Chapter 1: Where We Lay Our Scene
Chapter Text
“That pork paté brought by the Odinsons was absolutely vile, did you try it? Also, remind me to never attend a formal dinner again.”
“No, I was too smart to partake of that element of dinner, and you’re a prince, my lord. Not going to happen.”
“You’re my advisor, Sam. Just advise me not to go and I’ll tell everyone you said so. Boom. Not my fault.”
“Yeah, but then it’s my fault. How is that supposed to be better, considering that you’re the one who’s conniving and so evidently opposed to showing up for a neighboring kingdom’s coronation?”
“Well I wouldn’t tell anyone that you advised me against it. Just that I was advised. Passive voice, no subject. I passed grammar class with flying colors. You’d be safe.”
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes at Steve. The pair of them had grown up together and were closer than most advisors were to with the royalty they worked with. Steve’s rapid, young ascent to ruling most of Lehigh due to his mother’s sickness, however, shifted them from friends to friends-and-coworkers a lot faster than either of them had expected. It really never affected their relationship though.
Except for when Steve was doing his best impression of a whiny five-year-old, which really only happened during the laid-back moments of formal events where he had to wear a ceremonial suit or formal robes, so he timed it pretty well, much to Sam’s relief. Steve rather resisted wearing anything other than his usual rough tunic and trousers and riding boots, which were immensely practical considering how influential a role he played in the calvary of Lehigh’s army. Practical his everyday clothes might be, but not suited to the evening before a neighboring kingdom’s coronation. Today he wore a festive forget-me-not suit with fine gold trim at the collar and cuffs matching the gold buckles affixed to his black working boots. He looked both sharp and miserable. Apparently the royal seamstress, Pepper Potts, spent a lot of her time in the weaponry griping to the master smith, Tony Stark, about how much harder her job (procuring proper outfits for the prince) was than Tony’s, who merely provided Steve with weapons, that the man fawned over and delighted in like a child with a much-desired toy on Christmas morning.
That’s not to say that Steve was violent in any sense of the term. He only fought when necessary, but sparring was certainly one of his favorite activities, and his excitement showed every time Tony gave him new weaponry to try.
Even now, the prince was wearing two small ceremonial knives that he was loath to have off his person at any time, with a glossy walnut pommel prettily carved in the concentric circles and center pentagram that composed Lehigh’s family crest. Tony gave it to Steve as a gift on Steve’s eighteenth birthday, and the blond wore it religiously every day. His thumb rubbed back and forth over said pommel as he scanned the masses of people gathered in the gilded, spacious hall mingling after dinner with a strategist’s eye. Sam rolled his eyes. You could take the warrior out of the fight, but you couldn’t take the fight out of the warrior. No one was a truer example of that statement than Steven Joseph Rogers.
Even stranger was the fact that Steve came from a family of healers, and was himself a trained one. Usually healing and fighting didn’t go together, but also fighting and artistry didn’t either, and there was another element of conundrum in Steve’s character. The man held to no toxic masculinity, that was certain, and his mother, Queen Sarah, was proud of him for it.
House Barnes, on the other hand, was the house of magic. Supposedly their lineage got tangled up with elves at some point, and some individuals carried enough elf in their genetics to find themselves somewhere on the spectrum between mundane and mage. They were also a kingdom off mercenaries and assassins, with only slightly more upstanding morals than your typical fighter-for-hire. There were even vague rumors of an individual called the Winter Soldier, an immortal half-mage assassin who had the most successful death rate recorded, using magic to kill and leave no trace, but who was never seen and served only at the Barnes royal family’s command.
Suffice it to say, Sam had never been overly comfortable with House Barnes as a whole. The people tended to be aloof and secretive, a little too close to the attitude of the amoral and now-extinct elves for comfort. They did have an ongoing peace oath with House Rogers though, and their word could be trusted. Everyone from House Rogers at this event was technically safe, even if they didn’t completely feel that way. Members of other houses though? Those neither felt nor were safe here in House Barnes. But it being the most prestigious and important as an ally among the nearby kingdoms, they attended events anyway, for the sake of the connections and the potential business they could get from it.
Intrigue, intrigue, intrigue. It bored Sam, and annoyed Steve—hence the reason Sam was the ambassador. No one knew the two were adopted brothers and were equally unworthy of the throne, but as they rode the line between child and adult, one day their adopted mother had sat them both down and given it to them straight: their real heritage, and the fact that one of them would end up king and the other wouldn’t. Steve immediately deferred, claiming that Sam would make the better king since he was calmer. Sam took up a counterargument, since Steve was more determined and inspiring and better at strategy, even if the interactional side of things wasn’t his strong suit. Sarah had sat back, given them each a fond smile, and said,
“My sons. I can rest now, knowing that the throne would be in good hands with either of you.”
Eventually, with much diplomacy and a couple nights of arguing under the covers of their still-shared bed (although they were princes, they were still used to sharing space for warmth and living in each other’s pockets, not to mention the fact that they were best friends), they reached a decision: when the time came, Steve would be king, and Sam would be his advisor and equal in every way except in regards to who actually wore the crown.
The system seemed to be working pretty well at this point, and considering they were both in their late twenties, they’d had a couple years to perfect it. Steve and Sam had learned the art of communicating with microexpressions in court, so Steve wouldn’t look “weak” for taking Sam’s opinion into account on everything, not that Steve cared. But Sam insisted on it, for appearances of strength.
Right now, though, the melee couldn’t count as a formal event, although the dinner preceding it had been, so the two of them could stand shoulder-to-shoulder in a corner, killing time and people-watching. And in Sam’s case, reminding Steve periodically not to look like he was about to start a fight at any moment. Steve had mostly grown out of that particular reflex, although Sarah still claimed her feistier son kept the urgency always so closely tied with his desire to right every wrong he saw, although he had become a bit more tactical in respect to the confrontations he began. Not to mention, Steve had grown to fit his sense of justice, which was pleasant for Sam, considering he no longer had to worry about his brother having the crap beaten out of him in some back alley by a couple bullies who weren’t scared of a short, almost frail teenager.
He had other reasons to be concerned about Steve, of course. His lack of self-preservation was just as exasperating and stressful as always, even if he now had the means to extract himself from most situations he threw himself unthinkingly in.
“We’re not going to battle, Steve, and certainly never against House Barnes, questionable though their ethics may sometimes be. Relax.”
Steve grinned distractedly, his eyes ceasing in their roving to lock on the doors across the room from where they stood. Said grin took on an air of curiosity and suspicion, and oh no.
Here we go, thought Sam. The game’s afoot. He didn’t even know what the game was yet, but he’d seen that look before, and honestly he preferred checked-out, bored, harmless Steve over locked-in, interrogatory Steve. He’d found something that interested him, and he’d go after it.
“I’m perfectly relaxed, Sam. Who’s that?”
Well, at least it was a “who” and not a “what.” Last time it was an old tapestry at a thrift stall in the market, portraying two kings sparring in their nightgowns with knitting needles, using dinner plates as shields, then on the next panel playing horseshoes with their crowns. Steve had cracked up, laughing and insisting on buying it, and complimenting the seller on her taste. Sam had no idea whose idea the pattern on the tapestry was, but he did know that said tapestry was still hanging in Steve’s bedroom. Steve defended its continued existence through his “artist’s taste,” which he funnily enough never mentioned at any other time.
Sam dragged himself back to attention, glancing the direction Steve was intently staring. His eyes roved the crowd of nobles who shouted at each other in the cavernous space, pretending to hold conversations and understand each other. Faint melodies from caroleurs in one corner threaded through the cacophony, and a trace scent of freshly brewed coffee cut through the cloyingly sweet and floral mix of perfume and cologne. Sam could use some coffee, if this after-dinner political mingling dragged on too much longer. He’d hit it up with one of the head cooks earlier, a cute blond named Riley, and was sure he could wheedle some coffee out of the kitchens for him and Steve, even if it wasn’t intended for the guests.
