Chapter Text
It’s so much louder in the jungle than in the quiet of 180 acres of Avenger-owned property. Steve’s watching the mist roll through the trees. They’re so green, like God didn’t even bother waiting for the paint to dry before he slapped their existences here. The mist is slow and lazy– having all the time in the world to crawl through the hills, the rocks, the vines… It looks like it’d be quiet. But it’s so loud. Hoots, squawks, growls and noises he doesn’t even know how to figure out permeate the air like laughter in a crowded room.
Six months. He’s been in Wakanda for six months. Sam had asked that he’d come back to the States, but Bucky’s here. There’s no way in hell that Steve’s leaving without Bucky. It doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or if it’s thirty years from now. He won’t leave without him again.
In those six months, the Accords have seemed to do nothing except make people argue. Steve’s watched from the sidelines on T’Challa’s televisions as Tony’s been paraded around like a political ally and used as a way for Republicans to lie to the world about America being the strongest. ‘We have the Avengers and look what we can do.’ The world isn’t fooled and neither is Steve.
Time’s are still hard. Tony at least still has Rhodey though. Hopefully Rhodey will keep him in check. Steve shouldn’t care so much. But he does. It’s not that they were ever best friends like Sam, and certainly not Bucky– but he and Tony had bled together. They’d served together– in a manner of speaking. And Steve almost severed that smug and tired head from Tony’s body…
So yeah, Steve feels a bit guilty. Plus, what actually happened to Rhodey. God, Steve feels enough guilt to snap his spine. Sam feels the guilt too. Talked about it being like Riley all over again for someone else. But Tony is nothing if not clever and last Steve heard, Rhodey was walking with the aid of Stark tech, walls, and canes.
A primate of some sort starts calling out, bring Steve’s attention back to the present. Six months ago– six months today– and no end in sight. Bucky’s still frozen. Steve’s no closer to his best friend than when he met him on a bridge in DC over a couple years ago.
“Can’t sleep?” a voice asks.
Steve smirks, a soft, subtle little expression, but it’s there. He’s not had the heart to really do much more than subtle since he woke from the ice all those years ago. A soft chuckle here, a quick smile there. That’s about all he can muster before he’s left feeling exhausted and like he’s lying to everyone around him.
“Wakandan jungles are louder at night,” Steve says.
T’Challa walks into the room, his feet completely quiet. He keeps to the walls before coming to stand by Steve next to the floor-to-ceiling window. “I can’t sleep without the sound.”
Steve watches T’Challa, his furrowed brow, the proud way he holds his chin. He’s had to do a lot of growing up in the past six months– not that he wasn’t already grown up. Steve’s found him to be one of those ‘old soul’ types. He appreciates that T’Challa would rather joke about how loud Steve’s footfalls are instead of when he wanted to ship in a record player and some big band music. He even really understood when Steve asked that the record player be kept with Bucky, and always playing songs.
Steve hates the thought of Bucky being there in silence when the jungle around them is so alive. Steve doesn’t really remember what happened when he was under the ice. Maybe like a nap, like death or something. He hadn’t dreamed. He hadn’t even known he was a he. But he does remember the silence.
“I used to think Brooklyn was loud,” Steve jokes. It’s forced and the twitchy smirk with it is even more forced, but it’s there. He’s trying. That’s all he can do these days. Try. Try to make amends with his friends. Try to find a way to save Bucky. Try to work out a way that doesn’t result in him heading straight for a penitentiary. Try…
“I spoke to Natasha today.” T’Challa looks over at him, waiting for something. A reaction perhaps, or maybe a simple acknowledgement that he’s spoken. Steve offers none. “She’s letting herself be taken to prison to make up for the past.”
“We’re all trying to make up for the past. Jesus, Nat.” Steve heaves a heavy sigh. Trying and sighing. It’s about all he’s good for now. Leaving the shield behind had been one of the easiest things he’d ever done, but now with so much time in between? He’s come to think that perhaps he’s lost himself. Lost sight of who Steve Rogers used to be. Captain America was an icon and Steve had played the part. He’s still not really sure where Steven Grant Rogers–a kid from a Brooklyn that doesn’t even exist anymore– fits into this new-age world. Captain America fit. Steve’s not so sure about just himself. And now Nat’s trying to do the same, get rid of the Black Widow Mantle and just be. Is it this hard for her too?
“Have you spoken to Tony?”
“No.” Steve’s reply is so fast that he’s almost started with himself. He’d sent a letter with a phone and that was about all he could do. He’s been waiting and waiting but maybe… maybe after nearly decapitating someone, that person just doesn’t want him around anymore.
“The CIA and Security Counsel are still looking for you and Barnes. You’re on a no-fly terrorist list.”
Steve smirks again. Of course he is.
“I have it on good authority the Avengers– what’s left of them. Have been asked to hunt you down.”
Steve scoffs. Of course they were. “Do they know we’re here?”
“No, but it may be best if we ask your friends to also join us here. It’s easier to protect you this way.”
Steve nods, looking back out at the rolling mists of the jungle. The first hint of dawn is starting to peak over the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. Steve should sleep. He should.
But he doesn’t.
Coffee tastes sweeter in Wakanda. Steve’s not exactly sure if it’s the bean or the soil or even if the place grows it– but it tastes sweeter. He’s sitting in a stainless steel kitchen with all the bells and whistles, sipping coffee and staring out at the vast expanse of jungle from the massive bay window. He’s not sure how high up they are when it comes to actual measurements, but all he knows is he sees clouds go by every now and then.
He swallows a big gulp, looking down at his phone. “Hey Clint– you got my message?”
“Dude, you realize you called me at four in the morning your time right?”
Steve blinks. “Sorry. I didn’t wake the kids did I?”
“Nah, just the wife. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Lies. It’s always a lie. Steve hasn’t been fine since the day they injected the serum into him. “Are you okay?”
“Eh ya’know. Having to uproot the kids from home and movin’ them around hasn’t been easy. They think it’s a game.” He sighs and Steve can hear the toll it’s really taking on him. Nothing but guilt ravages Steve’s heart. “Laura’s taking it harder. This is– it’s not what she wanted.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. The coffee tastes like oil against his tongue now. His stomach twists in on itself as the guilt seeps from his battered heart and down against it like acid. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“S’okay. Fury’s gonna work something out for them. We’re just trying to get the money. S’not easy without– well. I didn’t realize how much we relied on him till that money wasn’t there anymore.”
“Or how much we took for granted.” To add to the unending guilt, Steve puts Tony’s hospitality up at the higher end of the list. He’d known Tony was doing a great deal for them, but Steve always crossed it off as necessary or because of the job. Tony gave them a weekly stipend that quickly racked them all up to earning around 300k a year. It was certainly enough to afford a place in Brooklyn, but Steve hadn’t wanted to leave the Avengers base– until shit hit the fan.
“Look, we’ll work it out. Fury’s dippin’ into some contacts and seeing who we can trust. S’hard. Never realized how hard it was to be a criminal.”
“You’re not a criminal,” Steve responds, his voice sharp and authoritative. “You were just helping me. But listen, maybe Fury doesn’t have to do all that. T’Challa wants everyone here. I could ask about housing your family. With shit goin’ down– well– it’d be safer if everyone was here.”
