Chapter Text
The loud noises in the City that Never Sleeps practically drowned out the somber thoughts in Bucky’s head. He slowly walked from Evergreens Cemetery and past the alleys of Brooklyn, drying a creeping tear from his eye and ignoring the grief-mixed guilt. Even this late in the evening, the sound of traffic was a constant drone, the traffic lights a little too vibrant for his enhanced eyesight.
He scanned his surroundings, unable to relax the coil between his shoulders. Too much surveillance, too many people keeping tabs on his whereabouts constantly. Nowadays, he only truly felt relaxed down South. Soon, he thought, practically able to taste the ocean and BBQ. His cheeks flushed at the thought of Sarah.
Up ahead, two civilians. One male, 5’7, Hispanic, middle aged, unarmed. One female, 5’3, white, 60’s, she walked with her keys between her knuckles. An excellent way to get her hand broken. He could also smell her too sweet perfume, her red purse practically glowed in that vibrant way somethings did sometimes. That reminded him, he’d have to get Sarah something for Easter, maybe a butterfly knife.
The scrape of a footstep alerted Bucky to his tail. Probably Tom, usually he took over surveillance on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Bucky took in a big sniff- and yep, definitely Tom the Tail. His fresh coffee - English Taffy, reached the super soldier’s nose, almost masking the oppressive signature cologne he always wore. Tonight, he wore it extra thick. Really Tom? But underneath the cologne and coffee, Bucky smelled something foul that caused him to miss a step.
He almost turned around, ready to tell Tom the bad news. Instead, he shook his head and carried on, he wasn’t about to give life advice to his goddamn stalker. He’d just have to send a telegram to Sheild advising them to get Tom checked out by an oncologist.
Not too happy with the feel of the surveillance agent at his back, Bucky crossed the street to get to the VA, passing by an alley where Steve once got beat up in.
His heart panged in his chest with longing. He missed the troublemaker. But after Thanos and Steve’s time travel trip, the punk needed a break and now spends his days in space with Romanova. That’s just fine, Bucky’s doing fine without him, really. He was going to therapy, even going steady with Sarah now. This weekend was Cass’s birthday, the Wilsons would also be celebrating Pass -Easter, they’d be celebrating Easter in a few weeks. Bucky couldn’t wait to celebrate with the Wilsons, the only place in the world where he could truly relax without the whole world looking over his shoulder and up his ass.
With that thought, Bucky walked through the night to get to his meeting. More therapy, yay. Raynor insisted he go to a specialist support group. For amputees. At first, he thought it was a bunch of bullshit, and told Raynor so, but then the nightmares got worse, and the phantom pains wouldn’t go away and dammit he owed it to Sarah and the boys to get his shit together. Raynor suggested a meeting to help him connect, be social with people who have some of the same issues as him. With the serum and Vibranium arm, Bucky couldn’t really see how he could be classified as disabled. But here he was, going to meetings and trying not to feel like an interloper.
He walked through the doors of the VA to his Veteran Amputee Support Group. It’s just his fourth meeting in four weeks, and so far, all he’s done is just sit in the back and listen. The first two weeks Tom the Tail stood in the corner and acted like Bucky couldn’t see him, now he usually stays outside and monitors the building, taking the smell of strong cologne and apparently acute melanoma with him.
In the meeting room, a dozen civilians sat in a circle, all missing some body part. The woman across from him was missing her right forearm and had a pen-knife on her keychain.
On second thought, maybe knives as an Easter gift wouldn’t be such a good idea. He could always see if he could get one of those bullet proof Kevlar jackets that look like regular clothes. Yeah, Sarah would like that.
The woman, Julie? discreetly showed her friend something on her phone, her perfume smelled like those baby dolls that Cass and AJ’s one cousin always carried around. He wrinkled his nose, whatever it was it must’ve been popular, Sarah had been wearing that same perfume the last time he visited. Maybe he’ll just get her some better perfume, something more flowery rather than Eau du Baby Powder.
Bucky had chosen the chair closest to the wall facing the main entrance, empty seats on either side of him. Some of the group members have probably clocked his identity, but they just call him James and let him get away with not talking.
This meeting’s ‘triggering’ as AJ would say. The woman speaking – Donna, maybe, is missing both of her legs and has burn marks on her hands. Her hair so black it was practically blue with ultraviolet streaks. She sat in a wheelchair with a knitted blanket on her lap. Bucky tried to sit and listen, after all it was the least he could do. He wasn’t even a real amputee with his Vibranium arm; he didn’t belong here.
A newcomer came in late, a middle-aged pudgy man with thick square glasses over an oily face. He took in the group sitting in a circle before choosing to sit in one of the empty chairs next to Bucky. Dammit.
Coming here must’ve been a big deal for the guy, he smelled like nervous sweat, Bucky could hear his heart pounding in his chest. But underneath the slight odor of nerves, something set off an alarm bell. He couldn’t be sure, probably just strung out from visiting the cemetery, that’s all.
After a minute of listening to Donna describe the moment the pain finally registered, Bucky’s left shoulder began to ache something fierce. He rubbed it a few times before getting up to get some air, he could feel the newcomer’s eyes on his back.