Perks of being a member of the Rogers household, and guests at the Barnes’.
Steve elbowed him, shooting him the Rogers Look of Displeasure, which Sam responded to with a thoroughly unimpressed deadpan. Giving up, the blond’s eyes darted over to the crowd and back, his eyebrows raising in a tell of excitement.
“The short guy, talking to Princess Rebecca. He wasn’t here earlier.”
Now that he knew where to look, Sam zeroed in on the Princess, tomorrow to be queen. She stood in the corner of the room diagonal to them, surrounded by advisors and family, leaning in close to a man speaking with her who yes, definitely hadn’t been around earlier. He wore the attire of Barnes royalty, a slim-fitting black suit with silver linings. Curling pieces of dark hair fell out of the knot at the base of his neck held in place by a long red pin, its color denoting him as a distant relative since immediate family wore exclusively black and silver on principle. He clocked in on the shorter end of the spectrum, a little less than the Princess’ height, but he held himself with confident reserve. He was pretty, in a distant, intentional kind of way, all trim muscle and crisp pleats and clean-shaven sharp jawline.
Immediate suspicion flooded Sam. Glancing at Steve, he had to resist the urge to facepalm. His brother had that “there’s a mystery here and I’m going to solve it” face that always, always meant trouble.
“Yeah I don’t know the guy. Distant family though, as I’m sure you noticed.”
“Mm. He stands like a fighter, see how his weight is balanced forward on his feet? I wonder why he wasn’t at dinner, the rest of the family was, right?”
“I think so, although I hardly know the Barnes family tree off the top of my head. Wanna head over there on the pretense of going to the kitchens to snag some coffee? Could maybe find something out about the guy.”
Could also maybe get his hands on some coffee. Win-win situation. Steve happy, and Sam in possession of coffee. He sped after Steve as the man made the least-surreptitious beeline in existence towards the Barnes princess and her relative. They wove through clouds of lace and satin and peony perfume and ingratiating, grating voices. A short, sensory-overloading eternity later they reached the Barnes’ corner, by which point the Princess’ mysterious relative had clearly noticed their approach and stepped apart from and behind the princess, his face finally visible as he gazed placidly at the pair, expression betraying nothing. Strikingly pale eyes glowed in contrast to the smudged kohl liner applied generously to his waterline, and his mouth was wide, lips dark and chapped-looking against his olive-gold skin. Overall his features, like his body, were proportional and nicely shaped, with the exception of his nose, which seemed a little shorter than usual but only added to the youthful visual charm the man evoked—flat, calculating, and decidedly Barnesian expression aside. He was undoubtedly striking, and equally undoubtedly sizing them up, though as Sam glanced Steve’s way uneasily, he recognized that few other people would recognize that the man was doing so. Steve certainly noticed though, and his intrigued smile flattened a little into formal politeness.
“Princess Rebecca! Do you feel ready for tomorrow? I couldn’t be more pleased at the fact that you are the one receiving the crown, I couldn’t imagine a Barnes better suited.”
Rebecca Barnes, a regal brunette with those piercing Barnes eyes, nodded and smiled graciously, shallowly. “Thank you, Prince Steven. I feel more than ready for tomorrow, particularly considering how tensions have been rising as word of the Hydra Dominion has been spreading. House Barnes needs a ruler now more than perhaps ever.”
She was polished. Too polished. Impressive, but obviously practiced, and clearly not even caring about appearing so. A subtle power move. Sam barely refrained from narrowing his eyes.
The Princess was right though, about the threat of the Hydra Dominion. A roving tribe of pillagers who had never settled down and made themselves a kingdom, they thrived by stealing the resources of outlying territories and fiefdoms. They had recently gained a leader, a young man who apparently looked strikingly similar to Steve, who apparently had gathered the various groups of Hydra into a single, massive force with the goal of taking over the mountain kingdoms, Siberia of House Barnes, Lehigh, and Sokovia, a small territory the furthest away from the apparent Hydra army. No one knew for sure if the rumors were true, but Houses Barnes and Rogers both occupied themselves with arms and equipment a little more than usual, during the weeks after the first spreading of the news. Now, a kind of limbo descended over the mountain regions, waiting to see whether Hydra had merely issued empty threats, or would truly come after them. Steve and Sam had met with the Queen of Sokovia, Wanda Maximoff, earlier in the year to discuss possible methods of recourse in the event of war.
Sam’s thoughts were dragged back to the present situation as he heard his brother ask past the princess, politeness barely masking the pointed curiosity, “And who might you be? I believe I’ve not seen you before.”
The brunet’s face remained stoic. “I’m James Barnes,” he replied placidly, ignoring Steve’s toeing of the etiquette line. “I happen to be the Princess’ cousin. Work kept me busy until now.”
Steve nodded, clearly lost for words at the obvious shutdown of the conversation. The man’s tone was not inviting of further questions.
But Sam knew that Steve was incapable of just letting things lie, and the only sign of his agitation was the clenching of his hands out of sight behind his back as Steve queried, “would you care to join us for a quick break? We were just going to the kitchens for some coffee and would love some company.”
James smiled, friendly but distant. His teeth were small and white and very straight.
“I’m all right, thank you, my lord. I already had coffee before arriving. You and your friend…?”
“Sam. Sam Wilson,” Sam interrupted, wanting to end the painful pleasantries as quickly as possible and get them on their way.
“Nice to meet you, Sir Wilson. Prince Steven, you and Sir Wilson enjoy your coffee. I’m sure we will be seeing each other in future.”
Dragging Steve away from the Barneses and their penetrating eyes, Sam felt distinctly wrong-footed. After such a chilly welcome, mentioning expecting to see them again? Didn’t quite fit the overall attitude of the interaction. Did Barnes know something they didn’t?
As they stood on the floury floor of the busy kitchen, surrounded by shouting cooks and the combating smells of coffee and bacon and pastries in preparation for the next day’s breakfast, Steve waggled his eyebrows at Sam, slinging an arm around his shoulder.
“Something’s not quite right about that James, even taking into account his Barnesness, and I’ll be damned if I don’t find out what it is by the time coronation weekend is over.”
Chapter 2: A Coronation and a Threat
Summary:
Preparations for war, and tensions build between various parties. Next chapter we get to see through Steve's perspective!
Chapter Text
The coronation took place the next day. It went smoothly—the princess didn’t trip over her robes (though that was no surprise, the Barnes family had a reputation of inheriting traces of elvish grace along with magic), the officiant didn’t forget his lines, and none off the ceremonial candles or doodahs extinguished or disappeared—right up until the reception, which took place in the courtyard.
The reception itself wasn’t bad. It was your typical boring networking event, similar to last night after dinner, but Sam was endlessly entertained by the difference in Steve’s enthusiasm, now that he had a target for his boredom.
He didn’t stalk the Barnes cousin, persay; he wasn’t that tactless. What he did do, however, was keep him in his sights (not a difficult task) and provide a running commentary of the man’s actions to Sam, as if he actually cared.
The man was strange, Sam would grant that. Aloof even according to Barnes standards, he kept to himself, his back to a wall with almost uninterrupted attention to the crowd around. His suit today was almost exactly the same as yesterday, down to the red hairpin, which turned out to be pentangle-shaped according to Steve, who strategically stood behind the brunet as everyone filed out of the coronation hall, and claimed the man didn’t notice.
“Soldier,” Steve muttered. “Not even trying to hide it.”
“No shit. The guy acts like he’s expecting an ambush any second. He doesn’t seem the paranoid type though.”
“Think he’s on to something?”
“If he’s not, then he’s on something.”
“Sam.”
“What? Guy shows up looking as if he’s anticipating an all-out skirmish and you don’t wanna know more?”
Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile at that one.
“Granted. Maybe he’s just paranoid and really good at hiding it.”
