Bucky Barnes Part Two
Chapter Twenty Three: Bucky Barnes Part Two
The sun was shining brightly in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the large room. Inside the lab, everything was shining silver and glass, reflecting the afternoon light. It was quiet, just the clicking of keys on a keyboard and the sounds of breathing. Outside, the cityscape of Birnin Zana was in full swing. Merchants called out at passerby from their rickety wooden stalls, people crowded the dirt roads on foot, wooden carts filled with wares rolled by kicking up dust, and farm animals in stalls whinnied and stomped impatiently. The city was loud and chaotic, yet peaceful all at once.
That’s what Bucky thought, at least, looking out the windows. He tugged at the sleeves of the plain black t-shirt that Danny had brought him, shifting his feet self-consciously. He’d gotten used to traditional Wakandan garb, and being back in more Americanized clothing was at once a strange and familiar feeling. Footsteps sounded beside him, light and easygoing, and Bucky did not need to turn to see Shuri coming up to stand beside him.
“This has been a safe haven, White Wolf, but you have never made a home here,” she said, gently.
She was not looking at him. Shuri, too, was watching the cityscape of Birnin Zana as the Wakandans went about their daily lives.
Bucky knew she was right. Wakanda had been a place he had been taken to recover, to help him learn who he was again after HYDRA had taken that from him. Wakanda had been where Bucky had easy laughter and late nights with friends, where he had gotten the trigger words out of his head, where he had been gifted a new arm that Shuri and Danny had made for him, where he had been allowed to rest. Wakanda had become, in its own way, safe. Familiar. Not a home, Shuri was right about that, but a haven. But now it was time for him to leave that safe haven and return to the real world, the world he’d been taken from so long ago. It was time for Bucky to face his demons, and the man that he had been in love with, was still in love with, whom he hadn’t spoken to since he’d been free. Bucky wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in Wakanda. A month? More time? Less?
“I know,” he answered Shuri, voice soft.
The sound of one of Danny’s portals opening was unmistakable. Bucky couldn’t hear footsteps, but Danny moved with an unnatural silence that Bucky could almost sense. As if on cue, Danny’s face appeared on his other side. Like Bucky and Shuri, Danny was looking out the window, almost wistfully.
“I’ll miss this place,” Danny sighed, softly, white hair blowing in an invisible wind.
“You are always welcome here. Both of you,” Shuri said, sincerely.
“Thank you for your kindness, Princess Shuri,” Danny answered, formally, and he turned and saluted her in the Wakandan style.
“Thank you for your kindness, Princess Shuri, and that of your people,” Bucky echoed, and he too turned and offered her the Wakandan salute.
Shuri smiled at them almost sadly, then she dipped into a curtsy.
“It was our honor to help you in your time of need,” she answered.
Then Shuri stood and, formalities taken care of, pulled Danny into a tight hug.
“Don’t you dare disappear on me, Phantom,” she ordered.
Danny chuckled as he squeezed her back. “Of course not, Shuri. I’ll be around, as often as I can. Promise.”
They broke apart, and turned as one to face Bucky. Shuri didn’t hug him, but she waved a finger in his face rather threateningly.
“Don’t be a stranger, Barnes. Or you may learn the true might of Wakanda,” she threatened, teasingly.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Noted.”
Danny stepped towards him, then. “Ready, Buck?”
Bucky took a deep breath and turned to soak in the sight of Wakanda once more. Finally, he faced Danny.
“I’m ready,” he answered, and he was surprised to find that it was true. He was ready.
The morning after Bucky’s brain surgery had dawned bright and clear, light shining in through the picture windows of the room he’d been given. He sat up quickly, all at once, and his head spun. It was a foreign feeling, unpleasant, not something he was used to. He felt off, somehow, shaky and strange. His head was pounding, something that was both familiar and strange, and the lights all seemed too bright. He was hungry, starving actually, but somehow he also felt vaguely nauseous.
Stomach lurching a little, he stood up from bed and stumbled into the common area next to his room. It was all plush carpet and overstuffed couches and armchairs in soothing blues and beiges, permeated by technology he didn’t understand. Shuri was sitting at a wooden table, looking over something on a holographic display and sipping something that might have been coffee.
“Shuri?” he questioned, voice rough.
She looked up, eyes meeting his immediately, a warm smile on her face.
“Good. You are awake. How are you feeling?”
“Not so good,” he admitted, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.
It was just so bright.
“Ah. Something like a particularly bad hangover?” Shuri asked, standing and walking over to him.
She put the back of her hand on his forehead, a familiar way of checking his temperature instead of all the fancy gadgets she’d had out yesterday.
“Something like that,” he agreed, blinking hard against the light.
Shuri hummed. “This is not unusual after a procedure of this type. I shall retrieve a remedy for you, as well as something to eat, and then I think it best if you go back to bed.”
“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling vaguely off balance, and sat down in one of the armchairs while Shuri walked off.
