Cruel Vengeance

En Route to the Sinaloa Warehouse

November 2011

Several things happened at once.

Before he even saw his blade find its target, Bucky was thrown back and his head hit the metal wall. Loki held a knife to his throat, face terrifyingly blank. Bucky thrashed but his limbs were pinned in place by a force he couldn’t see. A siren wailed and people shouted and Natasha was shooting at Loki but her bullets simply stopped in midair a foot from his skin. Steve lunged for Loki’s back and froze in midair.

“Everyone shut up!” Banner bellowed, his voice unnaturally deep.

Natasha, Steve, and Clint fell silent. Stark was banging around up near the cockpit. Bucky had a hard time focusing on any of it because he couldn’t remember ever being this terrified.

Here was an enemy against whom he had no defense.

But Loki hadn’t killed him yet.

“Loki,” Clint said steadily. “Loki, maybe let him explain.”

The Asgardian’s expression did not change. Bucky had never seen anyone so close to violence look that cold. It was a harsh reminder that Loki wasn’t human.

He slowly stepped back, lowering the knife from Bucky’s throat. Bucky felt his chest heaving with the adrenaline but he still couldn’t move.

“Let me down,” he rasped. His throat hurt from the throw.

Loki sheathed his blade. “You are in no position to be giving orders, Barnes.”

Stark finally managed to get the damn siren to shut up. In its absence their voices sounded unnaturally loud. Bucky’s ears seemed to be hissing.

The rest of the Avengers gathered around Loki and Bucky, faces wary and weapons ready. Stark had his gauntlets on, Natasha and Steve had drawn their guns, and Clint had his bow ready but no arrow nocked. Even Banner’s hands were fists, but based on his body language he’d jump in to protect Loki’s back, not Clint’s. Bucky couldn’t even blame him. Loki hadn’t fired the first metaphorical shot.

“Okay,” Clint said, stepping slowly forward until he was between Loki and Bucky but not quite blocking Loki’s line of fire. Bucky could see the archer’s pulse jumping in his neck. Clint’s movements were slow and steady, like he was trying not to spook an animal. “Loki. Hold off while we let him explain.”

“I could simply take the answers from his mind,” Loki said.

Natasha tensed.

“Pauk,” Bucky said. “No.”

He knew, better than before, that even he and Pauk couldn’t stand against Loki.

Slowly, she slid her gun back into its holster on her thigh.

“If you were gonna do that, you would’ve already,” Clint pointed out.

“Explain yourself then,” Loki said to Barnes.

Bucky took a breath. “You never train. Not once in the months I’ve been in the Tower. I was testing your reflexes.”

Impossibly, Loki’s face got colder. Bucky realized he was insulted. “You’re going into a fight with us. I wasn’t going to let you watch my back, or Natasha’s, until I knew you were still battle ready.”

“And have I passed your test, you fool?” Loki sneered.

“Yes.” Barnes stared him down. Something in his gut told him the only way to get out of this was to not back down. He didn’t regret having thrown that knife, and he needed Loki to see it.

For a long minute, everything balanced on a knife’s edge.

Natasha broke the silence, raising a hand and delicately rubbing her left temple. “Zima. Remember how we were talking about behaviors that don’t work around people? This is one of them.”

“Dude, if you think throwing knives is a good way to work with allies, you maybe need a therapist,” Clint added. Stark chuckled.

Some of the tension bled from Loki’s posture.

Bucky took his first full breath in over a minute as the force pinning him in place released and he slid down onto the bench. His legs were unsteady but he forced them to straighten and carry him across the plane, where he yanked his knife out of the wall and returned it to his vest.

Swallow your pride.

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, meeting Loki’s eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

Then he turned to glare at Clint. “And I don’t need a therapist.”

Clint raised his hands. “Whatever you say, man. I just fly the plane.” He glanced at Loki. “Want to sit up front with me? View’s better.”

“I would prefer to,” Loki said, and followed Clint to the front of the plane with a last glare for Bucky. As he walked away, collective tension released with every step.

Stark shook his head. “And here I thought we’d need a leash on Loki.”

