, at long last, was over.