Rembrandt
If their expressions were anything to go by, Sam, and by extension Bucky, should be admitted to a mental asylum. Or ejected from the jet into the coast of the Atlantic. Bucky for his ludicrous story, and Sam for believing it. Maybe, based on Steve's silent guffaw and Nat's intense squint, they were right, for all Sam could know the man he spent over a week with really was crazy. There was no way to confirm it all, bits and pieces sure, but not everything. Yet all Sam could think about was wishing Bucky wasn’t in terminator mode to witness Steve’s hilarious progression of disbelief, attempting to hide every reaction behind crossing and recrossing his arms. Natasha didn’t try as hard to stifle her doubts, her eyebrow raising higher and higher with each sentence.
By the end of explaining how Bucky actually found Sam, to recounting the vaguely ominous predictions of the future Bucky had relayed to him before the mission, along with how he survived the first round of brainwashing, both agents appeared as if they were simultaneously three seconds away from throttling Sam and also hugging him for knowing how to fix the Winter Soldier.
Natasha sighed, shifting her gaze to Bucky in his current state. Throughout Sam’s story, he didn’t move or shift an inch, maintaining relentless observation. “The Battle of New York happened, Gods and aliens officially exist now. Crazier things have happened than time travel.”
Gears were still working overtime in Steve’s head. Something about Bucky's story was bothering him, a complaint Sam couldn’t blame him for. At the end of the day, he could only tell them what he knew, which wasn’t much. There were concerning gaps in the stories Bucky shared with him, from how exactly Bucky acquired such personal knowledge of Sam, to how exactly they made it to Wakanda the first time.
When he initially told Sam about Wakanda, his jaw was set in tight hesitation, likely trying but failing to hide the tension. According to him, all that Sam needed to know was that they went on the run for a few years after his escape from Hydra, finally finding refuge in the royalties' kind arms. When he tried questioning further, Bucky repeated basically the same thing he told him the first night they met - “there are some things you don’t need to know, not yet.”
Luckily, Sam had just enough information about King T’challa, Princess Shuri, and Queen Ramona to anticipate the weight of the precarious situation they now find themselves in. How exactly were they to explain their arrival if Wakanda’s prosperity wasn’t even an open secret at this point in history? Would they annihilate them on sight? How friendly of a nation are they now? How did Bucky even convince them to help him in the first place? What must’ve occurred to allow a country like that to expose themselves to the dangerous world in the future?
These were all thoughts Steve was probably running calculations on, based on the contemplative hand on his chin. Possibly more that extended beyond Sam's capability for thought at the moment.
“Okay. We’ll head to Wakanda. I’ll be in the cockpit.” He swiftly made his way to the front of the jet, shutting the pilot door with just enough passive force to make Sam jump slightly. He focused his attention on his hands in his lap, unable to help but think Steve was mad at him for withholding such information. They were barely friends at this point, buddies sure, but Sam couldn’t help but feel their friendship Bucky spoke about before wasn’t going to come as easy as he thought.
He sighed dejectedly, not wanting to see or hear the same tone from Natasha.
“Give him time. It’s…a lot.” She tentatively placed a somehow perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for telling us Sam. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to keep this a secret.”
Whatever he was imagining Black Widow to be, it wasn’t a comforting hand. He’d always imagined it'd be Steve. However, having a woman he hardly knows, a very deadly woman at that, ease his concerns with a simple reassuring look felt right . She radiated a warmth in that moment that he could only associate with nostalgia, almost as if he…missed her?
He quickly refocused on his hands, frowning. Her continued, knowing stare achingly reminded him of Sara, but as she slid her hand off his shoulder to sit across from his cot, he felt a distant, strange sort of coldness inch into his skin and dissipate just as quickly.
Weird.
There wasn’t much to do at this point except to wait. Sam and Natasha stayed quiet for a while, the most injured one out of their quartet mostly dozing in and out of consciousness. After an hour or two though, and a noticeable change of direction from the jet, some light conversation about the day they first met after Steve outpaced Sam, to foods and drinks they missed already. Between the autopilot topics and the ebbing exhaustion, he couldn't help an attempt to satiate his curiosity for how the two assassin's in their group knew each other. Natasha had already explained that Bucky trained her in the Red Room over dinner, but that wasn't sufficient for Sam as an explanation for the kinship that reflected in their eyes every time they looked at each other.