“I apologized,” Bucky said.

“Band-aid on a broken window,” Maria told him bluntly. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they kept their voices low. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“It won’t happen again,” Bucky repeated.

Natasha crossed the space between them and laid a hand on his prosthetic arm. The sensation was odd, new. He still wasn’t completely adjusted to the increased sensitivity of Stark’s much-improved prosthesis; looking down and seeing skin tones instead of steel plates caught him off guard every time. “He’s still adjusting,” Natasha said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Finality rang in her voice.

Steve accepted it. “Okay,” he said, and his eyes met Bucky’s. “You’re all right?”

“Fine,” Bucky said, and glanced toward the cockpit. Loki’s dark hair showed over the copilot’s seat. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known…” How powerful he is.

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; they got it. “I couldn’t touch him,” Natasha murmured.

Steve looked down, flexed his left hand. “Holding me in midair like that? Weirdest thing I’ve ever felt. It wasn’t like being weightless. I could feel gravity on me, and no ground under my feet, and no invisible hands or anything holding me up, but I wasn’t falling.”

“Siphoning your kinetic energy, maybe?” Stark mused, eyeing Loki consideringly. “Just enough to keep you in place. Or maybe the pressure was so dilute, spread out over your body, so you didn’t notice. Or–”

“Speculate later, Tony,” Maria interrupted. “Do we still bring him along?”

“I don’t see how to leave him behind,” Steve muttered. “Even if we wanted to.”

“You do realize this proves his point about the invasion of New York, right?”

Everyone swiveled to look at Banner.

He strengthened under their scrutiny. Bucky remembered how his voice had gotten deep, and the hunched, bestial posture that had seized the scientist’s frame in that tense moment surrounding Loki. Banner was more than he seemed.

“He really was occupied fighting for his mind,” Banner continued, folding his arms across his chest. “And holding himself back. He just neutralized our entire team with no apparent effort and one visible weapon that didn’t even draw blood. You really think we’d have won against him and his army if he’d been committed?”

Steve blew out a sigh. “Good point.”

“There’s not a lot we can do,” Natasha said. “It’s like tying an eagle down with a spiderweb. He can take off anytime; he’s just choosing not to.”

“I wonder why,” Steve murmured, eyes sharp on the cockpit.

Bruce’s voice was sharper as he snapped, “Really? You can’t even guess?” Bucky found himself mildly surprised. The scientist had always seemed so… so mild until now. He’d known of the other man’s alter ego, but it seemed there was something of a gradient between the two, rather than a single precise divide. “Maybe it’s because he’s actually come to feel something like fondness for us,” Bruce continued. “Maybe he’s trying to do something other than haunt the tower and make vaguely threatening semi-joking commentary during all our meetings. Maybe he kept his abilities a secret because he’s used to people taking off because they get terrified of him.”

There was a long silence.

“Like they do you?” Natasha asked evenly.

Bucky resisted the urge to square up with her and with Steve. Even Wilson, who’d proven to be good in a fight. For a normal person. He didn’t need to antagonize everyone. More than he already had. He stomped on his guilt (so maybe he’d overreacted a little; maybe he still needed to… readjust… to society) and held his feet still.

“Yeah. Like they do to me,” Bruce said bitterly. “And you. Black Widow. I’ve read the files. And Captain America, the Allies’ poster boy; they never see you for who you are, do they? Just as their idol. And the Winter Soldier.” His eyes, green but a different shade from Loki’s (more toxic than inhuman), fixed on Bucky, who wanted to step back. “What do you think they’ll do when they find out who you are? Accept you? Ha.” He shook his head. “I’m not the only monster on this plane. Neither is Loki. I’m not saying he’s a good person. But I can’t blame him for letting us underestimate him, and if you do, you’re the worst kind of hypocrite.”

He turned on his heel and stalked into the left-side niche of the plane.

“Drama in the sky,” Stark commented after a second. “Does this count as joining the mile-high club? I feel like it should. I mean, like I wasn’t already, but I’m guessing the rest of you haven’t joined up yet. Hadn’t. It’s mostly a sex thing but does everyone almost dying count?”

