Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky should have known it was too good to be true. A night off, Sam happened to be in the city, the perfect time to go out for some drinks and catch up. He should have been suspicious when Sam offered to pay for his beers, let him get to his fourth before Sam set down his own drink and his laughter trailed off as Bucky’s story about a training mishap came to an end.

“So,” Sam licked the froth of his beer from his lips. Their food was long gone but Captain America wasn’t above flashing his winning smile at the waitress and taking a couple of selfies, leaving them with complimentary fries and onion rings in baskets between them. Not the best Bucky had eaten, but good enough. Greasy and filling and good with the beer. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

“Shoot,” Bucky tilted his head all the way back to shake out the last dregs of his beer then slammed it on the table. It felt good to be out like this, just the two of them shooting the breeze. As much as Bucky had come to like his team, he was constantly aware of how they all looked up to him, how they saw him as someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t quite let himself unwind with them in a way he could with Sam.

Sam eyed the empty bottle, “Man, you’re gonna drink me out of house and home.”

Bucky grinned, “If you’re not good for it, then you shouldn’t have offered.” The waitress slipped by—she was still starstruck by Sam and had passed their table no less than twenty times in the past hour to make sure they were still doing well—and Bucky ordered his fifth beer. He made eye contact with Sam as he popped the bottlecap off with his metal thumb and took a swig. “What were you saying?”

“Show off,” Sam muttered and rolled his eyes but shook off his playful bitterness. “I want your opinion on something.” He leaned forward, “Business related.”

“Baby bird wants to fly out of the nest?”

“What? No, Joaquin’s fine, it’s something else.” Sam picked up an onion ring, squeezed it between his fingers so the circle flattened into a line and showered the table with crumbs. “I had someone contact me about an issue out in Montana. Something they wanted me to check out.”

“Who?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not really sure.” He put the onion ring out of its misery and finally ate it, wiping his fingers on a stray napkin on their table. “Some aide approached me the other day, said their boss had a problem they’d appreciate my help looking into. Gave me a file and a business card.”

“What, he thinks Captain America is an errand boy?” Bucky frowned, “Was he government?”

Sam nodded, “Seemed legit, I had Joaquin look into his name and he found all the guy’s records. No notes on his superior, just said he worked for the Bureau of Land Management of all places.”

“And the file?”

At his question, Sam reached into his jacket and withdrew a dossier to hold over the table. Bucky wiped his hands on his jeans and pushed his beer to the side so he had room to plop it in front of him. It was professional, formatted in the same clean manner Bucky was used to seeing when he was a congressman. Either this guy really was working for the government or was really good at copying their style. Bucky flipped through the first couple of pages, making a note of the aerial photos of rocky terrain and skimming through their descriptions. “What the hell does ‘suspicious allocation of resources’ mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sam shrugged. He took a sip of his own beer, only halfway through his second, and sighed. “Those documents are pretty vague. They discuss large movements of unauthorized materials without saying what those materials are. No mention of who’s doing it, or where it’s going. The report is more speculation than anything.”

“Okay,” Bucky snapped the file shut, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “Toss it out, then. You’ve got better things to do than play detective because some bureaucrats were too lazy to do it for themselves.”

“I thought the same, but I was a little curious so I had Joaquin call the number on the business card, see if he could figure out why they wanted it to be my problem.”

“And?”

“It was another staffer, not the one that we spoke to first. They were happy to hear we were looking into it and wanted to set up a meeting to discuss details. I said yes. We met up yesterday, with a couple of higher ups from the Department of the Interior and—get this—the Department of Defense.”

Bucky furrowed his brow but didn’t interrupt.

“They had a whole presentation for me: abandoned mines suddenly seeing a lot of foot traffic, lots of unmarked vehicles in the area. Maybe these people are making weapons, maybe they’re smuggling precious metals, but it needs to stop.”

“So? Still not seeing what they wanted you for. Send in local PD or something, the FBI if they’re so worried.”

“They did,” Sam’s expression turned solemn. “They’ve covered their tracks pretty well. Every time someone’s gone looking, they’ve turned up with nothing. No one really wants to go deep into the mines, they’re old safety hazards by now.”

“And they think you’ll have more luck.”

Sam shrugged and leaned back. “Suppose so.”

“What’d you say?” Bucky finished off his beer and set it on the closed file. The leftover condensation dripped and left a circle on the manilla folder.

“I said we’d look into it. I’ve got nothing pressing going on at the moment. Besides, it might be a good excuse to take a little vacation.”

Bucky snorted, “Only you would think of a mission in the middle of nowhere as a fun trip. When do you and Torres head out?”

Sam was silent for a while, much longer than it should have taken to come up with a response. He’d only had two drinks tops, nowhere near enough to render him drunk. His gaze was focused on a fry he was drowning in ketchup but refused to put out of its misery and eat. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Well, I told Joaquin to keep an eye on things for me while I’m gone.”

“You shouldn’t go alone, even if it seems like nothing crazy. Besides, the kid could use the experience.”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugged. “But I had someone else in mind.”

Bucky stared at him. Then he looked at the file, the five beers he’d finished, the free food spread between them. “Oh my god, you’ve been trying to sweeten me up.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched, “And what if I have?”

“Trying to make me all drunk and agreeable, was that your plan all along? Well, bad plan, Sam, I can’t even get drunk!”

“But you do appreciate a good beer,” he tilted his head to the side with a slight wince. “Well, a free beer. Is it so wrong of me to treat my friend?”

“It is when you have ulterior motives,” Bucky crossed his arms. “Come on, Sam, you can’t be serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? There’s no one I’d trust more to have my back, no offense to Joaquin. Besides, he’s the one who suggested I take someone else with me, brought up the New Avengers. And who else would I think of when he mentioned them than—” Sam face palmed, “My good pal Bucky.”

Bucky stared him down, “If you’re heading out to do some stealthy investigation, then you’d be better off taking Yelena, or Ava, that’s right up their alley.”

Sam sighed and shook his head, “Man, are you really gonna make me say it?”

Bucky scowled, “What?”

“Is it so unbelievable to think that I just want to spend time with you?” Sam huffed out a laugh. “Just like old times, you and me solving problems and getting to explore the world. I didn’t think you’d be so resistant to the invite.”

Why was Bucky resisting? Sam was right, he’d come out of his semi-retirement via congress and was in a position again to be able and willing to go on missions. And when they had been forced to work together, they had learned to be quite the team. Maybe that was his issue. It had been years since he and Sam had been in the field together, just the two of them. Since then, their friendship had evolved as their lives had veered in different directions, only for them to collide once more. What if it wasn’t the same?

“I’ve got the team to think of,” Bucky said slowly, but he was grasping at flimsy excuses.

Sam waved a dismissive hand, “They’re adults. I think they can handle themselves for a week without falling apart.”

Bucky sighed. He had to admit, beyond his reservations, it would be good to get to work with Sam like this again. “When do we leave?”

Unsurprisingly, the New Avengers were thrilled when Bucky announced a mission with Captain America. They were less thrilled when he clarified that it would only be him going on said mission.

“You’re just trying to hog him all to yourself,” Alexei grumbled the next morning when Bucky was meant to meet Sam at the airport. They were flying commercial for some reason—Sam really was treating this like a vacation rather than a mission—and Sam had already obtained the tickets before they even spoke the night before. A little presumptuous, if you asked Bucky. “Not fair.”

“We’re being subtle,” Bucky said with a sigh. He was finishing his packing in the common area, the rest of the team bustling in and out of the room as they went about their regular morning routines. Flying commercial meant he had to be careful about what weapons he brought with. The tactical uniform he wore with the New Avengers was staying home. Subtlety.

“We get it, Bucky,” Yelena shook her head and tutted. “You want to go on your boys’ trip. Well, have fun, we don’t need you!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and slung his bag over his shoulder. Despite their half-hearted complaints, Bucky didn’t miss the way they all congregated in the hallway as he walked to the elevator and faced them. “Be good while I’m gone, don’t slack off. I’ll be back in about a week.”

“Call if you need us!” Yelena grinned and waved.

Bucky waved back and stepped into the elevator. When the doors shut, he sighed.

He took the subway to JFK and had to wait out front like a child because Sam was holding his boarding pass hostage. When the other man arrived, he seemed to be doing his best to blend in but his disguise was doing the opposite—sunglasses in the morning before the sun was out only made him stand out more. As they checked their bags, no less than five people came up and asked for pictures with Sam, including the attendant helping them. It didn’t help that Sam’s carry-on was the obviously round bag containing his shield. Not one person paid any attention to Bucky when they approached. Small mercies.

They made it through security and their wait and upon boarding the plane, the pilot decided to announce that Captain America was their flight’s special guest, making the passengers erupt with applause. Sam received it with shy humility until Bucky made sure to clap the loudest and his genial face devolved into a pointed glare. Whatever, it improved Bucky’s mood. It helped that sitting next to Captain America meant he could steal the free snacks and alcohol the flight attendants kept bringing him.

They had a short layover in Salt Lake City then their next flight was much shorter and, thankfully, had none of the fanfare of their first. It seemed like the further west they went, the less people cared about who Sam was. By the time they landed in a tiny Montana airport, they blended into the background of the other passengers. No one batted an eye at Sam’s oddly shaped carry-on. There were no more requests for selfies. They were invisible. It felt good. Maybe Sam had been onto something about using this as an excuse to get away.

Being the new Star-Spangled Man with a Plan, Sam had everything figured out. He had an SUV rented and ready to go that they drove north into a small town to stop at a motel. Neither of them were eager to get started on their task this late in the evening after a long day of travel, so Sam grabbed some take out from the pub next door and they sat on their beds eating fried food with the low mumble of the local news in the background. Sam had grabbed a couple of brochures from the lobby and perused them as they ate.

“’The richest hill on earth,’” he quoted around a mouthful of fries. “They’ve got plenty of old mines here, a big ass pit, too. If our guys aren’t working out of here, we’ll have trouble figuring out where else they could be.”

“Your intel give any idea where exactly we need to look?”

Sam shrugged, “Just this area, but nowhere specific.” He grinned, “Guess we’ll have to do some sightseeing.”

Bucky wondered if Sam had manufactured this mission as an excuse to escape the city. Strangely, he didn’t mind.

Begrudgingly, Bucky had to admit that it was nice to be in the middle of nowhere.

The town they found themselves in was quaint, not too small but nowhere near the enormity of the cities he was used to. The numerous brick buildings and old-fashioned signs gave the place a charm that was somewhere in between genuine and heightened for the sake of tourism. There were low mountains on either side outstretched beneath a wide blue sky. Even amongst civilization, the wilderness wasn’t far from reach. It was the complete opposite of New York City, but a welcome change.

Sam fully embraced their environment and the anonymity he appeared to have out here. They had a decent breakfast at a diner down the street then made their way across town to a mining museum. They meandered around the exhibits and posed for pictures beneath the enormous headframe. It was only when Sam led him to a larger group and he was passed a hard hat that Bucky thought Sam might be having a little too much fun.

“Really, Sam?”

“We’re doing recon,” Sam grinned. He looked ridiculous in his hat, headlamp and all. Bucky could only imagine how stupid he looked as well. “This is all part of the mission. Hope you’re not scared of being underground.”

“Sure.”

A cheerful tour guide named Julia led them and a handful of other tourists down a creaking shaft and into a damp, dark mine. She babbled on and on about the history of the area while walking them deeper down the narrow corridor, instructing them to dodge the uneven terrain and keep their lights on. They stopped by a rusted mine cart, the guide encouraging everyone to take photos with it.

“Any questions?” she beamed. She looked young, maybe a college student working at her summer job.

Sam raised his hand, Julia nodding fervently at him. He and Bucky shuffled closer to the front of the group, making room for the others creeping closer to the cart and wielding their phones. “Yeah, are there still mines like this around?”

“Underground ones? Not currently in use, most operations have transitioned to strip mines and open pits. But, there are tons of abandoned underground mines that remain but aren’t accessible to the public.” She leaned forward, her wide eyes shining in the dim lighting. “But you know what? Some people say you can still hear workers in the mines.”

Sam raised a brow, “Really?”

Julia nodded. “Yes, you can hear them talking, hear the sound of their equipment. With so many miles of tunnels and so many fatalities, it makes sense that some ghosts would be left behind.”

A tourist behind them gasped at her words. Sam smiled but Bucky could read what he really thought from the angle of his mouth: bullshit. “Makes sense.”

There was a last call for photos and their group returned to the surface, returning their hats to a bucket and mumbling about the experience as they dispersed to experience the rest of the museum. Bucky was hoping Sam was ready to call it a day—he could use a bite to eat—when Julia called behind them, “Uh, Captain?”

Sam and Bucky shared a glance. It seemed there was someone out here who recognized Sam. He turned with a wide smile, “What can I do for you?”

“Wow,” she stepped closer with a wide grin. “I can’t believe it’s really you! I never thought I’d ever get to meet an Avenger, never mind two!” Her gaze swiveled to Bucky. His expression didn’t change, but he was surprised to hear she recognized him as well. He supposed he should be more used to it, what with his tenure in congress and Valentina’s frenzied media blitz.

“It’s good to meet you, Julia, that was a nice tour you gave,” Sam said. “This is a nice area, too.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, it’s not much, but it’s home. It’s crazy to think that Captain America of all people would show up in the middle of nowhere. Are you on a trip?” She leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, “Are you here on super secret business?”

Sam laughed, “No, just a vacation!”

“Well, this is a funny place for it! The museum’s a great start, though. Have you seen the pit yet?”

He shook his head, “Just read about it in a pamphlet, is it a must see?”

She clapped her hands together, “Oh, you have to go! It’s not much, but you have to go at least to say you did it. Trust me, it’s worth it! Besides, you can see some cool headframes from there. Pretty picturesque, if you ask me.”

“From the abandoned mines, right?”

She nodded.

“Seems like you have ghost stories about those. You gotta tell me, which one is the most haunted?”

She tapped a finger on her chin and hummed, “Probably Badger Mine, north of the pit. It’s always making sound at night,” she shivered. “Creeps me out.” Her face turned stern. “But don’t think you can go ghost hunting just because you’re Captain America, those places are dangerous.”

Sam raised his hands in surrender, “We won’t, I promise, I was just curious. Anyways, thanks for your help, Julia, I really appreciate it.”

There might as well have been stars in her eyes when Sam reached out his hand and she got to shake it. “Can I get a picture?”

Sam was happy to oblige and received a few restaurant recommendations before they finally left. They drove across town, stopped at one of the pubs Julie told them about, then walked a couple blocks further to the infamous pit. For a few bucks, they were allowed to step onto a covered observation deck and finally see what all of the fuss was about.

Honestly, it just looked like a mediocre lake. The water might have been a little too orange to be considered normal, and Bucky’s nose might have picked up the faintest stench of sulfur, but it was otherwise unremarkable. Sam’s brow furrowed as he read through the brochure he picked up from the tiny visitor center next door.

“Acidic pH, comparable to beer or tomatoes,” he stated. “It’s filled with heavy metals. It’s killed a ton of geese, man. That’s one messed up lake.”

“Not a good place for a swim,” Bucky agreed. “Well, except for me. I could probably take it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and stuffed the folded pamphlet in his pocket, “Sure, man, whatever you say. Just let me know before you test that so I can fish you out.”

Over the hills surrounding the pit, the looming structures of headframes were visible, just like Julia had said. Sam pointed north to one that barely peeked over the hill. “Think that’s the one that’s haunted?”

Bucky shrugged, “Maybe so.”

“Don’t know about you, but I don’t really believe in ghosts,” he continued. “Seems awfully convenient to hear all sorts of weird sounds to scare the locals away.”

“If I wanted to hide something, that’d be a good place to start. Who knows what kinds of stuff you can still find down there.”

Sam turned to him and grinned, “Wanna find out?”

A few hours after dark settled over the city, Sam and Bucky took their rental car north and parked it as close as they could to the headframe where the gravel turned to barricaded grass. Theirs wasn’t the only vehicle here; a nondescript box truck sat nearby. After waiting a few moments to see if anyone noticed their presence, Bucky and Sam got out to take a closer look. There was no one inside, nothing identifiable in the cab, and it was all locked up.

“Weird place to leave a truck,” Sam remarked.

They hiked the rest of the way up the hill to stand in the shadow of the looming headframe. The hunk of rusted metal stood solid beside a small warehouse, its borders overgrown with weeds and the doors sealed with crooked planks of wood. Bucky went to rip them away but paused. From a distance, it looked like the pieces of wood were solid lines holding the door in place but upon closer inspection, the planks had been nailed into the wall beside the door and cut along the frame. When Bucky reached forward to turn the doorknob, the handle moved without resistance and the door swung open. He shared a glance with Sam, who clicked on his flashlight and gestured for Bucky to lead the way inside.

The light cast ragged shadows along the rotted and splintered wood of the floor, some weeds poking up between the boards. Despite how dilapidated it looked with their limited light, the room didn’t smell musty, their footsteps didn’t kick up any dust. Sam scanned the area with the light. He illuminated stray bits of metal and old mining equipment, but nothing that would seem out of place. They finally found something more substantial at the opposite end of the room. There was a large metal device that nearly reached the ceiling. It looked old but clean, with several wheels and cables intricately woven.

“This is the hoist house,” Sam remarked. When Bucky gave him a blank look, he barked out a laugh and shook his head, “Man, I spend twenty dollars for you to experience the wonderful world of mining, and you don’t even pay attention? It was everywhere at the museum.”

“Okay, genius,” Bucky scowled. “Of course you’re a teacher’s pet.”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck, it’s not my fault you didn’t want to experience history.”

“I am history,” Bucky argued and gestured to the mass of metal. “This stuff’s probably as old as me.”

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Yeah, and it looks like it’s been maintained better, no offense. They’d use this to pull the elevator up and down the mine shaft. If it’s in this good of condition, I’d say it’s been used recently.”

“That’s awfully strange for an abandoned mine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam turned around and scanned the wall behind them with the light. “Oh, and what’s this?”

Bucky turned as well. There was another mass of equipment, though this one was about half the size and had the blinking red lights and buttons of something more modern. Bucky crouched and examined several thick cords that snaked from its belly, along the floor, and out holes hastily carved into the side of the building. It hummed with electricity. “A generator.”

“Now, that definitely shouldn’t be here. Wanna go see what they’re powering?”

They made their way back outside and followed the cables to where they dropped into the mine and disappeared into darkness. Sam clicked off his flashlight, “Well, that seals the deal for me.”

Since they were trying to fly incognito for this trip, neither of them were decked out in their typical uniforms, opting for their sturdiest casual clothes that could hold up if things ended in a fight but wouldn’t turn any heads if they walked into a bar. Even without his full Cap suit, Sam had brought his wing pack along with his shield and an assortment of weapons. With a press of his fingers to the side of his goggles, Redwing whirred to life from his pack and zipped into the mineshaft.

The goggles and his intense focus on Redwing’s flight weren’t enough to hide Bucky’s eye roll and Sam shot him a quick glare, “I’m sorry, did you want to jump straight into the mine shaft without seeing what we’re getting into? Go ahead, be my guest.”

Bucky flipped him off and stepped closer to the entrance, beneath the headframe. There was a control panel to the side, the frame of it dented with a few newer additions of plastic buttons and duct tape. Considering the lever and the way it was connected to the hoist house, Bucky would bet this controlled the elevator. He leaned over the open shaft; he saw a faint blinking light he assumed was Redwing and nothing else. If he concentrated hard enough, he could make out the faint echoes of something moving deep below the earth, but without enough precision to tell what it was and how far down. If they got louder, he could understand how superstitious locals could write the place off as being haunted.

He glanced back at Sam, the other man still focused on Redwing’s controls. “Anything?”

Sam shook his head. “No, this place is really deep though. Wait…” he paused and squinted. “I found the elevator. It’s at the very bottom, I think.”

Bucky shrugged at the control panel, “Better bring it up then.” He pulled one of the levers and was rewarded with the distant sound of creaking and the steady hum of the cables being hoisted over the headframe.

“Thanks, Buck,” Sam sighed. “No whoever’s down there will know someone’s coming.”

“Like you said, it’s not like we can just jump in. Besides, I don’t think your wingspan is made for this place. Sorry, buddy, no flying for you.”

Sam frowned and walked to stand even with Bucky, peering into the shaft. He looked like he was doing calculations in his head, or maybe his hi-tech goggles were doing it for him. After a moment, he sighed, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Too tight of a space. I might be able to manage for a bit, but the balance would be off.”

“It makes a fashionable backpack, though,” Bucky grinned.

Redwing emerged from the darkness and zoomed to hover by Sam’s head. He glared, “Man, shut up.”

It felt like an eternity went by before the elevator emerged on the surface and came to a halt, the mechanisms whirring to a stop. Bucky would have made a joke and allowed Sam to step in first, but he was too nervous that the ancient elevator would somehow break under Sam’s weight and plummet thousands of feet. With his wings practically useless, it would be better for Bucky to be the person stuck in a doomed free fall; he’d survived one before, after all. He stepped inside the elevator, a basket of metal wide enough for about six people to stand in with their shoulders brushing, thankfully with a little gate along the exposed front to add some idea of safety when shut. It held his weight, didn’t make an unpleasant sound, so Bucky didn’t protest as Sam stepped in beside him. Redwing nudged the control panel and retreated to hover above Sam’s shoulder as the lift groaned and they descended.

Sam passed Bucky his flashlight and turned on lights sitting in his goggles so they could watch the eternal wall of rock. Bucky spotted the thick lines of cables from the generator in the hoist house snaking along wall, sometimes branching off into the darkened horizontal drifts they passed.

“Could really use some music,” Sam sighed. “This place is eerie as hell.”

“You’d complain even if there was music. It’s an abandoned mine, did you think it would have a good ambience?”

“Potentially abandoned,” Sam corrected. “And yeah, if someone’s still trying to use it, I’d think they’d want to spruce up the place. If you spend so much time in here, it must get really old really fast.”

Bucky snorted, “I think the thousands of miners that had to deal with it as is might have some words about that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“So, since you’re a mining expert now,” he grinned at the glare Sam shot him. “What kind of stuff were they digging down here?”

For as exasperated as Sam acted, he did have an answer. “Mostly copper, silver. Maybe some gold and other metals.”

“So knowledgeable,” Bucky rolled his eyes. He frowned, “What could these guys want with that?”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine them making some sort of top secret weapon out of some run-of-the-mill minerals. If that’s what they’re making, you’d think they’d go somewhere with the high value materials, like vibranium and adamantium. And I wouldn’t think smuggling stuff like copper would be that lucrative.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “Hm.”

