Archive of Our Own

-x-x-

Bucky sat up with a strangled yell. There was no water filling his lungs, but he went into an even greater panic after coming face to face with himself. ‘I’m still dreamin’…’ This nightmare was nothing new. He found himself fighting against the Winter Soldier a great many times in the dark recesses of his mind. The asset wanted to reclaim its vessel and resume its missions.

A cool metal hand and a warm flesh one cupped his face and Bucky quickly realized he was having a panic attack and his doppelganger was attempting to calm him down.

“Breathe with me, James.”

James. Bucky inhaled sharply, but the breath was never released.

“James, please.”

James. Only T’Challa called him ‘James’. Bucky focused on his eyes. There was no killing intent in their icy blue depths. They sparked with life and worry. “T… Challa?” he whispered.

Bucky smiled, mismatched hands bringing them closer together.

“How…?” Bucky reached out, only to jerk backwards and out of T’Challa’s grasp. With more room between them, he was able to outstretch his arms, twisting the appendages as far as they could go.

“Those are my arms you’re trying to break,” T’Challa chuckled.

Bucky looked from his face to the deep brown arms that twisted and bent with his mental commands. He unconsciously chewed his bottom lip, running his fingers over the smooth skin of his left arm. No segmented vibranium that hissed or whirred just as naturally as he breathed. Two flesh and blood arms. Bucky pinched his left arm, smiling at the sharp bite of pain that was there, then gone almost instantly. He lifted his head to tell T’Challa and was reminded of the situation after once again finding his own face smiling fondly at him. 

“This is weird.” Bucky tapped his nose. “God, I’m white.”

T’Challa laughed—Bucky never knew he could make such a noise—and lifted his right arm to eye level. “I’ve honestly never noticed.” He lifted the left and found it operated just as any of his limbs would. He flexed the fingers and shrugged his shoulder, gauging the weight. “It’s a little heavy. Not too much, but… Why didn’t you tell me?” T’Challa’s current train of thought was interrupted, by himself, as Bucky attempted to distract him with a kiss. “That was weird,” he hummed.

“Just a little,” Bucky groaned, pulling back, distraction complete. The fact that T’Challa himself had worked on the arm meant there would be no complaining. Besides, it was far lighter than his previous one. Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed and was reminded of T’Challa’s every-so-often desire to sleep naked. With a cheeky grin, he sprang up and made a dash for the bathroom.

“You’ve seen me naked before,” T’Challa’s voice echoed after him.

Bucky knew he was following. “But now I can feel what you feel.”

“Are you going to masturbate in my body, Barnes?”

“I’m going to play with my Black Panther.”

“James Buchanan Barnes! I will castrate you with your own left hand.”

The unfortunate Dora Milaje members currently standing guard outside the bedroom door shared a few looks before agreeing that it would be best to intervene at a later time.

x

Shared showers never save time or water, not where Bucky Barnes and T’Challa were concerned. And they would probably have a repeat session of experimenting with their swapped bodies this evening, but now it was time to take things a little bit more seriously.

T’Challa sat between Bucky’s legs, waiting patiently as the other man tamed his hair into a manageable style. He idly shifted his left hand, finding the soft sounds comforting. It was a sound that accompanied Bucky Barnes. It let him know that his partner was still around. He missed it when situations arose where Bucky didn’t feel like wearing the arm, but then found another small detail, one that made him fall in love with the super soldier even more.

“You’re going to have to become the Black Panther,” T’Challa sighed once the hands in his hair vanished. Being so close, he was able to hear the stutter in Bucky’s heartbeat. He turned on the bed and found that the look of fear on his face seemed misplaced in this situation. “I can’t leave my nation alone when it needs me every day.”

“But I can’t… I’m not you.” Bucky drew his arms back to himself, trying not to stare at hands that weren’t his. It would make his argument invalid. “You can still wear the suit. No one will know. Make some kind of voice modification. Your tech is better than Stark’s, so I’m sure that’s no problem.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” T’Challa’s smirk was short-lived, morphing into a pensive expression. “What if I forget I’m no longer myself and remove my mask?”

