Twisted Ends

Bucky squinted at the oddly placed cat painting on the wall. Art had been more Steve’s thing, but he doubted that even Steve would have known what to make of…whatever THIS was. It was an orange tabby who, for whatever reason, was riding a pop tart, in SPACE, with a rainbow shooting out the end. He didn’t know Rhodes all that well, but he hadn’t figured him for much of a cat person. Or someone that liked assaulting colors. Or paintings.

Rhodey walked into his line of sight, thumbing at the painting. “You like it, Barnes?”

Bucky sucked his teeth. “It’s something.” He tilted his head to continue pondering it over. There seemed to be more and more colors the longer he looked. It was like staring into a kaleidoscope of blended sharpies. Or a rainbow on LSD. He wrinkled his nose.

“Didn’t take you as an art person.”

Rhodey snorted. “Oh, that’s from my niece.” He came to a stop beside Bucky, wincing as he took the painting in. “It really is awful, isn’t it?”
Bucky hummed in silent agreement. Sam peaked over his shoulder, peering at the portrait with thinly veiled distaste. “Is that why it’s in your guest bathroom?” Sam said. Rhodes shrugged.
“I don’t get much company. So.”

Sam made an exaggerated sound behind him, continuing to slather his back with burn cream. “Shit man, all you gotta do is invite us over.” Sam glanced back up at the painting and grimaced. “And maybe take you to an Ikea, or I dunno, like a Ross or something.”

Bucky twisted around with a scowl. “What is with you and trying to take people to Ikea?”

Sam pointed a greasy finger at his nose. “Because some of you need more than just serial killer lookin, off the show room furniture,” he turned to Rhodes. “And weird, psychedelic pieces of art. Jesus guys. You’re making me sad.”

Bucky shrugged. “I like my serial killer furniture.” Sam leaned over his shoulder, giving him an expectant look. “What?”

“Buck, you don’t even use it.”

“I use it.” Bucky leaned back, trying to get some space. “It’s a good room filler.”

Sam gave him an even more incredulous look. If he kept that up, his eyebrows were going to freeze to his hairline. Rhodey cleared his throat. “Are we about done gentleman?”

Sam nodded, giving Bucky’s back one last glance. He nodded with approval. “Think I’ve done just about all I can do” Sam said, cleaning up used rags and discarded wrappers. “The serum should take care of the rest.”

Bucky hummed with exhaustion. He could already feel the serum going into hyperdrive, his skin stitching and growing back together. He hated the feeling. It felt as if he had hundreds of spiders crawling under his skin.

“You didn’t have to use the burn cream.” Bucky grunted, making a move to stand up. Sam’s hand shot out, forcing him back onto the toilet seat. Bucky huffed. “I’m just stating facts.” Bucky kept his eyes low. “I heal fast. We don’t need to waste supplies.”

Sam clicked his tongue, squatting down in front of him. Fuck. He had that look, the one that meant that either he was about to get his ass chewed into next week, or he was going to be feeling like a scab that had been relentlessly picked over.

“Bucky, it isn’t a waste.” He gave Bucky’s chest a gentle poke. So haggardly picked over scab then. Fantastic.

“You aren’t a waste” he continued vehemently. “You were hurt, and I had a way to make you feel better, so I did it.” He chased Bucky’s gaze, slowly reaching out to grasp his chin. Bucky froze. Sam’s hand was warm, and he held his chin with the gentleness of someone who handled fine china, not someone who battled Aliens for a living. “Buck, look at me.”
Bucky clenched his teeth; his heart was hammering in his chest. If all this excitement kept up, his old age was going to finally catch up to him and he was going to stroke out. One could dream he supposed.

He cautiously peered over through his lashes. Sam gave him a wane smile, golden eyes searching his. At least that’s what it was currently felt like, as if Sam somehow had some unknown superpower and was peering into the very crevices of his soul. God, he found himself in a strange disarray of wanting that to be anything but true, yet at the same time hoping that Sam could see him for all he was. To see him so bare and open. He took in a nervous, uneven breath.

Sam slowly dropped his hand back to his lap and Bucky found himself wanting to chase the warmth. Sam was like sunshine after years in a dark, chilled cave. He just wanted to bask in the sunlight, to feel it pierce through the callouses of his haggard flesh. Sam continued, oblivious to his plight.

“You aren’t a waste. Just because you’ve got the serum, doesn’t mean you’ve got to suffer. You have suffered for longer than anyone should ever experience and I’m going to keep telling you that you deserve compassion and peace until it finally sticks in that cyborg brain of yours.” Sam rocked back onto his heels. He gave Bucky a bright grin. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. Jesus Christ.