They both glanced over. Barnes’ eyes, almost glowing silver in the fading light of dusk, coolly scanned the room. Thorough. Automatic. Unconcerned.
Professional. Predatory.
Sam’s heart jumped.
“Remember how the Barnes family is famous for their assassinations?”
Steve’s eyebrow twitched. “You think that’s what this is?”
“You tell me.”
“But surely the Barnes’ direct family wouldn’t get involved. That goes against their house code.”
The house code was a set of internal rules held by each house, that they revealed to the other houses at will for the sake of transparency and trust. One of House Barnes’ codes dictated that no member of the royal family direct would be involved in the mercenary action that the rest of the house indiscriminately engaged in.
“I know House Barnes always keeps their word and all that, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Steve’s lips pursed.
“That’s a really bold claim to make, Sam. It’s a big jump from soldier to treasonous hired mercenary.”
“Aren’t all the Barnes soldiers hired mercenaries?”
“No, Sam! And particularly not the Barnes family. Be careful how you speak.”
Sam rolled his eyes, and Steve’s stiff shoulders relaxed a little bit.
“Sorry. I just don’t think we should be gossiping like this.”
“Says the man who’s been borderline stalking the very Barnes we’ve been talking about all day.”
Steve groaned. “All right, if I promise to ignore him for a bit will you stop being so insufferably rude?”
“I prefer scathing over rude, but fine. I will if you will.”
“Great. Now shall we get some of that mead that’s being passed around?”
Sam stuck his tongue out.
“Child, “Steve chuckled. “So you still hate honey?”
“It’s so strong, how do you like the flavor? Particularly in hot drinks. Gross”
“Fine, I’m sure there’ll be some mulled wine somewhere in the mix for you too, never you fear.”
“Fear’s not the right word, I typically call it—”
A scream ripped through the courtyard, emanating from the castle’s main gate, at the other end of the courtyard. It was no playful shriek either. It was the sound of pure terror, followed by frantic shouts. Sam and Steve broke into a sprint at the same time, towards the noise. Glancing to the side at his brother, Sam saw the Barnes cousin nod back in the direction of the queen, who stood surrounded by her bodyguards, and take off in a run himself. Fuck, the man was fast, particularly for being almost a head shorter than either Sam or Steve.
The three of them reached the castle gate a about the same time, pushing through the anxiously muttering crowd to see a soldier, dressed all in dirty plate armor and impossible to identify for his full-face helmet. The symbol of the Hydra stood out across his breastplate like a bloodstain, and the soldier held an unsheathed broadsword in one hand and the head of Pietro Maximoff, the queen of Sokovia’s brother and the leader of her armies, by his silver hair in the other. The dead man’s face had frozen in a twist of anger and stubbornness. Sam—and probably everyone else—stared at it for a solid second before a voice jolted the crowd collectively out of their shock.
“I have a message for house Barnes,” called a muffled male voice from behind the helmet. James Barnes stepped forward from where he had been standing abreast of Sam and Steve. He looked almost bored, disdain and contempt practically dripping off him.
“I speak for house Barnes.”
Sam would bet money that the man behind the mask sneered, based on the tone of his barked laughter.
“What happened to you? Underfed, you whelp? If your whole family’s as pathetic as you, we’ll have an even easier job conquering you than we did Sokovia.”
The Hydra messenger threw Maximoff’s head forward where it rolled to a stop, bumping against Barnes’ polished boots as if for emphasis as the man continued.
“Castle Maximoff burns, and Sokovia with it. House Barnes is next.”
Barnes didn’t even blink. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” The Hydra soldier mocked. “Yes, I think that’s all. Oh yes, once we defeat your kingdom, I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself for your disrespect, boy.”
“You can try,” Barnes retorted, casually pulling the hairpin out of his bun and twirling it between his fingers as he smiled for the second time that Sam had ever seen. He spoke clear and loud enough for the whole crowd to hear. Hell, his voice could probably even be heard past the walls, even though the sound was carefully modulated and the man clearly refrained from shouting. “But why don’t I save you some time, since you came all this way. Barton?”
Hiss-thud.
An arrow lodged itself deep in the crevice between the Hydra man’s breastplate and helmet, sinking far into the soldier’s throat. The man grunted, almost seeming indignant, as he reached a hand to his wound, losing momentum halfway through the motion as he slumped off his horse and fell to the ground without even trying to catch himself.
Sam watched closely as Barnes strode forward, crouching and reaching down to the man’s neck to feel for a pulse, his hair sliding forward to cover his expression. After a few long seconds, he glanced up and to the side at the castle wall, where he relayed a subtle hand signal, nothing more than a flick of the fingers, to a sandy-haired archer who saluted him in return. Barnes stood smoothly, disregarding the blood coating his hand as he turned back to the crowd, hands moving to pull his hair back into a bun as he spoke, once again projecting the carefully enunciated words.
“All who wish to stay in the castle are welcome to do so. Otherwise, return to your homes and lock your doors. Our armies will protect you. The castle gates will close in ten minutes, once messengers have been sent out to the border towns. Anyone in the military reserve, gather at the armory immediately.”
Barnes sent a reassuring nod to the crowd that dispersed with half-runs and fast high-pitched voices. As the chaos erupted, the brunet beelined for the far end of the courtyard, where the queen still stood conferring with her bodyguards. The direction sent him straight past Sam and Steve, who he completely ignored until Sam stepped directly in front of him.
“How can we help?”
Barnes glanced up at him, estimating his usefulness as he looked over at Steve.
“You’re welcome to stay here and stay safe, but I assume you’ll refuse. Head to the stables, they’re that way,” he pointed over his own shoulder, “and tell the stablemaster—his name’s Dugan—that the White Wolf sent you. Tell him what you need and he’ll get you the fastest horses available to return to Lehigh.”
Steve’s eyebrows shot up, incredulity leaking out of his pores. Sam wanted to smack him before he lost them their best opportunity to get home and prepare for the war that was surely coming their way.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just return the horses when you can. Now get out of here,” Barnes shot back as he continued along his previous course, leaving them behind.
“Well,” Sam commented begrudgingly as he waited with Steve at the stables for Dugan and his crew to saddle up two horses, “I guess we were a bit judgy about Barnes.”
“Hey, mercenary and decent guy aren’t mutually exclusive descriptors. You’re being mercenarist.”
“Uh-huh. Pardon my automatic analysis of the characters of persons who kill people for money.”
“Sam.”
“Okay, okay. What’s the plan?”
We should join forces with House Barnes, face Hydra together. It’s the only way we stand a chance against the odds. We go back, gather our forces, and head south through the Barnes kingdom until we meet up with their army, and we offer our assistance. It’s protecting ourselves just as much as protecting them.”
Sam nodded slowly. “What if they don’t want our help? The Barneses can be pretty proud.”
“And I can be pretty persuasive. They need all the help they can get. We’re past pride.”
Sam’s mind procured a vivid image of Pietro Maximoff’s severed head, and he grimaced.
“Point.”
Leaving Lehigh was painful for everyone involved. Children wept while those assigned to stay behind and protect and care for the younger ones ushered them away from their equally devastated parents and family and friends. In a war against Hydra, there was no certainty of return, or even of victory. Sam and Steve bid a tearful farewell to Queen Sarah in her private quarters in Castle Lehigh, as she gave them pieces of her trademark wisdom.
“Don’t forget what you’re fighting for, boys, even when it looks to be going badly. That will give you strength even in the darkest moments. And always remember,” she winked encouragingly although her smile twisted in grief, “there’s more to war than two armies on either side of a field. Use those imaginations of yours.”
Steve nodded, and swept a tear from his cheek angrily.