“Everyone?”
“Wanda, you, Sam, Scott. Yeah.” Steve tries to take a sip of coffee, but it settles heavy against his sstomach.
“Why?”
“Because the dear Accords now control Tony and Tony’s been asked to hunt us down.”
“Shit,” Clint mutters. “Okay, but I can’t exactly move my family without help.”
“I know. Hang tight and get everyone ready. T’Challa’ll have to send a private jet or something.” Steve felt his heart squeeze. If it hadn’t been for him, Clint would still be at his farm with his family, living the life he should have had. It wasn’t fair to forcibly take a man’s home away like that.
And then there was the issue of Steve being on a no-fly list. Was Clint on it too? His family? “Don’t leave till I give you instructions, okay Clint?”
“Copy that, Captain.”
“Clint,” Steve begins. He’s said it so many times now that he’s actually astounded by how easy it is to really mean it this time. At first, it was like lashes against his skin– hot and stinging. Now it’s as easy as cutting butter. “That’s not me anymore.”
“Yeah well, you’ll always be my captain.” Clint hangs up.
Steve sits there, staring at his black coffee, listening to the loud jungle around him. No matter what’s happening in this world. That jungle will always be loud.
Steve’s sitting across from Bucky’s cryo tank. He comes in here to talk sometimes. He knows Bucky can’t hear, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone– even if it’s just an illusion. T’Challa has been kind. He’d probably listen to Steve’s woes, but no one really understands him like Bucky does. Old habits die hard.
“I hate myself.” He shifts on the chair. He knows Bucky would wring his neck for that. “For what I did to you. Because I did this, Buck. You went to war and I didn’t. I was so pissed about it. About thinking I needed to prove something. I talked it up about needing to do good and protect my country, but you saw through it. You saw through everything. I did what I did– because I thought I had something to prove. And yeah… I saved you. I don’t regret what I did. I know it was for selfish reasons, but don’t think I regret it.” He looks up at Bucky’s tank, expecting some kind of answer and only sees Bucky’s sleeping face. A lump forms in his throat. He’s getting so accustomed to them that he doesn’t even really feel it until he tries to breathe and it sucks in wet and mangled.
“But I’ve always been selfish, Buck. You know that. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted to be able to– I dunno. Be a man. Serve. Prove that I could. And all you wanted was for me to be myself. But I’ve been someone else for so long that I don’t even know who that guy is anymore. I brought you back into the line of fire, and everything that’s happened to you is because of what I did. This is all on me. Those deaths– the ones you think’re on you?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Those are on me.”
Bucky doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t ever move. But instead of leaving, Steve moves over to the computers. He’s not exactly sure what everything means, but he knows the panel that blinks and is shaped like a body should be all green. Bucky’s got a tiny bit of yellow around his navel. Steve stares at it, and then looks up at Bucky, then back at the monitor. Yellow isn’t red, but it means caution usually. And so Steve’s reasonably nervous. He clicks the little yellow, watching numbers and words he doesn’t understand come up.
“Damn it.” Steve turns out of the chair, moving like a hunter on the prowl to find someone to talk to about this. It’s a tiny yellow blip. It could be absolutely nothing but Steve’s not taking any damn chances. Not with Bucky. Not ever with Bucky. That fear of chance is probably the biggest reason why he’d never told Bucky that he–
“T’Challa!” Steve calls, seeing the man break out into a large smile. “Hey uh– Can we get one of the doctors to look at Bucky?”
T’Challa just cocks a brow. “He’s in cryo.”
“Yeah, I know but– There’s this little yellow around his belly-button and I know enough that the body scans should all be green.”
T’Challa’s brows furrow, his smile fading into a look of concern. “Have you spoken to everyone yet?”
Steve purses his lips. “Not yet.”
“You need to. I’ll get a doctor. You call the rest of your friends.” T’Challa is already walking away before Steve has a chance to say anything back.
Steve doesn’t want to call his friends. He wants to be with Bucky.
Steve walks into the cryo chamber, looking at a doctor over at the computer and two practically pressing their faces up against Bucky’s tank. His heart speeds up and a tiny knot presses against his sternum.
“You call everyone?” T’Challa asks. “I need to send my own people to get them. So they need to be ready.”
Steve nods, looking at Bucky’s frozen form. He hates seeing him like this. Every time he looks at him– no matter how many times he looks at Bucky like this– it’s like Steve’s shoving his face into a blender. He feels the pain slice from his face, down into his shoulders, and levels out at his toes. “Clint and his family are in Bosnia. Wanda and Sam are in Turkey and Scott’s actually in Kenya. He’s on his way.”
“Good,” T’Challa replies. His brow is still wrinkled like before and the way his shoulders are tense– it’s not the way T’Challa holds himself. He’s always so fluid and ethereal. Now he’s rigid, like any other man except he’s not like any other man. He’s exceptional and Steve knows it.
“What’s happening with Bucky?” Steve asks, his heart starting to creep up into his throat. He can hear his pulse getting louder and louder in his ears.
“We’re not sure,” T’Challa responds. “His vitals are fine but–”
“Something’s wrong,” Steve concludes. He takes a step toward the tank, putting his hands up to do something but what can he? Rip Bucky out of the tank without letting him come down the proper way? Start bashing in heads? What can he do?! Nothing… The answer is a hollow yet resounding nothing.
“There’s something, yes,” T’Challa indulges. “But we’re not sure. You need to remain calm.”
“I am calm,” Steve snaps.
T’Challa just stares at him with that weighted gaze. A gaze of a king sizing up a man and wondering if he’s friend or foe. Steve instantly backs down, bowing his head.
“We’re working on it,” T’Challa says. “You don’t look well. Do you want water?”
“No,” Steve answers quickly. “I just wanna make sure my friend’s okay.”
T’Challa nods before turning back to the doctor at the computer and speaking Wakandan. Steve stands there, feeling like a bull in a china shop. These are men and women with strong minds and strong talents. All Steve’s good for is punching and nearly killing friends.
Steve’s really good at nearly killing his friends.
Steve hasn’t felt sick since before the serum. Maybe the occasional headache or sneeze from dust, but he’s never been sick. He feels sticky and there’s a sheen of sweat against his skin. His stomach is in knots and he’s refused T’Challa at least four times to eat. He couldn’t keep anything down if he tried. There’s something definitely wrong with Bucky, but the doctors have no idea what.
They can’t get in there to fix it without disrupting the cryo freeze. To figure it out, they’d have to wake Bucky up. Steve can’t tolerate the idea of scaring Bucky. He’d blink into existence again, unsure of where he is or who the people are around him. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he suspected HYDRA at least for the first few moments of consciousness. He’d then probably get all the memories back of why he put himself under again and start to feel relief that he’s being woken up. Being woken up means they’ve found a cure for his coding. Steve doesn’t want to give him false hope. He doesn’t want to disappoint Bucky.
T’Challa sighs, running his slender fingers over his face and tugging at his skin. It’s almost adorable, except Steve’s two seconds away from throwing up on his friend’s shoes and that look isn’t one of happiness– but of stress.
“Is there no other option?” Steve asks, his voice low so that only he and T’Challa are privy to the conversation.