It didn’t take long for her to return, bearing a bright orange drink and a plate piled high with fresh fruit and pancakes, thick slabs of bacon and scrambled eggs. He dutifully drank the electric orange drink, felt much better, and proceeded to eat all the food she offered him. Once he was finished with that, he found himself feeling rather exhausted again, and followed Shuri’s recommendation and went back to bed.
The next time Bucky woke up, he felt much better. Back to normal, almost, if this was what normal was. Memories and thoughts, things he couldn’t separate into dreams or reality swirling around in his mind. Physically he was fine. Mentally, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to say he was “fine” ever again.
This time the light coming into the windows was orange and pink and gold, bathing the room in the colors of sunset. Bucky padded back into the common area, wondering vaguely at the time, wishing he had a clock somewhere that made sense.
The scene that greeted him was neither expected nor unexpected, though it was surprisingly domestic. Shuri and Danny, in his ghost form, were sitting across from each other at the wooden table. There was food laid out before them, though it was mostly Shuri that was eating. Danny picked at his food, took a bite every now and then, but Bucky knew that the kid had a strange relationship with eating. The fact that he even had a plate in front of him attested to his comfort here, in this strange room of neutrals and blues and technology, sitting across the table from the Princess of Wakanda. Shuri was saying something animatedly, waving her arms, gesturing at a holographic design floating over their table. Danny would answer her, point out something else on the hologram, and they’d be off again.
“What’cha looking at?” Bucky asked, softly, taking an open seat at the table.
Both of their gazes landed on him, eyes alight with some inner creativity that Bucky remembered seeing previously from both Danny and Howard Stark.
“Blueprints,” Shuri said, mysteriously.
“How would you feel about a new arm?” Danny asked.
And oh. That’s what the blueprints were for. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, Bucky smiled.
Getting his old arm off was a painful process. Even with the drugs the Wakanda doctor gave him, even with Danny and Shuri there watching over him, it hurt. The recovery felt longer than it should be, given his super soldier status.
“We had to reconstruct your shoulder, Buck,” Danny said, when he complained about it. “Be glad it’s healing at all. If it had been much worse, I’m not sure we could have salvaged the nerves.”
“Your body will heal in its own time, White Wolf,” Shuri agreed, patting his remaining hand.
He’d finally gotten to the point where he didn’t flinch when she did that. Danny leaned over, bumped his cold shoulder against Bucky’s flesh one. Reassuring. Familiar.
“You’ll get there,” he reiterated, voice soft. Empathy. It had always been a particular talent of Danny’s.
The first time they connected the new arm, there was no pain. It fit over his shoulder seamlessly, a unique blend of ectoplasm, nanotechnology, and vibranium connecting to the nerves. Once it was connected, it glowed ectoplasm green for a moment before it faded to a flesh color that perfectly matched his other arm. The lifelike detail was meticulous. And when Bucky moved it, it felt just like his other arm.
“Thank you,” he’d said, quietly, marveling as he opened and closed the hand over and over again. His hand.
“How does it feel?” Danny asked, clipboard and pen in hand.
“Perfect,” Bucky answered. “Absolutely perfect.”
Bucky was sitting on his favorite couch, feet wrapped in a blanket, reading the most recent book that Danny had brought him. Shuri was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and working on something.
Then one of Danny’s portals opened and he flew out, flopping in the armchair across from Bucky melodramatically. He sighed, exaggerated.
“Steven Grant Rogers is possibly the single most annoying person on the planet,” he complained.
Bucky laughed, mirthfully.
“I simply cannot go on!” Danny continued, in a terrible imitation of a British accent, and threw his arm over his eyes. “He won’t stop asking me about Bucky! And he’s terrible at all the ghost fighting drills we do because he refuses to change his fighting style!”
Bucky snorted. “Sounds like Stevie,” he agreed.
“When are you going to talk to him?” Danny whined.
Bucky shrugged, suddenly becoming more serious, heart aching in his chest. He crossed his arms. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“The awkwardness of star crossed lovers strikes again!” Danny exclaimed. “Someone kill me now!”
“You’re already dead,” Shuri pointed out, helpfully, from where she was still doing...something technological at the table.
“Half-dead,” Danny corrected, mildly, obviously on instinct.
Shuri did stop working at that, turning around to face him and squinting suspiciously.
“What do you mean half-dead?” she asked.
Danny froze, his whole posture going rigid. “What?” he asked, trying and failing to maintain nonchalance.
“You just said half-dead,” Shuri reiterated, slowly.
“I- I-,” Danny stuttered.
Bucky could practically feel the kid panicking from here. He swung up, abandoning his comfortable blanket nest to take a knee in front of Danny, hands firm on his shoulders.
“Danny,” he said, voice firm. “Breathe. In-” Bucky took a deep breath in, “-and out.” In-” Danny managed to suck in a breath with him, this time, “-and out. Good.”
He had him take a few more breaths. “Now. Five things you can see.”
“You, Shuri, the floor, the walls, the table,” Danny listed, blinking furiously.
“Good. Perfect. Alright, now four things you can feel?”
“The chair, your hands on my shoulders, the air on my skin, my feet on the ground.”