And it's still a marvel to Sam that Bucky taught Natasha when she was a child. Steve Rogers is a wonder for sure, technically around the same age as Bucky, but Bucky was clearly more worn around the edges. The lines on their faces competed with one another, Bucky ahead in all leagues. The optimistic way Steve carried himself contrasted darkly with Bucky's unassuming gait. Bucky had existed during those 70 years, experiencing more of the past century than Steve ever would. And Bucky, having trained the deadliest assassin in the world next to himself, really put Sam's perspective on just how old his sentry sitting next to him really was.
Natasha chuckled softly at Sam's question, her head tilting to the right as her neat red hair bobbed with a rattle of the jet.
"We didn't know each other, not really. Never spoke more than a handful of words to each other at a time, but we communicated enough with our eyes. When he trained me, he had the most honest, albeit harsh, criticism of my forms, and somehow the kindest eyes while doing so. He showed me things outside of what he was supposed to teach me, what he did not teach the other children. In fact, you know that thighs to the face move that made headlines a little while back?" She chuckled, but Sam thought the image she was thinking of was no laughing matter.
On one of the Avenger missions in a tiny Baltic town, a backpacking photographer caught the Widow mid takedown of a hulking man with an assault rifle. In combination with the somehow impeccable forest lighting and the leather suit highlighted every muscle, her hair practically as horizontal as she was with her legs snaking around the assailants neck, she appeared like a comic book character. That image blew up everywhere for about two months, and Black Widow gained a steadily growing international fan club (that included Sam) ever since.
"Well, he showed me how to do that, after I made a poor attempt to surprise him from one of the exposed beams during a training session. No one else ever knew that skill, it would've been considered not 'practical', 'useless' or too 'raunchy' for what Black Widows were supposed to be."
She looked once again at Bucky, her eyes a little wetter than normal. Pursing her lips, which to Sam's added amazement also still had the same perfect layer of iconic red, she continued. "When I asked him why after I perfected it, he said 'every asset you have, you use, and those legs are strong ребенок.'"
She looked at Sam again, reigning in her emotions. "Every time we trained together, it was an opportunity for us to be a little human, a little crazy. They made us robots, and I'm not sure what he saw in me to start calling me 'my child', 'spitfire', 'little one', but the care he gave me through little moments like that reminded me there must've been more to life than murder.
He…." She laughed softly again, twiddling with her hands, " Sam, he found me when out of a desperate moment of starvation stole some stale and sour grapes and hid from the headmasters and nurses to eat them. We'd been training nonstop for days, barely eating and sleeping. I was delirious, not knowing they were grapes and hoping they were candies. I was hiding under one of the dining kitchen tables scared out of my mind, hadn't even opened the bag yet. I still don't know why or how he found me, I'm pretty sure that day he wasn't supposed to be training us, but when he crouched and made eye contact with me, saw the bag practically tearing apart at the seams in my hands, he didn't hesitate to sit under the table with me. He slowly took the bag out of my hands, I was ready to bolt, but he was gentle. He popped one in his mouth, and immediately made a grossed out face. I laughed, then stopped because I had never laughed before. That was the first and last time I'd ever seen him smile as the Winter Soldier, it was a sad kind of one. Like he could tell i had never laughed. I mean who wouldn't, I probably looked scared shitless."
Sam wanted to say something, but he couldn't. Words didn't fail him often but when he could see a stone wall like Natasha's pain, and feel Bucky's unwavering presence beside him, he just couldn't.
She frowned, contemplative. "One day we actually tried to escape together too. It was foolish on both our parts. I think that was the last time I'd ever seen him. They caught us obviously, we couldn't get far. I wasn't small, but I wasn't big enough that I couldn't fit in his arms. He sprinted as fast as he could through the snow to get us out. We made it to the fence a couple miles away, yet we could hear them coming from what sounded like all directions. He wanted me to keep running while he fended off Hydra and the Russians, but I kept pulling and pulling at his sleeve until it tore, begging him to just come with me.
I thought he died that day because they shot him in the legs and shoulder, I screamed and screamed, even as they shut me in solitary for weeks as punishment. I knew a Winter Soldier existed out there, as an assassin it's a well known secret, but there was never any trace that it was him, never any indication he was still alive, and I never wanted to go searching anyway."