T’Challa purses his lips, staring at a nondescript corner of the room. “There are other options, but none as efficient as waking him up.”
“We can’t wake him. We’ve got no idea how to–”
“The yellow has spread on the monitors,” T’Challa interrupts. “It’s now red around his navel.”
“Jesus,” Steve all but moans dejectedly. “What is it?”
T’Challa just looks down, sucking in his bottom lip.
“What is it?!” Steve growls. His ears are ringing, fingers tingling and his teeth feeling like they’re vibrating. He’s sure he’s a few seconds away from a panic attack and that just makes him all the more desperate to understand the situation. Everything Steve’s done since he knew Bucky was alive, it’s been for Bucky. He’s so close. Bucky’s right there and Steve can’t even touch him. He can’t hear his laugh, can’t see his smile. He can’t interact with the one person he has left and that’s breaking Steve’s heart.
Because Steve loves him. And not just the way brothers do. Not the way best friends do when they grow up together, and it’s as if they may as well be family. No. Steve loves Bucky. He’s loved him since he was sixteen and Bucky started wearing his hair differently. It had used to be curly, then he started slicking it over and that was it for Steve. Bucky’d become the prettiest face in Steve’s world, and it only made matters worse that Bucky was the key to Steve’s heart. Everything he did, everything he said, everything– it only made Steve love him more.
Which only made Steve suppress it more. He’d been scared. He’d always been scared. Not of being gay or bi or whatever newfangled word was out there to describe Steve. It didn’t really matter to him. He had loved Peggy, he had loved Bucky and he’d felt something– maybe something lingering for a past he couldn’t have again– for Sharon. It’d been a mistake and he’d done it right in front of Bucky. But Sharon was Peggy’s blood and that made things so confusing and– Jesus… Something’s wrong with Bucky and Steve’s panicking about why he’d kissed Sharon six months ago. He hasn’t even talked to her since, given the circumstances.
“T’Challa,” Steve whines desperately. It’s a sound he hasn’t let anyone hear in this age. Back in Steve’s time, the only people who got to hear it were Bucky and his ma. “Help him.”
“We need to wake him.” T’Challa takes a deep breath, his chin lifting. “It’s the only way.”
Steve looks over at Bucky’s sleeping form. Well, he’s not exactly sleeping. He’s frozen and paused but he looks peaceful all the same. “You sure this’ll save him?”
“I’m sure that if we do not, he will die.”
“Okay. Shit, fuck. Yeah okay.” Steve watches T’Challa move away and starts speaking Wakandan to the doctors in the room. All Steve can do is stand here. Stand and watch his best friend continue to suffer when Steve thought this cryo sleep would be the surefire way to save him.
Steve’s watching the heart monitor like it’d flat line if he blinked. He hears the gentle hum of the machine bringing Bucky’s body heat back up to normal. It’s soothing since this is the only room in the entire building that seems to be quiet and away from the jungle’s sounds. Steve didn’t realize how much he needed all that sound until he found himself staring down at Bucky on a hospital bed with wires and tubes attached to him. Everything’s so still in this room.
Steve’s sitting as close as he can to Bucky’s face so that when he wakes, he won’t panic. Steve’s not entirely sure that’ll help him, but he’s giving it a chance. If anything, Steve can subdue him if he has to. He grits his teeth, hating himself for even thinking about subduing Bucky. It won’t come to that. Steve’s positive it won’t come to that. Bucky’s got his memories back. Steve’s not sure which ones, but he knows he’s got them. Things will be different this time.
Bucky’s hand twitches and Steve feels his heart leap up into his mouth. He has to swallow roughly to try to gobble it back down. He leans to the nightstand, grabbing a water bottle and chugging it down.
Bucky’s face twitches this time, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.
Steve’s breathing heavily, panic and excitement running through him. He doesn’t want this, but he does want this. He wants Bucky to see him, to laugh with him, to touch him. God, he wants Bucky to touch him. Steve’s never needed much, a squeeze of the shoulder here, maybe a bump of the elbow there. He doesn’t need much, but he needs it.
“Bucky?” Steve asks, unable to hold back anymore. He’s building up inside, burning and expanding and he’ll burst if this doesn’t happen soon.
“Nnn,” Bucky responds weakly. Bucky’s mouth opens, he takes a deep breath before swallowing loudly.
Steve closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing and everything he’s ever told himself. If Bucky wanted him, it would’ve happened already. They are friends and will always be such. So Steve puts on his brave face, offers a small smile when Bucky finally opens his eyes and they look at each other. Steve’s used to this. Used to lying.
“W-water,” Bucky asks. Steve reaches to a cup and lifts the straw to Bucky’s lips. Bucky takes some sips before leaning back and breathing in deeply. “How long?”
“Six months.”
Bucky barks out a laugh. It’s not exactly happy, but it doesn’t sound bitter either. “That didn’t take long. I expected years.”
“This isn’t about that,” Steve begins. His toes go cold and it feels like ants are crawling all over his skin. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to start out of the gate with upsetting Bucky, but he can’t lie. The last time he lied to someone, Steve paid for it big time. He’d lost that friend and caused Bucky to lose his arm. He won’t do that again. “I mean, we’re working on it but–”
“Steve,” Bucky interjects. “Why then?” He doesn’t sound angry. Miserable, maybe? His teeth are pressed together and he looks like he’s going to puke.
“Do you feel okay?”
“Answer the question,” Bucky grits out.
“Because something’s wrong,” Steve answers, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Something’s wrong and we needed a closer look at you. I’m sorry.”
Bucky’s silent for a long time. Steve always thought after all this, after what had happened with Tony and the Avengers that Bucky and Steve would find time to talk it all out. To discuss their friendship and revel in being together again. A hug maybe. But that had never happened. After everything that occurred, Steve had barely any time to look at Bucky, let alone prep himself to break the emotional dam he’s built since the day he discovered he had a chip on his block. And even before Bucky went under, everything was still too new. They were content with each other’s presence and Steve didn’t want to push it. He didn’t want to move when Bucky had looked like he’d rather die. Steve knows that feeling so well it tears at his soul to know his best friend feels it too. It’s not fair to Bucky, to suffer so much and be rewarded with ash and blood.
“What’s wrong?” Bucky finally asks.
“We’re not sure. Or at least– they’re not tellin’ me.”
Bucky just twitches his mouth, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’ll get a doctor,” Steve begins, but Bucky’s flesh arm– his only arm– reaches out and grabs Steve’s wrist. Steve freezes, his mouth dropping open as he looks down. Bucky’s fingers are cold as ice but Steve can feel how strong his pulse is.
“… Nevermind,” Bucky says, letting go of Steve’s wrist. “Thanks.”
Steve offers a strangled smile– tight-lipped and full of pain. He leaves the room, feeling his heart break and trail behind him like a road of broken glass.
T’Challa’s walking down the long hallway toward Steve, his gaze heavy and his jaw clenched. Steve sucks in a breath, preparing himself for the undoubtedly bad news the man’s about to deliver. It seems all Steve’s life now is just bad news. Aliens attacking New York, SHIELD lying and actually facilitating HYDRA, Ultron… Tony and his stupid ideals and erratic behavior. It’s all bad news. Steve’s beginning to wonder if God just wants humanity destroyed. There has to be a reason for so much pain.