Five things I can see: blossoms on the trees, a full moon, broken beer bottles, parked cars, an old parking garage.
On the back porch was a younger guy in a wheelchair missing both legs, an arm and an eye dressed like a zombie. John? Jessie? Bucky thought he heard the guy say he worked as an extra on movie sets. Part of Bucky was tempted to hire him to scare the shit out Sam. He smiled at the thought of a Zombie guy crawling out from behind Sam yelling “Braaaains!” Bucky could just imagine Sam’s girly shriek…
As the meeting inside called for a break, that newcomer came outside too. We’re all just getting some fresh air. His stomach suddenly growled, catching him off guard. Usually, he didn’t realize when he was hungry until Sam was shoving a granola bar into his face when he got pissy.
Something about this random guy made him feel like he was suddenly starving, not hungry, starving. He decided then that he’d give the meeting 10 more minutes out of politeness and then he’d take off to find something to eat.
Four things I can hear: cars driving back and forth, this guys thundering heartbeat, Julie trying to decide on nursery themes, a shout from across the street.
Bucky couldn’t see Tom – the bastard was probably grabbing another coffee or something. He politely nodded to the newcomer; he doesn’t think he got the man’s name. The man took that opportunity to step closer, “Hey, it’s Jimmy, right?” He stuck his gloved hand out, “I’m Saul.” He stared at Bucky in a way that made him uneasy, but he couldn’t place why. More alarm bells rang, something about this guy seriously unnerved Bucky.
Three things I can smell: nervous sweat, that Jesse guys dinner on his breath (curry), a storm on its way.
Bucky ignored the outstretched hand as he rubbed his shoulder, the joint always ached before a storm. After a second, Saul dropped his hand. “Could I bum a smoke off you perhaps?”
Bucky patted his pockets, to show they were empty. “Sorry pal, don’t smoke anymore” He hoped it passed for polite, but the way he looked at Bucky was starting to churn his stomach, hunger turning into nausea. Maybe he should take off now instead of later.
Two things I can feel: the cool early spring air, and the memory of intense hunger.
Just as he was about to pass through the door, he saw Sam run down the sidewalk, looking like hell, and gasping for air. “Bucky, thank God,” Sam gasped out, “You have to help me.” He was out of breath, clearly winded. As he desperately grabbed Bucky by the sleeve, Bucky took notice of the cuts and bruises on his face, he wore civvies, but they were torn, and blood splattered. “Sam! What happened?”
“It’s Sarah and the boys, they need our help, come on!” Bucky followed Sam down the street, both dodging civilians in their haste. “Sam, what happened, are they ok? What’s going on?” Sam just kept running ahead, looking back towards Bucky as they both ran. To his surprise, Bucky had to work to keep up with Sam rather than purposely slowing down to make sure he didn’t leave his partner behind. They turned down a dirty graffitied alley and Sam finally stopped.
“Are we there, what’s going on Sam. What’s wrong.” Bucky asked again. Sam abruptly turned around to looked at Bucky. Huh, he wasn’t even breathing heavy. Bucky looked back, trying to think about how far they just ran in under a minute. The screech of tires interrupted his thoughts as a large black van pulled up at the end of the alley. Men dressed in black camo with big ass guns spilled out.
“Shit.” Bucky didn’t have his weapons, not so much as a butter knife, and Sam was in torn jeans and a t-shirt. Another screech of tires on the opening of the alley revealed another large black van. Out spilled more goons with guns all pointed at Sam and Bucky. “Shit, Bucky, we’re boxed in.”
Heart thundering, Bucky put his back to Sam and prepared to fight. “Stay behind me Sam, we can – uh!” Bucky shouted as he felt a sharp pin in his neck. “What the hell?” He spun around to watch Sam drop an empty syringe.
One thing I can taste: the memory of withdrawal on my lips, of blood and vomit.
For a second, he wasn’t in a dirty alley anymore, he was in an abandoned safehouse, fever spiking as his gut cramped in agony.
Sam met his bewildered gaze with a slight grin and pressed a finger to his temple. Bucky grabbed his neck and stumbled a half step back, already beginning to feel the effects of whatever was in that syringe. He watched in horror as Sam’s face flickered to reveal the face of a younger man, early 20’s, black, dammit how did I not notice how much shorter than Sam he was.
Not - Sam pulled off the Widow’s Veil, pulling out a taser from his back pocket. As his vision began to blur, Bucky lashed out.
“Hey, Buck. It’s Sam. Ring Ring, answer the damn phone.” Sam hung up his mobile as he made his way down the block to Bucky’s New York apartment. Cass was celebrating his birthday tomorrow and Bucky was supposed to come down last night. Sam hadn’t heard from the fossil in a few days and no reply to his hundreds of messages, so he decided to check up on him and maybe remind him how a cell phone works. Sam got to the door and pounded on it a few times.