“We will, mum. I swear it,” Sam promised, voice only a little steadier than Steve’s likely would have been. Sarah bussed each of them on the cheek before they left, and they returned to the army with hearts both heavier and lighter. Splitting up, Steve moved to where his horse stood in comfortable repose at the front of the rows upon rows of regiments, and Sam moved to the back to keep an eye on their rear. The children, who mingled among the ranks saying their goodbyes, slowly filtered out with varying levels of reluctance. As the bugle sounded and the vast majority of the Lehigh army began its march out the castle gates, something caught Sam’s eye. Whistling his gyrfalcon onto his shoulder, he spurred his horse into a canter, moving towards the third regiment from the back, where he saw a suspiciously short figure with a full-face helmet and round shield almost as big as he was. Coming abreast with the soldier, Sam caught his attention with a whistle and motioned him out of his rank. Swinging down from his horse to land in front of the disguised person, Sam spoke gently, but commandingly.
“Take off your helmet, soldier.”
The figure froze, then slowly removed his helmet, showing a too-small face with unruly dark hair hanging over innocent eyes, accompanied by a cleft chin. Sam sighed.
“Peter, head back to the castle please. You’re too young to be here, you know that.”
The boy pouted, shifting his shield from one hand to the other.
“But I wanna be like Captain Rogers, and be brave and strong and a good fighter.”
“You will be,” Sam assured him. “But you need training for that, okay? This is real war, it’s ugly and dangerous and your mother needs you, remember? You’re the man of the house, you don’t want to leave her alone, do you?”
That’s it Wilson, lay it on thick, Sam thought to himself, internally cringing. He felt mildly guilty, but he’d feel way worse if he let this kid go. He wasn’t even fifteen yet.
Peter sniffled. “No, I don’t.”
Sam pulled him into a side-hug and ruffled his hair. “I know you don’t, buddy. Next time, huh? Now let’s get you back where you can protect the kiddos, think you can be brave and do that for me?”
Peter’s back straightened at the prospect, and his eyes shone.
“Yes, sir Wilson, I can do that.”
“Don’t go calling me sir, now, you’ll make me feel old,” Sam laughed, relieved. “Romanoff?”
The redheaded lieutenant appeared, from where he had no idea. She was wearing chain mail, for the love of god. How she could be so silent was beyond him.
“Accompany this brave soldier back to Castle Lehigh, would you please? He’s going to guard it with the other reserves.”
He winked over Peter’s head, and Romanoff nodded, face sober as she beckoned Peter back the way they came.
“That’s very noble of you, let’s get you back as quick as possible so the castle will be better defended, hmm?”
As they strode out of sight towards Romanoff’s horse, Sam scrubbed his hands down his face, meeting Steve’s eyes as he did so. They exchanged quick “all’s well” thumbs-up, and were on their way once more.
When, a few days of hurried marching later, Lehigh’s regiments reached the southernmost land protected by House Barnes, they were met with the Barnes encampment, and active preparations for war. Hydra had been scouted out by a company of Barnes rangers, and found to be sheltering in the nearby territory of Siberia while they regathered after the plundering of Sokovia. They were expected to attack any day, and wood stake barricades and traps were being hastily constructed everywhere in sight for the invaders to break against like a wave.
James Barnes (the man seemed to be everywhere now that Sam and Steve had met him) rode out of the maze of army tents and pavilions on a stocky black Friesian to meet Lehigh’s forces. Sam watched from a midpoint between companies (Romanoff had taken his place at the rear) as Steve conversed with the brunet, their legs almost brushing as their horses shifted weight, undoubtedly sensing the tension of their riders even though Barnes’ face was as composed as always. The queen’s cousin looked different without the black ceremonial suit that hugged his muscles; he seemed almost slight, in a baggy black tunic and trousers casually cinched at the waist with what looked to be a length of rope. Knives hung on either side of his makeshift belt, and the ever-present red pentangle hairpin held the front parts of his long hair out of his eyes, though a few curls still blew about his forehead, exulting in their escape.
Barnes and Steve really couldn’t be more polar opposites. Steve was all passion and gesticulation, every emotion transmitting through his eyes and the creases in his forehead that testified to sympathy and genuity. Barnes, on the other hand, was still as a hunter in wait, keeping one hand on the reins and the other anchored to his thigh, not even a single eyebrow twitch livening his face as he listened and spoke. Sam didn’t know what was up with the guy, but he did know that he wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.
Which, considering how short the brunet was, might be pretty far.
Smiling to himself, he watched as Barnes nodded at something Steve said, interjected with a brief comment, and turning his horse with a minute nudge of his knee, cantered back towards his house’s encampment. At least he was good with horses, Sam’s intrusive thoughts pointed out. Though the guy seemed the type to be obnoxiously good at things just to prove himself better than other people, Sam’s judgemental side countered. Steve pivoted in a mirror image to Barnes’ departure, gesturing for a brief rest, then calling Sam over with one of the hand signals they had since they were kids, hands placed parallel and fluttering up and level again in imitation of Sam’s falcon.
Riding up to his brother, Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically. “We not setting up camp here?”
Steve shook his head. “Barnes proposed sending a division of out army into Siberia, going around Hydra’s army to mount a series of strikes to weaken them. It makes sense, and if there’s few enough of us it’ll be pretty safe and easy to stay out of counterattack range.”
“All right. Sounds risky, but I guess the two of you think alike.”
“Damn right,” Steve retorted. “I like the way he thinks. Also, Barnes is coming with me, to maintain communication between base, here, and us as we travel. Don’t want any confusion or misunderstandings. Also he said he knows how Hydra functions, which will give us a leg up.”
Sam squinted as he frowned. “And that doesn’t sound suspicious as fuck to you?”
Exhaling, Steve smiled softly back at him. “Sam. House Barnes and Lehigh have maintained an alliance for years, and we need that now more than ever. He has nothing to gain and everything to lose, here. I know you don’t like him—”
“I just—”
“but he’s a Barnes, remember? They’re a bit strange, but they’re honorable.”
“Mercenaries.”
“He’s a blood relative to the crown, Sam. He’s not.”
Lips pursed, Sam relented. “All right, Steve. Damn you and your trust in people. When do we start?”
Now it was Steve’s turn to look uncomfortable. Biting his lip, he grinned sheepishly.
“Um, you’re not coming?”
“Like fuck I’m not! I’m not leaving you alone with a couple regiments and…and that Barnes character!”
“I won’t be alone, Sam. I’ll bring Romanoff and Banner with me. They’re good people, and smart, but you’re the one I trust most with the rest of the army while I’m gone.”
Sam scowled, and Steve’s eyes widened in pleading innocence. “Please, Sam? I’ll only be able to focus if I know you’re looking out for my people when I can’t.”
“Fuck you.”
The words bordered on venomous, but Steve beamed, knowing Sam well enough to interpret.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Yes I will, you manipulative bastard.”
Laughing far too cheerfully considering the circumstances, Steve leaned over on his horse and clasped Sam on the shoulder, squeezing firmly and looking into his eyes earnestly. Seeing the relief and pleasure in his brother’s face, Sam couldn’t help the rush of fondness, grabbing the back of the man’s neck and pulling their heads together until their foreheads touched.
“Stay safe, Steve. Don’t be too ambitious. Sarah needs you. We need you.”
“Back at you, Sam. It won’t exactly be sunshine and daffodils over here. Love you.”
“Love you too. Now go pick your companies, and good luck.”
As Steve headed off, calling for companies one, two, and six to fall back with him and the others to follow Sam and set up camp alongside the Barnes setup, Sam rode straight for the network of tents already established. He wove between pavilions and mess areas and weapons racks, eyes scanning everything until he spotted a tall, open-sided tent in the center of the camp, the grass around it trampled with constant footsteps, and the royal crest fluttering in its black-and-silver grandeur from its peak. The interior was densely packed with figures huddling over tables and talking tersely, gesticulating and planning. Dismounting and twisting his horse’s reins loosely over a nearby tethering pole at which stood a familiar Friesian, Sam strode towards the tent just in time to intercept James Barnes as the man slid out of the crowd, swinging a quiver and bow over one shoulder. He made eye contact with Sam, then looked away and moving to step around him. Sam grabbed the man’s upper arm, commandingly though not cruelly, and Barnes stilled, still not deigning to look at Sam.