“Clint and his family just arrived, if you wish to see them.,” T’Challa announces, squeezing Steve’s shoulder supportively.
Steve nods, a little relief edging into his cold heart. “And Bucky? Any news?”
“Bucky–” T’Challa looks away, his big brown eyes convening sympathy and regret in a way that Steve isn’t used to seeing anymore. This man doesn’t hide emotion. He embraces it. It’s a talent Steve never learned. “Steve, I will not lie to you.” He meets Steve’s gaze. “He’s dying.”
There are moments in life where someone experiences shock so deep, it’s like time stills. Breathing stops. The earth stops spinning. There are moments where the heart can’t decide if it wants to keep beating or if it’s endured enough. Steve’s whole body is struggling with wanting to give out or somehow find a way to endure the cacophony of pain that presses into it like needles beneath the skin. His heart doesn’t beat quickly, he’s not even sure it beats at all. His life is tied to Bucky’s and there’s a small, faint moment where Steve is grateful this can all end soon. But then his mind begins to work, the reality of it sets in like concrete poured into a foundation. Bucky is dying. Steve isn’t. Bucky…is dying. And Steve can’t let that happen.
“If you need time–”
“No,” Steve interrupts. He wants to run. He wants to run and run and get the anxiety that’s bubbling up to level out before he explodes and crackles into the air like a dying firework. He wants to scream. He wants to cry and bang his hands against glass and curse the world. But he doesn’t. He can’t. That’s not who he is. That’s never going to be who he is. “How do we fix him?”
T’Challa nods, licking his lips. “We’ve been datamining the leaked Winter Soldier files. We know they put mind control codes in but we’ve just found they also put in self-destruct protocols. He’s been too far away from HYDRA for too long. They’ve detonated. His cells are no longer regenerating like they should.”
Steve takes a breath. He looks down at his shoes. He does everything he can to stay in the moment and not go running to beat anyone who has ever affiliated with HYDRA into bloody pulps with fading pulses. “How…do we…fix this?”
“His cells are dying. The serum that has helped him is now actively hurting him. We need to find a way to reverse the serum.”
Steve’s lips silently open as he stares at T’Challa. “Reverse the serum?”
“We don’t know the side effects. So we need to do a lot of research. There may be other ways and my team is investigating. You should greet Clint and your other friends. They’ll be arriving shortly.”
“I need to be with him.”
T’Challa looks up sadly, offering a poised shrug. “You also need to speak to your friends. They are scared too.”
Steve sighs, looking away and out into the rolling mists of the jungle. T’Challa’s right. Clint has his family here now. His kids will be confused and his wife is more than anxious about this. Sam and Wanda don’t know anything other than they’re being smuggled into Wakandan borders. Scott’s been driving up from Kenya as if his life depends on it (which it arguably does). They all need to be together too. No doubt they’ll all have questions that Steve probably doesn’t even know the answers to.
“I knew the day Ross showed up we’d be in for nothing but trouble,” Sam says, looking out over the jungle as everyone is scattered around a large sitting room. “Shit just keeps gettin’ worse.”
“We’re safe here?” Wanda asks, her big eyes searching for any reassurance that Steve can muster. In his time with her, he’d become a mentor– a big brother of sorts. Steve’s taken that duty to heart and seeing her so afraid just makes him want to punch himself. They’re all suffering and it’s all his fault.
“T’Challa will protect us,” Steve reasons, nodding at her. “As long as we stay in the Wakandan borders, we should be safe. But we’re all not allowed to go out alone.”
Wanda laughs bitterly. “I seem to be trading prisons for bigger prisons.”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Steve says, coming to kneel in front of her and rest his hands on her knees. She tenses beneath him but then relaxes.
“International criminals– terrorists. Psychopaths,” Scott says. “I’ve been following a lot of news sources. There’s a lot of people who want you dead, Cap.”
“That’s not my name,” Steve says, giving Wanda another gentle squeeze to the knee before standing up. “Did the news tell you anything else?”
Scott shrugs, shaking his head.
“I already told Clint, but the Avengers have been tasked with hunting us down. T’Challa didn’t give me more details than that, but he wanted you all under his roof.”
“And if they didn’t put it in the news, it’s probably because there’s a kill order,” Sam concludes. “Fantastic.”
“Like that went so well the last time,” Scott scoffs. He leans against the couch corner, looking down at Wanda.
“Tony wasn’t trying to kill us,” Steve says. “He was trying to bring us back peacefully. This time? It may be different. Since Nat’s serving time in prison for what she did to help us, we don’t really have an in with what the Avengers are planning. Vision could kill us all.”
“Not me.” Wanda looks up at Steve with a red glow behind her eyes. Her lips are pressed together tightly and Steve finds himself taking a step back, not out of fear– but respect. She’s right.
“Well I’d be dead,” Steve deflects with a small smirk. Wanda smirks back.
“So we stay here until the Avengers don’t have to kill us?” Scott asks. “And when’s that gonna be exactly?”
“Well, my kids are young. They can learn Wakandan,” Clint says with a shrug. “Nate shouldn’t have any trouble.”
Steve sighs, looking at everyone. They don’t look worried. They don’t even look remotely surprised. They look tired. Purple bags cling under their eyes, their faces are pale. Wanda’s hair isn’t vibrant or shiny. They look like people who’ve been in a war too long. Though, Steve thinks, that’s exactly what they are.
“It may not have to be forever,” Steve answers. “But yeah. It may be a long time. I’m sorry.” He hangs his head, chewing his bottom lip. No amount of apologies are ever going to fix what he’d started with Stark, but he still couldn’t stop himself from saying it.
T’Challa comes into the room. He looks at everyone but doesn’t smile. It doesn’t seem anyone really has the heart for smiling these days. “Steve, Bucky wants to speak to you.”
Steve’s heart twists in his chest. He stands up, looking over his shoulder at everyone before leaving the room. “He okay?”
“He’s stable for now. But he knows. The doctors have explained everything to him.” T’Challa ushers Steve back to Bucky’s hospital bed and then closes the door behind Steve; leaving Steve alone with Bucky.
Steve stands there. He’s not sure if he should speak first or try to smile. So he doesn’t. He just stands and looks. He wants to move. He wants to go right up to Bucky, grab his hand and tell him how scared he is for him. He wants to make promises he isn’t sure he can keep, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to know what those knuckles feel like under his lips but he just can’t.
“Hey,” Bucky says. He scoots himself up the bed a bit to sit up more. He doesn’t smile.
“You need anything?” Steve asks.
“Just wanna talk. I feel like– well we haven’t really gotten to. Now that I’m awake? We may as well make use of it.”
Steve nods, taking unsure steps further into the room. He grabs a chair and pulls it next to Bucky’s bed. “I’m sorry–”
“It’s not your fault,” Bucky interjects, holding up his only hand. “I should’ve known. Guess tellin’ your prized pet there’s a time bomb in it doesn’t really go over well. Or maybe they did and I’ve just not gotten the memory yet.”