The elevator chugged along. At some point, Bucky’s ears popped, and he assumed the same happened to Sam from the way he shifted his jaw from side to side. After an eternity of darkness, the elevator came to a grinding halt at what Bucky could only assume what was the very bottom of the mine, at least a couple thousand feet below the surface. He chivalrously held the gate open for Sam and they stepped out into the chilled darkness. The remaining cables that had been winding their way down alongside them stretched out into the tunnel. The ground was rough with carved and uncarved rock alike, the remnants of wooden and metal tracks ripped and rotten.

They marched onward, sweeping their lights along the ground and finding nothing but rubble. At some point, Sam sent Redwing far ahead. From the frown on his face, his little pet was coming up with nothing either.

“We could have picked the wrong mine,” Bucky said at some point.

Sam snorted, “Guess so. Something about being so deep is messing with his scanners, I can only rely on good old fashioned visuals. How about we go for ten minutes and if there’s nothing, we try again tomorrow?”

“Deal,” Bucky stared at Sam with suspicion. He hoped that their friendship was strong enough that Sam would be able to just come out and say it if he wanted Bucky to go on a vacation with him—even if it was more akin to a historic field trip so far—rather than conjure up a vague story about favors for the government. “Hey, we’re actually investigating something, right?”

Sam frowned, “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t just have a hankering for some mining and come up with an excuse for me to tag along, right? Because I would have come if you just asked me, even if it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Sam muttered. “And no, I didn’t make this up. Kind of rude that you’d even think that, Buck.”

Bucky shrugged, “No judgement.”

“Besides, that stuff we found on the surface was legit. I’d have to be really desperate to set all that up just to trick you into believing something.”

“Fair.”

Sam stopped in his tracks. “500 feet ahead, the drift splits into two directions. There’s someone standing there.”

Bucky withdrew a gun and held it ready, “Not a paid actor?”

Sam huffed and held his shield aloft, “Not one that I know.”

They crept forward carefully, Sam calling out their distance in a low voice every now and then. As they got closer, Bucky could make out a vague blob in the distance thanks to his enhanced senses, one that he might not have noticed without Sam’s warning. Whoever it was just stood there, seemingly waiting for them in the abyss. There was no point in being stealthy; they had clearly been noticed.

The tunnel opened into split paths perpendicular to their own just like Sam had warned, and the figure was standing there, finally illuminated by their lights, guarded by Redwing. They wore sleek black clothes, a mask obscuring their face and a hood over their head. They didn’t move as Sam and Bucky came to a stop about twenty feet away.

“Hey, man,” Sam greeted with a quick wave. “We got lost down here, mind helping us out?”

Bucky resisted rolling his eyes only so he could maintain a clear visual on their guest. Unsurprisingly, the figure didn’t respond. They just stood, staring.

“Do you know what’s going on here? I thought this place was supposed to be abandoned?”

With no warning, the figure withdrew a gun from a holster at their side and took aim. Sam lifted his shield and deflected the quick barrage of bullets, Bucky stepping behind him to borrow the cover. When the shots paused, Bucky peered around and fired back, not aiming to kill, but the figure dodged, only managing to get clipped along the right thigh. They instinctively hunched and clutched at their injured leg, giving Sam the chance to straighten and toss the shield their way. They dropped to the ground and the shield bounced back from the hard rock into Sam’s hand.

“Give it up!” Sam shouted. “We just wanna talk!”

The figure didn’t care and didn’t give up. They fired some more shots that Bucky deflected with his left arm as he rushed forward and aimed a kick at his downed opponent. They leaned to the side to avoid it and swept their leg out from their crouched position which Bucky hopped to miss. Bucky punched down but the figure kicked up to catch him in the torso and send him flailing backwards. They shot at Bucky again and missed, growling in frustration as Sam rushed forward and slammed the shield down in the spot the figure just rolled away from.

This wouldn’t be a fight their opponent could come out on top of. From the kick, Bucky knew that they weren’t dealing with someone who had enhanced strength of any kind. In close quarters, they couldn’t hope to succeed. Still, the figure fought back with everything they had, dodging their kicks and punches and landing a few glancing blows. When the two of them recoiled, the figure scrambled to their feet and pulled a rifle from their back, as sleek and modern as the rest of their gear. Sam and Bucky convened to hide behind the shield as a powerful blast fired, not with regular bullets but with some kind of plasma that filled the narrow tunnel with the smell of ozone. The blast was so unexpected and strong that the shield went spinning from Sam’s grip, rolling down the way they came to disappear into the darkness.

They’d lost their only protection and Bucky heard the tell-tale sound of the rifle recharging to fire again. “Down!” He tackled Sam to the ground as the plasma burned a stripe through the air above them. Still prone, Bucky heard then felt the sting of a bullet in the back of his right shoulder. The pain was barely noticeable and did nothing to hinder him. He jumped back up and turned, only to find the figure had vanished. The mine was once again engulfed in silence.

Bucky and Sam shared a glance, stood to gather their bearings. Sam jogged down the tunnel and retrieved the shield, snapping it into place on his back. Bucky grabbed his flashlight where it had rolled away once the fighting started. He directed it one way, then the other. No sign of where the figure went.

“Well,” Sam brushed the dust from his jacket. “Definitely not abandoned.”

Chapter Text

Sam wouldn’t let them decide what to do until he took a look at the wound in Bucky’s shoulder. They didn’t have any first aid kit with them, just a wad of hopefully unused tissue that Sam pressed to his back. It burned, but it wasn’t going to kill him.

“Looks like the bullet’s still in there,” Sam remarked. “Doesn’t look too bad, though. Feel okay? Need to turn back?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders. His range of motion wasn’t impacted, at least. “No, I’m good. No way I’m letting us leave after seeing that.”

Sam tucked the tissues between the layers of Bucky’s shirt and jacket and stepped away. “Alright, if you’re sure.” He stared into the tunnel where it veered left. “That was one hell of a weapon.”

“Looks like whatever they’re digging up must be good for something. Did you see which way that guy ran off?”

Sam shook his head. “I could have Redwing take a quick look.”

Bucky scowled, “Yeah, because he was so helpful in that fight.”

“Hey,” Sam snapped with the defensiveness of a parent. “Don’t blame Redwing because you’re a sore loser. He’s just too powerful, I wasn’t sure what his firepower would do down here.”

“Whatever,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Do what you want.”

Redwing dutifully flew back into the darkness. They stayed silent as they waited. Sam concentrated on the visuals he was getting as Redwing zipped one way then returned to check the other. Bucky pressed his shoulder and rotated the joint. He had been shot quite a few times in his life and it rarely fazed him, but this one hurt like a bitch. It burned and ached and with every pulse of his heart, he could feel the bullet inside him rubbing against his muscles. It was still nowhere near the kind of injury that could down him, more of an inconvenience than anything, but the sensation irritated him. If they weren’t so dirty and lacking in any supplies, he’d dig the bullet out himself just to be rid of the annoyance.

Redwing returned to Sam’s side. “There’s a dead end to the right, but these tunnels must stretch on forever, Redwing’s not seeing much. Something about the depth is interfering with his scans, I can only get limited visuals.”

Bucky raised a brow, “Really?”

Sam shook his head. “We might as well just go left and hope it leads somewhere.”

So, they went the left and continued their march. The longer they walked without seeing much more than the remains of ancient mining equipment and disturbed rocks, the more Bucky wondered if they had somehow hallucinated the figure’s presence. Mines could have toxic gases in them, so that could explain how they saw the same thing. Bucky rolled his shoulder and winced. Not even a hallucination of his could create a wound as realistic and annoying as this one. The figure had to have been real.

“Think copper or silver could have made a rifle like that?” The silence was getting to him, amplified by the close quarters of the tunnel. If Bucky had to walk any further with only the sound of their breathing and the crunching of their footsteps, he’d lose his mind.

“Hell if I know, not really my expertise,” Sam shrugged. “I’ve seen crazier things, though. Some mad scientist coming up with a creative way to use minerals wouldn’t exactly surprise me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky grimaced and scratched at his shoulder. “That’s a fair point.”

“Buck, stop messing with that,” Sam lightly slapped his hand until it retreated from his bullet wound. “If it gets infected because you couldn’t stop touching it, I’m leaving you behind.”

“It itches,” Bucky groaned. “And it can’t get infected, my body’s not so weak.”

“Only you would get shot with a bullet and whine about it itching. Good grief.”

“Oh yeah? Last time I ever take a bullet for you. See if I help you out again.”

“Take a bullet for me? I think you’re remembering things wrong, Buck, that one’s on you.”

“How’s it on me? If someone hadn’t lost their shield, then I wouldn’t have had to save them from a crazy weapon.”

“You’re being dramatic, that guy’s aim was terrible, I would have dodged it without you. Besides, you were shot with a bullet, not whatever energy beam that thing was shooting. That’s your problem, buddy.”

Bucky smirked to himself, even though he was technically losing their argument. He’d missed this. He was glad that he had agreed to come with Sam, even if it resulted in him getting shot with the world’s most annoying bullet. “Agree to disagree.”

“That’s something only someone who knows they’re wrong would say, but I’ll allow it, since you’re so grievously wounded.” When Sam swept his gaze across the tunnel to spread the light from his goggles, Bucky could see that he too was grinning.

“Is this what you envisioned when you invited me along?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Sam shrugged. “I was imagining more abandoned mine carts and bats, but this is pretty close. I thought we’d be on the surface more, though.”

“We’ll be back up before you know it, then you can check off all your fun vacation plans.”

Sam smiled, “I’ve got quite the itinerary set up for us. A bar crawl, fly fishing, river rafting, a couple hikes in the great outdoors. Camping out under the stars so we can watch the sunrise.”

Bucky quirked a brow, “You’ve really thought this through.”

“Well, it’s not often that we get an excuse to get away and do something like this,” he shrugged. “Have to make the most of it.”

“Even if it means we have to spend a few hours in a decrepit mine.”

“Even then.” Sam shrugged, “At least it’ll make a good story. How many people can say they got to see a mine like this on their vacations?”

“You should buy a post card, maybe a keychain to commemorate the experience.”

Sam puffed out his chest, “Maybe I will.”

They fell silent as they continued, the only sound the scraping of their shoes along the ragged ground. Bucky stared into the dark path before him, just beyond the limits of their lights. He could see shapes moving in the abyss, like swirls of smoke fading in and out of existence the second his gaze lingered a moment too long but when he blinked, there was nothing but a wall of black. It would be easy to lose his mind down here, with thousands of tons of solid rock overhead and no way out except a narrow shaft powered by a rickety control panel. Bucky had never been afraid of caves or anything underground but the more he stared into nothingness, the more he understood why someone would be. He was glad that Sam was here with him, that he wasn’t alone facing the darkness. He took a deep breath and scratched his bullet wound. His hand came away wet with fresh blood. He frowned; given his enhancements, it should have at least scabbed by now. Maybe Sam was right, he should stop messing with it before he caused more issues.

“Bucky, look at the floor.”

Bucky wiped his hand on his pants and followed Sam’s finger. As the tunnel stretched ahead, the jagged rocks and metal remnants of ancient tracks gradually faded away, smoothing out in a way that was almost clinical in its precision. If not for the still obvious texture of dark minerals along the surface, Bucky would have thought the ground was smoothed over with concrete.

“That looks new,” he remarked.

“Too new,” Sam agreed and crouched. “Damn, it’s like it was grinded down. Same with the walls, look.”

Bucky brushed his hand along the side of the tunnel and nodded. The color and internal texture made it obvious that these were still the rocks chipped away to form the rest of the mine, but rather than be drilled bit by bit and blown to pieces, it was like someone had taken sandpaper and softened all of the character of the rocks into a perfectly even slab.

Redwing whirred to life once more and flew down the corridor, back into the darkness. After a few moments, Sam frowned.

Bucky didn’t like that expression. “What?”

“It’s completely different,” he shook his head. “The tunnel doesn’t end. It looks like it opens up into an enormous cavern. I don’t get it; there was no sign that any of the mines looked like this.”

“Must be a new addition,” Bucky scratched his shoulder. “Must be what we’re looking for.”

“I have a feeling we’ve found the mother lode.” Sam stood and Redwing returned. As long as the drone stayed on the opposite side of Sam, Bucky wouldn’t make a stink about it.

They stepped further into the darkness. Sam held his shield at his front as they marched onward, ready for any threat that could emerge. Bucky kept his gaze forward, gun back in hand, feet sliding along the eerily flat floor. He saw specks of something sprinkled in the black ahead, like dust or static hanging in the air. He shook his head and blinked rapidly but they didn’t go away. As they continued, Bucky realized they were getting larger and clearer, that they were more than amorphous shapes conjured by his brain to make sense of the dark. He saw the specks and then the shadows of dark objects and texture and finally understood, as they came to the end of the tunnel and entered a gaping room, that what he had seen were lights flickering in the distance.

The cavern was as enormous and out of place as Sam had described it. They stood on a thick ledge that jutted into the cool air, looking over an expanse carved out of the rock that must have been the size of a football field and tall enough to comfortably house a modest office building several stories tall. The ground had the same smooth feel as the tunnel though the walls and distant ceiling were still jagged and uneven. Built along the walls were at least a dozen sleek rooms, industrially designed like trailers found on construction sites. The specks Bucky had noticed were parts of them, lanterns above the doors and strips of lights that lined the walkways of metal scaffolding, connecting the rooms to each other and occasionally opening up as empty platforms, all held a few stories above the cave’s ragged bottom. The thick cables they had seen meandering from the generator above ground split off into several smaller ones and disseminated towards the rooms. Large drills and barrels of hazardous materials lined the walls, all appearing new and well-kept.

“What the hell,” Bucky muttered.

Sam hissed, “Shit, there’s a couple of people headed our way, we need to move.” He pointed to the left, along the path the ledge they stood on took against the wall. They jogged until the rock became a metal walkway leading to one of the rooms. Bucky made the mistake of looking down through the slats and was overcome with a wave of dizziness so strong he stumbled and braced against the railing. If it hadn’t been there, he would have plummeted thirty feet to meet hard rock. Sam didn’t notice him falter and opened the door. Bucky shook his head and ran to catch up, slipping just inside the entrance next to Sam. He stopped Sam’s hand when it reached for the light switch.

“Don’t want anyone to think we’re in here,” Bucky said.

Sam clapped him on the right shoulder. It took all of Bucky’s willpower not to wince at the way it jarred his wound. “That’s why you’re the stealth guy.” Redwing hovered by the shut door, peeking through the blinded window beside it. “He’ll keep watch. Let’s see what the hell’s going on here.”

The room they hid in was very unassuming. There was a long desk along one wall, covered in stacks of papers and cups containing writing utensils. Then filing cabinets, a short dresser, a cot along the opposite wall whose stiff sheets had been neatly made. There were no personal touches: no pictures, no books, no decorations, nothing to give a hint as to who resided here. Sam wandered to the desk and began sorting through what was there. Bucky picked a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and got to work.

Whoever used this space was very organized and had their files neatly categorized and color coded. Shipping receipts, equipment invoices, maintenance reports, mining contracts. All sorted by date and signed off by an Arthur Higgins at the bottom. The oldest form he could find was a contract for basic mining equipment in March of 2024. They’d been working on this place for a decent amount of time. Nothing stood out to Bucky as overtly suspicious, aside from the fact he was reading these in a room thousands of feet below the surface in a cavern that shouldn’t exist. If he’d read them anywhere else, he would have assumed it was over the table stuff.

The next drawer gave him pause. Recruitment, contacts, disposal. In the disposal section, there were spreadsheets filled with names, dates, and check boxes next to acronyms Bucky didn’t know. The recruitment files were extensive, consisting of well over one hundred packets of information on individuals including what must have been every detail of their life, photos included. All of them were numbered and organized, like everything else, from oldest to newest this time beginning in September of 2024. Bucky didn’t know what to think of it until he got to file number 228, flipped it open, and found a picture of himself staring back.

“Man, you’ve gotta see this,” Sam said from the desk, voicing Bucky’s exact thoughts. Bucky tucked his folder under his arm and walked over to Sam’s side. “I don’t think we’re looking at weapons dealers, Buck. These are a bunch of research notes, but they’re not testing weapons. It looks like they’re testing on people.”

Bucky’s heart pumped faster. He clutched the papers so tightly with his right hand that he felt the sting of a paper cut. He held it out for Sam, watching his friend’s eyes widen. “Why the hell do they have shit on you? What’s going on here?”

“I’m lucky number 228, whatever that means.” Bucky grimaced. “I can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

Sam shook his head and folded Bucky’s file to tuck inside his jacket. He gripped Bucky’s arm, his jaw tense, “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “We came all the way down, we can’t leave until we find out more.”

“No,” Sam shook his head again. His fingers tightened. Bucky’s shoulder ached. “There is no way I’m letting you stay down here when there’s something to do with human experiments going on. That is out of the question.”

A part of Bucky was touched that Sam was so vehement in his insistence, out of concern for him. Another part pulsed with anger that Sam was giving up so quickly. “You’re not letting me do anything, I’m staying here no matter what you think. If you’re so scared, then go. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Are you out of your mind, Bucky?” Sam scowled and stepped into his personal space so they were toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye. “Now isn’t the time for you to be stubborn. We came here to do some recon, we aren’t prepared to handle this. We can regroup, call in some reinforcements, then come in with an actual plan.”

“They already know we’re here, Sam, I’m sure that guy we fought was some form of security. If they let us leave, if, then they’ll have time to get rid of evidence. They’ve been down here for four years without anyone noticing, I’m sure they have contingencies in place.”

Sam reached back, grabbed a fistful of papers from the desk, and shoved them so hard into Bucky’s chest he had to take a step back to keep his balance. “Take a look at these and tell me what you think. Is that worth the risk?”

Embarrassingly, his vision was clouded by frustration and blurred, taking a few blinks to clear so he could skim the contents. Numbers and phrases and codewords swirled in his mind. Failure, Subject 15 deceased. Formula adjusted, Subject 23 compatible. Failure, Subject 23 deceased. Time limit extended, now 3 hours. Failure, Subject 51 deceased. Time limit extended, now 4 hours. Deceased, deceased, deceased. Bucky’s throat was dry, but his mind was made up. “This is all the more reason to stay here, Sam. There could be people here who need our help.”

“We can’t risk them getting their hands on you for whatever this is.”

“I could take it,” Bucky insisted. He shoved down the ghost sensation of restraints, of piercing needles, of cruel words, of pain, pain, pain. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Oh my god, this is your problem, Bucky, you never think things through. You didn’t with Zemo, you didn’t with Valentina—”

“I’m sorry, didn’t you also go along with Zemo, Sam? And Valentina, really? I thought we were past that.”

“And I thought that being responsible for a team would finally teach you how to think before acting, because congress sure as hell didn’t fix that.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. This was giving him a headache. “Well, Sam, you’re more than welcome to fly away if you’re too scared because that’s definitely what Captain America is known for, running away when things get tough.”

Sam narrowed his gaze, so did Bucky. Sam crossed his arms, so did Bucky. They glared at each other for a long time, probably longer than they should have, considering where they were. Sam’s face was the first to soften. “Look, man, I just don’t want to risk them doing anything to you.”

“And I trust you to have my back. Come on, Sam, you know we can’t let them get away with this. I’m staying, that’s final. Are you with me?” Bucky held out his hand.

Sam eyed it then, finally, he sighed and clasped their hands together, “Fine. But we do things my way, no risks.”

Bucky saluted, “You got it, Cap.”

Sam gestured with his chin at Redwing, dutifully hovering by the door like a loyal dog. “The area’s clear right now. We’ll sneak around the perimeter, check out some more of these places, see if there’s anyone who needs help. Don’t get caught.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and on Sam’s mark, they opened the door and crept onto the catwalk, Redwing keeping watch as they followed the metal path to rock then more metal again, crossing another section of scaffolding to enter another room, this one twice as big as the first. It was just as unremarkable, however. No decorations of any kind. Unlike the other room, there was nothing even remotely identifiable: no desk, no papers. There were three sets of bunk beds, all empty. Four of the beds were neatly made with fresh linens. The final two, closest to the entrance, were rumpled and dripped sheets to the floor, covered in dark brown splotches that Bucky knew were blood.

“What the hell?” Sam stepped closer. He picked at something on the end of the bed, maybe a piece of tape. “227.”

Bucky frowned, “What?”

“It’s labelled.” Sure enough, Bucky peeked over Sam’s shoulder and printed out in neat text was the number. A quick glance proved the rest of the beds were labelled as well, starting with 222. “Sleepover assignments?”

“Hell of a place for a sleepover.”

There wasn’t much to see in there, no matter how hard they tried. With Redwing’s approval, they continued to the next.

The stench of something strong like alcohol mixed with something rotten. Pristine cabinets, a glistening counter. Three metal tables, instead of beds, and two were occupied by long black bags. If they weren’t deep inside the earth, Bucky would think they were in a doctor’s clinic.

They exchanged a glance and approached the table closest to the door. Sam undid the zipper and pulled back the flap. Sallow skin stretched thin over sunken cheeks, the remnants of blood stuck in the corners of a mouth. With great care, Sam replaced the flap and closed the bag with a heavy sigh. “Fuck, man.”

Bucky had seen more than his fair share of bodies in his time. He’d seen plenty that were worse than this, the kinds that still haunted his nights. But somehow, the sight of this one sent his head spinning and the world tilting under his feet. He threw his left hand behind him, barely managing to catch himself before dropping to the floor. The contact between his metal hand and the metal wall caused a clang that pulsed beneath Bucky’s skull.

Sam whipped around with wide eyes at the sound, “Bucky, you okay?”

He blinked past the dizziness and waited for his vision to solidify, swallowed the taste of bile at the back of his throat. He leaned against the wall in a way he hoped was casual. “Fine, just lost my balance.”

Sam clearly didn’t believe him, but thankfully, they had more pressing concerns. Sam turned back to the body. “What have they been doing to these people?”

“It didn’t say anything in those notes?” With Sam looking the other way, Bucky shook his head in an attempt to clear the last of his disorientation. It only helped marginally. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Nothing specific. They used a lot of chemical names and acronyms I’ve never seen in my life. If they explain what they’re doing, I can’t interpret it.”

“Nothing good, clearly,” Bucky sighed. He couldn’t stop staring at the two sealed bags. A deep weariness had settled behind his eyes, an exhaustion so strong it took him by surprise. Bucky had felt fine earlier and he hadn’t been on any missions recently to explain why this one was so draining for him, especially when it was meant to be so simple. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep in the shitty motel bed waiting for him on the surface.

