Chapter Text
As soon as they stepped inside, Sam was hit by the smell of mildew and... death. Heavy, sticky, unmistakable.
“Ugh,” he muttered, grimacing.
“Looks like Hydra doesn’t care much about hygiene,” Natasha said sarcastically, standing next to him.
“Okay, let’s look around,” Steve interrupted, his voice as firm and soldier-like as always.
Sam sighed and moved forward. This had been going on for two weeks now—going from one ruined Hydra base to another, from one stinking hallway to the next.
It had been half a year since the events in Washington, and they were still stuck in this. Hydra might’ve been shattered, but it hadn’t disappeared. The Winter Soldier, however... had.
Steve was stubborn. A damn loyal pain in the ass. No matter how many times Sam told him there might be no chance left, that his Bucky might already be dead — Steve didn’t listen. He was desperate to get his friend back.
“He saved me, Sam!” Steve shouted every time Sam subtly suggested he should give up. “He pulled me out of the water, even though he didn’t have to. He remembers. He has to remember!”
Sam would just sigh and nod. Not because he agreed, but… when he looked into Steve’s eyes, he couldn’t say no. Damn it, Rogers was convincing even when he was rambling.
“I really need to learn how to be more assertive sometime,” Sam thought, scanning another abandoned Hydra base.
For months, his life had boiled down to one thing: chasing a ghost. A serial killer who only existed in shadowy reports and fragmented surveillance footage. Sam was the one Steve sent when he couldn’t — tied up with Avengers missions, politics, and media nonsense. And Sam, like a good soldier, always agreed. He didn’t fully understand why. Maybe deep down he sympathized with the man once called Sergeant Barnes, or maybe Steve was just the kind of guy it was hard to say no to. And even though Sam thought that even if Barnes did remember anything, he probably didn’t want to be found, he still naively searched for him. Still helped Steve.
But two weeks ago, his lonely hunt got less lonely. Steve finally dragged his idealistic, patriotic ass out and started helping. Apparently, the Avengers had a break from saving the world. Nothing important to do, so instead of resting like a normal person, Steve chose to run around chasing ghosts. Natasha, claiming she was bored, joined in too. She was the first to suggest they stop chasing Barnes’ shadow and instead systematically search old Hydra bases and track down former Hydra agents. Her reasoning was smart, it would not only help wipe out the last remnants of Hydra but might finally lead to some real leads.
Steve, of course, immediately jumped on the idea. Even the smallest shred of information about the Winter Soldier was enough to fuel his hope.
That’s exactly why Sam wasn’t sitting at home with a beer watching a game, or relaxing at his sister’s place. Instead, he was trudging through these stinking ruins with two Avengers, cursing his life choices under his breath.
“I should’ve listened to my dad...” he muttered to himself as he stepped into one of the darker rooms. Soft groans came from somewhere inside. Instinctively, Sam reached for his weapon.
“I should’ve gone to law school, like he wanted, settled down, and never had to deal with this shit,” he added quietly, slowly approaching a vague shape in the corner. The closer he got, the stronger the stench became — somewhere between rotting bandages and burnt chemicals.
In the half-light, he made out a figure. Lying there, barely moving, covered in something he at first took for shadows. But those weren’t shadows. They were... wounds. Burns and charred skin.
He froze. Then immediately ran over to the man to give first aid.
“Oh my God... STEVE! NAT! GET OVER HERE, NOW!”
Within seconds, the room filled with quick footsteps and flashlights.
The body on the cold floor belonged to an older man. He was still alive — barely.
His facial skin was burned in many places, and his eyes... they were gone. Empty sockets looked like someone had deliberately poured acid on them.
__
Less than half an hour later, they were already at the local hospital. Sam and Steve stood behind a glass window, watching the doctors dress the burned eyes of the old man.
Natasha had disappeared right after they left the base, tossing over her shoulder that she was staying behind to “check something out fully.” It was just the two of them now, waiting silently for any news.