She smiled again at Sam, small and reserved, as if to say that's it .
Sam added the Red Room to his list of places to burn to hell, if Natasha hadn't already.
It seemed like she could read his thoughts. Her smile widened, like a Cheshire cat. "Oh I already did, Sam, burned it to the deepest pits with Lucifer." Sam let out a broken laugh at that, once again wondering how people who experienced the most fucked up shit managed to remain so good.
She cocked her head to the side, faux innocently. "Now, you tell me why you two are so cozy."
Sam groaned, her kindness didn't last. He brought a sore hand to his face as he glanced at Bucky.
"We're…I don't…" It seemed his loss for words continued. It wasn't as if he disliked the man, but Sam couldn't tell if he liked, liked him. The attraction was there, but they hardly knew each other. Learning a little more of Bucky's time as the Winter Soldier helped his view of the man, probably broke the meter because of the sweetness and caring he still managed to maintain, his never ending tenacity and determination, Sam couldn’t help but admire. No matter how many times they tried to break Bucky, there was always some part of him hidden where they couldn't reach, but that also meant he likely was there when he was forced to kill. It disturbed him, more than he'd care to admit, and that was outside the parameters of time travel they were currently dealing with.
"Even… if we were a little too cozy, it's not the time to be thinking of such things. He stayed at my place for a week, we got to know each other a little more, irritated the fuck out of each other on our little roadtrip, and that's it."
As much as he tried, he could tell it sounded more like he was saying it to himself than her. She spared him, nodding sagely, apparently content with the answer, but Sam had a feeling it'd be a revisited topic.
Steve emerged before either one of them could say anything else. Stress apparent on his face, the dark circles under his eyes penetrating the dust he still had yet to clean off. Turns out, Steve wasn't just brooding in the cockpit for a few hours as he changed their course to Africa, but he also called Fury in anticipation of the difficulty ahead.
"Furys going to try and make contact with them first, so they don't just shoot us out of the sky. I didn't tell him everything, just that we got intel Wakanda has the technology to fix Barnes." Steve and Natasha shared a look that said the man probably took more convincing than just 'intel'. "He said he'd let us know before we land, but as a precaution not to head to Wakanda right away. We'll be making a pit stop on the outskirts of Nigeria. He has a contact in Benin that'll try to bring us some extra supplies when we land, ETA 4 hours." He didn't wait for either one to say anything, shutting the door with the same message - leave me alone.
Sam sighed, again. He was getting tired of sighing, tired of the tension, tired of the man beside him doing nothing . "Bionic staring machine." Sam muttered bitterly as he turned his back to Bucky, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. Natasha saw, and heard him from the way she hummed slowly.
"He always had a staring problem."
"Yeah." He closed his eyes, and drifted off, pondering all the moments the icy blue eyes held warmth.
The first thing he felt was cold.
He wasn’t completely awake, something between consciousness and a deep sleep he never remembered falling under. He couldn’t remember anything at all. Didn’t hold any awareness outside of the freezing temperature. He felt no discomfort or comfort from the cold. The longer he lay there, simply feeling however, the more the static began to fizzle out. He felt a barely noticeable draft sweep his front, the clothes rustling against his skin began to take shape in his mind as very light and baggy, cutting off at his ankles and wrists.
The static continued to clear.
Voices, borderline melodic, spoke to him softly from all sides. He tried to respond, but his lips felt glued shut from their dryness. As he started working his jaw, he couldn’t help but concentrate on one that sounded warmer than the rest, comforting, and closer than the rest.
Flashes of red, black, white and blue. Glimpses of umber skin, and deep eyes he could fall into forev-
“SAM!”
He bolted upright, opening his eyes at the same time as he knocked heads with whoever was above him. A sharp yelp and groan behind him turned his attention, but the bright lights penetrated his skull like pins and needles, quickly shutting his eyes before he could vomit the bile quickly rising in his stomach from his impulsive movement.
One of the melodic voices interrupted his panic. “Bucky, Bucky, it’s okay.. You’re safe. Sam is safe.”
“Who? Where’s Sam?”
“I’m right here dumbass-ow god you can pack a headbutt.”