“You only do that around the people you trust. In the safety of your palace.” Bucky wasn’t going down without a fight.

“No. I do it amongst my people to help build trust,”

“T’Challa, please…”

“Don’t make me whine.” T’Challa smiled, cupping his right hand against Bucky’s cheek, putting an end to the rambling. “In all appearances, you are the Black Panther, and you have to be. I have faith in you.” He pressed a kiss to his frowning lips before gracefully slipping out of bed. “We should get something to eat and let my family know what’s happened.” T’Challa held out his left arm.

Bucky took it with a childish pout. He locked their fingers together and allowed himself to be pulled from bed.

The Dora Milaje were the first to be informed of the situation, which cleared up the conversation the women had overheard.

After breakfast, T’Challa fought Bucky into the Black Panther outfit. He managed to find half an outfit for himself among Bucky’s hoodies and jackets. An ocean blue shirt with three-quarter sleeves stopping just under his elbow. The pair of black slacks were his own. 

Bucky stared at his reflection, but T’Challa stared back. The peculiar staring contest continued until T’Challa walked up behind him, curling mismatched arms around his waist. Bucky’s gaze was drawn to the silver arm; the arm T’Challa made for him.

T’Challa pressed his lips to the back of Bucky’s neck. “You can save all your thoughts for the council meeting.”

“Will W’Kabi be there?” Hope tinged the baritone of T’Challa’s voice.

T’Challa tightened his hold with a soft grunt. “If I didn’t know better, I would actually be jealous that you’re asking after my chief of security.” By some strange twist of fate, Bucky and W’Kabi bonded, possibly over their bionic arms. “Yes, he will be. You do realize the Taifa Ngao meet just about every day. Don’t worry,” he added after Bucky switched into ‘flight’ mode. “They need to know about this as well.”

T’Challa squeezed a little tighter, listening to the arm softly work to accommodate the pressure, before releasing Bucky. Maybe together, they could all shed some light on this situation.

-x-x-

“I believe this is a test of the Panther God,” Ramonda stated clearly, breaking the silence that had befallen their small group after the “switcheroo” announcement.

Bucky sat up straighter in the small building where the council of elders gathered, failing to shake off the feeling of eyes that watched his every movement.

Ramonda fixed him with a knowing gaze. “While you may be civil partners, you did not perform a proper ceremony.” Bucky avoided her stare, but found himself avoiding the eyes of everyone else in the room. He settled with staring at himself—T’Challa, his mind reminded him. He wanted nothing more than to tug back on the Black Panther hood and hide behind it.

“You did no wrong in my eyes, child, and I do not believe the Panther God is punishing you either. He may be testing you, in a different way.”

Bucky turned back towards Ramonda, folding his hands in his lap. He cleared his throat, earning even more attention than what he already had. “I thought it was a dream, but if what you say is true… I may have met the Panther God.”

Whispered discussions erupted—how and why the Panther God was able to visit Barnes when he was connected to T’Challa’s spirit, even if they did switch bodies—but T’Challa cut through it, bringing silence to the room. Even with a borrowed body and voice, he still carried the air of a King. “James. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky glared at himself. “With all the shit that happened this mornin’, how the hell was I s’posed to know some ancient being was visitin’ me in my sleep?” Bucky ran his fingers through his short hair with a groan. “Sorry ‘bout ‘cussin’.”

“Apology accepted,” T’Challa sighed. Situations like this were nothing new. When you have Skrulls masquerading with your face, and the faces of families and friends, you learn to become accepting of the impossible. James, while not entirely new to the modern world, was still adjusting. “Did he say anything?”

“Told me I wasn’t ready,” Bucky mumbled, fiddling with the mask in his and. “Then tossed me off a cliff.”