“Remove your hand, Wilson. I won’t ask a second time.”
“I’ll remove it when I’m done talking to you. I don’t trust you not to just stroll away.”
Barnes turned to gaze blankly at Sam. Everything the man did was eerie, and Sam couldn’t even tell if it was intentional, or if he was just that emotionless. The latter would be worse, he concluded.
“If you betray Steve, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you. It won’t be quick, either.”
“Noted.”
Sam looked away to refrain from screaming in frustration.
“I swear to god, do you try to be as annoying as possible?”
“No.”
“How do I know we can trust you?” There was a little too much desperation in Sam’s voice for his liking, but who cared. He needed to know that he wasn’t sending Steve off with a man who would betray him the moment the wind changed. In Siberia, the wind changed a hell of a lot.
“I want Hydra out of the way as much as you do. My people wouldn’t stand a chance against their numbers, but with Lehigh, we could win. It’s directly disadvantageous for me not to take care of my own allies. You can trust my practicality at least, even if you can’t trust my morals.”
Digging his fingers into his eyes until technicolor lights erupted behind the lids, Sam let go of Barnes as his shoulders slumped.
“Don’t forget what I said, Barnes. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
Barnes, turning to go, hesitated for just a second. In anyone else, Sam wouldn’t have noticed the slightly hitched step, but in Barnes it stood out like a beacon of humanity. Maybe the man wasn’t a robot after all. Turning his face just far enough that Sam could see one downturned eye, Barnes spoke.
“I swear to you on my allegiance to my cousin’s throne, I will not do anything to harm captain Rogers or the soldiers of Lehigh.”
Smoothly mounting his horse as Sam stood aghast, staring up at him, he finished with a cool, “And if that’s not good enough for you, nothing will be,” before galloping away through the camp towards where Steve and his hand-picked men waited to venture into the wilds of Siberia.
Chapter 3: Into the Wild
Summary:
The first day (and night) of the mission. Steve is skeptical.
I had way too much fun researching Siberia for this.
Chapter Text
Barnes rode out of his army’s encampment faster than Steve had originally expected, appearing exactly the same as he had when he first rode out to meet Steve at the head of his army a mere couple minutes ago. The only visible difference Steve noticed was the presence of a quiver and small saddlebags on either side of the cantle on the man’s saddle, and the bow slung over one black-clad shoulder.
Scanning the milling Lehigh army, Barnes’ eyes flicked to Steve’s when the prince waved at him from the back of the mass. The three horseback companies Steve had chosen stood in casual formation around him—Steve was no stickler for rules when it came to smaller groups who were already familiar with him—and Steve looked around at his comrades and blinked.
“Knock it off,” he hissed. Most of them appeared to be channeling Sam’s skepticism. House Barnes was not particularly well liked by Lehigh, allies or not. They were considered dishonorable. “We’re going to be working with him for the foreseeable future, so at least act civil. Please.”
Romanoff sidled up to him on her antsy dapple-grey stallion, an insufferable smirk on her face.
“The bias against Barnes will stick around until the man can earn our trust, you know that, right, Steve?”
He groaned as Romanoff laughed.
“At least pretend. I know you can do it, Nat.”
“True. I’ll try to keep the others in line, no promises though.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank me with a hot supper tonight and we’ll be square,” she called back as she rode back down the line of soldiers. “I’m already doing you a favor by coming along on your guerrilla expedition.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Steve bargained, turning around after watching his Lieutenant’s retreat, to be met by Barnes’ penetrating gaze less than ten feet in front of him. He jumped a little, not expecting the man to have ridden this close already. The held eye contact for a second. Steve looked away first, disguising the possible weakness by gesturing to his companies, as if Barnes was blind and hadn’t noticed them already.
“Hey, Barnes. Ready when you are.”
The brunet spoke, impassive as always. “Let’s go then. We’ll need to head northwards if we’re going to go up and around the Hydra forces. Our most recent scouts reported Hydra to be encamped near Lake Baikal, so we’ll need to cross the Altai steppe and reach Bratsk before we can safely cross the Lena river and redirect south.”
Nodding briskly as though he understood more of those locations than just Lake Baikal, Steve swiveled in his saddle to face his troops and motioned to the north before speaking in a loud baritone.
“No need for technicalities here. We’re taking a trek through Siberia to launch a series of ambushes and weakening attacks against Hydra before the main battle begins. Rank and file won’t work in this situation since we’re traversing mountains, but stick together and stay alert. We’ll be on the move all afternoon.”
With a chorus of “yes, sir” and “understood,” the mounted force, about one hundred soldiers in total, split off to the left of Lehigh’s central army and cantered into the wilds of Siberia. Few people traveled to Siberia, even the southernmost part. It was all steppe, with thickly wooded hills and steep river valleys and wicked cold for nine months out of the year. With late fall on the edge of winter, the weather was not unpleasant, with moderately light snow on the mountains and warm orange leaves still clinging to the deciduous trees in the valleys in a beautiful visual of the merging seasons. Tawny red deer bolted from spruce thickets when the riders approached too close for comfort, and flustered ptarmigans flapped gracelessly out of their way. Badgers rustled and hissed, rarely allowing themselves to be seen, and no one from Lehigh was stupid enough to risk a closer look, even though Steve heard a number of them betting each other to try and sidle near one. Badgers had a reputation for a reason, and no one dared risk it for the few coins that each soldier had on their person. No one needed money here.
The ride was peaceful, almost deceptively so. Steve rode towards the back of the company, wanting to keep an eye on his soldiers’ general whereabouts. Barnes hung back further still, except in one instance when a wild pig trundled out from behind a fir tree, heedless of its own safety or the nearness of the soldiers, a few of whom had noticed the animal and were already bragging about the quality of the supper they would enjoy that night as the strung bows and loaded crossbows. Hearing a rustle of movement a few meters behind him, Steve glance back to see Barnes shrugging his bow, a short but powerful-looking recurve, off his shoulder, pulling an arrow out of the quiver on his saddle at the same time. He nocked, drew, and fired before any of Steve’s soldiers had even lined up the shot. With a hiss as the broadhead split the air just a few feet from Steve’s horse, that shied away from the sound, the arrow covered the twenty or so meters in the space of a breath, and lodged itself in between the pig’s front legs, slightly to the right of its center mass. A clean heart shot. The pig slumped onto its side, noiseless, its death immediate. A handful of Steve’s men hissed to see they had lost their chance.
“Bishop, was that you?”
“Who’s the lucky bastard who got there first?”
Barnes rode silently up to the animal, dismounted, and withdrew his arrow from the pig’s body, cleaning it with a handful of snow he scraped up from its thin layer on the ground. Steve’s men watched silently, aghast, as Barnes hauled the animal over the back of his saddle, tying it in place with a piece of the rope that looked laughingly similar to the one tied around his waist. The brunet’s saddle creaked as he swung back up into it, eyes scanning his audience casually. Somewhere in the group, Romanoff laughed.
“Not luck, I don’t think.”
Steve saw Barnes’ lips twitch as he turned his face away to move back to his position at the rear of the grumbling soldiers, and almost thought he had imagined it, but when Romanoff winked at him a few minutes later, he knew she had caught it too.