He outstretched his arms towards the voice, concerned now that Sam was hurt. He felt familiar calluses on his hands - hand? “Wh- Where's my left hand? Why can’t I feel my left hand?”
The same voice from before started, “Bucky-”
“Who’s Bucky? Why do you keep calling me that?” He gripped Sam’s arm tight, trying to pull him close. He’s safe with Sam, he doesn’t know who anyone else is, he doesn’t even know himself, but he knows he’s safe with the angelic sounding man.
“Princess Shuri, what’s-”
A more aggravated rushed voice, heavily accented interrupted “I’m working on it Rogers, but I told you before it may take him time to regain his memories, but they are there. Trust me.”
“I don’t-” He faltered. The voices, the sensations new and confusing were starting to get overwhelming. “Sam, Sam are you okay? I’m sorry, please-”
“Bu- I mean, you’re okay. I’m okay, don’t-don’t worry alright?” Sam shushed him, pulling him closer into his neck, and cradling his head gently. Sam’s breathing became controlled, and he mimicked it as best he could to calm down. After a few silent minutes, outside of the breathing of three other people, and faint typing coming from what he assumed was Princess Shuri, he finally managed to speak again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be okay? Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“I-I don’t…I think…cold?” He could feel one of Sam’s hands make some kind of gesture, and someone laid a blanket tenderly across his shoulders. He sighed in relief, suddenly warmer and able to think a little clearer.
He leaned back, still close enough to Sam to feel his breath on his face. It was warm too.
“Ready to..” He faltered again, scowling. It was a reflex, but a reflex that aborted halfway. The signal didn’t make it to the end nerve. The words wanted to come out, but it wasn’t a need to say it like it always was. It felt like he could stop. So he did.
“I don’t understand. Why don’t I need to say it?”
Everyone's breathing went quiet, including Sam’s. The comforting hand moved from his neck to his cheek, which felt hauntingly familiar.
“Oh…you don’t…you don’t need to. I’m not… I’m your friend. We are friends. Do you remember?”
He tried to concentrate, but the only thing he could focus on was the warmth of Sam’s hand, and how distraught he sounded. It was empty.
“I don’t…I’m sorry.” He suddenly felt exhausted, wanting nothing more than to stay close to Sam. He didn’t know why, but that didn’t matter at the moment.
“He should…get some rest. I can show you all to your rooms.”
He bristled, a wave of panic at the threat of separation. “Wait, Sam don’t-”
Sam shushed him again, wrapping his only arm around broad shoulders as he was carefully guided to stand up. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. We’ll stay together.”
He could only muster a small okay, chills raking his body from the cold floor, the blanket dragging as they walked in quiet tandem. From their steps, it sounded like they were in a very large room, then hallway, almost every sound echoing off the walls and ceiling.
“Where are we?” He asked meekly, unsure if his earlier behavior barred him from asking further questions.
“We’re in the African country Wakanda. You’re in the palace. We treated you, and now you’ll sleep. You’ll remember everything soon enough, so please focus on resting and don’t stress if you don’t understand something.” The heavily accented voice - Princess Shuri his mind supplied - responded this time, softer than her earlier aggravation. Something about her also sounded safe. He didn’t know where Africa was, much less Wakanda, nor about this supposed treatment, but he trusted her advice not to stress. He probably didn’t have the energy even if he wanted to, as with every step he felt like the weight of the blanket got heavier and heavier.
“Here you are Ja-I mean Sam. Feel free to call if you need anything. A Dora Milaje will be at your door within the hour.”
“Thank you, thank you so so much Shuri.” Sam sounded like he was going to cry, was he hurt again?
“Thank me by doing what you promised me, yeah?” She replied light-heartedly. The other two people didn’t say anything as they departed, leaving him and Sam alone in the big hallway.
Sam shuffled in place, sighing as they slowly turned toward what he assumed was the door. He could feel Sam's muscles and tendons work even from the opposite side of his body, as he gripped the door and led them into the room, closing it softly.
“You ready to sleep?”
“I don’t…I don’t know.”
“Okay, that's okay. Do you want the lights to stay on or off?”
He fiddled with Sam's sleeve a little, probably made of the same material of whatever he was wearing. “Off. Please.”
Sam maintained contact as he stretched slightly behind him to presumably shut off the lights, but he didn’t hear any switch. He did however feel the minute difference in temperature, indicating whatever Sam did worked.