“Besides man,” Sams voice lifted a few octaves, seemingly trying to lighten the dour mood. “It’s not the depression anymore. We aren’t rationing shit. We’ve got sugar and Neosporin for days, baby.”

Baby, huh? Yet another nickname to add to this list, though this one felt. Well, it felt like something, that was for sure.

Bucky bit back a timid smile. He could feel the beginning of warmth starting to creep back into his bones for what felt like the first time since 1945. “Thanks.” He whispered. Sam nodded back solemnly. “Of course.”

Rhodey coughed. Sam startled, losing his balance and falling ass first onto the floor. Bucky smirked at the tiles, biting his cheek to keep from making a snarky comment.

“SO.” Rhodey clasped his hands together. “Now that we’ve gotten Barnes squared away, let's get to the task at hand, shall we?” Rhodey said. Sam stood up with a withered glare, wiping his hands on his trousers. There was something else, but Bucky couldn’t quite place it.

“Yeah, yeah. Would you like to start?”

“So,” Rhodey lead them to the living room, which, unlike the guest bathroom, lacked peculiar pieces of artwork. Small mercies.

“What I’ve gotten so far is that you, Sam Wilson, are not well liked.”

Sam gave a nonchalant shrug. “Well, not everyone can handle all of this.” He joked.

Rhodey stared, unimpressed and with a look that clearly stated why Sam was never invited over. “Uh-huh. Well, Torres has been doing some digging. God, I love that kid. Apparently, a lot more people have a problem with you being Captain America than we previously thought.” Rhodey rubbed his forehead. “Like…a LOT.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s not a surprise. It’s been like that since he took the shield.” He sat down carefully onto the closest couch, sighing heavily as he sunk into the luxurious feeling leather. Rhodes really must have a thing for leather.

“Sam’s been giving it one hundred and ten percent to prove he’s the best man for the job. He’s gotten more positive publicity from the press than Walker ever did. Shit,” he said. “He polls higher than Steve on some days. Why are they suddenly so up in arms now?”

Rhodes cut eyes to Sam, and Bucky could feel the energy in the room shift. Oh, good. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets these days. He expected nothing less from Rhodey. He was a high-ranking military official who worked in the Pentagon, him keeping an ex-assassin out of the interworking’s of the government was kind of a given. What he didn’t expect was the anxious and tightly wound face Sam was currently making, or the fact that Sam would keep anything from him at all. He sniffed. “I’m assuming there’s something I should know?”

Sam sat down on the chair in front of him, reaching for the glass and decanter.

So, it seemed like this was going to be an excellent conversation. He watched as Sam poured the cup to the brim before taking an impressive swig. Bucky raised a brow. “And you say I keep secrets.”
Sam grimaced, setting the drink down on the table. “Well, my secrets don’t involve me getting blown up.” He shot out.

Bucky frowned. Rude. “Normally mine don’t.” Sam just stared, his leg bouncing anxiously.

Rhodey sat next to Bucky, placing Sam’s drink on a coaster. “We’re civilized here, Sam.” He scowled. “Respect the mahogany.”

Sam took a deep breath in. Bucky leaned forward on his elbows, ignoring how his back twinged in protest. “Alright, I may have been keeping tabs on all the GRC members. Looking into their finances.” Sam said, cautiously picking up his glass, finger tapping away at the decorative insignia. “Ever since Karli, I’ve just been thinking about all the missing funds that could have helped people. Could have helped her. All the corruption that was just left unchecked.” He took another drink of his bourbon. “And then it was always sitting in the back of my mind how SHIELD started out as one thing but ended up being another entirely. So…” he paused, giving Bucky a considering glance. Bucky felt himself growing uneasy. “I kept tabs. Keeping an eye on certain transactions and shipments of supplies. Certain people that just didn’t sit right.”

Rhodney chipped in beside him. “We followed the money trail and noticed certain GRC members were consorting with criminal enterprises back in Madripoor. They’ve also been involved in human trafficking, to the extent though we aren’t sure.” Rhodey sighed. “What we do know is they are taking people from the GRC camps and shipping them to Madripoor, as well as smuggling various alien weaponry.”

Sam poured himself another glass, looking anywhere but Bucky. “What we think is that HYDRA is based in Madripoor and they are up to something. And I think members of the GRC are involved. And whoever they are, they are willing to do whatever it takes to stop us from prodding around.”