Maria shook her head.

“Is he always like this?” Wilson asked no one in particular.

Natasha’s lips twitched, overhearing. “Unfortunately.”

“Hey,” Stark protested.

“Oooookay,” Wilson said. “So how about this. We all don’t piss off Bruce any more, Barnes, you quit randomly trying to assassinate the alien magician prince person, and let’s finish mission prep? Steve, you want to go over those attack plans with everyone, or are we just going to let them improvise?”

Bucky bit back irritation that Steve had been sharing with Wilson alone. He had no right to be possessive.

“Yeah,” Steve said after a second. “Yeah, I’ll… call them up. Someone want to bring Loki and Clint and Bruce in on this?”

“Bruce? I thought he’s noncombatant on this one,” Maria said.

Steve shrugged. “He should still know what’s going on.”

Maria shrugged. “I’ll do it. Since I seem to be the only person capable of not starting interpersonal fires.”

“To be fair, this is a volatile group,” Wilson said.

“I’ve got Clint and Loki,” Natasha said smoothly.

Steve glanced her way. “You sure?”

She nodded.

He accepted it without hesitation and retreated towards the right-side wall, where Bucky had been pinned moments before, and paused. “Tony, can you, uh…”

“I got you, Grandpa,” Stark said with a grin, and made the wall turn into a screen somehow.

Bucky sat down opposite the screen while Stark and Steve started bickering over something. Maria headed for the spot where Banner had retreated out of sight and Natasha for the cockpit. Bucky wanted to go and provide her backup but he knew he wouldn’t be wanted. Would probably make things harder for her.

Wilson dropped down next to him. “So I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but I’ve kind of made a career out of helping people with PTSD,” he said without preamble.

Bucky gave him a side-eye. “I thought you were a soldier.”

“No shit, you think I could fly that thing without serious training?” Wilson asked, gesturing toward the wingsuit hanging near the screen. Bucky had to admit he had a point. The wingsuit looked… complicated, at the very least. “But everyone’s gotta have something other than fighting to think about, or they pretty much lose their empathy.”

“And you believe I am past that point,” Bucky said flatly. He really shouldn’t be surprised; Banner had said as much, and Wilson had blood on his hands but no more than any ordinary soldier, not like the stains the Winter Soldier had taken–

“Idiot. No, I don’t, or I wouldn’t be working with you,” Wilson snapped.

Bucky glanced at him before he controlled his reaction away.

“Look.” Wilson sighed sharply through his nose. “Lots of soldiers come home and they can’t deal with living like a normal person. Guns under their pillows, coming out swinging when their husbands or wives wake them up. That kind of shit. PTSD comes in lots of clothes and yours would definitely be weird, seeing as Hydra obviously did some experimentation and the whole amnesia thing. But anyway. One symptom is… inability to trust. Another one is the whole inability to assimilate thing.” He studied Bucky’s face, but if Wilson was looking for a reaction, he wouldn’t get one. Bucky committed his words to memory so he could think on them later. When he was alone. When he could be vulnerable with no one to see.

“So what I’m saying is, if you need help… you can talk to me,” Wilson finished. “I’ve had my own demons to wrangle. I can’t beat yours into submission for you, but I can maybe hand you a club to do it yourself.”

“What if I’m really… broken? What if I can’t be that guy he remembers? That hero,” Bucky found himself saying. What is wrong with me why am I opening up like this–

“‘Course you’re not,” Wilson said. So easily. “People don’t change, but they can change what they do with what they are. War tends to do that.” He paused. “I haven’t known Steve all that long, I guess, but he’s different too. So maybe don’t be so quick to assume we’ll all hate you.”

Bucky thought about the dreams he’d been having since their… talk… with Zola. The scientist in the computers. (His skin crawled just thinking about it.) Something was wrong. There was some memory he couldn’t quite reach, but something his subconscious seemed to think was important.

But if Wilson was right (and he did have experience with war trauma) then Bucky knew it was wishful thinking to expect his crimes to stay buried. He’d have to deal with them. Eventually. But not yet.

So he just sat there, cold and closed, until Wilson gave up and shifted away.