He didn’t dare open his eyes, however, a part of him was scared of what he’d see, though he’s not sure why exactly he’d be scared.
Sam didn’t say anything about it, leading him once again to a very plush bed. There was a moment he was worried Sam would leave, maneuvering in front of him and away from the close proximity of his side, but he only placed the ever gentle hands on his shoulders, encouraging him to sit.
“I'm not going anywhere okay? I’m just gonna go to the other side of the bed, is that okay?”
“Okay.”
He listened keenly to every sound in the room, tracking Sam's footsteps.. He trusted him, of course, but he was still scared.
He was getting tired of being scared.
Sam seemed to be slipping off his shoes, the rustling of the sheets indicating he was shuffling closer to him. From how long Sam walked, the bed seemed pretty large, even larger than he thought as he tried to feel around for Sam.
Sam chuckled. “I’m right here sweetheart.”
A hand steered him toward the man, he sighed in relief, cuddling Sam's side and laying on his chest.
He wasn’t really sure if he was allowed to do this, something was telling him it was probably indecent, but before he could doubt the decision further, Sam’s arm wrapped around his back, rubbing his side and shoulder where his other arm used to be.
“Sam?”
“Mmm?” He sounded sleepy, and the soft brush of his hand wasn’t helping keep himself awake.
“Where is my other arm?”
Sam stopped, moving his hand to pet his hair. “We had to take it off, I’m sorry. We …didn’t want to…damage your nerves further while you were asleep.”
“Oh, okay.” Sam kept petting his hair, and he couldn't help but feel like he was waiting for more questions.
“Uhm, why was I asleep? How long have I been asleep?”
“You’ve been asleep for two weeks. You were asleep because you needed help, putting you in a medically induced coma was the only way to do so. Princess Shuri needed to evaluate you, and it took a while. You were able to get some treatment, but you’ll need more.”
“Oh, okay.” Now Sam was starting to sound like the lucid one, the velvet tones of his voice were lulling him to sleep. Honestly, Sam could probably start talking in another language and he’d respond the same way.
Sam could probably tell by the way he laughed, the vibrations from his lungs singing him a lullaby. “Sleep. I promise we’ll talk in the morning.”
“But I slept for two weeks...”
“Yes, but this will feel better than that, I promise.” Along with the continued petting, the kiss on the forehead sealed his fate, as the last thing he felt before the void took him under.
The first thing he felt was warmth.
Sam masticated, trying and failing the first two times to open his crusted eyes. It kind of hurt.
The room filled with natural light from the window behind the headboard. It wasn't a very large room, with the king sized bed taking up most of the space. Interestingly circular, it held two night stands to each side, and two curved dressers across from each other; the furniture looking centuries old yet modern, history probably etched into each wood grain. The dark walnut compliments extended beyond the sparse furniture, with beams in the high ceiling also carved into arches complementing the simple gold and white walls.
His first thought was that it kind of reminded him of home. While they weren’t rich enough to have circular rooms, his mother had a strange month where she was obsessed with the combination of white and gold. She bought itchy, flowery pillows with plastic gold petals, buying cups with gold handles and white bottoms. His mother even bought his dad a wooden box she hand painted with their initials on their anniversary in both colors. Sara hated how it looked, but Sam secretly loved it. The combination reminded him of class and wealth that suited his mother, every kind of gold and white.
Alpine, he is as white as his namesake.
He gasped at the non-sequitur, looking down at Bucky thinking he said it since it sounded oddly like him, but he was fast asleep.
The air suddenly felt a little too hot. Stifling.
Squirming, his bladder suddenly called his attention, a blessed excuse to try to brush off the strange thought.
“Weird.” Sam mumbled irritably. Preferring not to wet the bed, he knew there was a simple door to his left, hiding in with the decorative textured wall panels which he assumed was a bathroom. When he tried to carefully untangle himself however, an objection in the form of a guttural groan and a bear trap successfully prevented him. Bucky burrowed his head against Sam's neck, the arm that lay across his chest squeezing tighter and the leg across his own hooking their ankles. Sam chuckled, rubbing Bucky’s back again, hoping it'd gently wake him up.
After a few minutes, Bucky sighed, his breath tingling Sam’s neck and sending a tingle down to an already sensitive area.