Sam made his way to the counter and began ripping open the cabinets, digging around their contents for clues. Bucky should have helped, but the heaviness of his brain kept him planted against the wall, arms crossed. Cabinets banged and drawers rolled off their tracks. Bucky stared at the bodies, his brow knitted together.

“Bucky, you wanna help?”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the table to where Sam crouched on the floor, frowning at a bottle of medication. Bucky shrugged, “Nah, I’m good. You look like you got it handled.”

Sam shot him a glare over his shoulder, “Thanks, Buck.” He turned back to his search.

Bucky let his smirk fall once Sam looked away. He felt…off. If he moved quickly like Sam was as he categorized the cabinets’ contents, he feared he would faceplant on the floor. And after the big stink he made about staying here, he knew that Sam would never let it go.

Maybe he should tell Sam that he didn’t feel great; that would be the smart thing to do. It was bad enough that Bucky was apparently being scouted for whatever shit was happening down here. Feeling off his game would only make him a liability. Sam was right, as much as Bucky hated to admit it. They should be cautious and make a tactical retreat so they could return with more help and information. But when Bucky opened his mouth, his words caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to say out loud that he was their weak link.

Sam tossed a small glass vial to him. It was a miracle that Bucky only fumbled and didn’t drop it on the floor. It was an even greater miracle that Sam had turned his back and didn’t see his slip. “Recognize that?”

There was a long chemical name on the bottle, scribbled in marker rather than printed on an official label. The liquid inside was white and turbid like milk, thick like blood. “No, do you?”

Sam shook his head, “No. There’s a bunch of surgical stuff in here, too, but that’s the only thing I can’t place. I’m willing to bet that it has to with whatever they’re experimenting on here.”

This was his chance to be the bigger person and concede to Sam’s reasoning. Bucky swallowed. “Alright, let’s get out.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrow shot to his hairline.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Bucky scowled and pocketed the vial.

“It definitely is, I’m just surprised you’re the one saying it.”

“You’re right, we should get out of here and regroup. We have something and,” he grimaced. “I don’t think there is anyone living we could rescue.”

Sam frowned for a moment before he cupped a hand around his ear, “What was that you said? I’m right? Can you say it again for the camera?” He fiddled with his goggles and Redwing turned from its post at the door to point at Bucky.

Bucky swatted at Redwing, the drone dipping out of reach. “Don’t be a dick about it, Sam.”

“Alright, fine, fine, we’ll go. With Redwing, we should be able to sneak out.”

They met at the door, Bucky closing his eyes as he pushed away from the wall and regained his bearings. When he opened them, he noticed a small smudge of blood along the wall where his shoulder had been pressed. It would be fine, they were leaving anyways. Once they were above ground, Bucky could figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Sam opened the door and Redwing cruised forward. Sam’s eyes widened, “Wait—”

A beam of light cut through the air and struck Redwing, slicing the drone cleanly in half.

It took Bucky too many precious seconds to track where the shot came from, a small divot in the cavern high above the other structures with only a narrow ladder to access it. In that time, another beam of light struck the metal ramp between Sam’s feet.

“Sam!” Bucky growled.

“On it!” Sam dove from the catwalk, his wings unfurling as he swooped low and banked left, another beam cutting the air he had occupied seconds earlier. He veered from side to side, dodging more fire as he steadily climbed closer to the sniper’s nest.

Bucky left him to it. From rooms opposite him on the scaffolding, six figures emerged, clothed in black with guns of their own—thankfully normal guns and not whatever the sniper was armed with. He got to work. Before any of them could lift their weapons and get off a shot, Bucky’s footsteps banged along the metal as he sprinted to slam into his closest foe with his left side. The man fell onto his back and his gun flew from his hands, but he didn’t fly as far back as Bucky would have expected. That didn’t surprise Bucky as much as the wave of dizziness that overcame him and made him stumble after.

His disorientation allowed time for the five others to aim their guns at him, but he recovered before any of them fired. Bucky focused on the two behind him, aiming a kick at one and slamming his metal fist into the gut of the other. Both recoiled but weren’t out of commission. He ripped the gun from the hands of one of the other three men in front of him, backhanded him across the face with its butt, readied it and fired at the legs of the two that remained. The first landed true in a thigh with a howl as the man collapsed, but Bucky’s vision blurred before he could focus on the second and his shot went wide. The man took the time to shoot at Bucky’s legs as well; he either had terrible aim or was shooting to incapacitate because the bullet merely grazed Bucky’s left thigh, leaving little more than a stinging streak.

In the air, Sam was trying to take care of the sniper with limited success. The nest they had chosen had the perfect angle to take careful shots in the air as Sam flew from every which way to try and get an advantage, tucked in the corner so there was no other way for Sam to approach except for head on. The alcove of rock meant that every time Sam sent his shield ahead, the sniper ducked out of sight until the threat had passed and they could be up and taking more shots before the shield had returned to Sam’s hands.

Bucky’s opponents were too close for a gun to be much good, especially with the haze that settled into his periphery, so he tossed it over the edge of the rock to prevent anyone else from getting it and withdrew a knife from the sheath at his back. The next time he was approached, Bucky took a few swipes at his attacker’s arm, enough for his grip on his gun to loosen for Bucky to catch and send hurtling into the abyss with the other. He decked him in the head with his right fist and was finally rewarded with one less person to fight, unconscious at his feet. Including the man who was still curled over his bloodied thigh on the ground, it was one against four. Bucky had faced worse odds before and come out on top easily, but he’d been in peak condition, not frazzled by whatever was going on with him now.

The four men surrounded Bucky in a loose circle, none wanting to be the first to strike. It intrigued Bucky that none of them had shot to kill yet. They were only waiting, watching for Bucky to antagonize them first. He recalled the file in the room where his own face had mirrored his and grimaced. They wanted him here, of course they weren’t going to kill him. They were probably elated that Bucky had snuck in here himself and practically handed himself over. Well, Bucky had been at the mercy of others before and that was a position he would never go back to. He would get out of this one way or another.

Sam finally got an opening on his end. He drew the fire of the sniper then banked his shield off the wall to hit them dead on and sent the rifle flying from the nest to clatter on the same level as Bucky. Like a bullet, Sam hurtled at the sniper and sent them both sprawling backwards. Shrouded in the darkness of the cavern, Bucky couldn’t see their tussle well, only the flashing of metal and the suggestion that they were trading blows. Only the bright colors of Sam’s shield broke through the darkness enough for Bucky to know that he was fine for the time being.

Bucky threw his knife into the hand of the man across from him, ducked when the one on his right fired a shot that caught the man on his left in the gut instead: one against three. The man at Bucky’s back abandoned his gun and went straight for Bucky’s head with a closed fist, easily deflected by his left arm. Then a kick, another punch, another kick; back and forth they went. Each time Bucky blocked a blow, his muscles trembled. His shoulders were shaking with an exertion he couldn’t remember ever feeling, except maybe decades ago when he was a regular guy in Brooklyn with no idea what the future held for him. He was panting for breath in a way that was so foreign to him it was almost amazing. It would have been worth investigating if he weren’t in the middle of something.

The two men alternated taking hits on Bucky and after a while, it started to work. The man who had been the Winter Soldier, who could have easily killed these people with a few short moves, was losing. His body was reacting slower and slower. The hits were no longer getting blocked, but landing solid along his flesh. A well-placed punch to the wound in his shoulder sent Bucky involuntarily to one knee. What the hell is wrong with me?

Knife-hand looked pissed, now brandishing the blade Bucky had ironically gifted him and placing it against the curve of his neck. Bucky glared at him, but didn’t dare move. He couldn’t believe it; they had bested him. “Captain America!” The man bellowed into the cavern, his voice echoing. “Give up now, or your friend gets it!”

The sounds of a scuffle from the nest ceased. From this angle, Bucky couldn’t make out what exactly happened, but he heard the low mechanical roar of Sam’s wings as he approached then settled several feet away, dropping the masked sniper to the ground where they collapsed with a long groan. At least one of them had emerged victorious.

Sam’s wings folded up neatly, the shield strapped to his left arm. His eyes flickered to Bucky’s with a question in them, why aren’t you showing these guys who’s boss? “Easy man, there’s no need for that.”

As a reply, the knife pressed harder to Bucky’s throat. He felt the telltale warmth of blood on his skin. “Drop the shield!”

Sam eyed Bucky for a second longer, maybe searching for a secret plan Bucky had. Bucky could only stare at him with exhausted shame; he had no tricks up his sleeve. Concern furrowed Sam’s brow, and he let the shield fall to the ground with a clang. One of the men around Bucky scrambled forward to grab it, gun trained on Sam.

“The wings, too!” bellowed knife-hand.

Another glance Bucky’s way, one he didn’t bother meeting this time, then the pack was swiftly disengaged and dropped as well, taken along with the shield.

“Good,” the knife lifted away from Bucky’s neck. He didn’t have a moment to feel relieved before the butt of a gun slammed into his skull and his world went black.

Chapter Text

Cool metal pressed against Bucky’s cheek, his head angled sharply to the left. His pulse throbbed in a spot on his forehead, what felt like the only warm place on his entire body. Even with his eyes closed, the world spun and he took a deep breath in against the instinctive nausea.

“Bucky? You with me?”

Bucky blinked his eyes open to lights, intense enough that all he saw for a few seconds was pure white that slowly resolved into shapes and shadows shrouded by the clinical brightness. He was sprawled on his stomach, staring at a long black mass several feet away. A few more blinks and he realized it was one of the body bags they had discovered earlier. Even more blinks to process he was lying on the final empty metal table they had seen. His jacket was missing, his bare right arm was chilled where it tucked along his side. A quick flexing of both wrists and he frowned; he wasn’t restrained yet he still felt like he couldn’t move a muscle.

“Bucky? Over here, man.”

His eyes meandered across the room, over the body bags, over the door with the smear of blood beside it, over to the many cabinets and drawers. There was Sam, propped against the wall, hands behind his back and knees drawn to his chest, his mouth downturned. He looked pissed and a little rumpled, but not obviously injured. That was good, it was only Bucky that would drag the two of them down.

“Sam,” Bucky mumbled into the table. “What happened?”

“I should be asking you that. You could take out guys like that in an instant, I’ve seen you do it before, what the hell was that? How’d amateurs get the jump on the Winter Soldier?”

“I don’t know. They rough you up?”

“Nah,” Sam shrugged. “So, how pissed should I be at you? Were you sick this whole time? Is it blood loss? I knew we should have left before shit went down.”

Bucky licked his lips. That weariness that had been hanging over him more and more the deeper they sank into the mine had settled completely beneath his skin, a layer of lead that pinned him down with pure exhaustion. All of his limbs were made of metal. The bullet wound in his shoulder burned fiercely. Even the thin line of blood drawn across his neck stung more than it had any right to. All of these at any other time wouldn’t be worth mentioning; they would all be gone in a day at most, well on their way to healing hours before that. But these, they lingered. “Something’s wrong.”

If at all possible, Sam’s frown deepened. Before he could interrogate Bucky further, the door creaked open and both of them tensed. In stepped a man, well-off if Bucky went by the expensive sweater and clean slacks he wore. Behind his silver glasses, his sharp eyes immediately found Bucky’s and he smiled. Behind him followed the masked figure, the one who had fought them in the tunnels and then Sam in the cavern.

“Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming,” he greeted with wide arms. From a hook on the wall, the masked guard retrieved a white lab coat and helped the man slip into it. Bucky tensed at the sight, saw Sam do the same out of the corner of his eye. “I appreciate your patience while we get things sorted out.”

Sam tracked the man as he moved about the room, methodically sifting through the same cupboards he had searched earlier and retrieving various supplies into a neat pile on the counter. “What the hell is going on here?”

The masked figure dragged a small rolling table from the corner and settled it by Bucky’s head before helping the man lay out his supplies there. Bucky’s heartrate picked up at the sight of various surgical tools set into the background of the man in the white lab coat. Where he stood, Sam was now blocked from view, but that didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t hear him.

“What are you doing to him? Tell us what’s going on!”

“All in due time, Captain,” the man purred. Bucky willed himself to move, to fight, to do anything as the man reached over and bared the shoulder that had been shot. He was powerless no matter how much he screamed at his body to move. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Sam continued to argue in the background, to barter for information, but he was a thousand miles away as the man took a scalpel to Bucky’s back and cut. Bucky was no stranger to pain—he had built up a strong tolerance after decades of suffering—but he still felt every bit of it. As the man cut into his flesh and worked his way into the wound, it was like this was the first time Bucky had ever been hurt, before the years of experimentation at the hands of men like this one in their white coats with unflinching hands. He couldn’t help the small grunt of discomfort he let out, which only made Sam’s protests grow louder.

“Hey, stop it!”

The man hummed under his breath as he worked, widening the slice and digging into the wound with forceps. Eventually, he withdrew and dropped the squashed form of a bullet into the tray held by the masked figure. “Get this to Charlotte. I would like a preliminary report within the hour. We’re running out of time.”

The figure nodded and retreated from the room. The man dabbed at the incision in Bucky’s shoulder—now bullet free—but he didn’t place any stitches and left it to the open air to weep while he tossed bloodied gauze to the side with his reddened gloves. He removed the lab coat to hang on the wall.

“Leave him alone. Whatever’s going on here, I’m sure we can talk it out.” Sam wriggled where he sat in the corner.

Sam may as well have been a buzzing fly with how little the man regarded his words. Instead, he focused on Bucky, leaning against the table with the body bag, his arms crossed. “Mr. Barnes, how do you feel?”

Bucky scowled, “How do you think?”

“Now, I’d appreciate if you were a little more helpful, more descriptive.” The man gave Bucky a moment and, when he didn’t respond, continued, “Are you lightheaded? Fatigued? Do you have a headache? Nausea? How does the bullet wound feel? On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

Bucky glared and said nothing.

From his place on the floor, Sam snorted. “Yeah, you’re not going to get much out of him. He’s not really a talkative guy, but he’ll beat you in a staring contest every time.”

The man finally looked away from Bucky to regard Sam. “Ah, Captain America, while I appreciate your help, there’s no need. You’re a welcome guest, but your presence isn’t required. It’s best that you stay quiet, yes?”

“Welcome guest?” Sam chuckled. “I’d hate to see what it’s like to be an unwelcome one.”

The man hummed and looked back at Bucky, “Anything, Mr. Barnes?” When Bucky remained silent, the man sighed and withdrew a pistol from his pocket to point at Sam’s head. Bucky’s already chilled body ran colder.

“What do you want?” Bucky growled.

He smiled but didn’t move the gun. “How you’re feeling, please. Be as descriptive as you can.”

Gun to his own head, Bucky would never divulge his own well-being so freely to even the closest of his friends. But the gun wasn’t to his own head, it was to Sam’s, and that head was worth more than Bucky’s pride. “Body aches, feel exhausted. Head hurts from where your guy smacked it earlier. The hole in my shoulder hurts like a bitch.”

The man hummed. “Would you say it is burning, shooting, or aching? Or something else.”

“Burning, and itching, I guess.”

“And weakness?”

“Sure.”

“Good, good,” the man nodded along with his words. “That’s excellent news.”

“I’m glad this is so great for you,” Sam said in a flat voice. “Mind filling us in?”

The man’s lip twitched but his expression didn’t stray from Bucky. The gun though, thankfully, tilted down and away from Sam. “Mr. Barnes, I am Dr. Higgins, I’m a medical researcher. I’m sure this is all very confusing, but I assure you that we have your best interests at heart.”

“Weird place for a medical researcher,” Bucky mumbled.

Higgins smirked, “Well, it’s isolated. If you have the right friends, anywhere can be the perfect laboratory. Some don’t quite understand my vision, it’s best that the only people that find us are the ones we want to be here.”

“We found you,” Sam huffed.

“Exactly,” Higgins seemed to take joy in the way Sam’s face fell. “Like I said, the ones we want here. I must give you credit, Captain, you’re always eager to help out even the smallest situations, and to drag your friend along with you for the ride.”

That was interesting. So, the vague mission details and its vague origins were intentional. This guy must have friends in high places to be able to convincingly sell a mission to Captain America without the people involved fearing repercussions.

“This better have a point,” Sam’s voice was carefully level.

“Mr. Barnes, I have to thank you for your participation in our study, your contribution will be invaluable.” Without another word, despite Sam’s vehement protests, Higgins slipped out of the room and left them alone.

“What the hell,” Sam muttered under his breath when it became clear Higgins was gone. He turned to Bucky. “You got any idea what he’s talking about?”

Bucky went to shake his head but hesitated. Why would this Higgins guy want him in particular? From his mental catalog of the Winter Soldier’s misdeeds, he didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t wronged this man in a way that didn’t involve a direct relative. Then again, the man spoke of him with a scientific curiosity, so could he be a remnant or admirer of Hydra, wanting to retake Bucky and finish what was started? He shut his eyes to think harder. He had been completely fine before descending, and now he was in such a sorry state; that couldn’t be a coincidence. And Sam seemed fine, as well as the people they’d encountered so far, so it wasn’t something in the air. His shoulder throbbed and itched in time with his heart.

“Buck?”

Bucky opened his eyes, “The bullet.”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t feel like other times I’ve been shot, it’s… different. I think they might have done something with it.”

“What, like drugged you?”

Bucky nodded as much as he could with his face pressed against the table.

“Fuck,” Sam leaned his head back against the wall. “Any idea what it could’ve been?”

“I’m flattered you think I’m that good,” Bucky smirked. “But, no.”

“You feel okay?”

No. “Fine.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right, try again.”

“What do you want me to say, Sam? It’s not gonna change our situation.”

“Maybe not, but I need to know if you’ll be able to get out of here when we need to.” To punctuate his statement, Sam rolled around on the ground, wiggling until he finally got situated into a position where he could rise to his feet. Bucky hadn’t noticed until now, but his ankles were bound together with rope. He looked ridiculous as he hopped over to Bucky’s table, to the metal stand next to it still covered in bloodied gauze and the scalpel. Ah.

Sam stood with his back facing Bucky so he could maneuver the scalpel into his bound hands, miraculously avoiding cutting himself, flipping the blade so he could saw the rope around his wrists then bending and do the same with the one around his legs. He pivoted to Bucky and brandished the knife but lowered it with a frown. “You’re not tied up? I thought…”

From where he had been deposited on the floor, Sam probably couldn’t have seen much more than Bucky’s face over the edge of the table. He must have assumed that Bucky’s immobility upon waking while a mad scientist was cutting into his flesh was due to an inability to fight back. He was right, just not in the way he expected.

Sam’s face grew severe, like it had when Bucky had shown him the file with his face. “Bucky, can you walk?”

Bucky gritted his teeth, “Help me up.”

With Sam’s assistance, Bucky was able to will his muscles to flex and strain when he wanted them to, but it wasn’t easy. By the time he was upright, his body was overcome with a bone-deep exhaustion infinitely worse than it had been when he was laying down. Sam kept a hand on his shoulder even when he was sitting, which Bucky was grateful for. Without it, he was certain he would veer to the side and drop off the table entirely.

“What the hell did they hit you with?” Sam frowned. “I’d think your super metabolism would have burned this crap off already.”

Bucky panted, “Me too.”

Sam hissed and Bucky felt him prod at the tender skin of his right shoulder, “Shit, he didn’t do anything to clean this up.”

“Leave it, I heal fast.”

“Like hell I’m doing that,” Sam dragged the rolling stand closer and dug around the tray until his found unused gauze and pressed it against the weeping wound. Bucky closed his eyes for a brief moment at the contact but centered himself quickly.

They were under a time limit; Higgins and any of his associates could return at any moment and set them back to square one. Still, Sam was patient and let Bucky sit on the edge of the table for a long time, not saying a word while Bucky caught his breath and tried to force strength back into his limbs through sheer willpower. Sam kept his hand as a steady weight on Bucky’s right shoulder the entire time, tucked the gauze against his bullet wound and taped it in place with supplies from the cabinets. Eventually, he startled and felt around his pockets, shouting triumphantly when he withdrew his phone. Bucky privately mourned his own phone where it had been in his jacket pocket, the jacket that was now missing and unlikely to ever be recovered.

Sam unlocked his screen and swiped around. “Think we have any service down here?”

Bucky smiled without humor, “Wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Well, Joaquin’s got me set up with some pretty powerful stuff, you’d be surprised.” Sam typed something out, hitting the final button extra hard. “Alright, we’ll see if that works. If we’re lucky, help will be here before morning.”

“Alright,” Bucky nodded and kicked his legs. He felt like his body had plateaued, that whatever weariness he felt now wasn’t going to get any better no matter how long they waited. “Let’s get moving. Do you know where they took your gear?”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “But let’s not worry about it, we need to get you out of here.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “Sam, we aren’t leaving without your wings and shield.”

“Does it do something for you, being this stubborn all the time?” Sam rolled his eyes. “The last time we argued about this, we should have listened to me and left. We wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place if you weren’t so stubborn. No, we’re going. Once we have back up, we can worry about everything else.”

“Sam, we’ll be defenseless. These guys are armed, that sniper has some crazy rifle. If we try to leave and get caught in a fight, it’s not one we’re winning.”

Sam spared him a sideways glare, “I hate when you make a good point, makes me sure the world’s gone crazy.”

“Happy to keep you on your toes.”

“Of course you are. Fine, we’ll look around a little bit, but then we’re out of here.”

“After you, Cap.”

Sam couldn’t lead the way because Bucky’s legs were jelly, nearly collapsing under his weight once his feet touched the floor. If not for Sam’s arm wrapped around his torso, he would have face planted. And as funny as he was certain Sam would have found that in another time and place, they had bigger problems. Side by side, they cautiously pushed open the door and stepped outside when the coast appeared to be clear. He would never admit it out loud, but Bucky missed having Redwing to keep an eye out for them.

There was no one posted outside their room, so these people were either overestimating their security in other areas or underestimating Sam and Bucky’s ability to stay put even in extenuating circumstances. Wherever Higgins and his men were, it left the wide cavern eerily quiet, every step of theirs scraping noisily along the rock. Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. The sniper’s nest was empty, but that didn’t mean these people didn’t have other ways to observe their every move.

Their next stop was the closest room connected by the same walkway. Desks and chairs, an otherwise empty office space. The next, a barracks of sorts, with nicer bedding and more storage than the room with bunk beds they’d found earlier, but nothing exciting. The final room they inspected, lined with lockers and split down the middle by a long bench. Generously, Sam deposited Bucky to sit while he rifled through all of the lockers. No shield or wings, but he reclaimed some weapons, armed himself and passed the rest to Bucky.