“We’re gonna figure this out,” Steve consoles. He’s desperate to convince himself this. Bucky seems to be taking it in stride, but Steve isn’t. He’s a storm under the surface but it’s not fair to dump all that on Bucky. Bucky’s the one experiencing this, not Steve. Steve doesn’t have the right to feel the way he does, but he feels it, and he can’t do jack shit about it. “You’ll be okay.”
Bucky sighs out his nose, his lips pushing together. “When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.”
“Buck–”
“I’m not.” Bucky swallows before taking in another deep breath. “I’m not giving up. I don’t wanna die yet. I mean, I know I should. It’d be safer that way–”
Steve sits back, feeling like someone is squeezing his throat shut.
“–but I.” Bucky stops himself. He’s not looking at Steve, but his eyes show everything that Steve knows he can’t say. He’s hurting. He’s hurting so much and Steve just has to sit here and let him take it. Why does God curse good men? Bucky had been a good man and the war twisted him and HYDRA condemned him. “I can’t leave you.”
Steve’s lips part, his eyes widening. He stares at Bucky, knowing the weight of his gaze is probably uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to look away.
“So– I don’t wanna die… cause I’m not ready to leave you yet.” Bucky looks down at his lap, watching his fingers flex and relax.
Steve watches those fingers move. They’re spread open and his fingers could slip right between them. He just has to lift his damn arm and reach out. He knows Bucky wouldn’t shy away. But what would be something of support and comradery to Bucky would be so much more to Steve. Steve can’t lie to Bucky like that. Steve sits back, his body going cold as he puts distance between himself and Bucky. He’s built up a wall already and Bucky hasn’t even been awake for more than ten hours.
They sit there in silence. Steve unable to say the things he wants to say, or even find ways to tell half-truths. He’s always been a terrible liar. He knows Bucky would see right through it. Bucky doesn’t say anything else. He’s said his piece. He looks worn out and like he’ll pass out at any moment. He keeps staring at his fingers. They just sit like that.
They sit and say nothing.
Steve’s on his way to see Bucky for breakfast the following morning when he sees Scott and Sam in the living room. The large TV on the wall is on and the talking heads seem to be getting into it with each other. Steve walks in, getting little head nods from each man as they all go back to watching the screen.
“My question is, why isn’t the US government doing more? Captain Steve Rogers is a supersoldier, he knows national security secrets and he’s made it clear that he can’t be trusted. What’s to stop him from forming alliances with nations that seek to threaten the US?”
“Linda, Linda! Hold on, listen. Captain Rogers is a fugitive but I doubt he’d go to Iraq or Afghanistan. Neither country can offer adequate protection and–”
“What about China? Or Russia? If he’s with James Barnes then Russia is a high possibility. Or even North Korea!”
“Both countries are part of the UN. There’d be no way they wouldn’t hand him over to the US. Listen, the issue isn’t trade secrets. The issue is what he can do. Him and the Avengers were able to bring down an entire city. If he wanted to seek revenge, he could. Ex-SHIELD agent Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, ex-military Samuel Wilson and ex-con Scott Lang are still at large and I’m more worried they’re all together. If they want to seek revenge, what’s to stop them aside from the remaining Avengers? And can we really count on them to take down their previous teammates?”
“Turn it off,” Sam orders.
Scott picks up the remote and clicks the TV off. “Damn. People are idiots.”
“And we risked our necks for these people,” Sam adds.
Steve just stands there, looking at their reflections in the TV’s dark screen. He’s got his arms crossed and his jaw is clenched tight. The people who once saw him as hope and safety now fear his very existence and what he’s capable of. “If you don’t die a hero, you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”
Scott and Sam look at him, both wearing tense expressions.
He says nothing more to them. He turns and makes his way to see Bucky. Bucky is dying, the world is calling for Steve’s head ,and now Steve has to face the fact that children who used to love him and play Captain America in the streets, now fear his very name.
“I want a hot dog,” Bucky announces.
Steve’s been drawing him for the past fifteen minutes. They haven’t really talked much. Most of it has been comments about the jungle and how Bucky would like to see it. Steve looks up from his art. He’s got the bed almost all the way shaded but he’s barely started on Bucky’s amputated shoulder. He can’t bring himself to.
Bucky looks over at Steve, flashing a smile. “A hot dog piled with sweet relish, mustard and ketchup. Oh and a toasted bun. Oh my God, a fucking toasted bun. No wait! A dog all slathered with chili and melted cheese and still mustard because I’m disgusting.”
Steve smirks. “You’ve always loved mustard.”
“Damn right.”
They share a moment, both smiling at each other, their gazes lingering longer than socially acceptable. Both seem like they want to talk, but neither risks taking the first step. Steve just can’t walk off that ledge right now. He can’t make Bucky feel worse or more stressed than he already does.
“If you could eat anything in the world right now, what would it be?” Bucky asks, canting his head.
Steve looks back down at his drawing, gliding the pencil over the bed to fill in some more shading. “I don’t know.”
“Oh c’mon! Think, Rogers!”
Steve stops the pencil. He looks up at Bucky, remembering a memory that he’s not even sure if it’s real or not. “Remember that little malt shop near the baseball field?”
Bucky nods.
“If I could have anything in the world right now, I’d want to be there with you, sharing a chocolate malt and arguing about who gets the cherry.”
Bucky smiles. Steve isn’t sure if the light is catching Bucky’s eyes just right, or if he’s tearing up. Steve assumes it’s the light.
“I mean, wait– We were just talking food. I’d like to have one of their shakes is all.”
“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “I’d like that too. I miss it.”
“You do?”
Bucky looks out at the jungle, facing away from Steve. “Yeah. We thought we had a rough life. You being ugly and skinny–”
Steve laughs. It’s the first real laugh he’s done since coming out of the ice.
“And me having to kick your ass all the damn time. Takin’ care of my sisters wasn’t easy but you helped out. My family loved you, and we tried to do what we could.”
“I know.”
“Gettin’ drafted was the worst thing to happen to me.”
Steve feels his throat squeeze. He wants to take that burden away from Bucky. It wasn’t the draft that was the worst, it was Steve. Steve was the worst thing that happened to Bucky. Had it not been for him asking Bucky to go back…
“But I don’t regret it,” Bucky keeps going. He looks back over at Steve, offering a smile that doesn’t meet his tired eyes. “I don’t regret goin’ back in with you. And I know you’re thinkin’ that it’s your fault. I know you, Steve.”
Steve closes his eyes. It’s the first time he’s heard that since he’s been reunited with Bucky. The first time, Bucky claimed he’d read about him in a museum. Steve knew he’d been lying. But it feels so damn good to actually hear.
“S’not. Okay? That’s not how the world works.”
“Yeah but–”
“No!” Bucky all but shouts. He takes a deep breath, letting Steve get over the initial shock of hearing such intensity behind such a small word. “I’ve got enough guilt for the both of us, Steve. I know what it feels like and I don’t want you to carry it.”
“Buck…”
Bucky just shrugs, turning back to the jungle. “Hey, you think they’d take me out there soon? I wanna fight a lion.”
Steve’s sitting across a long black table in a white room as T’Challa speaks to someone in Wakandan on the phone. Scott, Sam, Wanda and Clint are in the room and a few political dignitaries. Steve’s not slept in three days, he’s hungry and just wants to go back to sitting with Bucky, but T’Challa called them all here and Steve’s sure he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important.