“He survived, but the scars will stay forever,” the doctor finally announced. “The acid was too strong. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
Sam instinctively looked away as soon as he caught sight of the burned, deformed skin around the bandages. He had a strong stomach, but that sight sparked pure disgust.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. He didn’t want to watch it. He saw no sense in any of it. Earlier, right after they arrived, they had tried to question him, to find out who he was, what he was doing in the old Hydra base, who did this to him... But the old man didn’t say a word. Only broken moans of pain escaped his lips. Plus, Sam could’ve sworn he saw the man’s lips shape the words “Fuck you.”
Now they just stood in silence, unsure what to do next, when suddenly...
“Damn these secret agents,” Sam thought as Natasha literally appeared out of nowhere and stood next to them.
“I know who our blind friend is,” she said calmly, as if it were nothing.
“Man, I’ll never understand how you do that, Nat,” Sam said with admiration. Natasha smiled proudly, with that usual hint of mystery. Steve just looked at her expectantly, his eyes full of hope. Poor guy always saw a chance everywhere.
“Thomas Stinson. Eighty-one years old. Wife died of cancer ten years ago, father of two, American. Officially retired surgeon from a Washington hospital. Throughout his career, he was repeatedly awarded for outstanding achievements. A medical genius... at least on paper." Natasha stopped for a moment and looked at us.
"Unofficially, and here’s where it gets interesting, he worked for Hydra. I found his documents in the same base where we found him. Just a room away. According to those papers, he was a doctor within their ranks. A fanatic. He did what he did because he believed in their ‘mission.’ Or maybe he was just a sadist who enjoyed torturing prisoners. I know he was known for that. And highly valued. So much so that the documents I found were just one version — he was protected to the point where most low-level agents didn’t even know about him. He stopped working for Hydra years ago, but probably when he heard Hydra was disbanded and all agents arrested, he came to this base to destroy the only evidence of his ties.”
“He wanted a clean break,” Sam muttered, still staring through the glass at the curled-up figure on the hospital bed.
“But someone beat him to it... and did this to him,” Steve added.
Sam didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but the sympathy he felt at first was slowly fading.
“Who could’ve done this?” Steve asked quietly.
“There are a lot of people who might’ve wanted to hurt him,” Sam replied.
“Yeah, but this looked... different,” Natasha cut in. “It was planned torture. Someone knew exactly what they were doing. It meant something. I don’t know what yet, but I’ll find out.”
“If anyone finds anything, call me,” Sam muttered. “I’m done for today. I need some peace... and a bed. I’m heading to the hotel.”
“Alright, Sam,” Steve whispered, not taking his eyes off the glass. He looked like he wasn’t really there at all. Sam sighed deeply.
Poor guy. Thinking about Bucky again.
Sam loved Steve. Seriously. He was one of his closest friends and Sam enjoyed spending time with him. But this... this was starting to feel like an obsession. A dangerous one. Steve lived by one thought — to find the Winter Soldier. To find Bucky. He couldn’t accept the idea that Bucky might never be the same, that even if Hydra was gone, he’d still be a different person. Steve just wouldn’t stop. Even at the cost of missions, people, or his own health.
But Sam knew there was no force strong enough to stop him.
●●●
Over the next few weeks, Sam had the worst luck in the world.
The situation with the old man repeated almost exactly the same every time. They found an old Hydra base, an abandoned house, or a hidden bunker. They searched for documents, recordings, or former agents.
But whenever they got there, someone had already beaten them to it. They didn’t find corpses. They found people. Always alive. But always broken.
One agent was chained to the wall with heavy chains, his mouth taped shut, various symbols burned into his shoulder.
Another had his nails ripped out, probably one by one. Another — stripped, with a bruised face, barely conscious — lay in a dark room where the air reeked of violence. Another was drowned, another strangled, and one had a cut tongue.
One was locked in an empty room with a bucket of water and a few rats. According to the doctors, he spent at least two weeks there. He nearly died of starvation.
But they were all alive. All were treated. And all were later sent straight to prison under S.H.I.E.L.D. supervision.
It was like twisted rituals. Like revenge — but not execution.