“This good enough for you, Buck?” Sam asked as he holstered a handgun.

As much as Bucky preferred they leave with the rest of Sam’s gear in their possession, he had to admit that they had enough supplies for proper defense. He doubted Sam would compromise any further to locate his shield and wings. Bucky sighed and conceded, “Fine, let’s get out of here.”

Sam raised his arms like he was praising the heavens, “Thank you! Come on, up and at ‘em.”

Bucky was hoisted up by the left arm and immediately hit with a wake of intense vertigo. He was grateful for the bench; without it, he would have plummeted to the floor. Instead, he merely sat back down with a hard bang, his vision briefly going black. When it cleared, Sam was frowning in his face, closer than Bucky remembered him being before. He shivered. If only he still had his damn jacket.

“Bucky,” Sam planted his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, the furrow in his brow deepening when Bucky flinched at the pressure it put on his wound. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“Wish I could tell you,” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, willed the nausea to settle so they could get moving.

“When we’re above ground, we’re taking you to a hospital, no arguing. I don’t care what kind of super serum you say you have, this isn’t normal.”

As much as he wanted to, Bucky couldn’t argue when Sam was correct. Sam shrugged out of his jacket and helped Bucky into it, the sleeves a little tight but the warmth welcomed. They rose again, slower this time and with a moment to pause just in case Bucky lost himself again. The world tilted, but he held his ground and they left the locker room.

Still, no one confronted them as they stumbled across the cavern back the way they came. Bucky thought it was a little too easy, a little too suspicious, and he was proven right when they approached the hole in the wall that led to the exit and the masked figure stepped out, rifle held aloft.

Sam took a step back, bringing Bucky with him, “Whoa, no need for that.”

“No leaving,” the figure spoke for the first time, their voice muffled behind the mask.

Bucky was beyond exhausted, but like hell he would let himself be deadweight. He mustered the strength to move his left arm and draw his newly acquired gun. Before he could even aim it, the masked figure snapped their rifle to attention and shot the gun from Bucky’s hand. Not only that, a zap of electricity shot up his arm and he groaned as it went limp.

“Let’s talk this out.” Sam raised the arm not lugging Bucky around.

The figure gestured back into the cavern, “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, the fire in his metal arm lessened and Bucky was able to clench his fingers into a fist again. So that fancy rifle had a purpose, but at least its effect was temporary. It was a good thing Sam hadn’t been shot with it in the air earlier. One hit to his wings and he couldn’t have saved himself from diving into solid rock.

Sam and Bucky shared a glance as the figure slowly forced their retreat into the cavern and took a position at their backs, herding them along. Bucky saw the request in Sam’s eyes and knew he was asking a lot. From Sam’s expression, the other man knew it, too. But, they had to get out of here. The sooner they did, the sooner Bucky could take a nice long nap and sleep off whatever crap they’d given him.

As one, they turned. Sam rushed at their captor with a yell and the figure turned their rifle his way. Before they could fire, Bucky dredged up every bit of strength left in him to run and grab the rifle’s barrel, pointing it to the ceiling as it discharged and sent bits of rock raining on them. Sam got his hands on the rifle as well and all three of them wrestled with it, the scuffing of their feet loud in the cavern.

Bucky lost the fight first. He was already running on reserves and one particularly rough yank was enough to loosen his grip and send him tumbling backwards on his ass. Sam fared better, ripping the rifle from the figure and kicking them in the gut, forcing them to their knees. Now armed with another gun, Sam hauled Bucky to his feet and slung his left arm across his shoulders, marching them in the opposite direction at as close of a pace as possible to a run. They didn’t have much of a choice on where to go; the figure was still between them and the tunnel’s entrance and even without the rifle, Bucky spotted multiple sidearms as they scrambled to their feet.

“There’s gotta be another way out of here, right?” Sam mumbled under his breath. They made it to the opposite end of the cavern’s ledge, to another hole in the wall, to a tunnel that immediately veered to the right. Their breaths echoed in the smaller space. The tunnel dropped off into a carved stairwell ahead of them and opened up to their right. Gunshots erupted behind them, bullets hitting the beginning of the stairs and making their choice for them; right it was.

The opening led them back into the cavern, to a flat metal platform disconnected from the rest of the facility. Through the metal grating, Bucky guessed they were almost three stories from the sloping edge of the cavern’s floor. There were bits of scaffolding along the walls and no railings where the platform abruptly ended. Bucky’s stomach churned to think that this was where Higgins planned on expanding his research laboratory. If he filled this entire cavern with his labs and subjects, he could work on whatever he’d been doing all these years exponentially faster.

The figure caught up and kicked where Bucky was braced along Sam’s shoulders. Bucky had no strength of his own and sprawled to the floor, boneless, while Sam took the hit better and remained standing a few feet to the side, rifle pointed at the figure.

Even with them both at the end of their gun, the figure didn’t shoot. Sam took the opportunity to try reasoning with them once more, “Listen, you don’t have to do this. We don’t want any trouble, I just want to get my partner some help. Let us go before you do something you regret.”

The figure huffed a laugh and gestured to Bucky with their gun. “I’ll cut you a deal. You can leave, Captain, but Barnes stays here. That’s all I can give you.”

“Not an option,” Sam shook his head. “He needs help, man.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” asked the masked figure, bewildered. “He’s not going to make it.” Sam frowned, not comprehending, so they continued, “Do you have any idea what work Dr. Higgins is doing here?”

“I don’t care, nothing justifies experimenting on people the way he has.”

“The doctor is only doing what’s right for the rest of mankind! He’s identified the disease and he’s working on the cure!”

“What disease? What cure?”

They gestured the gun Bucky’s way again, “Humans weren’t meant to be enhanced like he is. Dr. Higgins is working on a way to cure people like him, to even the playing field as it was meant to be.”

“The serum,” Bucky muttered. Everything clicked into place in his brain. The way his bullet wound kept weeping blood long after it should have scabbed, the weakness, the weariness. After several decades, his body was without the super serum. But was this really how normal people felt all the time? He didn’t remember ever feeling like this when he was younger. Then again, those memories were sporadic and often hard to place in the timeline of his life.

The masked figure nodded, “Yes, Dr. Higgins is a genius.”

“Well, you’ve had your fun, Bucky’s been… cured. You can let us go.”

Their grip tightened on the gun. “I can’t. The doctor needs to make his notes and examine the body. Mr. Barnes’ contribution will be paramount.”

Sam’s foot scuffed on the ground, maybe a result of his instinctive need to block Bucky, but a twitch of the gun stopped him. “There’s no body to examine.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” they shrugged like they were discussing the weather rather than Bucky’s demise. “The cure is only temporary for now, but it’s also aggressive, unpredictable. Only half of the subjects survive the four hour time limit. And judging by his appearance, your friend’s odds aren’t great.”

The news didn’t hit Bucky as hard as it should have. Four hours to live, way less than that considering how long ago he’d been shot. His body wasn’t just weak because he was without the serum, he was slowly withering away. Before long, he’d truly be deadweight to Sam. To him, the choice was easy. This person had offered Sam an out, in exchange for Bucky to remain. If he was going to die anyways, there was no use dragging Sam down with him.

“Sam,” Bucky swallowed. “You should go.”

Sam’s face twisted with rage, “Like hell I’m leaving you here. All of this could be a lie, Buck.”

It wasn’t, Bucky could feel it deep beneath his skin, the way his body was slowing turning against him, shutting down with every second that passed. He recalled the body bags they’d found, the pale face inside. That would be him, before long. “It’s okay, Sam, just go.”

Sam rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t knock something loose in his skull. “Fuck this.” Without warning, Sam aimed the rifle and fired, blasting the figure back against the cave wall. The weapon wasn’t lethal and their gear must have been resistant in some way. After they bounced off the rock, they shook their head and recovered, gun raised.

Sam had run to Bucky’s side the second he fired, kneeled at his side and started tugging at Bucky’s arm to get him to stand, rifle abandoned to the ground. Bucky saw the figure approach as they stumbled to their feet. Sam didn’t. Thankfully, Bucky had enough fight left in him to take the gun from Sam’s holster and halt the figure in their tracks with a bullet to the gut. Their handgun went flying as they collapsed to the ground but they didn’t stop, lunging for the rifle before Sam could recover it. They lifted it, aimed at Sam, and fired.

There was no way Bucky would let Sam take a hit, even if they were both equally without super serum, even if Bucky was technically worse off. He twisted their positions so Bucky took the brunt of the hit along his back, stinging without causing much more than a burn. The blast was powerful, however, especially at close range. Especially without anything behind him but empty space and Sam to stop his flight. Bucky went tumbling over the edge of the platform. Sam’s proximity meant he followed close behind.

They didn’t slam into the rocky bottom of the cavern. Bucky’s left arm jerked and he heard and felt the pop of Sam’s arm as he caught Bucky. Somehow, Sam had managed to both snag Bucky with one arm and grip a metal support that jutted out of the platform with the other. They were dangling in the air, no one up top who would help them, nothing below them but unforgiving rock.

Sam barely had the tips of his fingers clinging to the metal. Bucky knew his shoulder had to be dislocated when all of his weight and Bucky’s were stopped midair. It was only a matter of time before Sam dropped, whether he wanted to or not.

Bucky could do the math. There were two of them, and the one holding them up wasn’t enhanced—though Bucky didn’t even have that benefit at the moment—and didn’t have a metal arm to bear their weight. If what the masked figure said was true, and Bucky felt that it was with every painful throb of his shoulder, then Bucky only had a couple hours to live. Fifty-fifty odds weren’t that great and Bucky had never been a lucky guy. If he didn’t die now, he’d die soon. It was easy math.

Sam couldn’t do math. He panted as he looked between the hand clinging for dear life and the one wrapped around Bucky’s. “Hang in there, I got you,” he gasped. “Gimme a second to think, then we’ll be okay.”

“Sam—”

“I said give me a second, Buck!” he growled. He squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat beaded along his face and dripped down his neck. “Fuck!”

Or maybe he could do math, but he was using the wrong equation. That was okay, Bucky could help him along. “Sam, let go of me.”

Sam whipped his head down to stare at Bucky, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. It wasn’t often that Bucky could genuinely say he surprised Sam. In any other place and any other time, it would have been funny. Now, he only found a melancholy humor in it, the way someone found something funny when they thought it would be the last thing they ever saw. “What? No! I can pull you up, just give me a sec!”

“We don’t have that time,” Bucky insisted. Sam was a strong guy, but this would be pushing the limits of any fit man. Sam’s fingers trembled around the beam. “It’s okay, let me go.”

“No, you’re insane. Hold on a sec.”

“Sam, if you don’t let me go, then we’ll both die. Let me go, please.”

“No, shut up!”

“Sam!” Bucky growled then took a deep breath. In all his life, he’d never been given the chance to prepare for death, it had just happened to him over and over with no warning. Now, he had to make the most of his time. “It’s okay, I’m sorry it had to be like this. Tell the team I’m sorry, too, okay?”

Sam shook his head fervently, hard enough Bucky feared he’d shake his own grip loose. “Buck, you have to trust me, I’ll get us up.”

Bucky did trust him, unconditionally. If there was anyone he could trust with complete faith in this world, it was Sam. He trusted that Sam would try with everything he had to get them both to safety. He also knew that he would fail.

“I have the serum, I’ll be okay,” he tried.

“Not right now you don’t. And even if you did, I still wouldn’t drop you. Now, hold still and let me think.” Sam closed his eyes. Bucky would have liked to see them one last time, but maybe it was better if Sam wasn't looking at him. One night, sitting on Sarah’s porch in Delacroix, listening to the frogs and sipping on beer, Sam had told Bucky about Riley. It was like I was put up there to watch.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Bucky whispered. “I won’t make you make this choice, okay? I love you, buddy.”

Sam had barely managed to snag Bucky’s left hand when they tumbled over the edge. Sam’s palm was slick with sweat, already greased against the metal. It was easy enough to twist his arm so Sam’s wrist crumpled at the right angle, painful without causing damage, but more than enough for Bucky to slide out of his grip.

There was a moment where it seemed Bucky hovered in the air. Sam’s eyes snapped open and met his own. Bucky closed his; he wanted the last thing he saw to be his friend’s face, not the ragged rocks of the cave that would become his tomb.

111 years was much too long for anyone to live, never mind him. He had fallen once, long ago, and that should have been it. It was easy enough to do the same again.

Chapter Text

It had been Sarah who snapped him out of it. Eventually.

Sam had been walking back from lunch with a VA buddy when Joaquin sent him three texts in quick succession then called before Sam had the chance to read any of them.

“What?”

“Sam, are you watching the news?”

“No, I’m out right now.” That swooping feeling had twisted his gut at Joaquin’s tone, the anticipation of trouble to come and the knowledge that not a day could go by without the mantle of Captain America calling him to duty. “Why? Is there trouble?”

“Maybe. Turn it on as soon as you get home. I’ll let you know if I get more info.”

He had hung up and Sam had run the rest of the way to his apartment, not bothering to take off his coat or shoes before turning the TV to the national news. There were special alert banners scrolling along the screen: Strange shadow consuming New York suddenly vanishes. The screen was split between aerial footage of Manhattan and talking heads of reporters on the scene describing what they had seen with wide eyes and shaking hands. Sam saw over and over again as skyscrapers were embraced with darkness then suddenly lit again, as bystander videos showed people dropping into their shadows in an instant then going blank with static. He itched to get his suit and fly straight there, but as strange as the event seemed, it appeared to be over.

I’m looking into it now, Joaquin texted. Seems under control.

How? Sam sent back. He got no reply.

The repetitive images of the event slipped away as one of the reporters took up the entire screen, the scrolling text now reading, CIA director announces special press conference; will address NYC calamity. The camera panned into a wide shot of a rubble-ridden New York street, a makeshift podium set up in front of a tarp-covered fence. Valentina Allegra de Fontaine stepped through a tear in the fabric and hurried to the podium. And somehow, of all the people who could have shown up, there was Bucky. His hair tussled, his clothes covered in dust, a few scrapes on his face, but unmistakably Bucky blinking wide-eyed at the audience.

There were more after him: a buff older man in a red costume, a brunette in what looked like a tactical uniform, John Walker of all people, a blonde woman dragging a man along by the wrist. They fanned out behind Valentina, a natural motion even if the shock was apparent on all of their faces. His eyes didn’t stray from Bucky, taking in every twitch of his expression, so it was impossible not to see the scowl form when the final words out of Valentina’s mouth were, “Your New Avengers!”

Reporters scrambled at the scene as the title card was updated to read CIA director introduces New Avengers. All Sam could see was Bucky, standing there with what must be his new team, confusion marring Sam’s face and something sharp like betrayal stabbing his chest.

He checked his phone. More messages from Joaquin, all sent within the last minute. Are you hearing this? Did he mention anything?

Sam managed to type out, no, he didn’t. His next mission was to open his thread with Bucky, the last conversation they shared scheduling a lunch they had the week before, a lunch at which Bucky had alluded to an investigation into the very CIA director he now stood behind. What’s going on? Are you okay? What the hell, man? Valentina, really? Call me.

Sam knew Bucky was getting the messages because he saw on the news the way he clutched his pocket as the notifications vibrated. From his face, it was clear he knew who was contacting him. It only pissed off Sam more when Bucky continued to ignore the messages, not even a quick peek.

Valentina finished answering questions and shuffled her new team out of the way. The news switched back to a split between their field reporter and anchors as they began to analyze what just happened, speculating on the people they had just seen. Bucky was the easiest for them to discuss; he had plenty of publicly available photos to flash on screen and a complicated past to recap. Every time his face showed up, the pain in Sam’s heart grew.

It took five more minutes for Bucky’s caller ID to flash on his phone and instantly be accepted. To his credit, Sam opened with, “Are you okay?” before immediately following with, “What the hell, Bucky?”

To his discredit, Bucky responded with, “It’s nothing, Sam.”

What followed was a conversation much like pulling teeth. Bit by bit, Sam was able to pry vague details from Bucky’s mouth until he had a blurry picture of what had happened. “Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped.”

Bucky’s reply left a sour taste in his mouth. “It wasn’t your problem.”

Back when Sam had been dealing with own shit, when Joaquin was helpless in a hospital beyond a thin pane of glass, Sam had told Bucky he’d been asked to restart the Avengers. The next words that he had thought but hadn’t said were, would you join me? That wouldn’t have been fair. Bucky had been working on himself, finding out what he wanted to do and freshly elected to Congress. It was obvious that he didn’t want to fight anymore and Sam had been proud of him, happy for him.

Then he’d showed up on TV with a group of strangers—and Walker—and Sam had wondered why not me?

From then on, their interactions grew more tense. Their attempt at meeting for a meal ended early amidst passive aggressive remarks and Bucky’s frustratingly sealed lips. Sam constantly warred with confusion and frustration and anger and concern, worried that Bucky was being blackmailed by the past he tried to leave behind, that he was being extorted by the powers that be. He gleaned absolutely nothing from Bucky’s short answers. Sam learned about his resignation from Congress through the news and received a dismissive response when he questioned the man about it. Reporters were always in Sam’s face, wondering what Captain America thought of everything and not liking “no comment” as an answer. He only found out that Bucky moved back to New York to be with his new team when he showed up at the man’s DC apartment with olive-branch takeout and found it unoccupied.

It grew easier and easier to let their terse text messages eventually dwindle and die. Their phone calls devolved from hi how are you to you don’t understand what I’m talking about. To why are you working with them, why are you working for her, why don’t you trust me anymore, why, why, why.

The conversations stopped all together. It grew even easier to only have their lawyers communicate for them. He stopped ignoring the reporters.

No longer being on speaking terms did nothing to settle Sam’s mind. If anything, he thought about Bucky more. He still worried every time the man popped up on the news, though it was buried beneath miles of other feelings. He wondered how he was doing, how he was adjusting, where they went wrong. They had spent time building a solid friendship that was Sam & Bucky and not Sam & Bucky & Steve. Could all of that really be gone so easily?

Sam found the time in his busy schedule to spend a weekend with Sarah and his nephews, a long-needed couple of days to decompress with family and forget about the chaos of his life. After dinner, the boys played a card game on the floor while Sam and Sarah sat on the couch, his sister watching the evening news while Sam scrolled on his phone.

“It’s Bucky!” AJ announced. His game with his brother was forgotten and the two of them were on their knees, gaping right next to the TV. Sarah promptly chastised them for sitting so close and they begrudgingly scooted back, but their awestruck expressions remained.

Sam looked up and sure enough, there he was, wearing streamlined tactical gear funded with Valentina’s dirty money, surrounded by his band of misfits as they stood at a press conference outside a line of police tape.

“Cool,” Cass had said before turning to Sam. “When’s he gonna visit again, Uncle Sam? I wanna ask him about Ghost!”

He stuttered out a nonresponse that appeased the boys. He felt his sister’s eyes on him, though she didn’t say anything until the boys had gone to bed and they resettled to watch a cooking show.

“Alright,” Sarah sat sideways on the couch to face him with a frown. “What’s going on with you?”

Sam refused to meet her eyes and pretended to be extremely invested in how the chef was going to incorporate Cheetos into their dessert dish. “Nothing’s going on with me.”

“Well, that’s a load of crap. You think that you can lie to my face and I won’t be able to tell?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes, but her voice got soft. “Is everything okay? Is something up with Bucky?”

Sam scoffed, “Nothing’s up with Bucky.”

“Well, that sounded a little too bitter. What’d he do? Are you butthurt about this New Avengers stuff?”

“I’m not butthurt about anything. Bucky’s a grown adult, he can make whatever choices he wants.”

Sarah hummed, “Even choices you might not agree with, I know that. Have you talked to him?”

“Talking to him is like talking to a brick wall, I let my lawyers handle it.”

“Lawyers?” Sarah’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “What are you guys doing? I thought you were friends, you sure acted like it whenever he came down here.”

Bucky had become a semi-regular visitor in Delacroix. He had an open invitation to spend the holidays with them, to come with Sam when he needed a week off. Though hesitant at first, he always seemed happy to be welcomed, happy to do the odd jobs around the house, happy to flirt with Sarah—much to Sam’s ire. Those days were gone.

“Tell that to Bucky.”

“I can’t know what happened between you two if you don’t tell me, but I get why you might be upset that Captain America wasn’t involved with the New Avengers. But this is Bucky, the guy you told me always had your back. You’re both mature adults so stop acting like children and figure it out. Friendship’s a two-way street, you know.”

“Yeah, well, he’s one of the ways.”

“And so are you. Talk it out, I promise you’ll feel better.”

As tired as he was of trying to be the bigger person, he took Sarah’s words to heart. She was right. Years of friendship weren’t worth throwing away because of this. Soon, Sam would gather the courage to talk it out one more time.

Then, Bucky had almost died.

He still got nightmares about the feeling of blood on his hands, the stench of it in the air, the sight of Bucky’s pale face growing paler until it seemed like there was no life left in him. If Sarah’s words hadn’t been enough, the heart-stopping fear that Bucky had almost died with the two of them in the middle of their spat definitely had been. He’d survived, he’d recovered, they’d finally talked without reservations and come to an understanding. The tension that had a chokehold on his heart for months had finally vanished and let him breathe again.

And now, this: the horrifying look of resigned serenity on Bucky’s face as he fell away from Sam.

“No!” The shout that erupted from Sam’s mouth was something instinctual, visceral, from deep in his bones. He was helpless as Bucky plummeted several stories down, his body colliding with the slant of rock and rolling the rest of the way down where he lied limp, a spec of an ant what felt like miles away.

He blinked and he was years in the past, watching his wingman become a flaming meteor in the sky, watching him fall down, down, down to the earth. One moment there, the next gone. Nothing to be done, nothing to be prevented. It seemed Sam was doomed to always watch from a distance as the people he cared about paid the price.

Sam only allowed himself one moment of panicked grief, staring at Bucky’s still form, before he gathered himself. There was nothing to be done about it up here. He had to pull himself up, he had to find a way down there. Only then could he help Bucky.

Dangling by a dislocated shoulder was a bitch, but having his second arm free meant he could get a firm grip on the scaffolding and drag himself upwards, his left hand twitching around the phantom grip of Bucky’s. He lay on his back and scooted a few feet away from the edge, gasping and feeling every ache in his body throbbing in time with his heart. He would have preferred to have help to fix it—he would have preferred to have Bucky around—but his bum arm would only become more of a nuisance the longer he let it hang. When he mustered the strength to sit up, he braced himself as well as he could and yanked, grunting at the sharp pop of his shoulder sliding back into place. Sam gave it a few experimental rotations. It still hurt, it still felt unstable and could use a sling, but it would do. He stood.