Shit.
“Bucky- damn - I mean, sweetheart, can you let me up? I need to use the bathroom.”
He stirred some more, his leg riding up to brush against Sam’s crotch. “F-” He bit his lip, hard. Not now, christ!
“Smfh…ngdt muh.”
Sam shook his shoulder this time. “Okay sweetheart. I need the bathroom.”
For a second Bucky held his breath. Thinking he fell asleep again, Sam turned again to try to get a look at the other man, only to suddenly be headbutted again .
“Arrgh! OW!” He rolled over, lamenting the last 24 hours. First his forehead and then his chin. He was gonna have a bump everywhere before the end of the day.
“Oh gosh, Sam I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Bucky leant over Sam, worried.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam got a proper look at Bucky this time, and he could see it.
Recognition.
“Wait do you-”
He sat back down on his heels, fiddling with his pants, his cheeks flushed, “I…yeah. At least… bits and pieces.”
Sam adjusted himself to sit up with Bucky. “Tell me what you remember.” He was desperate to know. Desperate to hear how Bucky thought of him now. If anything changed, and how bad it got.
“I remember…” he frowned, “it’s kind of fuzzy. I remember how confused I was last night. I remember my name is James Buchanan Barnes, of the 107th and Howling Commandos. Steve is my best friend, and you Sam-” His eyes widened, looking away from him as if he was trying to figure something out. It seemed he couldn’t, sighing before continuing, “I remember meeting up with you, spending a week at your place, before we went on the mission. I don’t remember much after punching out Pierce, only thinking of you before Hydra zapped me again.”
Sam sat up straighter. Could that be why Bucky thought he was his handler? Bucky kept thinking of him before they did their mind-control bullshit? He thought about not asking, it was kind of flattering, kind of embarrassing, but he had to know. Bucky looked just as apprehensive as Sam sounded.
“I remember trying to think of the mission, but then I started thinking of you…I think because I didn’t want to forget something?”
Did he not want to forget me? Quite possible. Maybe it would’ve been kind of awkward, they only shared a handful of moments . Nothing addressed, and nothing defined. Even so, it didn’t feel like the right answer.
“What didn’t you want to forget?”
“I-ow” Bucky gripped the side of his head, shutting his eyes. “Every time I try it hurts. It..it really hurts Sam.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about it then. You know where we are?” Bucky's hand still rubbed at his temple, was that sweat?
“Yeah, Wakanda, Palace, Princess Shuri-AGH!” He crumbled like soggy paper, crying out in pain. Sam panicked and reached out to him, but hovered just above his head, scared touching him would make it worse.
“Buck-”
Grinding his jaw with visible force , Sam would have been worried about him fracturing it if there weren't a more critical problem. He shouted for help, stopping just as quickly when Bucky whined in pain. Stumbling out of bed and rushing to the door to yank it open, Ayo was already facing him, and he could only point at Bucky behind him. “Shuri, help please!” He whispered sharply.
“Close the curtains Sam.” He did as she instructed, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she rapidly approached the bed, fiercely tapping her Kimoyo beads. “I’ve alerted the princess. She’s on her way.” Ayo whispered, grabbing a piece of the bedsheet and ripping it into one very long piece. “Barnes, I need to wrap this cloth around your eyes and ears. Move your hands.” He tried to sink himself further into the bed, but his action did not deter Ayo. Through his hisses of protest, she managed to wrap it tight around his senses. An exhale of relief escaped Bucky, and his groans of pain lowered in volume. Before Sam could ask any questions, Shuri nearly tripped through the open door.
“Damn it. I knew it.”
Sam could only watch as she raised her Kimoyo beads above his head, blinking in an array of colors only she could understand. “Help me get him to the med bay Ayo.”
She quickly manhandled Barnes into her arms with terrifying ease, ignoring his bemoaning while jogging steadily behind Shuri. They rounded the doorway before Sam's brain caught up, promptly following them down the corridor. He heard commotion behind him as well, glancing he saw Steve and Natasha catching up.
“Sam-” He raised his finger to his mouth, quieting Natasha as they reached the lab.
The verdict was…better than Sam presumed.
He thought maybe Bucky was having a stroke. Apparently, after Shuri sedated him and evaluated him further, his brain was only trying to remember.