Bucky’s hair stood on its ends, the animalistic urge to run and claw and just GET away eating at his core. He fought the feeling down. He had helped save the GRC from Karli, something that he had thought was right. Hell, he had been inside the GRC building over a dozen times in the last few months alone. And all this time, he’d thought HYDRA was a distant memory. Not completely gone, he wasn’t naïve, HYDRA themselves had seen to that, but at least he’d expected them to be weakened enough that it couldn’t quite reach him. All this time, and he had potentially been walking right into their open arms without even knowing it. And Sam had known.

“So,” he started out slowly. “Let me get this right.” His brain felt like it was going a million miles an hour. “You two kept me in the dark about an operation you’ve been running for months.” He clenched his metal fist, the whirring of the arm plates cutting through the silence. Sam and Rhodey shared concerned side glances.

He continued, trying to keep his voice steady. “And you had your suspicions that HYDRA could be involved, and you didn’t tell me?”

Rhodey made an interesting noise beside him, reaching forward to pour his own glass. Bucky turned to him. “And you knew as well? You both were working on this together? Why wasn’t I briefed on this?” Bucky felt himself growing angry. He turned to Sam. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam looked to be at a loss for words for the first time since he’d known him. Bucky abruptly stood up, ignoring how he instantly became aware of the burns across his back. Burns that had been caused by HYDRA. He could feel himself starting to spiral, his pulse quickening, his senses heightening. He became aware of the smell of the Dial shampoo upstairs in Rhodeys bedroom (odd choice), he could hear the next-door neighbor on the phone with their aunt. Fuck, he could taste the palpable aroma of the bourbon in front of him, as if he was the one drinking it down.
HYDRA was back, he couldn’t deny it any longer. HYDRA was back and Sam didn’t tell him. The one person he trusted more than anything, and Sam hadn’t told him.

He pointed accusingly. “How can you sit there and yell at me about not communicating, giving me shit about taking minuscule missions, when you’ve been sitting on THIS for months!” He bellowed. Sams eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing.

“Why?” Bucky cried out, ignoring Rhodey slowly standing up. He was freezing again. His teeth started to chatter. “Don’t you think I should be one of the FIRST people to know? Shit, Sam!”

He strode across the room, stopping at the kitchen sink. He took a deep breath, and another, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen. Funny thing was, it didn’t feel like it was working. Everything felt so dark and cold and suffocating. His vision was tinged with black. Fuck.

He felt a hand land on his shoulder and he spun around, flinching violently at the sudden contact. Sam quickly raised both hands and took a hurried step back. “Buck” Sam gasped, keeping his hands placidly in the air. His eyes were slightly damp. Or maybe Bucky’s were, it was starting to get difficult to tell. “I know you’re upset, and you’ve got every reason to be, but right now you need to calm down. You’re hyperventilating.”

Sam inched closer, slowly reaching for Bucky’s hands. He looked at him inquisitively, eyebrow raised in a question. Bucky gave a curt nod. It was all that he could manage. His heart was threatening to leap out of his chest, his lungs were screaming for air.

Sam grasped both hands firmly, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Buck, you’ve gotta know man.” Sam said desperately. “I wouldn’t keep anything from you that I felt like was important.” He started to massage Bucky’s right hand, his thumb carving soothing circles into his palms. “We didn’t tell you because we weren’t sure.” Sam gave his hands a desperate squeeze. “I had to be sure, Buck.” He whispered.

Rhodey came in quietly, carrying a small briefcase. Bucky gave it a quick glance over before attempting to regulate his breathing. It wasn’t working out too well.

“He’s telling the truth, Barnes.” Rhodey sat the briefcase down with a heavy sigh. “We didn’t want to dredge up the past unless it was necessary. All we had were suspicions, nothing concrete.” He leaned against his kitchen counter, staring intently at his fridge. “We were planning to tell you in the next few days,” he stated. “Sam told me you were in town and we both figured it was time to pull you into the loop.” He gave a weary sigh. “Guess HYDRA kind of beat us to the punch.”

Bucky glowered. “No shit, Rhodes. If I had known, maybe I wouldn’t have gone ass halfcocked into a GRC warehouse and nearly turned into a fucking pot roast.” He spit out, snatching his hands from Sam. “What made you think that I couldn’t handle it? You both knew I always suspected HYDRA wasn’t gone. Why did you withhold this, because with how the two of you’ve been acting since I got in that car, my gut is telling me you still aren’t being upfront with me.” He gritted out.

Rhodey bent down to retrieve the briefcase, but Sam caught his wrist, giving him a tight nod. “I’ll tell him.” He said quietly. Bucky looked between the two of them, eyeing the insignificant hunk of faux leather. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky…” Sam breathed out. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but a few days ago Torres received an encrypted file. No way to trace who or where it came from, but what it did come with was a very blatant warning.” Sam slowly opened the briefcase, the sound of the clasp making Bucky wince. Sam pulled out a beaten to shit envelope, Russian smudged haphazardly across it in bright crimson. Bucky picked up the sour scent of iron. The writing wasn’t ink, but blood. Fuck.