The masked figure was where Sam had left them, collapsed to the ground clutching the bullet wound in their gut. Sam picked up the handgun several feet away, maybe the figure’s or Sam’s or Bucky’s, he didn’t remember or care; it would do the same thing. He pointed it at the figure, who trembled where they sat.

“Who are you?” Sam asked, his tone ice cold. “I won’t ask again.”

With bloodied, shaking fingers, the figure reached up and removed their mask. Emotional turmoil was too fresh; Sam didn’t waver when he found himself staring at Julia the Tour Guide.

“Hi, Cap,” her grin was too wide, showing too many teeth. She was nervous. Good. “Funny seeing you again.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“College isn’t cheap,” she shrugged. “Made sense to get a second job as security for a top secret lab. And Dr. Higgins pays great, let me tell you.”

Sam should probably dig further, but he couldn’t muster the right questions. “How do I get down there?”

She shook her head, “Don’t bother, he’s dead.”

Sam clicked off the safety. Even if Bucky was dead—and he refused to believe it without proof—he wouldn’t leave his body down here. The last time Bucky was presumed dead, he had gone through hell. Sam would be damned if he gave anyone the opportunity to do that again.

Julia raised her hands, “Follow the stairs down.”

“Stay here,” Sam clicked the safety back on and slipped the gun into his holster. It didn’t fit quite right, but it stayed. “I’m not done with you.”

Her hands pressed back down on her wound with gritted teeth, “Sure.”

He didn’t waste another moment and sprinted into the tunnel, following Julia’s directions down, down, down. He tried not to think of how long it took him to descend, how far that would mean he was going, how even when it ended he had to shuffle down a rocky slope to finally reach the very bottom of the cave. There wasn’t anything down here except endless rock. With the lab’s main structures situated along the levels above, all that was here were the skeletons of scaffolding and dust.

Bucky was exactly where Sam had seen him land, a dark lump of fabric in the dark abyss. Sam swallowed and picked up the pace. The sooner he knew, the better.

Sam skidded to a stop a few feet away. Bucky was so, so still, he may as well have been carved out of the rock around him. He wasn’t even this still when he slept. As much as Bucky liked to grumble about how he was stealthy, Sam, I’m always quiet, he tended to twitch and shuffle and mumble under his breath, tossing and turning and yelling on the worst nights. Sam couldn’t even say Bucky looked like he was sleeping right now. He looked… dead.

He steeled himself and took the final few steps to crouch at Bucky’s side. After rolling down the slope, he had come to rest on his left side, curled like a child, head tucked towards his chest and left hand under his head. Sam’s hand shook as he reached out and rested it on Bucky’s right shoulder where it was angled towards the sky thousands of feet above them.

When his hand made contact, a miracle occurred. Bucky heaved to life, his body flinching away from the touch and his lungs taking a deep, painful breath. Sam couldn’t help it; he let the tears escape, only blinking to clear his vision so he could see Bucky somehow, incredibly alive.

“Bucky,” his voice cracked. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” Okay was probably too strong of a word, but it was all Sam could conjure.

Bucky continued to gasp and Sam let the intense relief he felt fade as he switched into crisis mode. Bucky was alive, but he needed help. He didn’t need Sam to weep over his body. Sam examined his partner, patting down his spine from the tip of his neck to his pelvis. Incredibly, he didn’t feel any obvious breaks. When—if—Bucky was coherent, Sam would have to figure out if Bucky had other signs of spinal damage but for the time being, it seemed that they had avoided the worst. In ideal circumstances, Sam would have a way to stabilize Bucky’s spine until professionals could arrive, but they didn’t have that luxury. He would have to rely on quick and dirty medicine and pray he wasn’t making things worse.

As gently as he could, Sam unfurled Bucky so he lied flat on his back, biting his lip at the long groan the other man let out. Bucky instinctively tried to curl over his torso unsuccessfully, his head doing little more than flopping on the ground and his right leg trying to pull up before it settled back down. That was a fairly good sign; Bucky could move one leg, but it remained to be seen why he hadn’t bothered with the left one. At every touch of Sam’s hands, Bucky let out a long whine, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Buck, it’s me, it’s Sam,” Sam assured him. “I’m right here, I’m gonna help you, try to stay calm.”

He couldn’t tell if Bucky heard or registered his voice, rolling as much as he could from side to side in agony. Sam leaned over him and palpated his head and neck. He grimaced when he found a tender spot along the back left side of Bucky’s skull where his hand had laid, obvious from the strong groan the man let loose and the wet blood that instantly coated Sam’s fingers. Maybe Bucky had tried to protect his head from the fall, but using his metal hand was only a little better than slamming into hard rock. “Okay, Bucky, it’s me, I need you to do something for me, I need you to open your eyes. I know you don’t like listening when I tell you what to do, but I’d appreciate the favor right now.”

Miraculously, Bucky obeyed. His eyelids dragged open, blinking every second, but it was something. There were those blue eyes, hazy and unfocused with confusion, flicking everywhere and anywhere and never quite landing on Sam’s face. It was enough for him to see Bucky’s pupils were the same size, at least.

“That’s great, good job, Bucky,” he praised. “Now, keep those open. Bucky, tell me your name, tell me your age, hell, say anything, man.”

Bucky sucked in a long, thin breath between his gritted teeth, “Whu?”

Sam beamed, “Good, man, good. Do you know where you are?”

“Sam? ‘S dark.”

“Yeah, not bad, Buck. Hang in there, I’m going to check the rest of you out, okay?”

Sam patted down the rest of Bucky’s form. He must have landed on his left side initially, perhaps on purpose, because his right side was largely spared from any major injury, maybe a little bruised from Bucky’s tumble down the slope. Sam picked out the shattered remains of his phone in the pocket of the jacket he had loaned to Bucky. The left side, however, was a different story. Aside from his left arm—thank God for the indestructible nature of vibranium—he was a mess. Sam’s heart sank as he palpated the left side of Bucky’s chest and flesh and bone gave way beneath his fingers, unnaturally crumpling on itself. Bucky’s neck craned backwards and he let out a pained wheeze at the touch. If broken ribs were their only problem, they would be lucky. Sam didn’t like what Bucky’s ragged breathing could mean; he hoped the man was just winded from the fall. He carefully eased up Bucky’s shirt. No severe bruising, at least not yet. Sam continued down Bucky’s leg. It wasn’t much better; his ankle was at an obviously wrong angle, both his shin and thigh crooked and broken in all the wrong places.

Sam sat back on his heels and was struck with how woefully unprepared he was to deal with injuries of this magnitude. He didn’t have a first aid kit of any kind, nothing to splint Bucky’s battered bones with, nothing to help him breathe. He wiped a hand down his face, cringed when he smeared his skin with some of Bucky’s blood.

Okay, one thing at a time. If he was fairly confident Bucky didn’t have a spinal injury, he should move him. Screw the rest of this place, they had to find a way out of here. And to move him, Sam would need to set his leg bones as best he could until they could be stabilized better.

“Bucky, can you feel both of your legs?” Sam rested a hand on Bucky’s crooked left ankle, already swollen and hot.

To say that Bucky had calmed wasn’t entirely accurate. The least injured parts of him writhed in agony, his head squirming from side to side and his arms clawing the earth. But he didn’t let out pained sounds as much, focused more on gritting his teeth and glaring at the distant ceiling. It was a good sign, then, that he could spare the energy to be mad at Sam. “What do you think, jackass?”

Sam smiled. “Okay, I’ve gotta set your leg. I’m sorry, man, this’ll hurt. Try not to kick the guy trying to help you with the other one.” He immediately sobered. Yes, Sam was trying to help him now, but it was Sam’s fault that Bucky was in this position in the first place. If he had reacted faster, if he had been stronger, if he had a better plan, if he’d made them leave—

Now wasn’t the time to dwell, Bucky needed him. Starting from his femur, Sam set Bucky’s leg with quick, decisive motions, grimacing at the pained shouts Bucky let out each time and the grinding of bone beneath skin. By the time Sam scooted to sit by Bucky’s head, he had turned pale and sweaty, his unfocused eyes staring at nothing in the cavern’s ceiling.

“You good?” Sam asked. He rested his hand on Bucky’s right shoulder and squeezed.

Bucky scowled, eyes drifting somewhere beyond Sam’s head, “What do you think?”

“That’s fair,” Sam sighed. “I hate to say this, but we need to get moving soon. Think you can handle it?”

The question was more of a formality, so Sam was surprised when Bucky tiredly shook his head. He had to take a moment to catch his breath before he explained, “It’s okay, Sam, leave me here.”

“Not an option, try again. The correct answer was ‘yes, Sam, whatever you say, Sam.’”

“Sam,” Bucky sighed. His breath caught in his chest and he coughed, face twisted in agony when it jarred his broken ribs. Sam’s heart stopped as he watched for a splash of blood along his lips, barely felt relief when they were clean. “’S okay. I don’t wanna slow you down.”

“I don’t care. We’re both getting out of here.”

“No serum,” Bucky remarked. “I’m only gonna get worse from here. I can’t walk. You gotta go.”

Sam didn’t like the way Bucky’s eyes were hazy, the way his blinks were getting longer and longer, his skin colder and colder. Sam patted his cheek and was rewarded with the faintest of hums. Something had to change.

“Sorry, Buck, I overrule you right now. Come on, we’re sitting you up.”

Bucky couldn’t resist as Sam hefted him upright as gently as possible, which wasn’t that gentle when considering the sheer number of injuries covering the man’s body. Bucky was gasping and groaning by the time Sam accomplished his task, leaned entirely against Sam’s side for support, head dipped low so he puffed hot breaths along Sam’s chest, intercut with involuntary grunts of pain. Sam let him sit there, arm wrapped around Bucky’s back, secured around the bicep of his metal arm.

“You’re alright, Buck,” insisted Sam. “Take a breather, that’s okay.”

“Leave me,” Bucky mumbled. “’S okay.”

“I’m not leaving you, Bucky. Stop asking me to.”

“’S my time, anyways.” Cheek pressed against Sam’s chest, Bucky’s voice was so muffled that Sam had to lean forward to catch his words. “111 years is a long time to be alive.”

Sam’s throat was dry. “I suppose so. Good thing you don’t look a day over 45.”

Bucky wheezed a laugh. “I feel it,” he sighed. “I feel it.”

Sam’s chest hurt. He was struck with the realization that surviving the fall wasn’t enough, that Bucky had only lived this long afterwards so Sam could come down and watch him die. Would it have been better if Bucky snapped his neck on impact? Was it better that Bucky could be held in his final moments?

Sam shook his head. Bucky wasn’t dying today, not for a long time. Bucky would die at a ripe old age surrounded by friends, not in this musty old mine because some psycho decided he could play God. Not with Sam’s friend, he couldn’t.

“Okay, Bucky, I know you’re tired.” Sam sat up straighter. Bucky groaned against him at the movement. “But I know you’ve got a little life left in you. What would your team do without you? They’re a bunch of idiots, Buck, useless without you. And Sarah, and the boys, they ask about you all the time. You gotta come back with me again some time and see them.” Sam’s throat was tight. He swallowed but it did little to keep his voice from cracking, “And what about me, Bucky? No one pisses me off like you do. That’s a position I don’t plan on taking applications for any time soon.”

Bucky chuckled and wheezed, but he didn’t respond. That was better than an outright refusal, Sam supposed.

“Alright, man, we gotta get moving. Think you can manage? How’re your lungs, do you think you punctured anything?”

“Guh.”

“Gonna need you to use your words, Bucky,” Sam shook him a little, as gently as possible, when the man’s head bobbed low then bounced up again. “Come on, work with me.”

“Don’t think so…maybe.”

“That’ll have to do, for now. How about your head? Feeling okay?” He held his fingers in a peace sign an inch from Bucky’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’d meant the gesture as a joke to lighten the mood, but his stomach dropped when Bucky shook his head. “’S dark in here, Sam.”

“Yeah…”

“Too dark.” Bucky shook his head and pressed it against Sam, groaned when he rattled his poor brain. “Can’t see you, sorry.”

Sam swallowed and tried to reason with himself. Bucky had hit the back of his head pretty hard, it made sense that his vision might be affected, but it could be temporary. He’d be fine when the serum—which he didn’t technically have at the moment—kicked back into action. And that was only if the deadly side effects of the “cure” didn’t catch up with him before then. Or the potentially punctured lung. Or any other miscellaneous injuries buried underneath the metric tons of hurt Bucky must be feeling. But Sam couldn’t spiral; Bucky needed him. “Don’t be sorry, man. Actually, you can be a little sorry. It was your dumbass who let go after I told you not to.”

Bucky chuckled, wheezed, sighed. “You’re okay?”

Sam’s shoulder twinged but he ignored it. That was nothing compared to their current problems. “I’m fine.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

Hell no. “Of course.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched, “Liar.”

“You got me there. Now, come on, we gotta get you out of here.”

Guilt festered beneath Sam’s skin at the sound that came from Bucky’s mouth when Sam pulled him to stand. His body was mush and would have instantly crumpled to the ground if Sam hadn’t been there to grab his shoulders and hold him steady. Bucky panted as he gathered his bearings; he had to be ridiculously disoriented with his body in this state. Sam gave him a minute, mumbling reassurances, wincing at the way Bucky’s breath caught on every inhale.

There was no good way to brace Bucky as they moved. There were bruises and broken bones and the sliced-open gunshot wound in his shoulder. Every time Sam adjusted his grip in search of anywhere untouched, Bucky sucked in a breath through his teeth. Eventually, Sam settled along Bucky’s left side. He hefted Bucky’s metal arm over his shoulders so he could keep the shattered leg from touching the ground and held Bucky around the waist without gripping his abused ribs. Slowly, inch by inch, they shuffled up the slope. Sam focused on keeping his steps as even as possible, calling out warnings whenever they encountered a particularly odd rock that might interrupt their rhythm. He fumbled a few times, his feet slipping on uneven terrain hidden by shadow, and Bucky grunted in pain. By the time they made it to the top of the slope and the bottom of the stairs Sam had sprinted down earlier, they were both exhausted. Sam helped Bucky sit on the third step with his left leg carefully outstretched before taking a seat next to him.

They had barely traversed fifty feet and they were this spent. Sam wiped a hand down his face and sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have his wings right now, it would make their escape so much easier. He hoped that his SOS message to Joaquin had made it out before his phone’s untimely demise; Sam didn’t have the time to deal with this shit, his only priority was getting Bucky to a hospital as soon as possible.

Leaned back against the steps with his eyes squeezed shut, Bucky’s pale skin was obvious even in the darkness. Sweat beaded along his brow, his jaw clenched, his shoulders shivered. It was impossible to tell where his problems were coming from: the bullet or the fall.

“Stop starin’,” Bucky mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Sam scoffed. “And how do you know I’m staring? You can’t even see right now.”

“You’re so easy to read, don’t even need eyes to do it.” His statement was punctuated by a deep coughing fit, harsh and wet like Bucky’s lungs were filled with water. Sam rubbed at his shoulder and prayed it would end before Bucky damaged his ribs any further. He watched as Bucky slumped with a crackling sigh, waiting to see any red. Nothing. “Fuck.”

Sam chuckled, “You can say that again. Take it easy, buddy, we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Hn.”

“They got what they wanted out of you, right? Maybe they won’t give us a hard time if we just walk out quietly.”

“Uh.”

“Wish I still had Redwing, though, he would make things easier.”

It was a testament to how bad Bucky felt that he didn’t make a single quip at the drone’s expense. “Shield? Wings?”

Sam shook his head even though Bucky couldn’t see, “Higgins still has them. If I had them I wouldn’t have…” I wouldn’t have let you fall.

Bucky grunted and pushed himself up with shaking hands. “Gotta get ‘em.”

“Um, no Buck, we don’t. We’ve talked about this, remember?”

“Not leaving them down here.”

“Well, tough, I’ve got different priorities right now.”

“Gotta stop ‘em, gotta get ‘em back.”

His words were slurred, his sweaty brow furrowed. Now that Sam knew he couldn’t see anything, the foggy haze over Bucky’s eyes made sense, but it didn’t make it any less disconcerting. He was straining to remain upright, but he was practically boneless and slumped to the side into Sam’s torso with a thick sigh.

“Bucky, you’re in no shape to stop these people. We tried, we failed, it happens. We’ll get help and they’ll handle it. I’m more concerned about you right now. Nothing else.”

Thankfully, Sam felt the other man nod against his chest and some of the tension in Sam’s shoulders subsided. Bucky was still stubborn, however, and wouldn’t know how to give up a fight even if he was blinded and broken. “Still need the shield, wings.”

Sam felt bad arguing when Bucky needed to preserve his strength. “How about this: they had some medical supplies up there. I wanna see if there’s anything that can help you. If I happen to find where they have my stuff, I’ll get them. That’s all I can promise.”

“We.”

Sam put his foot down. “Nope. Just me. You’re in no condition to sneak around. You will stay exactly where I leave you until I come back or you will face my wrath. Got it?”

Bucky stayed silent.

“Got it?”

“Fine,” Bucky finally rasped. “So demanding.”

Sam’s lips pulled into a strained smile. “Yeah, deal with it. Come on, we gotta move.”

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Julia the Tour Guide/Security Guard was gone when they summitted the stairs, only an oil slick smear of blood proving she had been there at all. Sam shook his head at the spot he left her in and hoped that she had only scampered off to lick her wounds rather than gather reinforcements. It might have been better that she was so sure Bucky died in the fall; maybe Higgins would lose interest in his newest experiment and with no serum to mess with, Sam would be left alone. A little naïve to think after he had refused her initial offer to leave, but Sam thought they could use a win.

Speaking of Bucky, as soon as they stepped out onto the flat expanse of rock at the top of the stairs, his legs gave out and sent him into a slow sprawl to the ground. Even without the serum, Bucky was a heavy guy and Sam had been struggling to support him with every step, so Sam could only try and slow Bucky’s descent, hopping to avoid crushing Bucky’s battered form.

Bucky’s neck strained against the pained yell he tried to swallow but still leaked out of his clenched jaw. He slumped against the cave’s wall, legs limp and chest bent forward like a puppet with his strings cut. He wheezed and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Whoa, you’re okay!” Sam caught himself from bracing on Bucky’s broken leg and crouched. He glanced behind him, at the long corridor that awaited them. It would be hard for Bucky to go any further, especially if they were still in danger. Not for the first time, Sam wished he had his wings to fly them both of them out of this place.

Sam set his hand on Bucky’s right shoulder, biting his lip at the other man’s flinch. “Take a second, deep breaths.” When Bucky obeyed, his breath caught in his throat and resulted in another ragged coughing fit.

Bucky surfaced with saliva on his lips, “Sam?” He blinked, focusing on nothing, his eyes sliding past Sam’s face without knowing he missed it.

“I’m right here, Buck, take it easy.”

“Gotta…” Bucky cleared his throat. “Gotta get…”

“I’m working on it, Bucky, have a little faith.”  

Bucky fell quiet. Sam watched the ragged rise and fall of his chest for a moment before looking over his shoulder, through the opening that led to the scaffolding Bucky had fallen from. He could see the meandering walkways and interconnected rooms of the facility in the distance. It had only been when they tried to leave that the people down here interfered, otherwise, this place was eerily devoid of life. Sam didn’t doubt that somehow, there were eyes on them, watching their every move. With a grimace in Bucky’s direction, he also didn’t doubt that it was by design on Higgins’ part, wanting to see every moment of his twisted experiment. Sam didn’t like that feeling of being trapped under someone else’s thumb, like nothing was secret.

They couldn’t stay put. Bucky was in a bad way and would only get worse. Before long, Higgins and his men would come for them, would try and return Bucky to their clutches and that cold room and metal table and zip him in a body bag when they were through. Sam would do everything he could to keep that from happening.

So, first: medical supplies to hold Bucky over until they got real help. Sam gave his friend a once over as he puffed quick breaths out from between clenched teeth. “Okay, Bucky, hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

Bucky’s right arm came up to grab at Sam, missing on the first try but landing on his forearm with the next. “Where?”

“I’m going to take a quick look around, Bucky, try and get some supplies.” After a pause, he added because he knew it would appeal more to Bucky, “To look for my gear, remember?”

With a grunt, Bucky strained to sit straighter, halted when his body disagreed. “’M coming.”

Sam pressed down on Bucky’s shoulders to hold him in place. It didn’t take much pressure to keep Bucky down, though he still squirmed to shake Sam loose. “Sorry, you’ll only slow me down. Hate to say it, Bucky, but you’re not in great shape.”

Bucky scowled, but the effect was lost when his line of sight landed several inches to the right of Sam’s shoulder. “Fuck you, ’m in incredible shape.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Sure. If you can get up without my help right now, you can come with.”

Stubborn jackass that he was, Bucky gave it his best shot. He wiggled around on the ground, wincing when every part he tried to move protested the effort. Finally, he slumped back against the wall, out of his wheezy breath. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder then stood. “Good choice. I’ll be back before you know it, buddy.” He hesitated only a moment longer before jogging down the tunnel. He hated leaving Bucky alone like that, hurt and defenseless, but he didn’t have any other choice. He would make this quick and be back to Bucky in no time, hopefully with something to help him.

The clearing of rock at the center of the cavern was eerily empty as he ran through, no snipers or guards or doctors stepping out to stop him on his quest. He slipped into the room they had been held in first, with the two body bags silent on their tables. He dove into the cabinets and pocketed as much gauze as he could then quickly left when there wasn’t much more in the way of things that could help. Grimly, he noted that the tools in here were more cut out for autopsies and cleaning up after them than any substantial medical care. He moved on.

Hand on his gun, he crept to the opposite side of the cavern, to the junction of several rooms they hadn’t investigated before things went to hell. There were four more in total, two of them stacked on top of each other with a winding staircase outside to connect them. He entered the one on the lower level, gun at the ready.

It was an office space, with several desks and computer monitors with their bouncing screen savers. One space was occupied in the back corner, a young man typing frantically with a phone cradled between his chin and shoulder. He abruptly stopped when Sam entered and raised his hands when Sam aimed his gun in his direction.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Sam said. “Where do you guys keep medical supplies?”

“We don’t.”

“Try again.”

“We don’t, I swear! Unless you count that, I guess.” The worker pointed to the wall by the door. A wimpy first aid kit hung there, above a fire extinguisher. At least OSHA would have one less thing to complain about with this place.