Begrudgingly, but with more respect than earlier, the group continued on its way. A few of Steve’s troops caught some wildlife of their own, a couple roe deer, another wild pig, and even a beaver, as they rode up hills and into valleys with icing-over creeks and rivers at the bottom, the routes growing ever steeper as they slowly crossed the border from steppe to the Altai mountains. Night fell quick and early, easy to be caught unawares by it if you didn’t already live in the north and know the drill. The band halted for the night in a high valley populated by birches and pines, stringing tar-coated hammocks and ropes for ground shelters between tree trunks in rough circles. When choosing soldiers to accompany him, Steve chose the companies he did for a reason; they often worked together, and rarely had issues with teamwork or major spats. The stress of impending battle always made people a little more quick to bite at each other: that was inevitable. But this group, with notable figures like Banner, Lang, Stark, Potts, the Odinsons, and Romanoff, knew each other well and didn’t hold grudges, even when things got fiery.
That said, Steve knew his duties as commander and prince, and did the rounds of the campfires and little gangs of soldiers dispersed throughout the valley. He checked in to make sure everyone got a share of the hot, fresh food (including Romanoff), and that a fair watch rotation of pairs was in order. As he traipsed to one fire in the uncertain darkness, he heard an unnecessarily booming voice that could really only be one person.
“Captain Rogers!” Thor Odinson bellowed delightedly, standing from where he had been huddled in a ball by a fire, wrapped in his red cloak. His brother, Loki Odinson (or Laufeyson, depending on the day and how rebellious the striking man was feeling), rolled his eyes at his brother’s enthusiasm, stretching his hands out to warm them from where they had been buried in his green cloak, and casting a casual nod in Steve’s direction, to which Steve responded in kind. The embers beside which the two men had laid out their bedrolls glowed a bit bluer than a typical fire, but by this point, Steve had learned not to question the slightly-not-normal occurances that always seemed to happen wherever the Odinsons were. It was common knowledge at this point that the brothers had at least traces of mage blood. They might even be full mages, but being antique traders who were constantly on the move between kingdoms and provinces and territories, no one saw enough of them to tell for sure. They hid the extent of their powers thoroughly, however strong they were, though Loki had a penchant for using traces of his magic to pull off pranks on anyone he could. Once, he had spelled Steve in such a way that when they were sparring, the grip of Steve’s sword suddenly slipped out of his hand and to the ground. When Loki had won the round and Steve picked it back up, he found the leather grip smeared in lard. Why someone would use magic for tricks like that was beyond him, but he supposed it worked.
“Thor,” Steve laughed as he felt his body lifted off the ground as the bearlike man wrapped him in a hug. “Good to see you, friend. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, good until Hydra decided to get too cocky. Found the ruins of the Jotunheim that Loki’s been looking for a while back, got a couple nice weapons made in the Jotun style that’ll sell for a pretty penny when this is all over, don’t you say, Loki?”
“That’s right, Thor,” Loki agreed, his voice oozing sarcastic toleration that morphed into a smirk as he turned away from the fire to look at Steve, his eyes finding him immediately despite no doubt being seared from the adjustment from fire to darkness
Yep. Weird. At this point, Steve could do no more than shrug and write it off as a magical ability or something or other, particularly considering Loki’s next words.
“Who’s our guest, Captain? Not a bad shot. A guide, or something more?”
“You’re too observant, Loki.”
“No such thing, Captain.”
Steve relented. The Odinsons might be strange, but he trusted them. “He’s a cousin of Queen Barnes. He’s here to guide us through Siberia to execute a series of ambushes to weaken Hydra, and to maintain relations and communication between Lehigh and Barnes.”
Thor chuckled. “Some job maintaining relations he’s doing.”
“Oh?” Steve couldn’t help but grin a little when he looked in the direction Thor pointed; Barnes sat cross-legged by himself on the outskirts of the mosaic of haphazard camps, a bedroll beside him as he hunched over a small fire of his own, tidily eating pieces of the pig he had evidently just cleaned and roasted by slicing pieces off the meat with what must be a wickedly sharp knife considering how easily it slid through the food. “Don’t be critical, Thor. The man just wants to eat in peace.”
“And ride in peace. And hunt in peace. And travel with us for days in peace, optimally without saying a single word, or so it seems to me,” Loki bit back, eyes twinkling, and Steve had to concede.
“I’ll go over and check on him, but don’t bother him. I don’t think he—”
A deep, rumbling roar echoed into the valley, distant but clear, followed closely by another one. Thor’s eyes widened.
“Amur tigers!” he exclaimed.
“You sound far too excited for sanity, Thor,” Loki returned, voice even, but drawing two daggers and laying them at hand on either side of him.
“Well, yes, they are dangerous and eat humans, but also they are majestic and beautiful! Do you not remember our encounter with one on our way to Jotunheim, brother?”
“Oh, I remember all right. The question is whether you remember that it was actively stalking us, and we had to delay our journey and find lodging in Salekhard because we didn’t have the gear to deal with it? And if you aren’t too stupid—”
“Loki,” Steve inserted, “not helpful—”
”you’ll realize that we still don’t have the gear to deal with one, let alone two!”
“There’s safety in numbers,” Steve promised, although if anyone called him out on his bullshit, it would be the Odinsons. Or Romanoff. But Steve honestly had no idea what to do when in close proximity with tigers, and they were nowhere near civilization, with nowhere to hide and only a handful of spears and halberds in the entirety of their company. “And I’ll ensure two pairs of soldiers per watch period, on opposite sides of camp. They’ll keep range weapons on them. It’ll be fine.”
And in all likelihood it would be. It’s not like it was spring, when all the animals would be starving after a lean winter.
Loki threw him a look of skepticism, but didn’t put up a vocal complaint, for which Steve mouthed a silent “thank you” before finishing the rounds.
He ended with Barnes, partially because he was nervous and regretted his promise to the Odinsons that he would check up on the diminutive brunet. Small though he may be, the man certainly had a surplus of intimidation tactics, including the calculating gaze with which he tracked the prince’s approach. When Steve sat down across from Barnes, the black-clad man raised one eyebrow smoothly.
“Want something?”
Steve shook his head, and carefully inhaled. “Just seeing if you’re doing all right. After checking on the rest of my soldiers, it doesn’t feel right to skip you.”
“I’m not one of your soldiers.”
Steve gave him an exasperated stare. “I know you’re not, Barnes. Would you knock it off?”
The brunet looked away, then down at the carcass he was carving the last of the meat from, packing it into a paper-lined leather pouch that must have come from one of his saddlebags. Neatly cutting off a piece of meat from the rib area, he thrust it towards Steve, who took it from Barnes’ hand in shock. He hadn’t had time to eat yet, and was planning on just digging into some of the dried rations in his pack. This was far superior, even seasoned with salt and some kind of dried herb. Rosemary, maybe?
As soon as Steve grabbed the offering from Barnes’ hand, the man went back to his work, keeping his eyes steadily downward, not acknowledging Steve as he ate the food and licked his fingers—his mother would yell at him, but she’d understand the rarity that flavor was on the road, and give him a break. Probably. Sarah always took manners more seriously than specific royal etiquette, so who could tell. She didn’t need to know, anyway.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Steve couldn’t justify staying in good conscience. He needed to get some rest himself, and debrief with Romanoff and adjust the watchguard roster before he could do that.
“Hey,” he called, and Barnes looked up abruptly, brushing the hair out of his eyes.
“Thank you.” His voice was softer than earlier, more conciliatory in the wake of their shared silence surrounded by crackling fires and wind shushing through the pines that surrounded them. Barnes nodded, and Steve finished with, “let me know if you need anything, and goodnight” before scrambling up from the ground and walking away towards his own campsite. He thought he heard a quiet, automatic “goodnight” behind him, but convinced himself that he imagined it.
Steve woke up in the middle of the night—maybe two or three hours after he’d fallen asleep based on the condition of the fires around him—to a low growling. It sounded closer than the roars had been earlier that evening. He jolted into a sitting position, his hand automatically finding the hilt of his broadsword where it always laid during wartime, right beside his head. Avoiding staring into the embers of the fires, he scanned the edge of the encampment, where sleeping lumps in the elevated valley faded into clumps of scrub and young pine trees. Faint mutterings drifted to him from either end of the encampment, where the watch no doubt kept each other awake and alert with conversation.