T’Challa gets off the phone and leans against the table, letting out a long sigh. “I need a moment with our guests.” He looks to the politicians and they all stand and shuffle out silently. He then drops his head, sighing again.
“That sounded fun, wanna share with the class?” Clint asks.
T’Challa just eyes him, clearly too tired himself to fight back with his own snark.
Steve just sinks further into his seat. He wants at least seven cups of coffee and to somehow find a way to get hot dogs into Wakanda. He’d been quite sad to learn last night that Wakandans don’t exactly have any American food. The closest burger joint is in Kenya. Steve’s been living off curry, chicken, other Wakandan native foods and rice since he got here. He doesn’t mind it. But he wanted to bring Bucky a hot dog to cheer him up. Steve knows Bucky only keeps cracking jokes as a way to avoid the pain. Steve does it too.
“We have a mole in our midst,” T’Challa announces, looking around the room gravely. “Someone tipped off the US government that I smuggled Sam and Wanda in. The UN is silent but the US is asking I deport you. I’ve made an official statement that it’s a lie. As far as I know, I last saw you six months ago in Germany.”
“And me and Bucky?” Steve asks. He should feel some kind of shame for not being more supportive of his best friend and mentee, but Bucky’s always at the front of his mind. It’s coded into his DNA and executed through conditioning. He can’t help but register Bucky first and everyone else second.
“If they know, they’ve not said anything yet. But we need to be vigilant. The Avengers could try to sneak in without my permission.” T’Challa takes a step back, lifting his chin. “Though if that happens, I’ll make it well-known to the American government that it is an act of war, should they do that.”
“But the Avengers are controlled by the UN,” Sam starts, frowning. “How can the Avengers be doing a covert mission for the US if the UN isn’t part of it? Or are they?”
“Maybe that’s why it’s silent,” T’Challa explains. “The Avengers are American based. Their compound is in New York– as you all are more than aware.”
Steve nods, flicking up his brows briefly.
“The US is a permanent member of the UN Security Council. I don’t think it’d be too hard to have the Security Council be persuaded to allow a covert mission like this. Especially given the circumstances with all your abilities,” T’Challa continues, his hands folded behind his back.
“Great,” Scott announces, motioning wide with his hands. “So we’re terrorists who don’t even know if we’re actually safe here. Vision could walk through a wall and murder us all in our sleep.”
“That will not happen,” Wanda says, looking Scott’s way. “I will know if he’s coming.”
Scott looks at Wanda for a long moment, his lips pursed and his brow creased. He nods eventually, licking his lips. “I trust you. I trust all of you. Just– this is some seriously messed up shit.”
“Sorry Tic-Tac,” Sam mutters. “I didn’t know you’d lose Ca–”
“It’s fine,” Scott interjects, offering a shrug Sam’s way. “None of us knew what would happen.”
Steve grits his teeth. In circumstances like this, he’d usually be finding a way to bargain or leverage his life for the sake of his friends. But Bucky’s here now. He can’t leave him alone to die in a foreign country. He can’t leave him alone to die at all. Steve takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes. When did he become so foul of a person to destroy the lives of everyone around him?
“I’ll call Sharon. See if maybe she knows anything more about this,” Steve offers, standing.
“No,” T’Challa replies. “If you call her, she may be able to trace you.”
Steve just looks at the man, looking over his shoulders, the way his arms are crossed over his chest. “It’s the least I can do.” It’s said barely above a whisper.
“Steve–” Sam attempts but Steve cuts him off, pacing the room.
“No, Sam. This is my fault. We all know it. We’re dancing around the subject like I’m made of glass. I’m not. I know what happened. I have to make up for it somehow.”
“Yeah, you do,” Clint says. “You can make up for it by keeping you and Bucky safe. That’s what this was all for, right? For Bucky?”
Steve doesn’t answer.
“Look,” Clint continues, standing up and moving toward Steve at the middle of the table. “Our lives are fucked up. We’re fugitives. But it’s okay. My kids got to see all kinds of parrots today. They got to step into a jungle and look up and see all the flowers and the animals and listen to all the sounds. I don’t even know if you all know this, but I don’t hear so good. I read lips like a champ and I can hear myself pretty well most days, but I use this to do it.” Clint reaches behind his ear and pulls a tiny little metal circle down in the palm of his hand. He offers it out, showing everyone. “It’s my hearing aid. SHIELD science developed. It can blend into the skin when attached to the dock that’s augmented into my skin. I’m mostly deaf. But I got to hear the jungle with this and I got to hear my kids gasp with wonder and I’ll take it.” He puts the hearing aid back into place and true to form, it vanishes from silver to flesh behind his ear.
Steve looks down, sucking in his lips. He can’t bring himself to let go. Clint’s telling him to, but he can’t. He refuses to look at this situation any differently than he would a military operation that went bad. Officers are held accountable for their actions. Steve had been an officer. He led these people and he had failed them.
“Yeah I’m gonna be that dude, but it’s pretty nice being in a place where your white ass is the minority,” Sam jokes, winking.
“The air is cleaner,” Wanda says. “And the water isn’t so hard on my hair like Sokovia or the Avengers’ compound.” She smiles, offering a little shrug that even gets Steve to smirk a little.
“I got to pet a cheetah,” Scott announces. “That was cool.”
“So you all want me to believe that you’re fine with this? Is that what you’re all saying?” Steve asks, looking around at his friends.
“We believe in you,” Sam responds. “And we support you.”
Wanda, Clint and Scott all nod. Steve just stares at each one of them. He hadn’t gotten to know Scott that well before everything happened, but he has the kind of soul that is instantly likable. And now, what Scott is doing speaks volumes. Years with Tony, and Steve never felt like they were really getting anywhere. Steve spent a day with Scott and he already feels like Scott’s been part of the team since the beginning. If only Nat was here too.
“Can I see it yet?” Bucky asks for the sixteenth time in five minutes. Steve’s been counting.
Bucky’s been aware that Steve draws him every time they’re together. Today, Bucky isn’t in a hospital bed. He’s in a regular bedroom that overlooks the mountains and a waterfall. The jungle is loud and comforting around Steve here. Bucky’s in bed, but he’s sitting up on his own. His eyes are red, lips pale but otherwise, it’s like he’s not even dying.
“Not yet,” Steve scolds, smirking. “Your face isn’t even all the way shaded in yet.”
“You tryin’ to impress me, Rogers?”
Steve clenches his jaw and Bucky’s eyes widen in panic.
“It was a joke, Steve.”
“I know, Buck.” Steve looks back to the drawing, sketching out the age lines on Bucky’s face. He’s gotten so much older somehow. Bucky’s unique way of captivity probably took a toll on him. “But I am.”
Bucky’s eyes round, innocent and almost cat-like. He lets a little smirk play at the corner of his mouth before he puffs out his chest. “I think I heard an elephant.”
Steve laughs. He turns the pad around, showing his not-yet-complete drawing to Bucky. “Maybe. Sometimes I think I hear dinosaurs out there.”
Bucky snorts. “Wouldn’t be surprising. I wanna see that movie.” He sits back, reaching for his glass of water. “I like the drawing by the way.”