Sam ripped the kit from the wall and slammed it onto the closest desk, knocking over a cup of pens in the process. With his gun still pointed at the worker, Sam fumbled with the zipper and took in the contents. Nothing more than basics: tiny bandages, some painkillers, antihistamines. Sam pocketed the painkillers—without his serum, they would actually work on Bucky—but cursed and pushed the rest away.

“What about my stuff? The shield, the wing pack?”

The worker again shook his head, “I don’t know, I just do analytics, man.”

Well, it was worth trying. Sam half-heartedly shook the gun his way. “Don’t tell anyone I was in here.”

The man gulped and nodded. Sam left him to it. He didn’t have the time or resources to properly deal with him, he could only hope that the worker heeded his warning. He decided to take the man’s words at face value; Sam would find no supplies that would help Bucky other than what he had already scavenged. Despite what he had told Bucky, Sam had no interest in piddling around looking for his gear. Their discovery of this secret lab was only the beginning; more people would come as soon as Sam was in a place to tell them about it. Whoever ended up taking the lead on clean up could find the shield and wings for him. They weren’t worth stalling for Bucky’s life.

He ran back through the cavern and down the side tunnel. Bucky was in the same spot he left him but in a different position. He had slumped to the side, legs still outstretched and torso parallel with the ground. For one heart stopping moment, Sam thought he was dead. It was only when he got close enough to hear the tell-tale wheeze of Bucky’s breathing that he calmed down. Sam knelt at his side, frowning at how much worse he seemed when Sam couldn’t have been gone for more than ten minutes. Along with the awful scraping of every inhale and exhale, the shuddering of his chest and gaping of his mouth in an attempt to get more air, his skin had grown paler, his eyes more sunken. Bucky didn’t even flinch when Sam laid a light hand on Bucky’s forehead to feel his cold and clammy skin.

“Bucky,” he said. No response. “Bucky,” he tried again. Nothing. He tapped Bucky’s cheek. Still nothing. “Come on, Bucky, now isn’t the time for the silent treatment, I need something here.” If pressed, Sam could probably carry Bucky out of here, but it would be difficult and slow him down immensely. If there came a time where Sam needed to defend the both of them, they would be screwed. “Sorry, Buck, I need you with me.” Remorseful, he rubbed his knuckles along Bucky’s sternum. Finally, he was rewarded with a reaction, a jerking of Bucky’s shoulders and a sharp inhale as Bucky returned to life. Unfortunately, the sudden breath shocked Bucky’s system and sent him into another haggard coughing fit, one Sam tried to ease by helping Bucky sit upright again.

“Sorry, Bucky,” Sam repeated now that Bucky was conscious. As much as he hated the poignant misery etched into every inch of Bucky’s skin, it eased some of the tension in Sam’s chest to see Bucky awake and breathing and pissed.

“The fuck?” Bucky gasped.

“Stop sleeping on the job,” Sam rifled through his pockets and laid his haul out on Bucky’s lap.

“Next time, ’m letting us both fall,” said Bucky with no heat. He knew he was lying, so did Sam, but neither of them called attention to it.

“I got you some presents.” Sam shook out a few pills and instructed Bucky to open his mouth. “Some painkiller, extra strength, say ‘ahh.’”

Bucky didn’t say “ahh” but he did open his mouth and let Sam deposit the pills inside. Swallowed them dry without complaint. His eyes drifted somewhere in the distance as Sam had him lean forward and provide access to his shoulder wound, though Sam supposed that everything looked the same to Bucky right now. The slice along his flesh had finally scabbed over, the edges pink and irritated and ragged in the center where the initial entry wound had been. Just in case, Sam replaced the gauze there and left it alone for the most part.

His hands hovered uncertainly over Bucky’s leg. There was nothing more he could do about it, as much as Sam hated to admit. He had no way to splint it or brace it. He could only hope that they didn’t jar it too much on the way out. His hand brushed Bucky’s thigh. Even through the thick layer of his pants, the skin was hot and swollen to the touch.

Bucky hissed and flinched at the contact, starting a domino effect of more groaning and wriggling as it jarred his various hurts. Sam winced in sympathy, “Sorry, Bucky. I wish there was more I could do for you.”

Ever the realist, Bucky shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout it.”

“Yeah, I’m still going to worry about it,” snorted Sam. “But I get it, man, I’ll leave it alone. Think you’re up for moving again?”

Bucky’s head lolled to the side, pointed in the general direction of Sam though his eyes never landed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, then a cough. “You know, you could still find a nice hole to shove me in. You’d get out faster.”

“Nice try, Bucky. Not happening.” Several scenarios flashed through Sam’s head at Bucky’s words. Bucky, alone in an alcove, unseeing in darkness as his battered body finally gave up on him. Bucky, being dragged back by Higgins, getting sliced into whether he was alive or dead. Sam, making it to the surface, returning with reinforcements only to find Bucky cold and stiff where he’d left him. Not today, not any day.

Bucky grunted as he shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

They rose as one. Sam staggered under Bucky’s weight and readjusted his grip as best he could, mumbling apologies at the low whine that leaked from Bucky’s mouth. They shuffled down the corridor. Sam kept himself sane by setting a few solid goals. They would get to the end of this tunnel. They would make it through the cavern. They would meander their way back the way they came. They would take the elevator to the surface. They would drive Bucky to the hospital. But, shit, did they have a way of moving the elevator from the bottom of the shaft? Sam couldn’t remember seeing any controls at the bottom, but there had to be something, right? Would Bucky have the strength left to hobble down the hill to their car? Sam spared a glance to where Bucky was dragging himself along, stumbling and gasping with every step. Did Bucky even have the strength to make it out of the mine?

Maybe Bucky had the right idea—as much as Sam hated to admit it—in insisting that Sam get his wings back. Bucky was putting in a lot of effort to push himself and make it seem like he could keep doing so, but given how weak the other man already seemed, Sam knew that the true extent of Bucky’s hidden misery was so much worse. Maybe Sam could do one more quick pass for at least his wings, to speed their way through the tunnels. One more pass, then they could go.

They reached the end of the tunnel and paused against the wall but didn’t sit. Sam was panting from lugging Bucky’s weight, his shoulder throbbing, but Bucky breathed like he had sprinted a marathon. Every inhale sounded like agony, ending on a whistle before he quickly exhaled and worked for the next breath.

“Bucky,” Sam sighed and slowly lowered him to the ground, propped against the wall. Bucky’s eyes came close to meeting his, half-lidded and hazy where they landed around Sam’s neck. “Take a break, okay? Try and breathe, nice and easy. I’ll be right back.”

Bucky’s face scrunched with agony. Gasping, he didn’t muster a response, just jerkily nodded once to show he understood Sam’s words. Sam squeezed him once on the shoulder then retreated, glancing back every few steps. This was the right thing, they needed more than they had to get out of here alive. Bucky would be fine.

Sam made his way back to the cluster of structures in the far corner, ascended the metal stairs to the second-story room, opened the door to a gun in his face. Dr. Higgins smiled at him, “Captain Wilson, care for a chat?”

Sam raised his arms in surrender, “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.” He stepped inside, guided by the twitching of the gun to show him where to go. Sam walked backwards until his knees hit a chair and he was forced to sit. He focused on the gun aimed at his face, but he made a quick check of the room from his periphery. A laboratory of some kind, black countertops with various pipettes and containers and mountains of gloves. A wall of glassware, a cabinet labeled for hazardous materials. A woman at the counter in the back of the room, typing at a computer attached to an expensive looking analyzer. She didn’t spare Sam a glance.

Beyond the gun, Sam noticed a couple more things. Namely, his shield laid out on the counter behind Higgins. The recognizable straps of Sam’s wing pack slung over Higgins’ shoulders, his goggles around his head. Sam was never more grateful for the marvels of Wakandan engineering that enabled only his biometrics to operate the suit.

“Captain, I would hate for you to meet an unfortunate end. I must say, I’ve always been a fan of the work you do.”

Sam raised a brow, “Really? I didn’t get that impression.”

Higgins shrugged, “Extenuating circumstances.”

“And is that what all of this is, a result of extenuating circumstances?”

“Isn’t that the way everything works in our world?” Higgins leaned back against the counter, by the shield. The gun didn’t lower, but he held it in a loose, casual grip that was more akin to a cigarette than a weapon. “People are constantly pushed to extremes and must react accordingly. I’m sure you understand this more than most.”

Sam did. He thought of Ultron, Zemo, Thanos, Karli, Ross, and many more. Hell, he thought of Bucky and his team. The status quo they lived under would have been unimaginable just a couple of decades ago, yet it was the nature of the world now. “Then, what’s your extreme?”

Higgins’ grip tightened and the gun became a gun again. “I am a man of science, Captain. It is my duty and my purpose to constantly question the world around me, to seek ways to better it. We’re alike in this way, two men wanting to save everyone we can.”

We have different ideas of saving people, Sam thought but bit his tongue. Having a gun to his head wasn’t the best time to engage in honest conversation.

“So many problems would be solved if the people who are enhanced, willingly or not, who continuously wreck our planet and its people over and over again, could be neutralized. A way to even the playing field, so to speak.”

“You want to cure them, that’s what this is.”

“Yes. Whether they are enhanced by nature of their birth or by manmade intervention, I’ve long sought a way to prevent them from causing more damage.”

Sam recalled the body bags, the torn-apart beds smeared with blood, the weary pallor of Bucky’s face. “It hasn’t been successful, so far.”

“Any amount of progress is a success, that is the nature of science,” Higgins said simply. “I have a prototype, it just has yet to be refined. People wouldn’t be so willing to take it if it leads to their deaths. I’m not so cruel to suggest they outright die and do the world a favor.”

“How generous,” Sam said in a flat voice. “And what about the people you’ve tested on here?”

“Sacrifice is necessary. Most of them had nowhere else to go, no way out of situations they had put themselves in. Some truly were enhanced and desperate for normalcy, others lied with the hopes that I would be able to give them something else. To all of them, I gave an opportunity.”

“You manipulated them, you prayed on vulnerable people.”

“I gave them purpose. With those that didn’t survive inoculation, they taught us where our faults lie. And from those that survived the process, we learned even more.”

“So, what? They were happy with what you put them through? Had them sign an NDA and sent them on their merry way?”

Fingers twitched on the trigger. “We couldn’t afford disruption. They were properly taken care of.”

Sam had no doubt as to what that meant. Over two hundred people, gone to feed this man’s insanity. What did their families think? How could so many go missing without a single person caring? Hell, Sam had come here not to investigate that but because the government was more concerned about potential weapons. Who’s to say that they didn’t approve of what Higgins was doing here?

“I get that you want to do good, Doctor, but this isn’t the way to do that. Science has its own code of ethics, you’re a smart man, I’m sure you know that.”

“Exceptions can be made in dire times,” the man’s eyes were ice cold. “Progress has never been made because people didn’t take risks.”

“That never makes it right.” Outrage simmered beneath Sam’s skin. Sam could think of dozens of examples of people thinking exactly like Higgins did, that advancement for the sake of humanity justified taking advantage of people they viewed as expendable.

Higgins chuckled and shook his head, “I didn’t bring you here to debate ethics, Captain, I wanted to reason with you. Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes. Truthfully, I don’t want to kill you. My other subjects, their deaths are easy enough to ignore, but Captain America’s wouldn’t be. It would be a pain to have to relocate after all the effort I’ve put into this facility. I’m willing to let you go, save us both some trouble, so long as you keep quiet.”

“And Bucky?”

His lips pulled into a thin line, “Mr. Barnes would have to remain here.”

“Like hell I’m leaving him with you. Do you know who he is? You don’t think you could cover up my death? Then you definitely couldn’t cover up his.”

“I know very well who he is,” Higgins assured him. “It is because I know who he is that I know he wouldn’t be so dearly missed.”

That was bullshit. Sam would miss him, an entire team of Avengers would miss him. “I think you underestimate Bucky’s importance.”

Higgins smirked, “I think you overestimate it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “Say I take this deal of yours and walk out of here, what’s stopping me from bringing back the cavalry? I’ve seen what you’re doing, where you are, you should know that’s something I can’t let go of so easily.”

“Maybe you would like to discuss it with Sarah,” Higgins looked entirely too pleased with himself as Sam’s blood ran cold. “She seems like such an understanding person, such a doting mother. And, I would like you to know, Captain, you and your friend are only here because I wanted you to be. I urge you to think carefully.”

“Fuck you!” he spat out. “Leave my family out of this!”

He shrugged, “That’s your decision, Captain.”

No matter how much leverage this man had, Sam would never take a deal like that, especially not when it meant he would leave Bucky to die. But if he stayed here, he would die as well, and that wouldn’t do. His eyes darted around the room. His arms weren’t bound and he doubted the doctor was a trained fighter like Sam was. Even if he couldn’t get his own gun out in time, if he acted quickly enough, he might be able to get out of the gun’s line of fire, get to his shield, wrestle away his wings when he had the chance.

Sam didn’t take a deep breath or prepare, he merely acted. He snapped up his hands, pointing the gun at the ceiling as Higgins instinctively fired it. He lurched from his seat, kneeing the doctor in the stomach and twisting his wrist with a crack so his grip loosened and Sam could rip the gun away. He had forgotten about the woman at the opposite side of the room until a flask shattered against the side of his head. She had another at the ready but dropped it with a scream when Sam shot her thigh and sent her to the floor. Higgins kicked Sam’s legs out while he was distracted, scrambling back and out the door. Sam chased after him, grabbing his shield on the way out.

The metal of the stairs rang as Higgins raced down them, Sam hot on his heels. Sam tackled him before he could get far and they wrestled on the hard rock. Higgins thrashed and threw a few punches but Sam wasn’t fazed, upper cutting the doctor in the chin so the other man’s jaw snapped shut, clipping his tongue so he spat blood. Sam pulled at the straps around Higgins shoulders, scrabbling desperately to get the pack free.

“Give it up, man!” growled Sam. His fist caught Higgins in the face twice more, but the man didn’t give in.

“Jones!” he screamed. “Get over here!”

Sam whipped his head up to survey his surroundings and froze. So preoccupied with chasing the doctor down, Sam hadn’t bothered looking around the cavern when he raced down the stairs. Halfway to the tunnel Sam had left Bucky in, there was a guard dragging a lump along the ground. He stopped about twenty feet away from Higgins and Sam’s tussle, let go of whatever he was dragging. Bucky groaned as he was ungracefully dropped to the ground, blinking up in confusion, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself, twitching but never committing to moving. The guard above him aimed a gun at his oblivious head. Sam stopped struggling with Higgins.

Higgins grinned up with bloodied teeth, “Ah, Captain, it seems we have each other in a bind.”

“You wouldn’t kill him,” Sam tried to convince himself. “You said it yourself, you need him for your experiments.”

“His time is almost up anyways,” shrugged Higgins. “I’m not above putting a wounded animal out its misery.” For lack of anything else to do, Sam pointed his gun to Higgins’ head, who only laughed and laughed. “Captain, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He didn’t. Life or death, Sam still couldn’t bring himself to shoot this man pointblank in the head, especially when he was already down. But he didn’t have anything else to bluff with. Bucky was too far away. Sam wouldn’t get to him before a bullet, couldn’t throw his shield at the man above him before he would already be dead. They were at a true standstill.

“Go on, Captain!” Higgins urged, leaning into the barrel of the gun. He knew Sam couldn’t do it, he relished the advantage he could lord over Captain America. “Your friend is going to die, there’s nothing you can do about it, but wouldn’t it be worth it if his death had meaning?”

“Bucky’s not going to die,” Sam shook Higgins by the collar. “Let him go!”

Higgins rolled his head around and chuckled to himself. Sam looked over at Bucky, where he lay gasping for breath. He still couldn’t see, Sam could tell from the haze over his eyes, but he somehow seemed to be looking right at Sam. He heaved a couple more breaths, coughed, then reached out and patted along the ground. The guard didn’t care; with Bucky clearly incapacitated, he looked towards his boss for the final order. Bucky’s left hand crawled up to the man’s ankle, tapped it twice, then gripped it and yanked. The guard was completely thrown off balance and fell to the ground. Sam took the opportunity and abandoned Higgins to sprint in Bucky’s direction. The guard was stunned but still had enough awareness to growl and kick his leg at Bucky, hard into the chest. The hand around his ankle released, Bucky curled around himself with a howl. The guard raised his gun—

Sam threw his shield into the man’s wrist so it cracked and the gun went flying out of reach. He caught the rebound as he made it to the downed guard’s side and slammed the shield into his face, knocking him out cold. Sam dropped his shield to the ground with a clang and fell to Bucky’s side, who was gasping for air worse than before and keening with a high wheeze, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. He flinched when Sam grabbed his shoulders to lay him on his back.

“Bucky, it’s me, you’re okay.” He cursed under his breath, hands hovering over Bucky’s writhing body. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to fix this, he didn’t know how to make this better, he didn’t know if he could make this better. He was helpless to do anything but watch as Bucky craned his head back as far as it could go, as his hands clawed at his chest in search of some sort of relief from the agony. The worst part was the sounds coming from Bucky’s mouth, the drawn-out wheezes and rattling of something wrong deep within his chest. “Try to calm down, take deep breaths.”

Bucky tried to obey, he really did, but his lungs must have been shredded. Any deep breath caught somewhere in his lungs and gurgled, making him cough and wheeze and choke over and over again. Sam could only lay his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he was caught in the throws of misery, whispering that he was here, that Bucky would be okay, that they were going to get out, just hold on.

The rate of his ragged breaths slowed down even if their sounds remained the same. Sam didn’t want to leave his side, but they had to get going. He stood and returned to Higgins. The doctor was no longer smiling. He looked up at Sam with wide eyes, “Please, leave his body here. It is the least he could do, for humanity.”

“Like hell,” snarled Sam. “Bucky deserves better than this shithole.”

Before the doctor could argue, Sam reeled back and knocked him in the skull with the shield. He was out like a light. Sam wrangled the wing pack off his limp form and settled it over his own shoulders. He ripped the goggles from the man's head and fastened them in place. He snapped the shield into its spot on his back. Finally, they could leave this place.

Bucky was quiet when Sam made his way back. He curled on his right side, staring at nothing, his body too drained to do little more than gasp for air. He blinked at the sound of Sam’s footsteps, closed his eyes when Sam pushed back his hair.

“Hey, Buck, we’re getting out of here. I need you to do one last thing for me, I need you to hold on. Can you do that?”

Bucky nodded. Sam didn’t believe him. It was like lugging bricks to get Bucky upright again; all of his strength had left, even his good leg collapsing under his weight. Sam held him up under his own power, under the arms to avoid as much of the damage as possible. He felt Bucky’s metal hand grip the strap of the wing pack, but even that was weak. If Sam had his full suit, he would have been equipped with numerous support systems meant for this exact purpose. With just his wings, all Sam had was the strength of a regular man and sheer willpower. To get Bucky out of here, Sam told himself it was more than enough.

“This is gonna hurt, Bucky, I’m sorry, but I gotta do it. Stay with me, okay?”

He felt Bucky nod, a warm puff of his breath against his neck. Since he couldn’t trust Bucky to hold onto his back, he hefted Bucky into his arms, held him as tight as he could manage, whispering an apology at the groan Bucky let out. Sam took a deep breath, steadied his grip, opened his wings, and took to the air.

Earlier, he hadn’t been lying when he said using his wings in this terrain wasn’t feasible. The tunnels of the mines were narrow and Sam’s full wingspan didn’t fit everywhere, grinding and screeching when he drifted too close. If this weren’t an emergency, he would never risk flying in here; the likelihood of hitting a turn wrong and crashing was too great. But he didn’t have a choice anymore, not with Bucky’s thin breaths growing sparser, his forehead colder where it pressed against Sam’s neck.

He recognized the path they had trekked as they zoomed along: the abandoned tracks, the rotten chunks of wood, the rusted metal. They took the turns they had made hours ago in reverse and at more than double the pace. They made it to the start of their journey, to the elevator sitting quiet at the bottom of the mine and Sam abruptly shot upwards.

The flight up the shaft was the longest of Sam’s life. His wings clipped the walls of rock with every errant sway but he pressed onward. He would either make it to the top or die trying. Bucky was a dead, heavy weight in his arms that he refused to let go.

They soared into the chill night air, the world opening up in an expanse of a darkness a million times brighter than the depths of the mine. Sam had missed the textures of the surface: the stars twinkling above when they weren’t obscured by misty clouds, the distant purple slopes of hills and mountains weaving into one another over and over and over, the quiet shadows of the city below with lamps glowing behind drawn curtains. This was the darkness of life and peace, not the oppressive one that had shrouded them for the last few hours.

As much as he hated to admit it, Sam couldn’t fly them to safety. Bucky’s weight was too heavy and Sam felt his shoulder protesting, his muscles burning and shaking and threatening to release. He set them down in the sparse grass, retracting his wings as he let his arms fall limp. Understandably, the other man didn’t have the strength to stand on his own. Sam steadied him as best he could before Bucky crumpled and gently led him to sit, his broken leg outstretched and his torso slumped against Sam.

“Bucky, we did it, we’re out,” Sam assured him with an arm around his back. “We’ll take a breather then we’re getting you to the hospital, okay?”

Bucky’s breath was warm and quick against Sam’s neck, each inhale marked with a deep wheeze and each exhale forcing his body to tremble. He sounded like there was a fist clenched around his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter with each moment that passed. He did not speak.

Gently, Sam shook him, “Bucky? You hear me?”

His heart did not beat until Bucky licked his lips and rasped out, “’S the sun?” They were the first words he had spoken in a long time.

“What?”

“’S the sun there?”

Sam’s throat worked at the reminder that Bucky still couldn’t see. He wondered if Bucky still felt like he was trapped in that mine. It had been the last thing he had seen before he could see no more. The darkness he felt now was the same as down there. The thought curdled Sam’s stomach. “Yeah,” he lied. “The sun’s here.”

“Sunrise?”

“Yeah, Buck, it’s sunrise.”

It wasn’t. They had only been underground for a few hours after descending in the evening; it couldn’t be later than two or three in the morning. The sun would not appear for several more hours. But, Bucky didn’t need to know that.

Sam knew that he made the right choice in lying when Bucky’s pinched face broke into a grin. He craned his face up slightly, blue eyes unseeing, as if he was basking in a warmth that wasn’t there. “Got your sunrise.”

“Yeah?”

“From…” he grunted and tried to cough, wet and painful enough to double him over. Sam held him through the fit, listened to him gasp and heave when it was over. When Bucky looked up again, there was a thin line of dark drool along the corner of his mouth. “Your to-do list. Sunrise.”

