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Gunshots. Bucky takes off in the direction of the sound, Sam close on his heels, cursing when they have to double back after a dead end. He shouldn’t be having this much trouble. He was trained better than this, but he’s running on pure adrenaline right now, a million scenarios in his head.
Has a civilian been shot? That was exactly what they wanted to avoid by sending Sam in to talk to Karli first. What if Walker lost his temper? The guy seems to lack the virtue of patience. Did Zemo find Karli? He really didn’t want to hear Sam bitch any more than he already had after Nagel. Too many variables, too many people.
Finally. Bucky finds Walker, Lemar a short distance behind him.
“What’d we miss?” Sam is the first one to talk as Bucky takes in the scene before him. The sharp scent of burnt gunpowder clings to the air as his eyes find Zemo, crumpled in a puddle of broken glass and blue liquid that looks remarkably like the serum he stole from Howard Stark thirty years ago. And John, standing over him, looking far too pleased with himself.
Before anyone can blink, Bucky has vaulted the rail, face to face with the new ‘Captain America’ as a low growl escapes his chest.
“What’d you do, Walker, fucking shoot him?” His voice is deceptively level, low—the sound sending a shiver through John that Bucky is close enough to feel.
“Jesus, Barnes. I used my shield. Not all of us are trigger-happy assassins,” John retorts, the bravado he’s so clearly aiming for faltering, sweat dripping from under his helmet.
Whatever thread of patience Bucky had been holding onto for this clusterfuck of a mission immediately snapped. “No, you’re just a little boy playing dress up with a shield you don’t deserve. What? Did you think cutting his head off for a knock off serum would make you a man?”
“Buck, stop! He’s got a pulse, stand down,” Sam tries to de-escalate, crouched at Zemo’s side. Not that his shouts are heard over the roar of righteous anger thrumming through Bucky’s head.
Bucky laughs, almost manically. “You think the serum will fix how insignificant you are? You think that’s what makes Captain America? You think the serum made Steve? No, Steve was a hundred times the man you are when a stiff breeze could knock him over. You won’t ever be Captain America. You’re nothing but a disgrace to his legacy. You’re going around, picking fights left and right without a care who gets hurt. At least Steve had the sense to punch up. You don’t deserve this,” he hisses, reaching for the shield.
Walker jerks back, startled, then steps into Bucky’s space, muscles tensing with readied action, like he thinks he has a snowball’s chance in hell of taking him. Bucky grins, all teeth.
“It’s over, man. Let’s go,” Sam interrupts the brewing fight, the last word punctuated by a limp Zemo being unceremoniously dumped into Bucky’s arms.
“He’s right, John. Walk it off,” Lemar adds, pulling his friend back, leading him out of the room while Bucky adjusts the weight he was holding.
As soon as they’re gone, Sam whirls on him. “Man, what the hell was that?”
The thing is, Bucky doesn’t even know how to answer that. The rage he felt when he saw Zemo laying there is something he hasn’t felt since finding Steve beaten within an inch of his life in an alley. Not even his hatred of Zola touched the fire he felt standing nose to nose with Walker. And now that he has Zemo in his arms, safe? A sense of relief and calm soothes all the hard edges from moments ago, a peace he hasn’t felt since Wakanda. It doesn’t make sense. Zemo isn’t his. Not a friend, barely an ally. A means to an end, like he told Ayo.
“J’mes,” Zemo mumbles, pulling him back to his body. Bucky doesn’t even think about it as he adjusts the other man, cradling Zemo a little closer, making sure his head sits comfortably against his chest. He’s pretty sure he sees Sam raise an eyebrow at them in his peripheral, but addressing that means addressing what’s going on inside his head. That’s not a discussion he’s willing to have with Sam right now. Maybe not ever. Not when all he can think about is how nice the baron’s hair smells as the soft strands tickle his nose. It’s taking every ounce of Bucky’s self-control not to nuzzle closer.
Sam is rambling about ways to find Karli, places she could have gone when they make it back to the apartment. Bucky couldn’t care less at this moment as he gently lowers Zemo onto the couch. Nothing else matters when Zemo is still unconscious and unevaluated, though Bucky doesn’t think he’s been compromised by the serum—there’s no visible wounds or smell of blood...
“Карле... Не иди... Џејмсе, помози ми...” Zemo’s hands lock around Bucky’s jacket when he goes to pull away. It’s not Russian, but it’s close. Close enough to know he’s begging for Bucky to save his son, and Bucky can’t handle the way his heart breaks right then and there. Zemo might not be a good person, downright unredeemable to some, but he was once a man with a family and no one should have to outlive their children, let alone be forced to excavate his family’s corpses from the rubble of his former home.
“Все добро,” Bucky whispers, rearranging Zemo in his lap to hold him until he wakes up. Then, louder to Sam, he says, “He doesn’t deserve this,”in a belated answer to his earlier question. “He doesn’t deserve to hurt like this, be hurt like this, and I’m the only one who sees it.” I’m the only one who cares about him, he bites back.
“What?” Sam freezes in confusion halfway through opening his laptop, eyes wide as he turns to see his friend holding a supposed enemy.
“You asked why I got angry earlier. I was angry because whatever he did a decade ago doesn’t justify this. He’s a grieving man trying to help us. And in return, he’s begging a supersoldier to save his dead son because some ‘hero’ and supposed ally nearly killed him. It’s not right. Not even you can deny that, Sam,” he elaborates, absent-mindedly running his fingers through Zemo’s hair. Bucky’s not sure if the motion is meant to soothe the baron or himself, unsettled that explaining himself feels like baring his soul, like Sam will hear the sentiment layered beneath the truth.
“Whatever you say, man,” is all Sam has to say after a long pause, turning back to his work.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Face flushing, Bucky can feel panic set in. Is Sam dismissing him, or can he tell? He’s not sure which is the better of two evils right now.
“Nothing,” Sam sighs as his screen lights up, the conversation clearly over. “I just got work to do.”
“James?” Zemo’s eyes finally flutter open, pain furrowing his brow, hands still clenching leather, his voice catching Bucky’s attention before he can spiral.
“I’m here. Все добро,” Bucky reassures, soft smile on his face as he continues to stroke Zemo’s hair.