It was the little things that gave it away. To be honest, the big things probably should have been a glaringly obvious tip-off too, but Bucky James Buchman Barnes was in no condition to pay attention to the big things. Like the fact that this Steve not Stevie, never Stevie was a fugitive, a criminal on flight from the law. James was a criminal too - blood practically oozed from his hands.
Normally, that would have been a massive turnoff - only other criminals and slummers consorted with fugitives - but James hadn't noticed at first. He had larger things to worry about, namely the imminent awakening of the Winter Soldiers and what seemed to be half the world after him, so it was excusable that he didn't pick up on this fact.
Probably.
On second thought, the deaths and injuries that followed Steve (and James) around probably should have rang alarm bells. Then again, most of their times together seemed to consist of fights. From the bits of what he remembered from the Before, Steve got into a lot of fights. Actually, the first time they met was because Steve got into a fight.
Then, Steve got bigger, a lot bigger, and instead of being a minor nuisance to those he considered "bullies," he became dangerous. Instead of weak, flailing fists, his opponents faced bone-breaking punches and unyielding metal, the same metal that tore through countless others to reach him, to 'save' him.
James was no stranger to suffering. Despite the gaps in his memory (all those murders, the blood on his hands), he could still remember snapshots and bits of a war (Blood, dripping down dull metal. This wasn't war. This was slaughter). In this new century, pain and death shouldn't bother him so much. Their screams and pleas would never leave him.
Even in the After, when they reunited, Steve was fighting...him... No, not Steve, can't kill Stevie.
Steve seemed pretty willing to kill him then, didn't even seem to care what could have been done to make him like that, but one glimpse of his face caused a 180-turn. If James was one of the other Howlies, or heck, a different officer, would Steve have just killed him?
James didn't know. Or maybe he didn't want to know.
What about the other Winter Soldiers? Sure, he knew they had more kills than him, but that could mean anything. Perhaps they been captured for a longer time, or programming them went easier since they weren't Winter Soldiers yet. Why did he and Steve head to Siberia? What where they expecting to do to the Soldiers after Zemo was knocked out, shoot them? Just put them down? That could've been some other fellow's Bucky. For all they knew, the Soldiers could have been in the same situation as James.
That could have been James.
His head dropped to his palms. "I don't know," he repeated louder, turning his head to the king. T'Challa looked at him with pitying eyes. The assistant lingered, pity in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she breathed into his ear as she leaned over and locked The Chair. 'If you were sorry, you'd let me go,' James screamed in his head.
"You do not have to decide right now, but know that it is an option," the new king said gently.
James' eyes flicked past T'Challa and to the cryostasis pod. He didn't answer. Several long minutes passed. T'Challa let out an exhale in a quick burst of air that was just barely audible to even James' enhanced hearing before quietly slipping out. James didn't mind. T'Challa was a king, after all, and no doubt had bigger things to worry about than a malfunctioning Winter Soldier. "It must have malfunctioned. Put him in the chair again."
The sleek, glossy cryostasis pod could make it all go away. James' remaining hand reached out to touch it.
Ice. Biting cold. Winter. James jerked back and stumbled, nearly falling.
From the corner of his eye, he could see a shifting shadow - the Dora Milaje, fearless protectors of the king. They were brave and capable fighters, but no match for him. Brave mothers standing in his way, fear in their eyes, knives in their hands. They knew they had no chance, but still they stood. They were no match for the Winter Soldier.
He resisted the urge to turn his head and track the movements. It threw them off, unnerved them that he could see them. James respected their wishes to remain unseen and didn't look in their direction. Instead, he thought of Steve.
Steve, who always tried to tag along. Steve, whose heart insisted on following where his body could not. Steve, who insisted 'til the end of the line. Steve, who came for him, fought for him. Steve, who dropped tons of concrete onto officers just doing their duty and civilians doing nothing wrong.
Of all the things to warn him, the thing that alerted him happened to be Steve kissing Peggy's niece, a fact he learned from Sam, who appeared to be trying to establish himself as Steve's right-hand man.
"Steve kissed Peggy's niece?" James rephrased.
"Well, yeah," Sam said, confused. "Well, when you put it that way, it seems...off."
James gave him a disbelieving look. "It's off no matter how you put it."
Now that they weren't on the run, James could finally think. He didn't like Steve's clinginess. He had been alone for so long, Steve's constant presence set him off. James could feel Steve's eyes on him, lingering. He could feel it, the same itch he got between the shoulders when a sniper had eyes on him. He couldn't stand it.
James marched up to Steve and shoved some brochures he begged off of T'Challa into the man's hands. "I read about co-dependent relationships. I'm sorry, Steve, but I don't think I'm ready for this step." He stepped back and refrained from looking at Steve's face. He wasn't sure he could keep his smirk hidden if he did.