Sam wasn’t stupid. He started seeing a pattern. Every time it was someone connected to Hydra. And not just some low-level informants — these were people who did things. People who were part of the system. The worst, the most brutal ones.
He started saying it out loud.
“Looks like... a very calculated revenge,” he said one day, standing by the car parked next to the last motel they stayed at.
“Revenge?” Natasha asked, crossing her arms. Her face was stone cold, but her gaze was sharp.
“Maybe... maybe it’s him?” Sam said, thinking about the Winter Soldier. “They tortured him for years, right? Maybe he’s taking revenge?”
“I don’t know. I thought about it, but I don’t know...” she said after a moment of silence. “Winter Soldier is a killing machine, Sam. No emotions, no mercy. I know he could torture, but he always killed in the end. But if he’s still doing it, that means he still has old habits. That he’s still the Winter Soldier. That would mean after a series of tortures, he’d come back and finish the job. Kill them without leaving a trace. And if it’s Bucky again... according to Steve’s stories, he’s not the kind of person who does stuff like that... But I think you’re partly right. It’s very likely it’s another Hydra victim... or just a psychopath playing vigilante.”
Steve said nothing. He still didn’t know what to think. He still wanted to believe it wasn’t Bucky. That his friend wouldn’t be capable of this. That he wouldn’t kill — or torture — even for revenge.
In the end, he just said that Bucky was no longer with Hydra and was only hiding. That he wouldn’t do something like this and that Sam was wrong.
Sam just nodded, pretending to be convinced. But something inside him didn’t add up. Every new discovery, every face, every trace — it all started to form a picture. A picture he knew from Steve’s stories, from files, from history.
Bucky.
A few days later, their so-called vacation had to end.
Fury called. The Avengers needed Steve and Natasha on another mission — serious, urgent. They couldn’t keep roaming Europe hunting ghosts of the past. Steve was torn, but he knew he had no choice.
“Maybe you should take a break, too,” he said to Sam, packing a bag in the hotel room. “You don’t have to keep chasing someone who once tried to kill you.”
Sam shook his head.
“No. I found another lead. A place that might’ve been a Hydra base even before they fell apart. It was never searched. Maybe I’ll find something there.”
Steve stopped mid-step and looked at him carefully.
“You sure?”
“Yes. It’s just a quick check. When I’m done, I’m coming back.”
Steve smiled faintly. They approached each other and embraced in a strong, brotherly hug. Sam felt the weight of Steve’s hope on his own shoulders. He didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth — that it wasn’t just a routine search. That he believed Barnes might be there playing the serial killer.
●●●
Just two days later, Sam was sitting in a small rental car parked in a forest on the outskirts of Latvia. The satellite map he had been studying for hours pointed to an old Cold War-era warehouse. A place where Hydra was rumored to have hidden out for years.
Nothing official, no files—just whispers, whispered names, strange disappearances. It took him a while to figure out where the super soldier might head next. But considering distance, travel time, other possible Hydra bases, and his movement patterns (if Sam was right, that is), he concluded this was where he should expect him today.
This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake he did with Natasha and Steve. He wouldn’t enter the base from one side, giving the soldier a chance to slip out the other.
Oh no. This time, he’d lay low and wait.
If his gut was right… this was where he’d find his first real lead.
Maybe even him. The Winter Soldier.
He waited there for hours. Sitting quietly in the shadow of the forest, Sam watched the old base through his laptop screen and the Redwing drone hovering discreetly overhead, almost invisible against the gray, clouded sky.
He was almost convinced it was a false lead — until the door finally opened.
Someone stepped out. Sam immediately held his breath and zoomed in on the man’s face.
There was something familiar about his silhouette. The way he walked — heavy, slow, like every movement was a struggle.
Sam leaned closer to the screen.
The shadow fell from the stranger’s face, and Redwing captured him clearly.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Sam instantly guessed there was another victim inside the base. Tortured, but alive. He quickly called for an ambulance to come take care of it, though more out of principle than sympathy.