After three attempts of the same explanation in different degrees of comprehension, of which Steve and Natasha apparently understood the first round, he finally understood what she was trying to say and he summarized it for everyone .
“So what you’re saying is, Hydra zapped his brain into swiss cheese, and it's trying to repair itself through neuroplasticity; but because of the serum, his brain is trying to regenerate at a faster and more painful rate than it usually would.”
Shuri appeared amused at his explanation, “In the most simplest terms, yes, Falcon you are correct. I guess that birdbrain is useful for something.”
“Thank you.” He replied, more relieved than offended.
Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem pleased at all by the explanation. Practically vibrating out of his skin, Steve kept glancing between the blown up hologram of Bucky's brain in front of them and Bucky himself, unmoving on the white exam table.
“How do we make it less painful? Maybe along with removing the words his mind can repair itself while he’s under?”
Shuri sighed, as if she’d heard this question before. “Unfortunately Rogers, that’s not how neuroplasticity works. He needs to be awake for his neurons to detect the gaps and attempt to fill them. If we focus on the words first, his mind might associate previously uncovered or temporarily forgotten memories with the words. It’ll most likely be the loss of memories of his time as the Soldier, but I’d rather not take away his choice in the matter.”
While Steve appeared like he wanted to protest, Sam appreciated that. More than he could express into words. Bucky didn’t have any choices. That’s why they were here. Trying to give him some is the least they can do. He approached Steve, setting a firm hand on his shoulder.
Steve deflated, “I know.” He reached a shaky hand to brush a stray hair off Bucky's forehead. “We'll wait as long as it takes.”
Shuri nodded, typing more commands into unrecognizable code. "We'll put him on a bed for now and give him an IV. You can sit with him if you'd like, but how long he'll take to wake up depends on him."
She motioned for Ayo to pick him up again and follow, which once again, struck the fear of Dora Milaje into Sam. With a perfect squat, not even wincing under his weight, she gracefully slid him off the table into her arms. In the adjacent patient room, Ayo set him down just as carefully as she picked him up, while Shuri prepared a futuristic looking version of IV. Sam didn’t see her hold anything on the walk over, yet she had in her hand what looked like a glucose monitor for diabetes, circular and white with a sticky bottom. She positioned it onto Bucky's bicep, tapping the center twice before another sequence of blinking notified her of supposedly satisfactory information.
She nodded contently. “His vitals look good. Not to worry.”
"Thank you again Shuri." Steve melted into the chair as he sat beside Bucky. She nodded politely before departing, leaving Ayo to remain stationed at the entryway. Far enough conversation wouldn’t reach her, and close enough to act in case anything happened. It made Sam uneasy; however, having a guard on the Winter Soldier at all times was one of the easier conditions to be allowed into the country. The others included: a full and complete detailed explanation as to how they knew of Wakandan technology which Steve magically convinced Prince T’Challa to fix Bucky first for the full debrief; to have a fully transparent line of communication with the Avengers and Nick Fury regarding missions pertaining to Wakandan interest, which was a 391 page PDF sent to all their emails Sam was probably going to be the only one to read; and finally, for Steve, Sam and Natasha to train with the Dora Milaje throughout Bucky’s recovery. There could have been a worse list of contingencies, but it held a thinly veiled threat of ‘ we’re holding you politically hostage’ . If the World were to catch a whiff of ‘vibranium’ and ‘Wakanda’ from any of the Avengers, it’s probable there would suddenly be a leaked dossier on three avengers who had continued visitation and communication with the most powerful country in the world.
Sam sighed. What a mess.
Natasha lingered, patting Steve's shoulder. “I’ve got a call with Fury, I’ll wait in my room. Let me know of anything.” She nodded to Sam before departing.
Sam felt awkward without Natasha. Sam and Steve hadn’t really talked about anything, not the handler situation, nor Sam’s affinity for keeping secrets. Did he feel guilty? Yes. Was there any time they had to reconcile? Not really. Between checking in with Shuri on Bucky’s progress, and dealing with the fallout of the information dump from SHIELDS archives, they were pulled in all sorts of directions. When they first returned to the States on a strongly worded summon two days after hiding in Wakanda, all three of them were relentlessly grilled on their whereabouts, despite Fury somehow covering for them. Then, squashing Hydra cells that were rapidly trying to act on their recent failure put the team on high alert. Sam was mostly on the field with other Avengers and Steve. However, he joined Natasha for a handful of press and government conferences in the states which drained his soul. The same questions over and over remained ingrained in his head, along with their faulty attempts at trying to reclaim his equipment and the Shield, shut down by Natasha just as soon as it was brought up.