Then he noticed Barnes. The man’s fire was still lively, as though he had been continuously feeding it, and he sat upright in exactly the same cross-legged position he had been in when Steve had dropped by hours earlier. A swath of fur-lined thick fabric—probably a cloak, probably black, go figure—turned his form into little more than a small bundle, with his bare left hand reaching out from the warmth to rest against the ground.
Was Barnes trying to catch frostbite?
He also stared, unblinking, into the fire, his mouth moving constantly in voiceless words, and suddenly Steve was concerned. Groaning as he stood (the cold made him feel old, sue him), he grabbed the blanket out from inside his bedroll, wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape, tugged his watch cap down further over his ears, and beelined for Barnes—stepping over a couple sleeping figures in the process.
He was a few steps from the ring of firelight when Barnes’ head whipped up, and the hand pressed to the ground scooped up a knife from god knows where. Raising his hands, Steve stepped into the dim orange light of the flames.
“Easy, Barnes. It’s just me. Steve. Captain Rogers.”
“Oh.” The brunet put down the knife immediately, which pleased Steve to an inordinate degree. “What are you doing up, Rogers?”
“I could ask the same of you. I have a watch set. You don’t need to stay up.”
“I know you have a watch set.”
“So why aren’t you asleep?”
“Why aren’t you?” Barnes retaliated. It seemed more diversion than frustration though, so Steve pressed.
“Because you’re awake and you were talking to yourself and looked like you were trying to give yourself frostbite there for a second. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’m not trying to hurt myself, Rogers.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m lucid, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“But you still can’t explain why you’re up. Not reassuring.”
Barnes dipped his head, glancing down at his still-exposed hand before looking back up.
“I don’t sleep well, at the beginning of missions. I recite my mother’s poems to myself to pass the time. That’s all. Happy?”
Steve hesitated.
“Please, Rogers.” Barnes tilted his head, a small, slow smile curving the corners of his lips upwards as his shining blue eyes reflected the flickering of the fire between them. “Thank you for checking on me. Truly. But please go to sleep. I’m okay.”
“Okay.” Steve didn’t believe him, and he was pretty sure Barnes knew his lie wouldn’t fly. But if the man wouldn’t tell him the truth, there was nothing he could do. If he was lying, at least he was indeed lucid.
Awkwardly, Steve backed away and headed back to his bedroll.
He woke up once more in the night, and glancing in Barnes’ direction, saw the brunet still awake, now curled around his knees which were bent in front of him, one hand still on the ground, lips still moving.
Chapter 4: Tipping Point
Summary:
Steve worries, and Loki hatches a plan.
Chapter Text
Two days later saw the Lehigh-plus-Barnes company just one more day’s journey from Bratsk.
At least according to Barnes. No one else had any clue where the fuck they were. The last three days had been never-ending mountains and meadows, pines on peaks and streams in valleys. It was undeniably beautiful, with dustings of snow and crisp air and abundant wildlife that led to hot food every night. They were far enough from civilization that they could light fires every night when they made camp, which kept them from morphing into icicles in their sleep. They even found a cave one night, and packed into it like sardined. That was the warmest most of them had been since leaving Lehigh. Moments of respite aside, however, it was still “as frigid as the Snow Queen’s fucking ice kingdom” in the eloquent words of a whiny Tony Stark, and the soldiers of Lehigh were dramatically underprepared, dwellers from the south that they were.
Apparently the band could restock their supplies in the settlement of Bratsk before angling east to cross the Lena river and follow it to reach Lake Baikal. Once they reached the lake, they could skirt it and catch Hydra unawares by arriving from the north rather than the southwest.
The idea of having a couple hours (however short) in actual civilization—with company aside from themselves and the ever-present tigers that roamed in the dark but somehow never bothered them, with buildings and rooves and the possibility of obtaining warmer clothes—clearly energized the entire group. At this point, Steve noticed that most of the soldiers had disassembled their bedrolls, layering blankets and waterproof cloth underneath their cloaks in an effort to keep warm. It might technically still be autumn in Siberia, but the weather was clearly tumbling headlong into unapologetic winter.
Everywhere Steve looked, he saw hands wrapped in strips of cloth, scarves looped around heads and over noses and mouths, and dry, wind-chapped skin. Steve had his watch cap and little other winter gear. He may be a prince, but he had no damaging sense of princely propriety, unabashedly joining the train of blanket-wearers. The extra layer under his cloak helped immensely, and the grin on Romanoff’s face when she saw him dressed in such fashion convinced Steve that he made the right decision.
Soldiers who were friendly—or more than friendly—with each other rode together when they could to conserve heat. Potts and Stark, Lang and Van Dyne, and even the Odinsons rode together, smushed shamelessly as close as they could against each other for warmth and switching between horses to prevent one or the other from tiring. No one judged them for it, reminding Steve of why he chose the men that he did. Luckily Lehigh bred sturdy riding horses that doubled as drafts and could easily take the weight of two or even three people. Steve cracked a smile imagining Strange, Lehigh’s horse breeder, seeing what Steve saw. He’d undoubtedly grumble about not putting the steeds to the work they were made for, and pretend disgruntlement all while being secretly pleased.
Eventually even Romanoff yielded to the allure of another person’s body heat, riding with Banner. The two went way back, and had even been an item for a couple months many years ago, before mutually separating, with no hard feelings involved, according to Romanoff at least, since she was the member of the pair that Steve knew the longest and was the closest with. Steve approved of the split. Banner was far too docile for the likes of Romanoff, and constantly stressed out by her antics because. The man was already graying, he didn’t need any other factors speeding that up. They were great friends and Steve loved watching them interact, with Banner’s quiet jokes and toleration of Romanoff’s comfortable needling, but life partners? Definitely not. She’d eat him alive, possibly literally. Much though Steve loved Romanoff, she definitely had a bit of a morbidly practical Barnesian streak. They were better off as friends. Definitely.
Friends with the benefit of riding on the same horse when the weather got too cold, which Steve definitely couldn’t blame them for. Romanoff had lived on the western border of Siberia for years, and even trained there as a warrior before arriving at Lehigh. Steve would bet money that she only conceded for poor Banner’s sake, considering that these temperatures probably didn’t affect Romanoff at all. Her spirits stayed unfailingly steady at the prospect of wreaking vengeance on Hydra. She and Wanda Maximoff were close friends, having gone to the same girls’ academy in Siberia before the Maximoffs moved to Sokovia, and when Steve had told her of Pietro’s death as the army prepared for departure at Lehigh, her jaw clenched and her eyes took on that determined glint that spelled trouble for Hydra. She was one of the most lethal fighters Steve knew, and he was ever grateful to have her as a Lieutenant and friend. God forbid they ever end up on opposite sides of a battlefield.
Steve turned away from the chatting pair with a smile, and his gaze caught on the current bane of his existence—speaking of gray hairs, although not for the reason Steve would have assumed at the beginning of this expedition.
Only Barnes seemed prepared for the cold, which of course made perfect sense. After the first night, the solitary man had geared up for another frigid day of riding with a black pair of fingerless leather gloves that he slid over his small hands, a thick fuzzy scarf that he draped over the bottom half of his face, and a knitted cap with an inordinately sweet “JB” embroidered on the edge that he pulled down low over his ears. His hair curled out against his neck from under the cap, making him look far too innocent for the competent, emotionless ally he portrayed himself to be.