“What movie?”
“The one with the dinosaurs in a jungle. This guy makes a theme park or something and they get out and eat everyone.”
“Jurassic Park,” Steve answers, feeling a small bit of pride that he even knows that. “I still haven’t seen it either. There’s four movies.”
“Can we watch ‘em?” Bucky asks. The way he asks leaves Steve feeling like someone’s standing on his chest. There’s uncertainty in Bucky’s voice, almost like he’s afraid Steve would actually say no. As if Steve could ever say no.
It’s alarming to Steve, now Bucky this man is. It’s alarming because he knows it’s all a façade. Bucky’s scared. Steve’s scared. Neither one of them is willing to admit it and so they just go on pretending– never telling the other one how they really feel but just talking about nothing as if it means something. If this is how Bucky will die, Steve doesn’t want to regret not telling him how he feels. But it’s hard. It’s so hard to take that leap and Steve’s so afraid of hurting Bucky more.
“We can watch whatever you want, Buck.”
Bucky nods. His lips twitch like he’ll smile but then it goes blank and distant. His face visibly pales about three shades. He grabs his stomach and Steve lunges for Bucky.
Blood drops wetly from Bucky’s mouth as he hacks it up. He’s scrunched over himself, gasping and breathing wetly through the blood in his throat. He takes in a sharp breath and then pukes blood again.
Steve is afraid to touch Bucky. He’s on the bed with him, his hands are hovering out before himself like he’s going to do something, but he’s not. He’s watching Bucky vomit literal blood and he can’t even bring himself to sling an arm over the man’s shoulder. “W-what…what do–”
“Get,” Bucky grits out, gasping. “A doctor.”
Steve runs from the bed, almost colliding with the wall in the hallway. He barrels through the hall, his heart beating up against his sternum. He can feel the currents in his blood, quick and panicked as he searches for a doctor. “Someone help!” he shouts. He’s never seen the doctors anywhere but the halls around the private wing they’d created for Bucky in cryo. He’s not sure if they’re even in the building now. “Bucky’s vomiting blood! Someone fuckin’ help!” Steve’s not used to hearing himself sound like this– hoarse, pitchy and strained. But that won’t stop him from screaming till someone finally comes his way.
Scott pokes his head out of a door, his mouth wide as he stares at Steve. “Shit, seriously?!”
Steve ignores him, but he hears Scott starting to run behind him, shouting for assistance. Steve really appreciates Scott Lang.
They find T’Challa in the sitting room. He’s been on a skype conference but he closes the computer and pulls out his phone to alert one of the doctors. Turns out, he’s kept several on staff in the building on a twenty-four/seven rotation.
Steve is panting, slouched over and listening to his blood rush in his ears. Scott’s collapsed onto the floor, groaning and huffing loudly. Steve’s honestly surprised he kept up for the most part.
The three make their way back to Bucky. Two doctors are already there and Bucky’s heaving into a plastic bag. It smears red and Steve’s heart breaks as he watches helplessly. Bucky is dying… It’s happening before Steve’s eyes and if they don’t act fast, then he’ll really fade away into nothing.
The sheets are splattered and sticky with blood. Bucky’s hands and chin are all bright red. It’s so much blood that he’s so astonished Bucky’s even breathing. A doctor is putting an IV into him to give him more blood. Steve’s lost blood before. Getting a few rounds of O positive hasn’t done any wrong to him since the serum alters the incoming blood, but he still worries. Bucky’s serum isn’t the same as Steve’s, but he can’t imagine Bucky’s never had to pump a few blood bags in with his time at HYDRA. Still, Steve’s fingers feel like he’s gripping ice.
“Hey,” Sam says, coming up behind Steve and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, man.”
Steve doesn’t want to. He wants to watch this scene. He wants to commit it to memory– to burn it to the backs of his eyes. He wants to replay it every second of every day that he’s not doing something for Bucky when he should be doing something for Bucky. He can’t stop helping to find a way to save Bucky. But he needs to fucking start helping instead of just always sitting there. He hates being powerless.
“Steve,” Sam says again. “Look at me.” He turns Steve’s face. Steve sees his glaring eyes, his twitching jaw and how he’s breathing heavily. He sees the sheen of sweat on Sam’s forehead and feels the slight tremble of his fingers under Steve’s chin. Sam shakes his head and starts to pull Steve out of the room.
“N-no,” Steve whispers, grabbing the doorframe. He tries to turn around when he hears Bucky wail but Sam just yanks him.
They move into the hallway and Sam pulls Steve into his chest, wrapping his hand around the back of Steve’s head. Sam’s heart is beating so fast. It’s so fast that Steve’s worried it might break and he can’t lose both his best friends right now. He’ll break. He’ll break if he loses someone else.
“Let it out,” Sam murmurs. “I gotchu.”
And for the first time since waking up in this century, Steve truly cries. He clutches onto Sam’s shoulder blades, pushing his face into Sam’s chest, and feels the tears wet fabric. His whole body is tingling and his fight or flight instincts are begging him to run back into that room and wrap Bucky up and tear open anyone’s gut who tries to get near him. But that’s not what Bucky needs. He needs doctors who actually know what they’re doing. He needs fluids and blood. It was the first day out of that hospital bed and in an actual bedroom and he’s already diminishing so fast. So fast.
“He’s dying,” Steve speaks into Sam’s chest. “H-he’s dying and I– I can’t–”
“I know,” Sam consoles, rubbing Steve’s back. “I know.”
“You don’t even like him,” Steve keeps going, sniffing when the sobs aren’t shaking his body.
“I know you do,” Sam says. “And I don’t hate Barnes. I don’t know ‘im. But I know you. If you think he’s a good guy, then he’s a good guy. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve been there since this whole thing hit the fan.”
Steve straightens himself, wiping the tears from his face and hiccupping in a desperate attempt to stop crying. He doesn’t want Bucky to somehow know. He can’t let Bucky see him cry. He’s got to be strong now. He has to save Bucky and crying doesn’t do a damn thing for that. It just gives Steve a headache and makes himself feel weak.
He battled that feeling already– without the shield; without the mantle of Captain America. He’d stared at walls, tossing a ball at it, and thought what was he without that title. He still doesn’t know. It only makes him feel so weak. He can’t save Bucky like this. He can’t save anyone when he’s too busy crying.
“Thanks,” Steve says, sniffling. “I–”
“I know,” Sam says again. “Trust me. We all know.”
“Huh?”
Sam smirks, looking back in the room. “He stopped.”
Steve looks into the room. Bucky’s laying back on the bed with a cloth across his head. He’s got the blood drip in one arm and both doctors at his side fawning over him. Steve’s okay with that. Those doctors are the most important people to Steve because they’re the only people who can save Bucky.
“T’Challa says the serum is killing him. Some kind of breakdown of it to self-destruct.”
Sam clicks his tongue, putting his hands on his hips. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Damn.”
Steve continues to stare at Bucky. He’s pale and his lips barely have any color to them. The doctors are piling blankets atop him and for all that size he looks so little. Steve wants to be in there. He wants to curl up on that bed and kiss Bucky’s face and tell him he’s going to find a way to save him. Except he’s not. If anyone’s saving him– it’s the doctors. Steve doesn’t know the first thing about modern medicine.