“They said…they said,” Sam paused, peering down at the piece of paper in his hand. Bucky gulped, feeling everything starting to go quiet in his mind. He could feel the ghost of a metal crown resting on his head.

Sam breathed in. “They said that I had caused enough ruckus, and if I didn’t stop my investigation that there would be consequences.” He handed Bucky an old photograph. Bucky glanced down, noting that it was black and white. It felt old and grimy in his hands, like it had survived through plagues. His eyes focused. Fuck. Guess he wasn’t far off. His stomach dropped to the floor.
The photo was blurry, but he could make himself out clear as day. He could also make out others in the photograph, and the activity that was occurring. It was as if he was cruelly thrown back through time, but instead of returning to his home, his family, he was transported back to that PLACE. To that room. That fucking room. And that fucking bed. He felt the ghostly hands caressing his sides.

It had to have been taken between the late 1940’s to the early 1950’s, but he couldn’t tell for certain. His memory of those times was a bit…fuzzy. It was back before they had him completely under their thumb.

He had been such an incomparable thorn in their side, and it had brought him the only minute amount of joy he could find back then. Denying them of the one thing they wanted. A super soldier. A murderer. A puppet to shape the century. They starved him and tortured him and beat him, but he always prevailed, always back out on top. It had infuriated them. He had resisted for SO long. So, SO long and he had thought they were finally deciding to end him and his misery. To give up. But he never got what he wanted. He could still feel the restraints on his wrists and ankles, and how his face had been slammed into the pillow so forcefully it drew blood. How he had choked and gagged and tore and screamed-

He shook his head, gripping the photo tightly. He blinked rapidly against the tears threatening to spill, willing them to just go. Away. He felt so feeble and exposed. They knew. Rhodey and Sam both knew. He sniffed. They had seen that side of him. That disgusting, filthy side that could never be washed away. No number of good doings would ever wash the obscenity away.
Bucky turned his gaze to Sam, expecting repulsion. Instead, he was looking at him with not pity, but understanding. And another emotion that caught him off guard. An emotion he had never seen on Sam before, flashing in his eyes like a wildfire. Rage.

Sam quietly reached forward, taking the picture from him. “Bucky,” he said. “I know there is a lot going through that cyborg brain of yours right now. I was told that if I didn’t stop, that they would release these, along with the promise that they would come for you.” Sam crumbled the photo in his fist, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing. “I didn’t tell you, because I was selfish. I wanted to spare you knowing that I know too, that you never had a choice to tell me. That you never had a choice for anything.” Sam wavered. “But I’m here to tell you now, that’s nothing like that is ever going to happen again. Not ever.” He took Bucky’s hand in his, his chocolate eyes hazy. “I swear on my life, Buck.”

He pointed to Rhodey who stood a polite distance away. “We are the only two who know, and we plan to keep it that way. We are going to get to the bottom of this. We are going to find these monsters and bring them to justice.” Sam held onto his hand like he was hanging on for dear life. Bucky sniffed.

“Buck, we are going to end this. Once and for all. We are going to end this. Do you believe me?”

Bucky felt himself fighting the flood of emotions. They were banging against his thick, impenetrable walls. Except now it was threatening to overflow, to spill and burst. He was crumbling. He sniffed again, blinking rapidly. Tears began to spill down his cheeks. He hiccupped, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He gave Sam a nod, holding back a whimper.

He took an unsteady breath in, struggling to keep the rest of any form of composure. “I believe you, Sam” he rasped out, allowing himself to give Sams hand a gentle squeeze. “I believe you.”

It was Sam’s turn to sniff, his voice crackling as he clung to his hand. “We are going to fix this. You, me, Rhodes. We are going to fix this.” Sam turned to Rhodes, who nodded solemnly.

“Damn right we are.” Rhodes replied absolutely, a determined clench to his jaw. “We are going to nail these guys. We just need to find out where to start looking next.”

Bucky nodded, his hiccups and gasps slowing. He gave Rhodes and Sam a tight smirk, or at least, he tried to. It probably came out more like a terrifying grimace. He wiped his damp eyes, huffing as tears kept falling. He felt exposed, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t ashamed or terrified to be seen showing emotion. Everything was finally beginning to become clear to him for the first time since the war. He cleared his throat.

“Well gentleman.” He ground out, wiping at his face. “Luckily for you, I think I know just where to start.”