Turn, Turn, Turn
Friday afternoon at the largest, oldest and most iconic mosque in Damascus was the ideal place for a hand off. The sun beat down overhead, burning the stone underfoot. Dust and exhaust mixed in the air, kicked up by sandaled feet and rough tyres. It was noisy and pigeons squawked loudly, announcing their hungry stomachs and demanding for bread. Engines sputtered and Bucky could smell the acidity of sweat from the throng of people visiting the mosque. It was time for the Friday prayers, and both the devout and the curious had come in full force.
"D'you think the Snap and the Blip made people more religious?" Barton said in Bucky's ear.
The sniper had planted himself on a rooftop somewhere. Bucky didn't quite know where. Barton had left before Bucky, saying that he was going to take the "scenic route". And then the sniper had made contact with Bucky the moment he'd laid eyes on the WWII vet. Since then, Barton had been yapping away mercilessly, making the most banal observations.
Bucky didn't bother to reply because Clint had continued bulldozing his way through the conversation, saying, "You'd think there'd be a monument to aliens instead."
"I don't think people are particularly fond of aliens these days," Bucky muttered.
"Have you met cults?" Barton said. "They can find a way to worship literally anything."
"Where are you?" Bucky asked, curious because he hadn't been able to spot the marksman or the barrel of a sniper rifle.
"Don't worry about me. I got eyes on you."
"I'm not worried-"
"Two o' clock."
Bucky spun, coiled to strike like a serpent, "What is it?"
"Nice red scarf," Hawkeye replied. "Has sparkles and everything. Maybe I should get it as a gift for Pepper. Do you think she'll like it?"
"Can we stay on target?" Bucky hissed, pulling himself together and pulling his cap low. "Can't be hard to spot a briefcase of vibranium."
"Maybe not, but its thirty minutes past noon and I've resorted to checking out tourist souvenirs. I need a new magnet for my fridge."
"I'm gonna take a walk," Bucky said, planting himself at the tail end of a group of people who looked like friends, matching his pace with theirs.
"How much vibranium do you think they'll need to make a rocket?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
"A lot is the answer. If you were gonna move enough vibranium to wage a war, would they fit in a briefcase?"
"You're saying-"
"The Vibranium's probably already here. We just have to find it."
Tourist souvenirs. Bucky mentally kicked himself. Barton wasn't bored. He was looking for potential places to hide a mountain of vibranium that couldn't possibly fit in a briefcase. The briefcase Bucky had lost in Qatar was probably one batch of many. Bucky broke off from the group and merged with a small group that was standing around a souvenir stall. He pretended to browse the magnets, keychains and stationery while casting a quick glance around the stall. Several feet away, a squeaky air horn caught Bucky's attention. He turned to watch an ice cream seller navigate his bicycle and wares through the crowd.
"Wheels," Bucky whispered.
"What?"
"Look for something portable," Bucky explained, drifting off to another stall.
"I've got an agitated driver on his sixth cigarette. Ten o' clock. Grey car. Subtlety is key, Winter Soldier."
"Not my first time, Hawk," Bucky growled.
Bucky didn't know if Clint had used that codename by accident or if he was low-key calling the shots on this operation. Eitherways, Bucky did not appreciate it. He did, however, appreciate the minute observation about the cigarette. Bucky bought a pack of cigarettes, wandered towards the grey car, slipped the cigarette between his lips, and patted around his pockets for a lighter.
"No one tell you about the horrors of smoking?" Hawkeye sighed audibly.
Bucky mentally turned off his ears (again) and approached the agitated driver. He gestured to his unlighted cigarette, a questioning look in his eyes, and a Russian accent rolling off his tongue, "Got a light for the Winter Soldier?"
"I thought the Winter Soldier was Syrian," the driver said, eyeing Bucky cautiously.
"I run an independent crew. Some Syrians, some not," Bucky said with finality, gesturing to his cigarette again.
The driver (Fariq?) dug around in his pockets, one eye still on Bucky as he procured a lighter and held out a sliver of flame for the Winter Soldier.
"You can't be independent in a war," the driver said, scorn coating his words. "Jawlan belongs to us."
Bucky sucked deeply on his cigarette, "I don't care. I'm just here for the money."
"You mercenaries!" the driver spat, grounding his cigarette into dust.
Bucky shrugged, letting out a plume of smoke between pursed lips, "Take the vibranium to Golan on your own then."
The driver froze and let out a nervous laugh, "You're crazy."
"Your friends at Golan are paying me for a reason. So give me the vibranium and let me do my job. And you can keep your pretty little head on your shoulders, da?"