Unaffected by the temperatures though Barnes might be, for the last two days Steve’s worry about him had only grown. Not only had Barnes stayed up all throughout the first night of the mission: he did the same thing the next two nights, growing ever more irritable each time Steve asked him about it. As the days passed, his movements slowed and grew clumsier by imperceptible degrees to anyone except Steve, who watched him like a hawk, and Romanoff, who was well versed in tracking body language and who Steve had approached about the issue when he felt it was spiraling out of hand. Though he distanced himself more and more from the others and ended conversations as quickly as he could while maintaining the bare semblance of civility, his deteriorating condition manifested itself in small ways. Slightly sluggish twitches at the reins. A pause as if trying to get his feet back under him each time he slid off his horse, and his feet landing a bit more heavily each time he did so. A delay in reaction time when Steve called his name to ask for advice regarding which mountains to go between, or where to cross the many half-frozen creeks in their path, or where to camp for the night. At some point yesterday Steve had even begged the man to sleep, Barnes’ coldness be damned.
“What the fuck kind of insanity are you trying to pull here, Barnes? If you’re trying to make a point, you’ve made it. You’re very impressive, and borderline scary. But you need sleep, particularly if you’re going to go against Hydra.”
“I’m fine, Rogers. Lay off.”
“I’ll lay off if you lay down for just a couple hours one of these nights. Don’t try to tell me you do, I’ve seen you up in the middle of the night for the last three nights.”
“Well, if you’ve seen me, you’re clearly not asleep either,” Barnes retorted, pausing as if gathering his thoughts between phrases, clearly not energetic enough to get worked up. The sliver of his face that Steve could see beneath the hat and above the scarf seemed pallid, the thin skin around his eyes puffed and dark. He looked a bit like a raccoon, and it would have been cute was Steve not so concerned and, frankly, annoyed by whatever antics these were.
“I get up every couple hours to check the watch, asshole. You know that, because every time I do, I go check on you and then go right back to sleep. Unlike you, in case you can’t see the difference.”
“Well pardon me, your majesty, but some of us don’t have the luxury of being able to sleep like a baby while on missions.”
“Don’t play that with me, Barnes. I’ve seen you yawn four times in the last hour. If even try to convince me you’re not tired, I swear to god…”
Barnes sighed, dropping his head and his eyelids sliding down as if he couldn’t help it before wrenching both back up, clenching his hands together on the reins before releasing them. Clocking the subtle movement and analyzing everything Barnes did, Steve noticed the purple crescent imprints of fingernails marring the lengths of the brunet’s fingers where they extended out from his gloves. He may not like Barnes’ demeanor of heartlessness, but he preferred it over this. Even with his short height and slight build, the man typically exuded confident control and efficiency, but now he looked vulnerable. Weak, and faltering, and too fatigued to care. When he spoke, defeat laced his tone in a way that made Steve more certain than ever that the man was unwell. Letting this much emotion show was not like the Barnes Steve had seen, even if he only had a few days’ experience with the man.
“My condition will not negatively affect mission success. My guiding skills are undamaged. I will regain optimal functionality by the time we reach Hydra.”
“How, Barnes? By speaking it into existence?”
That seemed to rouse Barnes, as if he thought Steve doubted his abilities. Of course that would rally the man, Steve thought with an internal eyeroll he just barely managed to refrain from. He might be mad, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d get nowhere fast with that approach.
“I will still be able to fight, I won’t be a liability—”
“What the fuck makes you think that you being a liability in battle is what I’m worried about right now?”
Drawing his head up, Barnes’ gaze hardened back into coldness. Only then did Steve realize how much the man’s guard had slipped.
“Don’t bother yourself worrying about me, Rogers. I can get by on my own.”
Before Steve could try to make amends and find out what offended the brunet, Barnes nudged his horse into a gallop, drawing away from the back of the band where he tended to remain and where Steve had confronted him, weaving around clumps of Lehigh soldiers until he disappeared from Steve’s sight up ahead. A couple soldiers, Loki and Potts and Romanoff, looked back at Steve with varying expressions of amusement, “what did you just do” carved all over their faces.
“’I can get by on my own.’ for fuck’s sake. I know you can,” Steve muttered through the hands he clamped over his face to hide from his friends and keep from screaming in frustration. “The thing is, you don’t have to.”
That night, the roaring of the tigers—that at this point had reached lullaby status, they were so frequent—accompanied Steve’s internal conflict as he tossed and turned, catching glimpses of Barnes’ seated silhouette rocking steadily back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. Barnes wasn’t one of his men, and would snap at him if Steve even toed the line of acting like it. On the other hand, Steve worried about the brunet, and what would happen if and when he finally crashed, and if he should just wait until then, or try again to help. Barnes certainly didn’t appreciate the gestures Steve had made thus far, but surely he would cave eventually, right?
The next morning, Steve and Barnes’ argument came naturally to a head. Based on Steve’s calculations, Barnes hadn’t slept in three days, and it showed. As the Lehigh company dismantled their shelters, took down their hammocks, and rolled up their bedrolls, Loki swaggered up to Steve where he stood doing his routine headcount of his people. Waiting until Steve finished (a shockingly considerate move from the Odinson), the man surprised Steve yet again when he bluntly said, “Barnes is an idiot. You need to get him to rest.”
“I know, I’ve been trying—”
“Trying isn’t good enough, Rogers. Give him an ultimatum. Don’t attract attention to him, clearly he’s not fond of it. But whatever he’s been doing, he’s dead on his feet. Or on his ass. Look at him.”
Steve complied. Barnes hadn’t even stood up yet; he simply stared glassily into the embers of his little fire, mouthing words to himself as rays of light from the rising sun shone directly in his unblinking eyes where he sat. The camp milled around him, and he sat blind and deaf to it. Maybe those around him attributed his behavior to rudeness, But Steve knew what it was and raked his hand through his hair, agitated, before tugging his cap back on for the day.
“I know. It’s bad. Have any ideas? He’s not under my command, so I can’t just order him to fucking rest. And every time I try to talk sense into him, he just gets mad.”
“Oh, this’ll definitely make him mad.”
Steve grinned at Loki, despite the situation.
“You’re a sly son of a bitch, Loki. I know it will. But at least it might work.”
Loki smirked.
“As I just said: ultimatum. Tell him you don’t give the order to move out until he agrees to rest.”
“You ARE a conniving deviant. But what, we just take the day off? You know we can’t afford that. Every day counts here.”
Loki’s smirk stayed streaked across his face, but now it made Steve a little nervous.
“Oh trust me, he’ll sleep anywhere. I know that kind of tiredness. He’s travel-sized, cute too, under all that wool. Why not keep him in front of you?”
Steve raised his eyebrows, and Loki spread his arms diplomatically.
“Or he can go with whoever he’d prefer. I wouldn’t complain about having a little extra warmth. I didn’t see you disagreeing about the cute part, though.”
“Oh, knock it off, Loki. That is so not the point of this. I strategically ignored it. Not the same as agreement.”
The Odinson laughed and turned away, but Steve stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Thank you though. I might just give it a try. At this point, I’ll do whatever I have to.”
Loki winked as he meandered backwards towards where Thor stood watching them quizzically, saluting ironically as he went. Steve rolled his eyes.
“Go get some, Captain.”
“Not what this is, Loki.”
It was risky, Steve thought as he watched the Thor hotly confronting Loki about something, then seeming reassured by whatever his brother responded with. Barnes would probably spit in his face when he tried. Steve’s only hope was that the brunet was so tired he wouldn’t resist too much, guilty though he felt for thinking so. It seemed like blackmail. It wasn’t Steve’s decision to make, but on the other hand, he was a healer. He knew the consequences of sleep deprivation, and was honestly shocked that Barnes hadn’t started hallucinating yet.
Hell, maybe he has been, Steve thought. Barnes seemed like the type to hide it well. But if he was, the next step was faltering of heartbeats, which was nothing to play around with. He wasn’t going to let anyone risk that if he could help it, even if it meant blackmailing someone into sleeping.
Well, here goes a whole lot of raging nothing, Steve thought grimly as he picked his way between horses and soldiers and smoldering campfire ashes, his boots crunching on the icy ground.