T’Challa sat back with a soft huff of laughter, wondering if the God had a dark sense of humor. “He is testing you. Would it be too late to perform a ceremony?” he asked Ramonda, turning in her direction.

Bucky’s head snapped up and he looked between T’Challa and the Queen Mother. “I… That’s not necessary. I love T’Challa—”

Happiness spread through T’Challa’s chest, a heat rising into his cheeks.

Bucky stopped his protests to grin at the King. “You can blush.”

“Your body is the one that’s blushing, Barnes.” If the heat in his face was any indication, T’Challa could only imagine how red he was.

Bucky forced himself to look away, his grin fading after meeting Ramonda’s gaze. “I care about your son a great deal, but I can’t… I don’t think…” He sighed deeply. It was a strange sight—Wakanda’s King bowing his head in what could be considered defeat. Bucky peeked up at the council. Business-serious faces stared back at him and he felt like he’d done everything wrong. “Maybe, if I was the me from back then, I wouldn’t mind. Now, I just wanna live my life without people realizing what I was.”

“Your past defines you to some extent,” Ramonda added, smiling gently at Bucky. “But it does not rule you. You’re allowed to make your own future now, James.”

A silence fell over the group as everyone quietly processed the situation.

“There’s a bit of unrest at the Great Mound,” W’Kabi announced, lifting his right arm after activating his Kimoyo beads. The holographic display showed a small group of six that faced off against each other. He flicked to another image where miners gathered around their equipment clearly ignored the presence of the appointed soldiers. “Maybe it will do the citizens good for their King to pay them a visit and praise their progress.” The suggestion was meant for Bucky.

“Also, Ross called again to check on the status of our guest. I may have accidentally cut the transmission short.” W’Kabi’s smirk was as cocky as they came.

T’Challa waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll live. So, what do you say, King T’Challa? A walk around your nation?”

Bucky pulled himself into a more upright position to find T’Challa arching an eyebrow at him. He wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t do that to my face,” the true King of Wakanda sighed. “We’re going to pay the miners at the Great Mound a visit. I’ll probably thank them, considering the vibranium was used to make this.” He flexed his left arm, closing his fingers into a fist.

“Okay, I guess,” Bucky muttered.

“Today is going to be an interesting day,” S’Yan chuckled.

x

Interesting was an understatement. Bucky Barnes was having a mental breakdown behind the safety of the Black Panther mask. As “James Barnes”, the true King of Wakanda walked at Bucky’s elbow, easily keeping a stoical expression on the borrowed face. W’Kabi walked ahead of them with a member of the Dora Milaje. Two more of the bodyguards brought up their rear. 

They hadn’t even made it a good distance through the Golden City when people started bowing and praising him. T’Challa whispered responses for their words through a private communications line built into the mask. Also words of comfort to keep his lover from bolting under all the attention.

Once they were clear of the more heavily populated areas, T’Challa tapped the comm device off, gave Bucky a “good job” pat on the shoulder, and quickened his steps so he walked alongside W’Kabi. The Dora Milaje fell back to replace the open spot at Bucky’s elbow. “I’m curious,” T’Challa began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. An act he’d witness Bucky do many times before. “Who is watching over Wakanda if the chief of security is out taking a walk?”

W’Kabi grinned, tossing his head to one side with a laugh. The thick locks held away from his face with a ceremonial headdress bounced with the action. “I am but one man, King. There is a whole room full of very capable men and women that can monitor our shining nation. Besides, I’m due for some fresh air.”

T’Challa hummed, drawing the sound out until W’Kabi was laughing again.

“Our new resident is an interesting man,” the security chief admitted. “He’s become quite familiar with the equipment in the command center. If you can recall our last run in with some gutsy American bounty hunters?” T’Challa nodded and W’Kabi continued, “Barnes was the one that barked out orders. He knew their style and their tricks. Saved me a great deal of firepower. He wanted to go out there himself to fight, but—”

“Apparently the King of Wakanda would not have liked that,” Bucky cut in, now walking alongside the duo. “Your hearing is amazing.”