The driver shot Bucky a dirty look, then moved to the back of the grey car. He popped the trunk of the car and nodded at the luggage bag. Bucky watched the driver from his periphery as he reached out and unzipped the bag. Wrapped snugly and secured by straps were long slabs of vibranium. If Bucky could feel dizzy, he would. This much vibranium could not possibly slip out of Wakanda's hands without insider trafficking. He zipped the bag hurriedly and filed his feelings and thoughts for later. He hefted the bag out of the trunk and the driver slammed the trunk shut.
"Promise me one thing, Winter Soldier," the driver said, and Bucky could feel the venom in every word. "Get this to my brothers. No matter what. I know you don't care about our fight. But do it for the money. And your reputation."
Bucky said nothing. He simply turned and walked away, pulling the bag behind him, heading back the way he came.
"I'll lose visual if you go through the souq, Wolf," Hawkeye warned.
"Keep up," Bucky replied as he stepped into shelter.
There was no real respite from the sweltering heat in the souq. Sure, the sun no longer beat down against his skin, but the sweat still clung to Bucky's skin, running down his neck. There were some portable fans placed haphazardly in the souq but they blew dry air and did nothing to cool him down. The luggage bag he pulled behind him acted as bait, as local sellers started calling out to him with the hopes of enchanting the white man into spending money. Bucky pretended to browse, moving from stall to stall, making his way through the souq and towards the opposite exit. He was lucky. There were plenty of locals and tourists alike, bargaining and calling out to each other, so he didn't stand out too much. In his ear, Clint Barton swore and cursed and grunted. Bucky really did not care how Hawkeye would track him. He wasn't even a fan of having a partner on this mission anyway. Shuri had sent him alone. It had always been a solo mission. It was much easier that way.
The length of the souq surprised Bucky. It hadn't looked that long from their recon, but being inside was a different matter altogether. He wondered briefly if this could be considered a holiday. New York was nothing like this. It was still packed with people, but no one really looked where they were going, hurrying from one place to another. Here, it seemed as if time stopped. One could easily get lost haggling with sellers and not realise that four hours had passed. There was nowhere to rush to. It was a celebration of tourism and sellers were happy to pretend to be your friend for the extra cash in one's pocket. Bucky kind of liked it.
The literal light at the end of the tunnel finally came into view and Bucky passed through, back out into the sunlight. He blinked to accustom his eyes.
Hawkeye grunted in his ear, "I'm gonna meet you back at the hotel."
"Lost me?" Bucky grinned.
"Gonna get ice cream. It's too damn hot here," Clint snorted. "See ya."
Bucky rolled his eyes. He just needed to hail a taxi to send him back to the hotel. This being a tourist location, there were plenty of taxis waiting around for customers. He turned the corner onto the main street where cars zoomed past and bus drivers leaned on their horns.
The blow to the back of his head sent Bucky reeling. His grip on the luggage bag tightened. Warm, wide fingers grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into a wall. Pain lanced through his spine and Bucky spat out blood. His supersoldier reflexes caught a flying fist from his periphery vision and he barely dodged it. He struck out with his knee and finished with a roundhouse kick. His attacker grunted and dropped to his knees. A second attacker punched him in the sternum and Bucky staggered, blocking powerful blow after blow. He feinted left, spun to the right and swung the luggage bag at his attacker. The bag crashed into the attacker's head with a satisfying clunk, and the attacker dropped to the ground.
The first attacker pulled himself to his full height, the mid-day sun lighting up the fury in his face.
"M'Baku?" Bucky gasped.
"So you betray us like this, Winter Soldier?" the leader of the Jabari tribe said dryly.
"No- I-"
"We give you refuge and you steal our vibranium to sell to the highest bidder," M'Baku growled.
Bucky scanned M'Baku. The man was built like a tank and could hit like one. He was dressed in a loose T-shirt and a thin jacket with large pockets that reached past his calves. His fists were clenched and Bucky could just make out the bulge of a concealed gun around his waist. Bucky was similarly armed, but he knew a shootout between two foreigners on Syrian soil was a bad idea. He had to talk M'Baku down, or at least convince him enough to take this misunderstanding elsewhere.
"You came for the vibranium?" Bucky asked.
In his ear, Hawkeye asked for his status.
"Of course I came for the vibranium," M'Baku snapped.
"How did you know it was here?"
"How did you know?" M'Baku retorted, danger in his eyes.
Bucky was aiming to distract M'Baku long enough for backup to arrive, but now that the words left M'Baku's mouth, Bucky realised how bad he looked in the current situation.
"Look, I know this looks bad-" Bucky started.
"You using my line now?" Hawkeye called over the comms. "Give me two minutes."
M'Baku guffawed, "It will look a lot worse when I break your neck and feed you to the dogs."
"I came to take the vibranium back to Wakanda."
"How stupid do you think I am?" the larger man said, and launched himself at Bucky.
Bucky caught M'Baku's fists in his palms, super strength coursing through his veins. He pushed back.
