Chapter 19
Now (Midnight)
Bucky was floating somewhere between life and death. He was feeling many things at once. Some anger at the man who was currently strangling the life out of him. Some regret, some pangs of anger at himself. But mostly it was peaceful. Dreamlike. He could exist right now, for forever, or for a couple of hours. Or not at all. He was tired of struggling. Living was just too difficult. Dying couldn’t be all that bad. At worst, emptiness. And he was already empty, living an empty life, trying to fill it with substances and violence and distractions. And at best…well, at best, Steve could be here.
Now (12:01 a.m.)
When Sam pulled up to the bunker, his heart racing, something just felt wrong. He didn’t know what it was, exactly. He’d been hesitant to leave Bucky alone with the target. Knew there was something fucked up about this from the start.
What had clinched it for him, though, was the look on Zemo’s face when he thought Sam wasn’t looking.
They’d brought Nat to a kind of makeshift triage center in a basement somewhere. “Stay with her,” Zemo had ordered. Who the fuck was this dude to be giving Sam orders now?
Nat was pale from blood loss, mostly unconscious. But she woke as they moved her from a stretcher to an operating table. She clutched wildly at Sam. “James,” she said.
“No, Nat. It’s Sam.”
”I know it’s Sam, I’m not dead yet,” she quipped. Half dead and still making jokes. That was Nat. “Where is James? Bucky? Where is he?” that brought on a fit of coughing, flecked with blood.
The doctor looked sternly at Sam over his glasses. “Sir, you need to let us work.”
Nat clutched him tighter, pulled him close, as if to embrace him. But instead she whispered in his ear. “Get Bucky. Make sure he’s safe. This whole thing feels like a set up. We can’t trust Zemo.”
Sam shook his head, confused. “What kind of setup?”
”Just go,” she said, and moaned. She gave one last squeeze of his hand and locked eyes with him. “Go.”
He nodded. The doctor pried their hands apart and put a mask over Nat’s mouth. The anesthetic put her under almost immediately.
He walked a few steps back to Zemo, thinking he would make some excuse to leave. But he stopped suddenly several feet away. Zemo was holding his phone sideways. Watching a video of some sort. And smiling. He could just barely make out two voices. And one of those voices sounded just like Bucky.
He’s got that fucking safe house under surveillance, thought Sam angrily. And the expression on Zemo’s face, it was…relish. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t be good.
He headed for the van, and white knuckled it all the way back to the safe house. He remembered the way - he had memorized every turn they took. And he drove like a bat out of hell.
Now, as he fumbled with the door to the safe house, he was sweating, overcome with foreboding. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. He could feel it.
And then he saw it. Bucky on the floor. The man over Bucky, squeezing the life out of him.
A voice spoke then in his mind. “Save Bucky Barnes.” Steve’s voice.
He didn’t hesitate. He drew his gun, took a few seconds to steady his aim, and made sure he had a clear line of sight. Luckily, Haverly was distracted. He didn’t even clock Sam’s presence until it was too late. Sam squeezed the trigger three times. All three shots found their home in the center of the man’s chest. He slumped over. His grip on Bucky released, and Bucky fell to the floor like a rag doll. Sam stepped forward, past Bucky, and fired another shot into Haverly’s head, just for good measure.
Then he turned to Bucky. Bucky was still.
”Bucky!” screamed Sam. His voice was strangled, unrecognizable.
He moved Bucky’s limp form into a recovery position. He listened for breathing, but all he could hear was his own ragged breaths and his heart pounding. He stopped, forced himself to breathe. Then he checked for a pulse.
It was there. It was weak. Bucky was alive—for now. But Sam still couldn’t hear any breathing.
He checked Bucky’s airways for obstruction. Everything was clear, although red and swollen. Sam wondered idly if Bucky’s trachea was crushed. There was no medical equipment here, nothing here to intubate.
”Zemo, you motherfucker, I hope you can hear me,” said Sam. “If he dies, you’re next.”
He gave a few rescue breaths to clear the airways, pausing, checking to make sure Bucky’s pulse was still there. Not slowing down. He began to yell Bucky’s name. Loudly. Trying to rouse him. He slapped Bucky’s face, slapped it again.
“Wake up, Sergeant Barnes!” he yelled. Then he had an idea. He tried something else. “Wake up, soldat!”
Bucky’s eyelids fluttered. The old name had awoken some deep, primal part of his brain. The part that cared only about survival. And then Bucky started coughing, sputtering and gasping. It was the most beautiful sound Sam had ever heard. He turned Bucky on his side so Bucky wouldn’t choke on the vomit and bloody spittle he was coughing up.
”Welcome back,” said Sam.
“Steve?” said Bucky weakly. And Sam felt a pang of guilt in his chest.
“It’s me, Sam,” said Sam. He saw the cold look of disappointment in Bucky’s eyes, like waking from a dream. Sam rushed to get Bucky a bottle of water from his gear bag.
Bucky looked as broken as Sam had ever seen him. He was like a lost child, sitting there. He looked smaller than Sam had ever seen him before. Confused, scared, and alone.
But they weren’t alone. Not really. Sam remembered how Steve’s voice had sounded in his head, clear as a bell. It had been a command. To step up, to save Bucky.
Sam didn’t know why he felt compelled to say it. Maybe it was because of the look on Bucky’s face. “Bucky, you’re going to be okay. I’m with you. And Steve…Steve’s with us too. With both of us. I know he is.”
Bucky blinked up at Sam, still looking so childlike, so innocent. He nodded. “I felt him too.” And the look of bewilderment on his face turned to sorrow. He began to cry softly, his already red face overflowing with tears.
Sam knew Bucky didn’t like being touched, but right now, his instincts as an uncle, as a protector, took over. He sat next to Bucky and held him, and Bucky didn’t flinch away. He thought about Steve. He thought about Nat. And for a long time, he and Bucky sat there and wept.