He kept watching Bucky. Bloodied face. Hair tousled and stuck to his cheeks. Torn jacket. He looked dangerous — like someone nobody would want to meet in a dark alley. But his hands… his hands were shaking. Both the real one and the metal one.
Then Bucky dropped to his knees, as if he suddenly lost all strength.
He lowered his head, breathing heavily, and Sam… was almost sure it was crying. He saw Barnes cover his face, clench his fists, then wipe his cheeks with trembling hands.
There was nothing like the Winter Soldier in that. No coldness, no precision, no death. Just a man. Broken. Alone. Falling apart in silence.
Sam reached for his communicator. His fingers hovered over the screen.
He could send a message to Steve right now. He could settle this in minutes. Tell him he was right, and to shove it, and take his "friend" away from here.
But something stopped him. He couldn’t do it.
Not now. Not when Bucky was so… human.
A moment later, the soldier stood up, unsteady. He got on the motorcycle leaning against the wall and headed toward the city. Sam took a deep breath and nodded at Redwing.
“Tail him. But not too close.”
He started the engine of his car and followed, keeping a safe distance. He felt his heart beat faster. Something inside him tightened. Not fear. Not doubt. Was it… concern? Compassion?
Bucky looked like someone who had no one left.
__
An hour passed, maybe two. Bucky wandered the city aimlessly until he finally stopped on the outskirts. An abandoned housing estate, a ruined block — no windows, no lights, walls covered in graffiti.
Redwing carefully flew over the building and peeked through a broken window.
There he was.
Bucky was sitting on the floor in an empty room. No furniture, no curtains—just cold concrete and an old blanket in the corner. He took off his jacket and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. His movements showed exhaustion. Sam could see he was thinner than he remembered. Sunken cheeks, dirty, torn clothes. He looked like someone who hadn’t eaten in days.
He didn’t look like a killer.
He looked like a homeless man trying to hide from the world. Like someone who no longer had the strength to run.
Sam stared at the screen for a long time, quietly. He didn’t touch the communicator. Didn’t send a message.
Not yet.
First, he had to understand what was happening.
First, he had to know if Bucky wanted to be saved.
●●●
The next day, Sam watched Barnes through a small Redwing camera. He observed how he walked through the city, avoiding people. He wondered when the right moment to talk would come.
Finally, he saw Barnes enter a small, shabby bar by the road and followed him inside.
The bar was cheap, quiet, almost empty. It smelled of stale oil, unwashed glasses, and fatigue. Sam entered without a word, took off his cap, and looked around—not having to search long.
Bucky sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over, shoulders pressed close to his body. In front of him lay the cheapest sandwich the place offered—some bread, a few lettuce leaves, and something resembling cold cuts. Sam preferred not to think about where Barnes got the money for it.
Sam took a deep breath and, after a brief internal debate, sat down silently next to the world’s deadliest assassin.
Bucky didn’t even flinch. He swallowed a bite and glanced sideways, squinting.
“If you wanted to surprise me, you failed. I’ve seen your flying recording thing all morning,” he said, taking another bite.
“That wasn’t the plan,” Sam answered slowly, hardly believing this was happening. After so many months, he was finally talking to the Winter Soldier. And so far, he hadn’t tried to kill him, so that wasn’t so bad.
“I just wanted to find you. I’ve been looking for you, you know? Since Washington.”
“Not hard to notice,” Bucky snorted. “But for your own good... please stop. You, Black Widow, and Ste—Captain America. You all need to give it up.”
Bucky finished speaking and nervously looked around the bar, as if checking if someone was about to attack him. He never once looked Sam in the eyes. That’s when Sam noticed—Bucky wasn’t trying to scare him. He was scared himself. And scared like… terrified.
“It’s just me here now,” Sam said calmly. “Steve and Nat went back to New York for work.”
“You don’t work with... them?”
“Avengers? No. Just helping a friend... do you even know who I am?”
“Samuel Wilson,” Bucky replied immediately. “Winged kid. Buddy of Cap. Air Force. Falcon project. But lately, you’ve quit saving the world... Now you’re hunting a monster on Captain America’s orders.”