“We’ll find a way to save him.” Sam squeezes both of Steve’s shoulders, staring up at Steve, though Steve’s still staring at Bucky. “T’Challa’s got all his best on this.”
Scott comes out of the room. He’s pale and his face is strained but he meets Steve’s gaze head on. “They got him stable. I helped him stand while they changed the bedsheets and cleaned him up.”
“What happened?” Steve asks.
Scott sighs, shrugging. “Dunno. Didn’t think it was my place to ask. But you should be in there.”
Steve looks at Sam, his lips twitch into what probably looks like more of a grimace but Sam nods anyway. They know apparently. Though Steve’s not sure just what they know. Which…
“What’d you mean? You all know?”
Scott looks between Sam and Steve.
Sam side-eyes Scott, smirking. “Wanna tell ‘im, or should I?”
“About?”
“About that thing we all know, Tic-Tac.”
“Oh. I didn’t think you were exactly hiding it. I mean, if you are– I’m sorry. We just were talking about it and I didn’t reali–”
“Scott? What do you know?” Steve asks.
“God, does he even know?” Scott asks Sam.
“You love Bucky,” Sam finally relinquishes. “We all know. It’s why you did everything the way you did. You love Bucky.”
Steve stands there, looking between the two of them. Scott with his slight fidgeting and Sam with his smug grin. The man who knows him better than most, except for Bucky, and the man who has only heard about Captain America. It’s an interesting dynamic. But he calls both friend.
“He doesn’t know,” Steve whispers, looking at his feet.
“Dude,” Scott begins. “I think he does. And you should talk to him. Given the circumstances.”
Sam smacks Scott roughly, earning a squeak from the man. Steve just quirks a brow, watching. “Go,” Sam orders. “I’ll be up if you need me.”
Steve waves them off, watching Sam playfully bump his shoulder against Scott, talking about the art of subtly or something. Steve just rolls his eyes before going back into the room.
One of the doctors is now on the couch, typing something into a laptop. The other one is taking Bucky’s temperature.
Steve tries to smile when Bucky looks up at him, but the muscles don’t budge and he just looks down at the man with apathy across his features. It’s not that he wants to look like this. He just physically can’t move his muscles into a smile.
“Hey,” Bucky rasps out, his voice hoarse and torn. “Doc said that’s to be expected now. Bouts of expulsion.”
“Expulsion?”
“Got a lot of crap in me. Somethin’ about dead cells. I’m literally rotting from the inside out. Great, huh?”
Steve doesn’t think that’s great. He knows Bucky doesn’t either. “I’m sorry. I panicked when–”
“It’s okay,” Bucky says through that broken voice. “I would’ve too, seeing my best friend puking all his blood out.”
Steve winces. He looks around. The couch is already occupied and the other doctor is now moving to sit in the reading chair to scribble something down.
“You can sit on the bed, Steve. Ain’t like you haven’t before.”
Steve shuffles over, stiffly sitting down on the extreme corner. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. If he had it his way, he’d be diving into the bed and scooping Bucky up into his arms. He’d be kissing the IV feed into Bucky’s arm and moving all the way up to Bucky’s face. His friends know. Scott thinks Bucky knows… Steve wants to ask so badly. He wants to talk about it so badly that he’s about to throw up.
“Do you need anything?” Steve asks instead.
Bucky looks like he considers it for a moment before shaking his head. “What’s the best memory you have of us?”
Steve’s mouth drops open silently, his eyes rounding as he’s bombarded with countless memories. The best? Every time he was with Bucky– that was always the best. “Why?”
“Wanted to see if it was mine too,” Bucky whispers. He looks over at his metal shoulder, pursing his lips. “Maybe I just wanted to see if it was real.”
“What is it?”
Bucky shakes his head, sighing. “Maybe– maybe later. I should be more worried about my future, right?”
“Bucky–”
“It’s okay. I’m tired anyway.”
Steve stands up, preparing himself to say his goodbyes since he can’t seem to find a way to say anything else.
“Where’re you going?” Bucky asks, his voice still hoarse but it’s child-like in a way. There’s a desperation behind it that Steve doesn’t recall hearing when they were young.
“You said you were tired. Didn’t wanna keep you up.”
“Steve, seriously? Take your shirt off and get into bed. S’not like we haven’t slept in a bed together before. I don’t wanna be alone.”
Steve’s face flushes hot. He looks at the doctors, paying no mind to what he and Bucky are talking about. He’s– embarrassed. It’s one thing to climb into bed when there isn’t an audience but then again, Sam said they all know. Maybe even these doctors know. Would it be so bad? Everyone knowing? Scott hadn’t been wrong when he said Steve should probably tell Bucky, given the circumstances. And even then, Steve’s slept in the beds of men many times. It didn’t mean anything and it probably doesn’t mean anything to Bucky now. Bucky just doesn’t want to be alone and Steve wants to do anything he can to help Bucky.
He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. Bucky shoves the blankets down and Steve gets into bed beside him. The bed’s warm and the blankets make Steve almost a little uncomfortably hot. His hand brushes Bucky’s and it’s like Bucky hasn’t been out of cryo for more than an hour. “You’re freezing.”
“Blood loss’ll do that.”
Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his, rubbing at it and massing into the muscle to help the blood flow easier. Bucky just watches, his lips slightly parted and his gaze set on Steve’s fingers. Steve recoils, feeling his ears go red.
“N-no, it– that was good,” Bucky says.
“Yeah?”
“I’m cold. I’m not opposed to you being one of my blankets.”
Steve laughs. He laughs because he doesn’t expect those words. He laughs because never in his life has Bucky been so forward and yet so logical at the same time. Bucky is cold. This has nothing to do with Steve’s feelings or even Bucky’s. Bucky is cold and Steve is warm.
“C’mere,” Steve whispers, letting Bucky shimmy into his arms.
Bucky tucks himself under Steve’s chin. He smells like soap, most likely from the doctors having cleaned him. Steve can’t help but press his face into Bucky’s hair.
“So warm,” Bucky mumbles. “M’sorry– makin’ you do this.”
Steve looks down, his face strained as he digests those words. Bucky thinks? He thinks this is a chore for Steve? Steve would do anything for Bucky. He’s turned away from the shield, turned away from the people of this world. He’s gone into hiding for the past six months to keep an eye on Bucky and Bucky thinks that this is somehow not what Steve wanted?
“You’re worth it, Buck.”
“Nnnn.” He’s falling asleep and it’s the best feeling Steve’s ever felt. Bucky’s weight is substantial and he’s pressed up so close with a leg between Steve’s. He’s clutching to Steve’s hip, his icy fingers slowly relaxing as he falls further and further under. Steve would lie like this every night if Bucky needed it. Never would this ever be a chore.
Steve watches the doctors close up their respective laptops and notes. They look at Steve and smile large before bowing their heads and silently heading out. The last one turns off the light and the silver beams from the moon spill slowly into the room.
Steve listens to the jungle– so alive and loud. He feels Bucky’s steady breathing against his chest. He thinks he hears an elephant. Everything is so loud and yet Steve’s never felt so at peace.