M'Baku's eyes flashed a mixture of fear and surprise. Quick as lightning, he shifted his weight. Bucky stumbled with the inertia. M'Baku's right leg hooked around his and pulled. Bucky crashed to the ground. Instinct sent him rolling to the side and Bucky caught M'Baku's wrist, belatedly aware that the Jabari man had a wicked knife in his hand.
"Don't move," Bucky whispered.
"What?" M'Baku growled, incredulous.
A red dot danced on M'Baku's forehead.
"Scum," M'Baku hissed through gritted teeth.
"Back up slowly," Bucky said steadily, doing his best not to sound like he was ordering a ruler of Wakanda around.
M'Baku did, raising his eyes to scan the horizon as he took a few steps back. Bucky pushed himself up and dusted himself off.
"I'm not selling the vibranium," Bucky said, injecting as much authenticity as he could. "I came to bring it back to Wakanda."
"I don't believe you," M'Baku answered, shaking his head. "You were known as the Winter Soldier. My sources tell me the Winter Soldier's here to sell the vibranium to a warzone. When I asked Ayo where you were, she told me you got on a plane back to New York, but now I find a bag full of vibranium in your hands."
"Wolf, we've got company," Hawkeye said calmly. "Grey car from the souq headed your way. Six armed dudes on bikes pulling up at the other end of the street."
Now that Hawkeye mentioned it, Bucky's enhanced hearing picked up panicked footsteps of civilians from the main street. He kept his focus on M'Baku. He quickly held up both hands in surrender, then tugged down the sleeve on his right hand to show M'Baku the kimoyo beads snug around his wrist.
"Can you trust me?" Bucky asked. "I'll tell you everything, but right now we've got a bigger problem. The guys I just conned this vibranium from are here to take it back. There's seven of them coming this way. I've got a sniper on the roofs and I can tell 'em to either take down those seven guys, or take you down. Your call."
"Are you seriously making me do all your dirty work?" Hawkeye grumbled, annoyed.
M'Baku's brows creased and Bucky could see him thinking. The man next to M'Baku muttered lowly in Wakandan and although Bucky could kind of guess what they were talking about, he waited patiently.
"Who gave you the beads?" M'Baku asked, finally breaking the tension.
"Ayo," Bucky replied without skipping a beat, “She said it was a gift.”
M'Baku gave him a curt nod, "I will trust you for now, White Wolf. But once those men are down, we will have a talk. You will tell me everything."
There was no time for further discussion. The sound of tyres screeching heralded gunshots as six people whipped out their guns and started shooting. Bucky threw himself in front of M'Baku and the other Wakandan, vibranium arm held up to shield himself while he pushed them back. There was a shout and one of the attackers fell over, grasping at his hand. Another attacker fell over, clutching his abdomen, and the other four turned wildly, aiming their guns randomly. Beyond them, pedestrians screamed and ran for cover. The driver of the grey car climbed out with an assault rifle, taking cover behind his car while he scanned the skyline.
"Wolf. Status?" came Hawkeye's steady voice over the comms.
Bucky whirled to M'Baku and the other Wakandan who had retreated further back, but seemed to be unharmed.
"You good?" Bucky called to them.
M'Baku nodded at him, though his eyes were hard. He gestured at Bucky. Bucky glanced down and groaned. His clothes were soaked in blood and sudden pain ripped through his body. He sank to the ground.
"Status?" Hawkeye repeated, and Bucky could hear the firm control in Barton's voice.
"I'm hit. Three bullets. Two in the leg, one in the abdomen."
"I'm getting you out," Hawkeye was grim.
What happened next happened so quickly Bucky didn't have time to blink. The other attackers hit the ground in sprays of blood, screaming murder as sounds of the sniper rifle cracked through the air. Bucky's mind must've slowed down because he couldn't understand how a sniper rifle could reload that quickly. He vaguely remembered urgent words in Wakandan but he couldn't shuffle them into coherent sentences. He remembered hands touching him but being too disoriented to push them away. He remembered a blond man pulling him to his feet and giving him a stinging slap.
"Barnes!"
Bucky's eyes snapped up.
Clint Barton's voice was low and cold as one hand held him up, "You're a supersoldier. You heal. Don't give in to the shock."
And then, Clint was manhandling him into a grey car, and the Wakandans were piling in and they were speeding away. Bucky remembered pain and haziness, and blood leaking through his fingers. He remembered Clint's words and hung onto them, hoping against all odds that Hawkeye was right, that he would heal. Or at least heal fast enough that he wouldn't bleed out and die.
The world around him had transformed into a laboratory and he couldn’t tell if the sounds outside were cars honking or bombs falling or the clanging of HYDRA’s brainwashing machine. Panic gripped him.
“32557038,” Bucky muttered through the fog, hanging onto lucidity, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038.”
At some point, the world went white-grey.