“Alright, you’re doing so well. Three things you can hear?”
“You talking, the city, people talking in the distance.”
“So good, so close now. Keep going. Two things you can smell?”
“Your breath and...some herb, I think.”
“Good. One thing you can taste?”
“Metal.”
Bucky gave him a moment to regulate his breathing.
“You okay?” he asked, hands still firm on Danny’s shoulders.
Danny blew out a breath, nodded slowly. “Thanks, Buck.”
After another moment, Bucky patted Danny on the shoulder one last time before returning to his seat. Danny took another deep breath, then turned to face a very confused Shuri.
“I’m only half ghost,” he explained, voice deceptively calm. “But you can’t tell anyone. If anyone else knew, if anyone else even suspected….I would be in great danger.”
He looked down at that, white hair falling in his face, hiding his eyes.
“Prince Phantom,” Shuri said, slowly, “I will honor your trust in me. I’ll keep your secrets.”
Then she bowed her head, just a little, hands folded in front of her. Danny looked up at that, relief written clearly on his face.
“And I will honor your trust in me, Princess Shuri,” Danny answered, returning the bow. “I offer you my sword and my shield, I lay my armor at your feet.”
Bucky had a feeling there was a lot more to that then he understood, some ritual significance of which he was unaware. But it didn’t really matter, so long as they were both comfortable.
But then Danny turned to him, a sort of sad smile on his face that Bucky couldn’t begin to interpret.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked.
There was no point in lying.
“Yes.”
“You’ve met me. But I haven’t met you,” Danny said, seeming to understand exactly what that meant.
“Yes,” Bucky said, again. What else could he say?
“I will meet you, though,” Danny said, again with that eerie confidence.
“Yes,” Bucky said. “How did you know?”
“It clings to you,” Danny said, eventually, eyeing him critically. “Like a second skin. Like the seidr of the Aesir and the Jotnar clings to them. I can tell you’ve met me before. But I don’t remember you. Which means it’s your past, but my future.”
“I think this is when I write you the note, probably,” Bucky mused. “When I met you, you gave me a note. It was from, well, me. Now.”
“Okay,” Danny agreed.
“Wait,” Shuri said, waving her hands. “Not to interrupt, but, can we return to the fact that you’re only half ghost? And that I was apparently the only one that didn’t know this?”
“Sure,” Danny agreed, floating up. “We can return to that.”
Then he changed, to his human self. Then ghost. Then human. Then ghost. Then human. Then ghost again. Shuri watched, impassively. Then, her face stretched in a wide grin.
“That is freaking awesome!” she exclaimed.
There was laughter, lightheartedness, too. Times when Bucky would play old card games with Danny and Shuri, and the card game was more a front for them to just sit together, to talk. Danny would offer him some sort of fancy Cuban cigar, and Bucky’d take it, light it up. Shuri would cough dramatically and wave a hand in front of her face, Danny would blow the smoke in her face just to make a point, they’d all laugh about it. Bucky would have a glass of Bourbon at his elbow, and take a drink every now and then. Danny did too, sometimes, even though Bucky disapproved of it. Danny was more partial to Vodka, though, frozen into a syrupy consistency. Bucky didn’t like that he drank, thought he was too young, but Danny did what he wanted. Shuri was actually too young, and would frequently pester them about it. Sometimes, when he didn't think Bucky was looking, Danny would slide his glass over to Shuri. Bucky pretended he didn’t see.
Then there were the festivals in the outer villages that both Shuri and Danny insisted they go to. The festivals were full of food and rituals and dances that Bucky didn’t understand, but they were still fun. Getting pulled out with Shuri to dance around the fire, learning how to play the ancient rhythms on the drums, and listening to the stories told by the elders. One night, a gorgeous man caught his eye, and spent the night flirting with Bucky. They went home together, no strings attached, no connection required. Shuri said that was common in Wakanda. A dalliance, a night of sharing and passion. It was good, god it was good, but Bucky couldn’t help feeling strangely guilty about it all the same.
It was a strange place to be, Wakanda. He was safe. Cared for, in a way he hadn’t been since he was young. Surrounded by people that, though they didn’t understand, never treated him like anything less for what he’d done. What he’d been made to do.
Shuri and Danny made him go to therapy, after his third panic attack in as many days. He didn’t want to admit it, but it helped.
But all good things had to change, eventually. Bucky had to venture out into the world, to rejoin Stevie, to find his place in the world of chaos and villains and heroes that Danny described. The truth was, he wanted to. Wakanda was safe, but it wasn’t home. It would never be home. Because home was New York. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
The flight through the Realms in Danny’s arms was simultaneously forever and no time at all. If it had been anyone else carrying him, Bucky would have been nervous. But he trusted Danny implicitly, one of the few people to have ever earned that trust. So he was quiet as Danny opened another portal and carried him through, touching down on what Bucky was sure was the roof of the tower. The familiar city skyline sprawled around him. It was afternoon here, the sun high in the sky beating down on them. There was only one other person on the roof when they landed.
“Stevie.”