Steve' spluttering was music to his ears. "Bucky! I-I, we! We're NOT in a relationship!"
"Codependency is an excessive emotional or psychological reliance on a partner, typically a partner who requires support due to an illness or addiction," James recited. "You practically threw away everything you had to come after me, and I think I can count 'HYDRA' as my illness."
"But Bucky!" Steve protested. "It wasn't you!"
"I find your obsessive behavior very off-putting. Your fixation on me is neither wanted nor appreciated, and your repetition of that one particular phrase is concerning," James said as robotically as he could, ignoring the change of topic. "I think I need time to get my head straight," he admitted much more seriously.
"No! Bucky!"
"A good start would to be to distance ourselves from the past," James steamrollered on, placing a second pile of brochures in Steve's reaching hands. 'Move on from the Past: How to get Over Him!' was placed on top, mocking Steve. James enjoyed the looks of disbelief from all of Steve's gang before continuing, "You've been following me around for days. I want a minimum of twelve hours a day without you. Also, separate rooms. I mean it. No camping outside my door, Steve. Lastly, you can call me James, and I can call you Steve."
James glared when Steve tried to protest. "I could always start calling you SteveShrimp or Rogers the Capsicle, instead."
From there, it went down. Despite Sam's obvious loyalty and devotion, Steve was slowly freezing him out. Sam would attempt to sit next to Steve, half-way through a sentence, when Steve would hit him with puppy eyes and awkwardly say that he was saving the seat his long-lost friend. Sam would guiltily give up his seats so the 'two besties could reunite.' To make up for it, James started 'hanging out' with Sam during his respites from Steve.
"And it doesn't bother you at all?" James questioned, disbelieving.
"You guys have been separated for a long time. It wouldn't be nice of me to add to that time," Sam answered automatically. "Besides, you're good for each other. You ground him and he helps you remember."
James tactfully ignored the side-step of his question and didn't mention the fact that his memories were returning anyways. All he really needed was some time.
Wanda moped about Vision and talked about all the expensive, flamboyant things she wanted to try. Being confined into a handful of rooms and corridors was visibly grating her. Her powers unnerved James, they way they were so casually disregarded. They seemed unnatural, malicious, even. James knew he was biased because of her powers over the mind, but he couldn't help it. She was unstable and he wanted to get away from her.
"She tossed her boyfriend down several stories and expects him to take her back," James concluded. "I read about those too. They're called abusive relationships." He grinned innocently when Steve opened his mouth, frown on his face.
"It's different," Sam insisted over Wanda's annoyed 'he's not my boyfriend,' that was immediately followed by an upset 'I'm not an abuser!' "He's not a human. His body can withstand it."
"It's because she's a dame, right?" James deadpanned, ignoring Steve's DisappointedLook™ as he comforted the young woman. He stepped out of the way of a wispy tendril, lifting his foot up and stomping on the scarlet mist. It evaporated to nothing. "I mean, if you pushed your girlfriend down a flight of stairs, I'd tell her to run as far away as she can and call the cops on you."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, and James knew that there was something he just wasn't understanding.
When James gets a ...nightmare? Ha! It could barely count as a nightmare. A dream then, a dream of falling out of a moving train, of all things. Why would he fear falling? What comes after the fall was exponentially worse. dream for the fifth night in a row, he snaps. Wanda's new hairbrush that T'Challa took an entire week to deliver disappeared. The fit that Wanda threw in response was legendary. The room the witch was assigned was utterly destroyed, her donated items ripped apart. The woman wilted under the Shuri's withering gaze as the princess dictated exactly why the items so-generously gifted upon her, the ones that she herself ruined so devastatingly, would not be replaced. The Dora were not the witch's servants and Wakanda had no obligation to provide such luxuries for her.
James still smiles whenever he spots her drowning in one of Steve's or Wilson's sweatpants or looking shapeless in their T-shirts.
Meanwhile, Clint and Scott sat apart from the others, exchanging glances every so often and muttering to each other. Clint would carve up rough wooden figurines with harsh stabs and whacks, nicking his fingers every so often. When he conversed with the others, it was with polite masks, last names, and distance that Wanda and Steve never saw, but Sam seemed to readily accept. Only James and Scott could see the hollowness in his eyes, an empty threat that didn't seem empty at all.
"No, really, I'm fine," Clint said with a smile that seemed odd around the edges. He shook off Wanda's hand, not looking away from James. His eyes contained barely-concealed hostility, nearly screaming at James, 'I lost my family because of you.'
"Don't worry about him, he's just getting used to our end of the stick," Sam reassured. "It'll get better soon."