“That’s right.”

“Sorry…didn’t do the others.”

“We still have plenty of time for that, man. Don’t talk, Bucky, save your strength. We gotta get going.”

He made to rise but was stopped by Bucky’s featherlight grip on his forearm. He had none of his usual strength yet Sam was frozen anyways. Bucky wheezed into Sam’s bicep, “No, stay.”

“I’m serious, Bucky, we need to go. Come on, don’t tell me you’re giving up now. We were gonna go river rafting, remember? And you drank all those beers on my tab, you have to pay them off somehow.”

“Thought they were…free.”

“That only applies when I’m not pissed at you. Come on, get up.”

“Sam,” Bucky’s voice caught on the jagged corner of an inhale, stuck in his chest for a horrifying moment where he trembled from his inability to draw a breath. Finally, enough air sucked in for him to slouch from the effort. His eyes were wide and hazy. “Please. Just…sit with me.”

Reality slammed into Sam and stole his own breath away. If he were to drag Bucky up, with his broken bones and punctured lung and unseeing gaze, they would slouch down the hill to their car. Sam would strap him inside and mumble reassurances and drive them to the nearest hospital. Then Sam would hand him off to a bunch of strangers in white coats and hope there was anything they could do. Maybe Bucky would survive the car ride, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d end up dying in a hospital being poked and prodded while people with good intentions tried to put him back together again, Bucky with none of his usual strength and not even capable of seeing what was being done to him.

Bucky had already lived for so long at the mercy of others. He had lived when he should had died, over and over and over again. He had spent most of his life trapped in a fate worse than death with no way out. And since then, Bucky had chosen to keep moving every single time. He had lived and fought and clawed his way towards redemption and survival. But every battle had an end. There was only so much one could give before there was nothing left. More than anything, Sam wanted to watch the sunrise with Bucky. He wanted to face the next day, and the next, and the next. But was it cruel of him to ask that? When did his hope and persistence become complicit in Bucky’s torment?

He loved and respected his friend. And so, he should respect his choice.

Sam swallowed. “Okay, Bucky. We can sit for a while.”

Bucky slumped entirely into Sam’s side, boneless. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip around Bucky, still careful not to jar his fragile bones. “Yeah, man, any time.” Sam only afforded himself a moment of quiet sorrow, at least for the time being. He let that familiar grief swirl in his heart, let it dig its clawed fingers into everything it touched, let the instinctive tears escape down his cheeks. Then, he forced it all away. He stared down at Bucky, looked at the way his dark hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, at the way his shining eyes focused on nothing in the distance, at the way his lips pulled into a grimace. He compared it to how Bucky had looked earlier in the night, with his glare and grin and healthy pallor as they bickered back and forth. If this was the last time Sam saw Bucky alive, he wanted to remember every single detail. “I was thinking, after all of this, we should go on a real vacation.”

Bucky grinned, mouth gaping as he struggled to breathe. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, no missions, no evil plots, just you, me, and the open road.”

“We’ll drive?”

“Absolutely! I’m talking at least a month, the greatest road trip you’ll ever experience.”

“Where?”

“I’m in a generous mood, how about you pick?”

Bucky knitted his brow together and squeezed his eyes shut. His left hand came up to claw at his chest as he took in short pants, sounding like he was slurping air through a bubbly straw. “You…pick.” He wheezed.

Sam rubbed his hand up and down Bucky’s back. He hoped the motion was grounding, that with it Bucky could tell that Sam was right there with him and he wasn’t going anywhere. “That’s alright, we don’t have to decide just yet. I’m thinking we could go coast-to-coast, start in New York then head south. We could swing by Delacroix, spend some time at home. The boys ask about you all the time, and Sarah.”

“Sounds nice.” His head was dipped low enough that his hair covered his face. Sam couldn’t see him anymore.

“And we’ll just keep going and going until we’re sick of each other,” Sam’s mouth quivered.

“And the team? And Torres?”

“What about them?”

“We’ll be gone so long…”

“They’ll be fine, Buck. They might miss you, but they’ll be okay. And Joaquin would miss your grumpiness, but he’d be okay too.”

“And you?”

They weren’t talking about their hypothetical trip anymore. “It’ll be hard,” Sam admitted with a voice that cracked. “I think I need you around more than you know, Buck, but I’ll survive. I’ll get through it. I’ll take care of everyone, I promise, and me.”

“Good…” Bucky slurred and gurgled. “That’s good.”

Bucky fell quiet, the only indication he was still alive the choppy ins and outs of his breathing.

In, out.

In and out.

In… and… out…

Then the dark clouds of heaven split open with a mighty roar.

Chapter Text

Brightness found them like a spotlight on a stage and Sam’s first thought was that he had been raptured, or abducted by aliens, or a nuclear bomb had gone off nearby. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes, blinking as the light shifted and stretched shadows along the grass. From behind the light, he could make out a dark shape, a giant mass roaring in the sky and slipping closer to the earth with a bone-shaking hum. The gaze of the light lowered until Sam didn’t have to protect his face against its glow. The shape settled in the flat expanse of grass before him and in the silhouette of its own lights, Sam recognized the sleek lines of a jet. Not just a jet, but the jet.

The ramp lowered and hope swelled in Sam’s bruised heart at the sight of Joaquin jogging out, sporting his Falcon gear and waving frantically when he spotted them sitting in the grass. “Sam! I got your message! Are you alright? You didn’t explain anything!” Sam looked up at his charge like he was an angel sent to rescue them, silent with disbelief as he approached. Joaquin’s steps stuttered to a stop when he got close enough to get a good glimpse at them. “Whoa, is he…”

Sam glanced down at Bucky, his face somehow paler in the lights of the jet. If not for the feeling of his rattling breaths against his side, Sam would have thought for sure he was dead. “He needs help. Now.”

Joaquin didn’t joke, just nodded. “Okay. I brought back up, anyways. They can help take care of whatever you think needs taken care of while you take care of him.”

“Back up?” Sam squinted into the light as more shapes piled down the ramp, the chatter giving away their identities before they got close. Of course Bucky’s team would come at the first sign of trouble for their leader.

Joaquin smiled, though it was dim. “Yeah, you didn’t respond when I tried to figure out what was going. I figured I needed all the help I could get.”

“Good call.” Sam was drained. He had little capacity for anything except the gnawing concern that churned his stomach, but he smiled back.

He could make out the exact moment the New Avengers saw their condition. The casual banter transitioned into shocked cries and racing footsteps. Yelena was the first to make it to Sam and Bucky’s side and crouched, her hand coming up to tap at Bucky’s cheek as she frowned. “Hey, didn’t I tell you to call us if you needed us?” When there was no response, her frown deepened and she tapped harder, “Hey, Bucky.” There was still no response. Her fingers meandered to his neck, pressed against his carotid for a few moments before she let out a relieved sigh. Her frown pivoted to Sam, “What the hell happened, Wilson?”

His breath caught in his throat in the face of her concerned anger. “He needs help, now. Do you guys have a stretcher?”

Yelena glanced over her shoulder and nodded to Ava, who warped out of existence on the way to the jet, appeared a few moments later with a long stretcher in hand and laid it out on the ground before them. Alexei and John came closer, faces severe as they positioned themselves at the ready in case Sam needed help.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said even though he wasn’t sure Bucky could hear him anymore. “We’re getting you out of here, okay? Just bear with me.”

A wheeze was his only reply. Sam shifted away from Bucky’s side, Yelena instinctively taking the weight of Bucky’s torso while Sam situated himself at Bucky’s feet. He hated himself for it, but he got ready to grab both of Bucky’s legs to move him, bracing himself while Yelena got into a better position by Bucky’s shoulders. Alexei bent down to help, so she took Bucky’s right side and he took control of Bucky’s left. On Sam’s mark, they lifted Bucky to deposit him on the stretcher. Cruelly, Sam was happy to hear the pained groan Bucky let loose when Sam wrapped his hand around his mangled leg to move him.

“Good job, Buck,” Sam praised as he moved up and down Bucky’s body, buckling the straps that would keep him secured to the board. “We’re almost out of here, okay? Your annoying team showed up to save the day.”

“Hey,” Ava protested somewhere above him, but it lacked any real bite. It wasn’t hard to see the dire straits Bucky was in.

Sam finally turned his focus away from Bucky to regard the loose ring of people around him, all with matching grave expressions. “There’s a lab in the mine. If you go all the way to the bottom of the shaft, keep going, then turn left, you’ll find it. We fought some guards down there, but I don’t know how many people there are that can still fight back so be careful.” He swallowed. “They’re experimenting with a so-called cure for the super soldier serum.” The vocal outrage was expected. Sam held up a hand to stop it. “It’s temporary, according to them, but it can be deadly. I don’t know how exactly it affects normal people, but all of you should avoid getting shot. It’s no joke.”

John gestured to Bucky, “That what happened to him?”

Sam grimaced, “Among other things.”

“We’ll handle it, Wilson,” Yelena said. She squeezed her hand on Bucky’s right shoulder. “You take care of him.”

Joaquin leaned down by the head of Bucky’s stretcher, “I’ll help you—”

“No, you stay with the others, run point. Make sure these guys get taken into custody by the right people. The tunnels are narrow but if you absolutely have to, you can fly out.” Sam looked up at John. “You can stay and help me.”

If John was upset at being kept out of the action or incredulous as to why Sam would want him in particular, he kept his reservations to himself and nodded. After a moment of hesitation, Joaquin nodded as well. Sam knew he wasn’t a kid, he’d seen his fair share of combat and all the things that came with it, so he knew Joaquin was more than capable of managing things here. Still, there was a small part of Sam that remembered the awful feeling of watching Joaquin get shot out of the sky, of watching him in the operating room and not knowing if he would live or die. Seeing Bucky now, though Sam was filled with a newfound hope at the arrival of assistance, he irrationally wanted to spare Joaquin the experience of seeing Bucky die despite his efforts in coming to save them.

John crouched by Bucky’s head, Sam at his feet, and they lifted the stretcher into the air as one. Sam hesitated before they carted him off. “If you find any of the cure they’ve made down there, destroy it.”

He got nods in return. The team was solemn as he and John carried Bucky away, lingering with squeezes on his shoulder and whispering words of farewell. They weren’t stupid, as much as Sam liked to make fun of them. Even if they had come soon enough to give Bucky a fighting chance, there was a very real possibility that this would be the last time they saw him alive.

Sam and John hustled into the jet. The others only dispersed in the direction of the mine’s entrance as the ramp began to close. John jogged to the front to get them going, radioing ahead to the hospital and keying in its location for the computer to guide them. Sam unbuckled Bucky to get better access to his wounds. His heart seized in his chest when he pulled away the edge of Bucky’s borrowed jacket, lifted his shirt, and found almost his entire left side to be a large, black bruise. Sam palpated the flesh over his ribs and cringed at the way his skin crunched under his touch.

John made his way back after a quick detour, a large first aid kit in hand that he promptly deposited beside Sam. The engines whirred around them and the jet jerked as it took off into the sky. “We’re only a few minutes out, hospital knows we’re coming. Gave us permission to use their helipad.”

Sam nodded, barely registered his words as he opened the kit and rifled through the materials. He was glad to see that it had been revamped with better contents since the last time he’d seen it. What could he even do though? So many of Bucky’s problems were internal and Sam had no idea where to begin. He was one gigantic wound, a cascade of problems far beyond Sam's abilities. Sam feared being the final tipping point, feared doing the one thing that might make Bucky crumble into dust.

John hissed, “Sam, look at his neck.”

Sam did and cursed when he saw the way that Bucky’s trachea seemed to have shifted to the right, his breaths faint wheezes from between blue lips. That gave him a direction to head in. He grabbed the disinfectant and needle he would need from the kit. John cut away the front of Bucky’s shirt, held him still at the shoulders while Sam palpated down the left side of his chest and cleaned when he found the correct space. He took a deep breath in; it had many years since he had done this, but it had to be like riding a bike, right?

“Okay, Bucky, hang in there,” he announced. He popped the cap off the needle, steeled himself, and pushed it between his ribs. He let out a relieved sigh in time with the hiss of air that escaped, with the strangled gasp that came through Bucky’s lips, nothing near normal but much better than the awful rattle he’d been letting loose for so long. Wordlessly, John fished out the tape from the kit and helped Sam secure the needle in place. “That’s it, Buck, you’re good.”

The flight wasn’t long and they landed after only a couple of minutes in the air. John and Sam lifted the stretcher as soon as they touched down, walking swiftly down the ramp to where a small team waited with a proper gurney they could set Bucky on. Sam rattled off all they knew as the medical personnel assessed Bucky and took him inside: tension pneumothorax, concussion with vision loss, broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, left leg broken in several places. A nurse nodded along as they rushed through the hospital and hung back for a second as Bucky was taken behind closed doors, a hand held up to keep Sam in place.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t come any further. We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information.” She raced through the doors before Sam could even attempt to argue. He stared after them for a long time as if he could somehow break through with thoughts alone. John’s hand on his shoulder jolted him from his stupor.

“Come on, Sam, you look like you should sit down.”

Sam didn’t have the words to argue so he let himself be guided to a small waiting area into a squeaky plastic chair. This late at night—or early in the morning—they were the only people here. It was surreal. Not even an hour ago, he was thousands of feet deep into the earth with little hope of getting out and now he was in the pristine hospital, the faces of attractive doctors staring up at him from the magazines on the table.

He didn’t notice that John had vanished until he returned and pressed a paper cup of water into his bloodied hand. “Sorry, they didn’t have any coffee.”

“Thanks, Walker,” came out from between numb lips. He took a sip. He blinked and the cup was empty. John took it away from him, tossed it easily into a trash can in the opposite corner of the room, and replaced it with another that was already full.

“Figured you’re thirsty.”

He murmured more thanks and drained that one too, and the third one he was given. When he was finished, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared down at his dirtied, bloodied fingers. His mind, his body, his fingers were numb. He had spent enough time running around that now he was still, with nothing else to think of except Bucky behind closed doors, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His body still thrummed with adrenaline that, with no outlet, settled around his heart in painful grip.

“Sam, what happened down there?”

John’s question gave him something to focus on, so Sam ran through the events of the night with him in the cadence of a mission debrief. He told John about the tunnels, the masked figure who shot Bucky, finding the cavern. He talked about exploring the rooms, getting caught, realizing that something was terribly wrong with Bucky, trying to leave only for Bucky to fall nearly to his death. About his miraculous survival, the helplessness of being trapped, finally managing to fight their way out and escape, only for Bucky to worsen faster than before.

“Sam, you need to breathe.”

He let out a shaky exhale and gulped for air, head in his hands. He didn’t tell John how close Bucky was to dying, how close he still was, how Sam had just about let it happen. He didn’t think he had to tell John any of that. From the grim line his mouth had fallen into, Sam bet he saw most of it clear as day.

“Bucky’s going to be fine, Sam, he’s too stubborn to die like this.”

Sam shook his head, still in his hands. “You didn’t see him down there, didn’t hear him down there. He was… he was ready to go.” His lungs trembled as he inhaled. “And I almost let him.”

“You didn’t want your friend to suffer, you can’t blame yourself for that. What’s done is done. It happened, move on, Bucky will tell you the same when he wakes up.” John clapped his hand on Sam’s shoulder, brow furrowing when he winced. “You good?”

“Yeah, I dislocated it when…” When Bucky fell.

“Let’s start there, then.” John stood up and extended his hand for Sam to take, rolled his eyes when Sam hesitated. “Come on, man, work with me here, I’m trying to be helpful. Do you know how hard this is for me?”

Sam snorted and took his hand, “Very.”

They meandered down the hall to the sleepy emergency department with only a couple of other people in the waiting room. A kind nurse quickly took them back and got Sam situated on the edge of a bed, had the doctor check that everything was in the right place before getting him set up with a sling and some painkillers. Sam chuckled to himself at the irony of John standing in the corner, holding onto Sam’s wings and shield and handing them back with ease when Sam was finished. They went back to their isolated waiting room and sprawled over the chairs. The only sound was when John crept into the corner and spoke quietly into his earpiece, getting updates from the team. Sam knew they were asking about Bucky because at the end of every conversation, John whispered, “Nothing yet.”

Despite his exhaustion, Sam couldn’t commit to sleep, his mind merely drifting in a daze as he sat staring at the same eggshell wall. The sun climbed into the sky through the blinds—for real, this time—and cast long shadows from the coffee table and plant in the corner. It really was beautiful, the way it steadily soared over the hills and cast the town in an orange glow. He thought Bucky would have appreciated it, if he could have seen it. Maybe some other time.

John disappeared for a bit and returned with a prepackaged sandwich and a Gatorade he shoved into Sam’s hands. He didn’t move until Sam had finished it all despite the way his stomach churned unhappily. John threw the trash away with perfect aim, made a half-hearted joke that Sam didn't hear. He wandered away when Sam returned to staring out the window in silence.

The sun continued its ascent. Sam watched the city come to life outside. Cars rumbled down the street, an ambulance arrived with its lights spinning but its sirens silent. There were a few houses across the road. Sam watched as a mother and young daughter stepped outside with a leashed husky and set off on a walk. A normal day.

John went away for one of his hushed conversations and returned when the sun was nearly at its peak. “Team’s wrapping up at the mine. Torres called in help for extracting the people they found down there. Some injuries on their part, but no casualties. All the research material’s been confiscated for investigation. Out of our hands now.”

A simple ending to the worst night of Sam’s life. He remembered Higgins’ words, the self-satisfied curl of his lips when he implied that Sam and Bucky had been sent to his grasp entirely through his own design. “Keep an eye on who gets a hand on everything. I think the doctor had government contacts.”

John retreated to his talking corner one last time, “I’ll relay that. Team’s on their way now.”

Sam sighed and leaned his head against the wall, mentally bracing himself for the storm that was about to blow through. Sam had come to tolerate the New Avengers despite their differences, mostly because Bucky had proven to be protective of them. On good days, Sam could even admit that he enjoyed their company. Today was not a good day.

He blinked and found the waiting room had filled around him without a sound. Alexei and Yelena and Ava sitting against the same wall together, knees pressed together and heads bowed. John by them, hunched and frowning at the floor. Joaquin in the seat right next to Sam, offering a grim smile and a squeeze on his knee when he noticed Sam looking. The room was completely silent.

A door squeaked open and all of them bolted to their feet, making the poor doctor who came to visit jolt in surprise. The man recognized Sam and addressed him when he said, “He’s in critical condition, but he’s alive.”

The collective sigh of relief flooded the room with air; Sam could have sworn he saw the leaves on the plant in the corner wiggle in the breeze. Sam could finally breathe again.

“If I’m being blunt, it’s a miracle he’s alive with the damage he sustained. He had an uncontrollable bleed from his spleen that was giving us trouble but suddenly, it stopped. It was touch and go for a while, but we managed to repair his punctured lung and stabilize his broken bones. It will be a long road to recovery, but I think he should make it through.”

Sam’s legs gave out from sheer relief and sent him back into the chair he had occupied nonstop for hours. Bucky would live. From the doctor’s description, it sounded like Bucky’s healing had finally been able to kick in. He’d made it past the four-hour mark. A reflexive laugh erupted from Sam's mouth. He was one lucky guy, beating 50/50 odds.

“Can we see him?” asked Yelena.

The doctor surveyed the six people gathered with a frown. “We have him in the intensive care unit for observation until he’s more stable. I’m sorry, but he can only have one visitor for the time being.”

Sam’s heart warmed to see every face turn to him without hesitation. Joaquin patted him on the back and helped him rise, “Go on, we’ll be fine.”

As Sam walked past, John squeezed his shoulder, “We’ll contact our medical team, get them briefed for whenever he can be transferred.”

That sounded like a good plan. Just a day ago, Sam had been stoked to stay here and explore. Now, he couldn’t wait to leave this place behind.

The doctor led him down the quiet corridors, to a dead end with only a few beds. Only one had its curtains drawn shut, and the doctor pulled them back to let Sam in, muttering that he could ask anyone if he needed anything. Sam pulled up a chair close to the bed and sat.

Bucky didn’t look better, per se, but he looked alive. His eyes were sunken, his skin still pale, but the tempo of his breathing was smooth and clear, likely helped by the oxygen mask on his face. He would hate that when he woke up, but Sam would make him deal with it if it was helping him heal. His chest was lumpy from the bandages there, his right arm tucked along his side with an IV in the hand. His left leg was completely immobilized and covered in a thick cast.

Sam scooted closer to Bucky’s head. His fingers shook as he reached out and pressed them along the man’s brow just to feel the signature warmth of life. His fingers fell and pressed against Bucky's throat, just to feel the thump thump thump for himself. His hand wandered downward so he could take Bucky’s in his and gently squeeze.

“You made it, Buck,” he whispered, voice thick. “We made it. Get some rest, you deserve it.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Bucky noticed was the salty heat of the air, the stench of cooking grease so strong it made his stomach twist. Then, it was his own body he settled into, as if he had been hovering over it like a ghost for a long time and had finally come home to refill the cracks left behind. There was pain everywhere. A low-level ache encompassed his whole body like one giant bruise. If he focused, he could pinpoint specific places of contention: a throbbing along his left side, a fire burning his leg, a tightness around his hips, a faint point of pressure at the back of his skull. He didn’t know why he felt like this, but Bucky was all too familiar with the sensation of having lost time.

He forced his crusted eyes open to find blurry blobs and colors. A couple of blinks and most of the world resolved into somewhat recognizable shapes. There were windows ahead, looking out to a painfully bright sky. A TV kept at an almost indecipherable volume, vague images running across it that Bucky couldn’t follow. The back of a couch pressed to his left side. An IV stand attached to his right arm, a tall cannister on the ground next to it. Beyond that, a large coffee table between his own spot and empty sofas across from him, pushed close to the TV. Someone sat on the floor in casual clothes, hunched over the corner and muttering to himself. His hands cracked periodically. It took Bucky too long to realize he was shelling peanuts and not breaking his knuckles, alternating between eating and rinsing them down with beer. Bucky blinked at the man until he was able to recognize him as Alexei. They were in the common area of the Watchtower. Bucky frowned. Why didn’t that seem right?

His eyes wandered as far as they could beyond Alexei, which wasn’t that much further before the world smeared like wet paint. He thought he could see some figures moving around the kitchen—the source of the smell—but he couldn’t make out more than that. He slumped with a sigh and resigned himself to his confusion, focusing on the blurry TV and trying to figure out what was on it and how he got here.