Sufficient to say, there hasn’t really been a moment to breathe the past two weeks.
“Steve, I just wanted to say-”
“It’s okay Sam. I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re…not. Mad. At me.”
Steve huffed, shaking his head. He motioned for Sam to sit across from him, on the other side of the bed. “No. I wish it wasn’t the case, but I replayed it over and over in my head, there wasn’t any other choice but to have you give orders in the Helicarrier. I can’t think of a better scenario. And regarding your secrets, I think I understand. I know you must’ve had your reasons, but please enlighten me.”
He took the offer to explain. “I did have my reasons. He wanted to tell you everything immediately. Honestly, while I trusted him, just knowing what he told me felt…wrong. There were so many questions I had with what little he told me, there was a lot he was definitely hiding, but now I kind of regret it. Who knows if he’ll remember what happens in the future. If we’ll get the advantage for whatever bigger-than-New York problems are headed our way. I wanted to wait until we knew more, to see how even just being here could affect things, thinking that taking in the information on a need to know basis could mitigate whatever above-the-pay-grade consequences, although looking back it was a useless sentiment.” Wanting to reach for Bucky's hand, Sam settled for fiddling with the bedsheet.
”No, you were right to do so Sam. You barely knew us, and of the potential effects of knowing these things. We don’t know what Wakanda will do with this information when we tell them. Or what someone could try to do if it fell under the wrong hands. The less people know, the better.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, scruff already beginning to shape his jawline. “I’m just worried. I know you are too, but I don’t understand how you can be so calm and cool about this.”
Sam shrugged. “I’m worried about him too, but you heard what Princess Shuri said. He’s healing Steve. It’s painful, yes, scary to witness, yes. At the end of the day though it’s the best damn news we could hope for. I think when he was referencing his memory issues the first few years he escaped Hydra, he was probably referencing this. Except we were on our own. He had us, but he didn’t get treatment in Wakanda until much, much later. This time he’s getting it sooner.”
Steve nodded, smiling sadly. “Yeah, you’re right Sam.”
Sam cleared his throat, opting to face Bucky instead out of embarrassment. “Also, for the sake of transparency moving forward, I think I know why he…thought I was a handler.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious why he thought that Sam.” He never wanted to smother another human being with a pillow more than in that moment, but that’d be counterproductive.
“Stop laughing. He told me he tried thinking of the mission, but he started thinking of me because he didn’t want to forget something. When I asked him what he didn’t want to forget, that's when he became like this. I think…I think he didn’t want to forget the future.” Sam crossed his arms, scowling at the limited information he had to work with. It was frustrating, and he really, really regretted not begging for details when he had the chance.
“He said you guys were co-ops right?” Once again Steve opted for a suggestive tone Sam didn’t appreciate.
“Yeah.”
“Mmhm.” Steve looked back to Bucky, contemplative. “Did he mention the future me?”
“Outside of what I told you? No. Just how we helped him while on the run, and took him here. How you fumbled a very important pronunciation in front of the king and gave a passionate monologue about the serum while drunk on Thor's liquor.”
Steve leaned back in his chair, mirroring Sam’s posture. “Maybe I die in the future.”
“ What ?” Sam nearly broke his neck to glare at Steve.
“Wait, what do you mean by monologue?”
His game of dodgeball wasn’t amusing to Sam. Fine. Two can play at that game. “He essentially said his came out larger than yours. Apparently you spill at one of Starks' parties.”
Steve blinked in shock, abruptly cackling. “Damn Bucky I don’t know if I should be mad you sharing my secret or be glad for the warning.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh along; however, that far away look in Steve’s eyes that remained even after he calmed down.
“Don’t go reckless on us Rogers.”
He stood, stretching and almost splitting the seams of the linen pajamas Shuri kindly lent them this visitation stint. Somehow sounding relieved for the first time since their run in DC, Steve replied, “Don’t worry Sam, Bucky clearly took all the stupid with him.”