Sam swallowed hard. He knew he couldn’t let himself lose his cool. Not here. Not now.
“I’m looking for you… for Steve. He misses you. He worries. He wants to help.”
Bucky grimaced, like the idea hurt him.
“He shouldn’t. Steve doesn’t understand that some things can’t be fixed.”
“So you remember him? Us?” Sam asked, feeling more confident by the second. With every moment, the impression that Barnes would suddenly snap into soldier mode and kill him lessened.
Bucky shifted slightly, staring into the bottom of an empty glass. His hands rested on his knees, tense, as if holding back from throwing the sandwich at the wall. His metal hand was hidden under a glove and layers of clothing, crushing his knee so hard Sam feared he might break it.
“Fragments. Shreds. Like someone told me someone else’s life and tried to convince me it was mine. Some are clear, others blurry… but I don’t feel like they belong to me. Just that… they happened. That’s all.”
Sam felt nauseous. He was sitting next to a killer. A man who had sown death for decades. But this man wasn’t the monster of his imagination. He looked worn out. Like he was dead inside. And on top of that, he barely remembered anything from his previous life.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Bucky reach for a pistol in his pocket. He wasn’t aiming it at anyone; it was probably just a precaution.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Barnes,” Sam said, trying to calm him. “You don’t need a gun. No one’s going to jump out and arrest you suddenly. I haven’t told anyone about you. Not even Steve. First, I want to… make sure how you’re doing… if you’re not a danger.”
“I’m not like that anymore,” Bucky said quietly. “Not for a long time.”
“Hydra agents we find think differently,” Sam said cautiously.
Bucky looked at him sideways. There was something knife-like in that look—tired, sharp, cold.
“It’s not the same.”
“Really? Because I understand it’s revenge, but a very bloody one. Steve will break when he finds out you did it to people cold-bloodedly.”
Bucky finally turned to look him in the eyes.
“It’s not revenge. It’s justice. Karma, you understand?”
“Not exactly,” Sam replied slowly, thinking like a therapist again. “But if you want to explain, I’m willing to listen.”
Barnes hesitated noticeably. Sam could almost see the gears turning in his head—what he’d gain by telling the truth, what he’d lose, what the risks were, and what this man wanted.
After a moment, Bucky finally opened his mouth, and to Sam’s relief, began to speak.
“I… I do to them exactly what they did to me.” His voice cracked a little but he kept going. “Just that, no more. One to one. Sometimes even less, so they don’t die. I always make sure you find them afterward.”
He looked at Sam with pain in his eyes. Sam was processing what he’d heard, devastated. He wanted to say something but knew if he interrupted Bucky now, he might never speak again.
So he let him continue.
“Pure justice… it’s not my fault my body healed and theirs didn’t. I didn’t want that serum… They gave it to me… I don’t do anything I haven’t lived through myself. I don’t stab them without reason. I just… show them.”
“Show them what?” Sam asked gently.
“What pain means. What fear means. What it means to beg for it to end and not get it. Each one of them tortured me, Wilson. Every single one. Brutally. They didn’t even think they were hurting a person… just training a machine. So I showed them what that feels like. I’m not a psychopath. I don’t enjoy it. It’s not a game. It’s the balance.”
Sam was silent, unsure what to say. Everything in him screamed that it wasn’t right. That it was madness. But how could he argue with someone who’d known hell firsthand? He felt sick. He remembered all those people.
The thought that all of it happened to one man was… unbearable.
“Oh, don’t pity me, Wilson,” Bucky said with a hint of disgust in his voice when he saw Sam’s expression. “I’m not telling you this for sympathy… I earned the pain. I just wanted to explain my actions.”
Sam’s eyes widened. Did Bucky really think he deserved it? So much pain, so much torture… God.
“So…” Sam began slowly, trying to piece it all together, “everything you did to them, they did to you? All those tortures like… like that… acid. That old man… Stinson,” he said.