“Yo Buck, open up!” No answer. His bike was still here. Sam used his spare key. Once inside he looked around, took in the small quiet apartment. Bucky must’ve been redecorating. Aside from the t.v, piano, and new twin bed, the walls had a few sketches thumbtacked to the wall. Faces looked back at him from the sketches, a woman in a vibrant blue dress standing in front of an oven, hair wrapped in a scarf, a bright red and orange sunset, an idyllic sketch of Sarah in a pink bikini dammit Buck. He’d have to talk to that shithead about that. On the fridge was a magnetic calendar with Wednesday’s date heavily circled in red marker. Sam had no idea of the significance of the date, he’d have to ask Bucky when he tracked his fossilized ass down.
As Sam turned back to the door, he saw a shiny bag that read HAPPY 13th BIRTHDAY! Inside was a gift wrapped in newspaper, really Bucky? And a single card full of cash, holy shit. If that was for Cass, then it was going straight into his college fund.
It’s odd that it was still here, but it means Bucky intends to return to his apartment. Sam pulled out his cellphone and was about to try Bucky’s number again when instead it buzzed, the caller ID said SHIT HEAD THERAPIST.
“Hey, Dr. Raynor. Long time no see. Have you heard from Bucky?” Raynor was silent for a few seconds. What she said next made Sam’s stomach drop.
“Actually,” she said carefully, “I was just calling to ask you if you’d heard from him. He missed our video appointment today and the agents who check up on him haven’t reported in.”
Immediately Sam’s mind started racing. Wrinkling his nose at the intrusion of privacy Shield still imposed. That was probably a driving factor in pushing Bucky towards Louisianna. But Bucky wouldn’t have just run off without telling Sam, not with Cass’s birthday present still sitting on the counter. Something else must have happened, “Dr. Raynor, when was the last time you heard from Bucky?”
Some days, Sam thinks he’s seen it all - killer robots, killer aliens, AJ willingly eating his vegetables, and then he finds out Bucky began attending group therapy - of his own free will. Because his therapist convinced him to go. Honestly, if he wasn’t so worried he would be impressed. Raynor went up a few notches in his books.
After hanging up with the therapist, Sam immediately called Torres, telling him to get to NYC pronto. They needed to begin with their search, and that search began at the last known location of Bucky Barnes: At the VA attending an amputee support group.
Sam sent Torres to look around with Redwing while he went inside. Sam passed a few empty rooms before he got to a large meeting room with a sign that said Open Meeting. Inside, members were having a coffee break.
“If it isn’t Sammy Wilson! How you doin’?” Came a deep voice behind him. Sam turned to meet the speaker.
“If it isn’t Greg. Haven’t seen you since Kabul,” Greg, an older burly white man, ducked his shaved head, “Glad to see you made it out in one piece.” Sam was glad to see the other man, even if he was older and bigger than the last time Sam saw him.
“Well, almost one piece,” Greg said as he gestured to his missing left foot. “Lost this one on the last deployment. What brings you here Sammy?” Sam pulled out his phone and showed a picture of Bucky and Sarah sitting next to each other. He pointed to Bucky in the photo. “I’m looking for my friend here. Bucky. His therapist recommended he go to this meeting.” Greg looked at the phone, eyes lighting up with recognition.
“Oh yeah, James,” Greg leaned in and whispered, “Sergeant Barnes, right?” He put one big arm around Sam and steered them out into the hallway where it was quieter. “Yeah, one of Christina’s patients. Nice guy, quiet,” Greg crossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “Usually just sits and listens. Been coming here for about a month. He ok?”
Sam swallowed, “I think he might be missing. When was the last time you saw him.” Sam tried to be impressed with the fact that his friend has taken an extra step in his recovery, but it was tainted with bitterness at the fact that Bucky hadn’t told him about it, just like how he didn’t tell Sam about Sarah. His friends just keeping everything from him these days. It was his fault though; Sam was just so busy with his Captain America shit that he just isn’t around.
“Oh yeah, James was here on Wednesday. Think he was on the porch,” Greg looked down the hall at an approaching younger man missing all but one arm in a wheelchair dressed like he was going to a Civil War enactment, “hey Jackie, come on over for a sec will ya.” Greg waved him over. ‘Jackie’ made his way over.
“Hey Greg.” He nodded a greeting to Sam, “oh, you’re James’s friend. Did everything work out with your emergency?” Jackie asked with genuine concern. Sam paused for a second.
“Emergency? What emergency?” Sam couldn't prevent his voice from rising in tone. Jackie looked taken aback, “Uh, The emergency on Wednesday,” he said slowly while giving Greg an incredulous look. He continued, " You came running for James looking like you lost a fight with a badger and said you needed help with ‘Sarah and the boys. Then you two ran off down the street.” Just then Sam received a text from Torres.
Across the Street. Parking Garage. Sam looked back at the men, “which way did we go?”
They found Agent Thomas Boarding dead in the parking garage across the street. Stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, throat slashed. He’d been dead for a few days, so probably since Bucky’s meeting. Goddammit, SWORD might try to pin this on Bucky. We have to find him.
Sam sent Redwing down the street in the direction that Jack guy said Bucky ran. Sam needed to get ahead of this, find out what happened to Bucky before Shield decided Bucky went rogue. Sam took a deep breath and went through his contacts.
“Hey Steve. I need your help. It’s Bucky."