Alexei continued to mutter and crunch on peanuts, exclaiming when he found what he was watching to be particularly outrageous. “Hah!” he shouted at one point and tossed some empty shells at the screen. “She will never love you after that, you pig!”

“Alexei,” someone scolded from the kitchen. Probably Yelena. “Keep it down.”

“Yeah, gramps, keep this up and you’ll lose TV privileges,” someone else taunted. Walker.

“I’m not ‘gramps,’” Alexei said under his breath, but he slumped and obeyed anyways. He even glanced over at Bucky and whispered, “Sorry.” He did a double take when he met Bucky’s eyes, his mouth splitting into a wide grin. “Bucky!” Alexei scrambled to his feet and loomed over him. All of his teeth showed when he smiled. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

Bucky blinked up at him. Beneath all the pain and blurriness, he was exhausted. He wanted to reply, “fine” and it came out as, “Fuh.”

Alexei nodded, expression grave as if he understood that nonsense, and patted Bucky’s shoulder with a gentleness incongruous with his size and strength. “Stay there, my friend.” He pointed at Bucky’s cast-covered leg. “Don’t move, I will break your other leg if you do.” His grin reappeared for a split second before falling back into a severe line. “I joke. But seriously, don’t move.” He slouched to the kitchen.

Without much for his eyes to focus on, Bucky spaced out for a while, letting his mind soak in its murky waters. If his team was here, that meant everything was fine. Still, he felt like there was something he was missing…

Sam.

Adrenaline flooded his veins at the thought. That was it; he had been with Sam, something had gone horribly wrong, and now Sam was gone. He had to find him, he had to make sure he was okay.

Bucky lurched upwards despite Alexei’s warning, despite the way his entire body protested. He had to know. He forced his right leg over the side of the couch, readied himself to do the same with the other until a firm weight on his shoulder stopped him.

Alexei was back, standing over him and looking incredibly disappointed, attached to the arm attached to the hand that grabbed Bucky. “What did I just say?”

Bucky gritted his teeth, “Sam.” Every breath tasted like metal and ballooned uncertainly in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

More hands on his shoulders. He blinked and Walker was crouched in front of him with a scowl. “Bucky, calm down, you need to breathe.”

“Sam,” he gasped. “Sam.”

Walker looked over his shoulder, “Ava?”

“I’ll get him.”

“Bucky, you need to take deep, slow breaths.” He made an example of himself, breathed in and out with exaggerated puffed cheeks. “Your ribs are shot. It might hurt a bit, but your lung is still healing and you need air. You’ve got to calm down before you hurt yourself.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched, “Sam—”

“Is fine,” Walker finished. “He’s on his way. Jesus, of all the times for Bob to take him on a grocery run.”

“Walker,” a voice said behind John. Bucky recognized the mess of Yelena’s short blonde hair, bangs framing her tense face. “Oxygen.”

“Right.” Walker grabbed a plastic piece attached to the tank by the IV stand and held it up to Bucky. “This’ll help you breathe, hold it to your face.”

Bucky didn’t like anything that covered his face, but he hated the clawing pain in his chest even more. He took the mask with his left hand and inhaled, tried to copy what Walker showed him until the scent of plastic replaced that of blood. The pain abated as crisp air flooded his lungs and gave them a break.

Walker had him keep the mask to his face even as his breathing eased. He guided Bucky’s right leg onto the couch and helped him lay down. Yelena reached over and adjusted a mountain of pillows Bucky didn’t realize were piled at his back. He closed his eyes, focused on the clean air and the hushed talking of his teammates.

The elevator doors opened, “Man, we weren’t even gone for thirty minutes. You guys are unbelievable.” The shuffling of shoes and cloth bags somewhere in the distance. The voice got closer, “So, Ava said…”

As the man trailed off, Bucky peeled his eyes open and there was Sam standing by his feet, eyes wide. He looked good, better than the last time Bucky had seen those fearful eyes focused on him. His right arm was in a sling, however, held close to his chest.

They stared at each other for a long time. Bucky’s breath fogged the mask when he croaked, “Sam?”

A spell broke and Sam made his way to Bucky’s side. The rest of the team stepped back. Bucky could make out Bob and Ava’s voices joining everyone else’s as they shuffled to the kitchen. Sam took Walker’s spot and knelt, wrinkling his nose at the mess of peanut shells and beer Alexei had left.

“You guys are nasty,” he remarked without malice. Bucky followed the lines of his face as they cycled through various emotions, glad that none of them seemed to be pain. That was good.

“Sam,” he said, muffled by the mask, redrawing the man’s attention. The sight of Sam was enough to bring back impressions of what had happened, though most of it was shrouded in darkness.

Sam smiled, lips tight at the corners. “Hey, Buck, you’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Bucky huffed, “Been told.”

“Yeah, by me. You’re always getting into some shit with me around.” His tone was softer than his words implied. He had a hand resting over Bucky’s thigh, a warm and welcome pressure. “How you feeling?”

He didn’t have the strength or willingness to explain the intricacies of his pain. He shrugged his stiff shoulders.

Sam sighed, “Yeah, that checks out. We might have had a near miss earlier, started you on some drugs before your body was ready. But it's all good, your liver's fine, and it looks like your serum’s completely back in business." If Bucky had been awake enough to care, he might have examined that more, but Sam didn't seem overtly concerned, more sheepish, so he dropped it. "Still, it’ll be a while before you’re in perfect shape.” He took a shaky breath, “You really scared me, Buck.”

Bucky knew. He remembered the creeping, hazy feeling of imminent death. Even if he didn’t, he could see the toll of it in the harsh lines of Sam’s face and the shadows under his eyes. “’M okay.”

“You will be.”

“You okay?”

Sam smirked, “Yeah, just gonna have a bum arm for a while. You’re heavy, man.” His smile fell, “Real heavy.”

“Mine?”

“Yours? Oh, mine. Everything’s getting cleaned up down there. I’m letting Joaquin take point. That research is dead and gone for all I care. We’re pulling out the big guns, trying to look into who exactly was working with Higgins to get us in the area. It’s gonna be a real shit show.”

Brow furrowed, Bucky tried to think but found his thoughts drifting away. He dropped the oxygen mask, let it dangle by the cannister; the stench of plastic had grown too strong.

“Hey, you good without that?” Bucky nodded. “Okay, but don’t hesitate to use it if you need it. You had a collapsed lung, that’s a lot even for you.” Sam bit his lip then added, “Did you know you broke a hip, too? You really are an old man.”

It really shouldn’t have been funny, but Bucky cracked a smile anyways. After going through something like they had, all there was left to do was laugh.

There was a weight in the air between them. Bucky wasn’t the best with confrontation or comforting others, but if he was stronger or braver, he would conjure the words to wipe the creases of stress from Sam’s forehead. Bucky remembered every second of being in that cavern—or at least, he thought he did—and he knew that what had happened down there was only something that would fester with time. They would need to pick apart that aching wound together so it could heal, but that couldn’t be today.

Because Bucky was exhausted. He could barely speak. If he and Sam buckled in for a serious conversation, he wasn’t entirely sure he could make it through without falling asleep.

Sam, of course, understood this without Bucky having to say a thing. He caught the way Bucky’s attention waned and squeezed his arm. “Hey, get some sleep, you need it. We can catch up later, okay?”

Yeah, that was fine. Bucky wanted to be his complete self when he apologized to Sam, and when he thanked him, too.

After being forced to go without it for only a few hours, Bucky vowed to never take the serum for granted again.

In two more days, the tightness of his lungs faded and his breathing eased enough he could officially graduate from the oxygen mask. He was allowed to move back to his room, though he still spent most of his time on the couch in the common area being waited on hand and foot in a manner that was only half-joking. He never asked why he hadn’t been kept on the medical floor after returning from Montana, why they hadn’t set him up in his room at least. He figured that none of them could quite bear the thought of him being out of sight and he didn’t have it in him to chastise them for it.

Bucky was given a pair of crutches to hobble around with when the cracks of his ribs faded enough to support his weight. He wasn’t one to be downed for long, he got restless easy and well before he had any right to, so he had been itching to move the moment he managed to stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time. No one quite trusted his sense of balance yet, which he supposed was fair considering the lack of intact bones left in his body. They compromised with his freedom where he could walk around so long as he was accompanied by someone else, just in case something happened. He grumbled about being babysat but accepted their terms with less of a fight than he might have put up some other time.

He wondered if they had added Bucky-sitting duty to the chore chart in the kitchen, because the team seemed to have an internal schedule surrounding Bucky’s recovery. They took turns bringing him breakfast and sat with him to watch the morning news. When he grew bored of lazing around, there were card games and movies and laps around the floor. On training days, Bucky was escorted to sit on the sidelines and shout out critiques, much to the team’s chagrin. If his energy dwindled, there was always someone to put him down for a nap with only a few comments about Grandpa Barnes needing his rest. Annoyingly, there was always someone lingering around the corner of the bathroom as if they were afraid he would faceplant into the toilet. That was the way of these people; it wasn’t often that any one of them outright said that they cared. They showed their concern through their actions. Thankfully, it was a language Bucky understood.

And, of course, there was Sam, who rarely dipped out of sight except to take tense phone calls in the corridor and returned with the lines of his face starker than before. When several people in the building were super soldiers with enhanced senses, the gesture was symbolic more than anything. Bucky heard pieces of every conversation, enough to know that Sam was working through the chaos left from the research facility and enough to know that Sam was lying whenever Bucky asked if everything was okay and he answered, “Fine.”

Sam’s presence was welcome, it always was as far as Bucky was concerned, but there was an edge to his stay in the Watchtower that made it stand out from a leisurely visit. He flinched every time Bucky winced, every time Bucky sneezed, every time Bucky got up too fast, every time Bucky tried to walk somewhere alone. He resisted every step of Bucky’s recovery. He insisted that Bucky’s ribs weren’t strong enough for crutches, that the incision from his chest tube wasn’t healed enough, that his pelvis was too unstable. Bucky tried to be patient and understanding, but he wasn’t above snapping a few times when he felt suffocated by Sam’s concern, even if it meant they devolved into a short argument that would end in a truce by the next day.

Enough was enough. Sam was so tense that Bucky feared he would snap in half. Bucky was so irked by Sam's hovering that he was on the verge of ripping his hair out. So, one day, much earlier than the time usually set aside for his daily supervised walk, Bucky turned to Sam with a grin, “Let’s get some fresh air.”

It was embarrassing how powerless Sam was to stop Bucky and his wayward crutches, mostly because he was afraid of forcing Bucky to turn back and accidentally hurting him in the process. His protests fell on deaf ears as Bucky led the way awkwardly up the stairwell to the landing pad for the jet, Sam fumbling after him.

Even at sunrise, the city was full of life. Warm light peeked over the tips of skyscrapers and cast long shadows at their feet. There was the wind, the distant honking of horns and blaring of sirens, the cooing of pigeons that had taken roost on the tower. Bucky liked those in particular, mostly because Valentina often complained about the amount of bird shit and the budget allocated to cleaning it off.

Bucky pointed out the birds to Sam, “You know those guys?”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Buck,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’ve had your fun, let’s go back inside.”

“It’s a nice day.” With some effort and restrained groans, Bucky maneuvered to sit on the hard concrete, where the jet would be if it weren’t in the tower’s discrete hanger. “I’m in the mood for some fresh air.”

Sam scoffed but finally made his way over, nudging the crutches out of the way so he could sit side by side with Bucky, their legs outstretched, leaning back on their hands. “You know, normal people would open a window.”

“Nah, this is better, I promise.”

They sat in silence for a time. Bucky closed his eyes and let the warm sun wash over him as he breathed fresh air into his lungs. In the mine, Bucky had thought for sure that he was going to die. He had felt it tugging at his mind and slowing his heart. He hadn’t been as upset as he should have been at the knowledge; it was a miracle that he survived the fall in the first place. What had bothered him the most was the way his vision had darkened, not due to the mine’s oppressive interior. He could fade away if it was his time, but he wished he could have looked into Sam’s eyes to tell him it would be okay, that he could have seen the world again so his last memory wasn’t darkness fading into darkness. It pained him enough to know that Sam had witnessed Bucky’s decline up close and personal while Bucky couldn’t even see the man’s face.

To be sitting here with Sam, basking in the sun and breathing air into whole lungs was a gift.

Bucky glanced over at Sam. The fresh air seemed to be doing him good as well. Still, there was a tension that lingered along his shoulders and kept him from relaxing entirely.

“How’s Torres’ investigation going?” Bucky asked.

“Slowly,” Sam scowled. “But, he’s being thorough. We have a select group of people we can trust. It’s only a matter of weeding out who had Higgins in their pocket. The guy’s being tightlipped, no surprises there, but the money won’t lie.”

“Good. Is that what’s got you all wound up in a knot?”

Sam looked to him, incredulous, “Well, Bucky, that’s part of it.”

“And the other part?”

After a long glare, Sam scoffed and stared out at the skyline. “Gee, Buck, why don’t you take a guess?” Bucky didn’t answer. As expected, Sam grew tired of his silence and answered for him, “It might have something to do with you nearly dying out there.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you almost did.” Sam chewed his lip, “I almost let you.”

“Sam…”

“I gave up on you, Bucky.” His voice faltered, “What kind of friend does that make me? What kind of Captain America does that make me?”

Bucky shook his head, “We remember things differently.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

“I remember this jackass refusing to give up on me.” Bucky sat forward as much as he could with his broken leg the way it was and angled his body to face Sam even as the other man staunchly avoided looking at him. “I remember being stubborn and refusing to leave even when being told to listen to reason. I remember forcing my friend to let go when he didn’t want to. I remember him trying to get me to safety, that’s what I remember.”

“And him sitting there, letting you die, do you remember that?” Sam finally glanced his way, eyes narrowed with an anger so potent it took a moment for Bucky to recognize it as self-loathing.

“No, I remember him letting me rest.”

Sam snorted, “Really, Bucky?”

“Semantics,” Bucky spared him a quick smile before it fell. Bucky never knew if he said the right things in situations like these, he could never tell if his words helped more than they hurt. But he knew that Sam needed to hear this, and he needed to say it. “Sam, you can’t blame yourself for something I asked you to do.”

“You should have never been in that situation in the first place,” Sam drew a knee to his chest. “I’m the only reason you were there. I should never have brought you, I should have dragged your ass out at the first sign of trouble, I should never have…” he clenched a fist over his kneecap, “Let go.”

“Higgins was after me. If baiting you hadn’t worked, he would have found another way to get me there. And you’ve said it before, I’m a stubborn jackass. There’s no way I would have let you take me out of there at that point. And Sam,” Bucky heaved a sigh. “I made you let go. I’m sorry.”

Sam inspected the back of his hand, “Why?”

“I would rather make the choice so you wouldn’t have to. It was the only way.”

“Bad fucking choice, Bucky, like hell it was the only way. We could have figured something out, with a little time—”

“Which we didn’t have.”

“—It would have been fine. I watched you fall, Bucky. It was like…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head, “I never thought I’d have to live through something like that again, yet there I was.” Sam ran a hand down his face, took a few deep breaths into his palm. Bucky gave him a moment to regain his composure. He shook his head again, “It’s bullshit, man.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, I’ve never heard you apologize this much before,” Sam raised a brow.

“It’s because I am. Sorry, you know.”

“Yeah, but you don’t regret it.”

Bucky shook his head, “No.”

Sam scoffed, “Figures.” He flicked his eyes over quickly, meeting Bucky’s gaze for a second before looking away. “Even after you fell, man, you resisted me every step of the way. Kept asking me to leave you behind. You were just full of bad ideas, weren’t you?”

“It was dangerous for you to keep dragging me around when I was out of commission.”

“Right,” Sam said slowly. He turned his head to face Bucky, even held eye contact this time. “And that’s the only reason?”

Bucky frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Bucky, you know what I mean. You kept asking me to leave you behind, asking me to stop. Did you want to,” he swallowed. “Want to die?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure? Because it seemed an awful lot like that.”

“I was accepting it, Sam, I didn’t want it. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yes,” Bucky said firmly and stared into Sam’s eyes just as intently as the man was staring into his. He needed Sam to understand where he was coming from. “I could feel it, Sam.”

“Feel what?”

“Death, I guess.” Bucky took a deep breath. He had been hurt countless times before. There were certain rules that came with injuries he had come to recognize over time. He knew what most any kind of pain felt like and how it would affect him. He knew how much blood he could lose before it became too much, how many bones he could break before he couldn’t move. With the serum, he could tolerate almost anything. Without it, though, Bucky had felt the difference. Every broken part of his body had weighed heavier than before. There was no buffer to keep him going and all of his hurts had magnified each other. He had never felt so helpless before, and never so certain that he had finally reached his limit. “It was unlike any other time I’ve been hurt before. I just knew for certain that it was something I couldn’t shake.”

“You’re a fighter, Bucky, but it was like you just gave up.”

“Shit, man, I was exhausted.” When it came to a life as long and messy as his own, Bucky didn’t expect people to be able to comprehend what it was like to live and keep living no matter what was thrown at him. Some days more than others, it wore on him and some days, that was harder to bounce back from. “I had nothing left to give.”

“So, when we got out…”

“Going further would have been pointless. If the team hadn’t come then…”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, “So, it was better to not fight it and just accept the truth. I would have rather spent my last moments sitting with you than fighting a useless fight.” Bucky bit his lip, “I’m sorry for that, though, that you had to be there.”

Sam raised a hand, “Nope.”

“No?”

“You can say you’re sorry about anything else but that. I’m glad that...” Sam frowned, searching for the right words. “I’m glad that you weren’t alone, at the end. I’m glad that it was me.”

Bucky’s throat was thick, “I’m glad, too. Thank you for being there. For letting me stop.”

Bucky scooted across the concrete, wincing at the way it jarred his leg and waving off Sam’s concerned hands. He laid his right arm across Sam’s shoulders, felt his friend throw his arm around Bucky’s back, and they leaned their heads together, gazes firmly fixed on the horizon. Bucky’s vision blurred. He felt Sam’s shoulders shaking against him. They didn’t speak for a long time.

Sam chuckled and wiped his hand down his face, “Never pull that shit again, though.”

“Not planning on it.”

After a moment, Sam continued, “Do you remember much from, y’know?”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “Maybe. Why?”

“Well, I said it might be nice to go on an actual vacation. No missions or drama, just us.”

“I remember that.” Barely. At the time, it had been the faintest voice in the distance, a fragment of a daydream that had filled Bucky with peace.

“So, how 'bout it? I think we deserve a break after all of this.”

Bucky smiled, “Let’s do it.”

Bucky zipped up his duffle bag. Patted down the pockets of his leather jacket with a frown, “Hey—”

“Right here!” Bob tossed over his cellphone with a grin, reclined on the couch with a book in his hand. “You left it on the coffee table.”

“Thanks,” Bucky put his phone in his pocket and stared down at his luggage. “That should be everything.”

“Got your snacks!” Ava slipped by carrying a tote bag overflowing with only the finest selection of junk food. She wiggled it in front of Bucky’s face until he took the handles with a sigh. “Don’t want you getting hangry.”

“Thanks.”

Walker meandered from the kitchen and peered into the bag just given to Bucky by Ava with a frown. “Hey, those are mine.” He reached for the bag of chips closest to the top and recoiled with a shout when Ava slapped his hand, “Hey! You can’t give away my stuff! I bought those!”

“Tough, buy some more. Besides, they’re awful, I want them out of the tower ASAP.”

“You don’t have to eat them!”

The elevator opened and Yelena jogged out, Alexei following a few paces behind at a more leisurely pace. “I got it!” Yelena cried. Halfway across the room, she tossed Bucky an object about the size and shape of a key fob with a large red button in the middle. “New and improved emergency beacon. Press the button and it will immediately transmit your location to us.”

“The big red button,” Walker said slowly. “Make sure you press that, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Bucky snorted, “I think I got it, John.”

“You have enough weapons?” Alexei caught up and eyed Bucky’s bag with suspicion. “Knives? Guns? Taser? Sniper rifle?”

“Shucks,” Bucky snapped his fingers. “I forgot the rifle.”

“Easy mistake,” Alexei said solemnly. “I will get it.” He turned on his heel but Yelena’s hand on his bicep kept him from getting far.

She rolled her eyes, “This is a vacation, not a stakeout, he doesn’t need a sniper rifle.”

“It is always best to be prepared, Lena, haven’t I taught you this?”

Bucky surveyed his teammates. Relative to the rest of his life, a month wasn’t a long time to be gone, but it still felt strange to just drop everything and leave. Valentina had been huffy about his announcement but couldn’t do much about it with everyone else in agreement. His body was as good as new, he felt great, but he still felt guilty about leaving the team behind for so long.

“You have yours?” He raised the emergency beacon. “And you’ve figured out a training schedule? And don’t go on any major missions, no matter how much Valentina pushes. And if you need me—”

“We know, we’ll give you a call,” Yelena sighed. “No need to worry, we'll be fine, Grandpa Barnes. No staying up late, no unhealthy foods, don’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

Bucky raised a brow and turned to Alexei, “Has she always been like this?”

The Red Guardian couldn’t have looked prouder, “Yes.”

Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to check. Ready? “Sam’s here,” he announced.

Ava nudged his shoulder, “Go on, we’ll be fine, have fun on your trip.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder, gripped the tote bag of snacks tighter at Ava’s pointed stare, and meandered over to the elevator. His team trailed behind. Bob got up from the couch to join them with his hands in his pockets. They stood in a line across from him, all smiles and waves as he stepped into the elevator.

“Be back before you know it,” he said as he chose the main floor as his destination.

Walker tossed him something as the doors shut, but it was all of them that chorused, “Have fun!”

As the elevator descended, Bucky checked what Walker had tossed him. His sunglasses. He must have left them on the counter.

Sam was waiting at the curb when Bucky exited the Watchtower, leaning against the car even though it was a no parking zone. Bucky couldn’t imagine many people who would be willing to ticket Captain America when he stood outside the home of the New Avengers. He grinned when Bucky got close, pulled him into a quick hug then opened the door to the back seat for Bucky to toss his stuff inside. It looked like Sam had also packed an extensive stache of food for the ride.

Bucky slipped into the passenger seat while Sam jogged around the front of the car to get into the driver’s side, “You sure you don’t want me to start?”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam scoffed and turned the car on. “You drive like you’re 111 years old.”

“I am 111 years old.”

“Well, at least that tracks.” Sam grinned and shifted the car into drive. “Ready to go?”

Bucky put on his sunglasses, rolled down his window so he could relax his arm on the edge, and grinned, “Let’s ride.”