Chapter Text
MAN OUT OF TIME
“There’s no other choice, Sam.” Bucky reasons out, his voice straining to go louder. He doesn’t want to yell at Sam, no, but Sam just couldn’t get it. He doesn’t want to explain himself anymore because there’s nothing left to say, really. “This is what I have to do. No more pulling strings. I can’t get out of this.”
“No.” Sam responds, as stubborn as how you would expect Captain America to be. “Maybe if I talk to the president. Or Valentina, maybe if–”
“They’ve made up their minds.” Bucky cuts him off. He slumps his shoulders with the weight of his decisions. “I tried to talk to them. Asked them if there’s any other way.”
He lies. He has never, because he’s afraid of how they can make it worse for him and Sam. No communication is torture enough. What if they go after the rest of the Wilsons, the closest to a family he’s ever had? He knows the government and he knows Thaddeus Ross. He tried wrapping heroes around his fingers once. He'll do it again, whatever it takes.
“They said no. I’m… I’m all tied up, Sam. And I’m lucky enough to even say goodbye to you.”
Sam scoffs in disbelief, whipping his head away from Bucky. He shakes his head. Bucky sounds like he’s going to prison, but maybe he is. “Lucky.” He reiterates, the word leaving something distasteful in his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s saying goodbye to someone he couldn’t even breathe without. He wonders if it was this hard for Steve to leave Sam, because he feels like throwing up on an empty stomach.
“You two just know how to give me a mean heartbreak, don’t you?” Sam breathes out a chuckle, crestfallen. He has his hands on his hips, his eyes directed at the ground beneath them.
It had just rained, and Bucky could smell the petrichor around Central Park. You two, Sam had said. He would’ve never believed he would ever be grouped with Steve this way. He almost winces at the thought, Sam’s words burning and leaving a mark on his heart as if pressed with a branding iron.
“They’ve made up their minds.” Bucky says again. “Maybe I’ll… I guess I’ll try to keep in touch–”
“You made up your mind, Buck.” Sam points at Bucky, cutting him off. He breathes heavy and hard, and he’s trying not to shout either. The muscle on his jaw twitches. “I wish you’d fight for me– for us, like how I would for you.”
Bucky closes his eyes, everything Sam has said hitting him like a bullet train. This is what he thinks is what’s right to do for the both of them. Sam will never get it no matter the explanation.
But Sam is right with one thing: this was Bucky’s choice.
This is Bucky’s choice.
He has to live with it now.
“I’m sorry. I have to go, Cap.” Bucky mutters, his step back hesitant as he watches Sam turn away, refusing to look at him go.
Sam shakes his head once again as he bites his lip down, a single tear dropping from his eye in which he immediately wipes away with his gloved hand. Bucky wishes he could reach and do it instead.
“I’ll go first,” Sam says, not wanting to get left behind like this. He activates his wings, a breeze of wind grazing Bucky’s face. “At least let me be the one to leave you for once.”
After that, Sam’s propeller whines on his back as he soars to the sky and disappears into the rain clouds still hanging around New York.
Bucky went back to his apartment. It had somehow drizzled again on his way back, so now he’s drenched in rain and heartache, yet he couldn’t be bothered to change. It’s not like he’s gonna catch a cold or anything, but he will be suffering with something else regardless.
Heading straight to his bed, Bucky throws himself on the mattress as he soaks the bed sheet underneath him.
Bucky wakes up feeling groggier than usual. He tries to get up from his bed — no, he’s sitting. The chair tips over as he moves further, his head barely hitting the cement if he didn’t lift it up. He realizes his mouth is taped. What the fuck?
“Barnes! There you are.” A woman’s voice whispers at Bucky from the shadows. He doesn’t recognize her yet she seems to know him. “I’m gonna get us outta here. They got Monica, so we have to act fast.”
Blinking his blurry vision away, Bucky notes the red costume. It has a yellow spider in the middle of her chest, and yellow-orange goggles. She has black flowy hair. She looks like if Spider-man was a girl.
The Spider-girl pulls the tape off his mouth, making him yell in pain. “Ow, what the hell? You couldn’t have been more gentle?”
“We’re in a damn hurry. Don’t worry princess, I didn’t rip your glorious beard off.” The woman says with a grin, unlocking the metal handcuff restraining Bucky using her bio-electricity.
Bucky feels a slight voltage on his wrists, but the cuffs deactivate and he’s free. He groans and crawls away from the chair, his hair falling to his face.
His hair? Why is his hair long again?
Confusion fills Bucky’s head, and the feeling of a concussed cranium doesn’t help. He looks at his metal arm — it’s silver again — and then looks up to the Spider-girl.
“Who are you?” Bucky asks hoarsely with a frown.
“Oh God, don’t tell me they wiped your memory off again.” The Spider-girl groans. “It’s me, Jess. Spider-woman?”
Spider-woman. Great, he wasn’t too far with his spider guess. Still, he doesn’t know who the hell Jess is.
“Look, I’m pretty sure they didn’t wipe me but I don’t know who you are.” Bucky admits as he stands up. He’s wearing a different leather uniform and he’s not wet. “Why am I here? I was in my apartment… I… It rained, and I fell asleep. I don’t understand.”
“What? Dude.” Jess picks Bucky up by the arm to help him. “We’ve been on a mission for at least two days now. Monica needs our help, they put her in a weird tube that harvests her power. Blade’s on his way. We gotta meet each other halfway.”
Bucky winces. He doesn’t know who Monica or Blade or whoever else is on this team. This isn’t what was written in the team roster Val had sent him, unless it was changed last minute. Even so, it doesn’t explain the long hair that would’ve taken a year or two to grow back.
There’s a churn in Bucky’s stomach, and he recognizes it’s the same one he felt when he last turned Winter Soldier and fought against the Avengers years ago. It’s the feeling of knowing you lost time and didn’t know what happened. It’s dreadful and upsetting. He swallows the lump in his throat and asks the question.
“What year is it, Jess?”
Jess looks at him with concern, but she seems to understand. She sighs.
“It’s 2033, Bucky.”