"Guess that depends on your definition of 'better,'" James agreed readily.
While Clint had burnt out under his depression, it seemed that Scott's fire only got hotter. Scott was busy online. Curious, James picked up the tablet from where Scott left it for the night. He returned Steve's 'Captain America's Disappointed in You' look with his own 'Winter Soldier is Displeased' Glare. While it took longer to hack one-handed, it wasn't difficult. James scrolled through emails of plans and ideas. Scott was contacting family, friends, government officials, and business tycoons. Forget Stevie. Scott was the new 'Man with a Plan.'
"He's going to make a run for it," James commented casually.
"What?"
James glanced over to the airman before nodding to Scott. "The ant guy. He's gonna go home." He evened out his wistful tone so it sounded toneless by the end of the sentence.
"He's not going to abandon you. He's one of us!" Sam argued, distraught. "Is that what you're th-"
"Don't you have family?" James cut in. "A friend, even? Didn't you leave anyone behind?"
They were falling apart, but none of them could see it, and he didn't want to be there when it all shattered.
James turned abruptly, eyes meeting that of a young woman holding a small mechanical device. The palace maid the Dora, she was a Dora lingering by the wall jerked, her free hand twitching to the knife cleverly hidden in her clothes. Eyes widened before narrowing. She stared back at him and stiffened, unwilling to show weakness by looking away.
"I thought you were supposed to be a maid," James teased charmingly, with false flirtation. Don't let them see your weakness, they may worship the panther, but they were all snakes.
A slight crease appeared between her eyebrows and her posture shifted. The woman was offended but other than that, there was no outward sign.
"You dress like a maid but stand like a true warrior," he continued in a conversational tone, waving his hand at her dress. She glanced down, eyes widening once more as she remembered what she was trying to disguise as and... blushed? She must be new. "Did the king send you to watch me? Don't worry, I won't stop you. My ma taught me to see when a dame is set on her duty and I respect that."
A pause. She gave an acknowledging nod and straightened out from a meek maid's posture to the proud, professional stance the Dora all possessed. The Soldier watched through the one-way window as the Black Widows all stood up and swiftly moved to form a neat line just before the door opened and the Soldier and his handler strolled in.
They stood together, assassin and guard, in a silence that was neither companionable nor awkward, but something in between. It was dead silent. His target was unaware, fumbling his keys. The Soldier lifted his shotgun and aimed. He fired.
"You know, I think I've made my choice," James said with a calmness he did not feel. "Would you mind leading me to a place I can wait for the king, whenever he has spare time?" he requested politely, bowing jauntily and motioning to the door. It wouldn't do to antagonize people the T'Challa trusted, especially when James needed his help. James refused to stay here with his friend a stranger and his allies obvious hostiles.
She looked surprised at his joking chivalry but relented, walking out the door and turning to the left.
"After you, Madame," the Winter Soldier said tonelessly, his hoarse voice adding an illusory emotion he did not feel. The woman giggled and grasped his arm, pulling him alongside her, utterly unaware of her rapidly approaching demise.
`.~*~.'
"...Bucky," Steve began cautiously, glancing at the slab where James lay. "Are you sure this is a good-"
"Rogers," James rumbled warningly, eyes narrowing.
"James," Steve corrected himself. "This isn't a good idea. This is Wakanda, the most technologically advanced country! If Tony made something that might help you, they definitely could." The supersoldier took a deep breath and started listing out reasons James should stay out of cyrostasis.
At first, James listened patiently, but after two minutes and what was basically a 'we are best buddies and should therefore stick together, out of the cold,' James realized the stranger who wore his friend's face was desperately grasping at straws, stalling for whatever reason. He threw T'Challa a look that was a hazardous mixture between pleading, threatening, and 'make it stop.' The king regally nodded and tapped the control panel twice. Instantly, a soft whirring sound was emitted from all around James. Metal and glass slid out smoothly, separating James from the world, ominous, yet...peaceful.
"T'Challa!" He heard Steve yell. He could just make out Steve lunging at the king, the Dora wordlessly stepping out to restrain him.
"As you Americans would say, 'whoops,'" T'Challa droned out. "It appears that I was so caught up in your drama, my finger accidentally slipped and pressed the 'On' button."
Then, it sealed, cutting off all noise.
Steve returned to James, hovering worriedly above him like a mutated mother hen. He struck the cryostasis pod once, twice. Raising an eyebrow, James gave a mocking wave as Steve hit the pod a third time. Steve put his hand on the glass above where James' heart was. James' face slackened in disbelief as Steve began mouthing words to him.
'But...I don't even know how to lip read.'
All this trouble... Dangit, James had just wanted some plums! Next time, he'd go for the blueberries instead.