“As is yours,” T’Challa commended. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, James?”

Bucky lifted his shoulders in a shrug and W’Kabi stifled his laugh. The Black Panther did not shrug. “It wasn’t important…” He stopped himself, wracking his brain for the right way to word his next statement. “It was important, because it was an attack against your nation, but it was something minor. The Winter Soldier would’ve disposed of those men before your monitors even had time to pick them up.”

T’Challa stopped, glad that he had enough restraint to keep his hands tucked away. They were still in public and not many were aware of Bucky Barnes’ relationship with the Black Panther. Most of the Wakandans saw him as a new bodyguard, but T’Challa caught a few knowing glances from several of his people before. “You are not the Winter Soldier, James. I tell you this every day, as does the Queen Mother. W’Kabi?” T’Challa called over his shoulder.

The chief of security spread his arms in a gesture reminiscent of a shrug, though his shoulders remained low, a look of perfected nonchalance on his face. “Barnes is an amazing soldier,” was all he had to say.

T’Challa arched his eyebrows in a wordless, and very pointed statement of There. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“’s my nature,” Bucky all but chirped, his grin just visible beneath the mask. “Besides, Stevie’s worse.”

T’Challa scoffed, unconsciously rolling his eyes; another Bucky-like trait. “I’m well aware of the Captain’s bullheadedness, but this is about you, not him. Maybe this is what the Panther God wants you to understand. You are every bit as worthy as the next man, maybe even more so.”

Bucky fell silent, forcing himself to remain upright. The Black Panther didn’t slouch. 

T’Challa freed his right hand from the pocket of his pants and placed it gently at the small of Bucky’s back in a comforting gesture. And maybe this was why he currently resided in his lover’s body. His relationship with Storm was publicly known across the nations. Their separation was never made public, but word still spread. No ill will formed between them, and their friendship endured. Storm remained in Africa and visited every now and then. But only family and close friends were aware of his relationship with James. Only because that’s what Bucky himself wanted. 

“I don’t think it will do your image any good if people find out you’re sleeping with the Winter Soldier,” was what James told him after their first night together.

Bucky stepped away from his touch, startling T’Challa out of memory lane. “We have to keep up appearances,” was the only thing Bucky said before quickening his steps to walk ahead. The previous Dora Milaje resumed her earlier position at the head of the small group.

W’Kabi guided them to a small aircraft that would take them the rest of the way to the Great Mound. He stayed on the launch pad, arms crossed over his chest as he watched everyone else boarded. When Bucky stopped and stared at him questioningly, he freed one hand to execute a short wave. “I was just a guide. I’ve already been away from the command center too long. I’ll see you when you get back.” The aircraft’s door closed on T’Challa’s smiling face.

x

The visit went off without a hitch.

Bucky stood on a higher ridge of the Great Mound, observing the miners and equipment littered about. There were scattered soldiers that guarded Wakanda’s greatest treasure. Some stood guard while others mingled with the civilians, and it made Bucky feel at ease to see them laughing together rather than standing against each other. ‘Is this how T’Challa sees his nation? Is this how he feels…?’ He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the earthy and rich scent of Wakandan soil.

Bucky’s eyes flew open, the eyes of the mask never giving away their former closed state, and immediately landed on himself. T’Challa was busy operating an excavator, a small smile on his face as he listened to the tales of the two miners riding with him on the machinery. His motives were obvious. T’Challa was making a name for “Bucky”; he was making his citizens realize that this stranger in their midst was no stranger.

As if realizing he was under close scrutiny, T’Challa lifted his head in the direction of where Bucky stood. The miners followed his gaze. The body’s muscle memory taking over, Bucky straightened himself to his full height, standing tall and proud like a King should. T’Challa led the action and all three bowed their heads in respect to the Black Panther.