Bucky flinched at the mention of the former Hydra agent’s name, but Sam was composed enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“Yes… He poured the same thing in my eyes. Exactly the same… as punishment. When I was on a mission about 50 years ago, my program must have malfunctioned. Or I don’t know… I guess I just hit my head too hard and a part of the man inside me woke up. I didn’t remember myself, but something told me what I was doing was wrong. I refused to kill a child then, shouted that it wasn’t humane, and well… the doc got angry. He poured it into my eyes as long as he could. He kept looking at me, smiling, and talking. He said I deserved it, told me to keep looking until the image before my eyes went completely black. He said he’d make sure I’d never refuse an order again… well, he was right…”
Sam felt like he was in a horror movie. Listening to this gave him chills, and Bucky told it so monotonously. So without emotion.
“I was blind for two years after. Counting time in ice, of course, but back then I had more missions than kriotherapy, so… you know. Almost two full years of blindness. Do you think that’s something that can be forgiven? Something I can live with, letting him walk free?”
Sam didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Even if he wanted to.
Bucky stood up, took the rest of the sandwich in his hand. He didn’t look at him anymore.
“Stop following me, Wilson. I’m not a threat. Not to anyone innocent, at least. And soon, you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Sam asked, feeling the tension rising in his voice.
“It means I have one last person left. Then… nothing else matters.”
“What do you mean by that?!” Sam raised his voice, but Barnes was already leaving the building. Sam went after him.
“BARNES, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!” he shouted, grabbing his arm.
Bucky spun around in a flash. Grabbed Sam by the neck and pressed him against the wall.
Sam held his breath, heart racing… but after a moment, the grip loosened. Barnes pulled back his hand.
“Jesus… I'm...sorry. It was just reflex,” he muttered, lowering his gaze.
“It's all right,” Sam said, catching his breath. “My bad, I shouldn’t have touched you. I'm sorry.”
Bucky furrowed his brows in surprise, not understanding why Falcon was apologizing. He frowned, pretending to stay in control.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t,” he snapped sharply and turned to walk away.
“Wait!” Sam ran after him.
“I just almost strangled you. You seriously want to follow me?” Barnes asked, walking ahead without even looking back.
“I’ve been tracking you for half a year. Ya think I’ll just let you disappear? Maybe I should call Steve, huh?”
“If you wanted to snitch on me, you would’ve done it already… Besides, like I said, one last person left. After that, you won’t have to worry about me. Ever. Go home. Rest.”
“I heard you loud and clear, that’s why I’m asking, who’s that person?” Sam quickened his pace to keep up.
“None of your business.”
“Oh, come on! I’m hunting Hydra agents too! Who is he? What do you mean nothing will matter after?”
“Back off or I’ll smash your head in,” he hissed, clearly trying to sound threatening.
“If you wanted to, you’d have done it a long time ago,” Sam replied with a slight smile, feeling his fear of the guy fading. “Come on, tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Or…”
“Do you ever shut up?!” Bucky growled. His voice was sharp, but Sam noticed it wasn’t the Winter Soldier’s murderous fury—just plain human irritation. He snorted quietly.
“Man, you’re not very patient. For a killer psycho, you get annoyed pretty easily, you know? Just…”
Bucky suddenly stopped and spun around sharply.
“Okay. You want to know?” he shouted, cutting Sam’s monologue. Sam smiled to himself, proud he’d annoyed the soldier into talking. He nodded with a grin.
Bucky sighed and pulled a crumpled photo from his jacket pocket, handing it over.
Sam looked at it. A chill ran down his spine.
“Brock Rumlow. You know him?” Barnes asked quietly. His tone suddenly uncertain.
“I know…” Sam nodded. “The worst bastard in all of Hydra. Hard to track… I thought he was dead,” he added cautiously.
“He’s alive. Hiding. Don’t know where… but I’ll find him. No matter what. That jerk was the worst of all… I’ll track him down and finish the job. And then…” Bucky hesitated. “Then nothing will really matter anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Sam frowned.
Barnes looked away.
“I don’t have a life here. I’m not the same man from the forties. I don’t belong to this world either. I’m… a ghost. Nobody. When I’m done with him… I don’t care what happens to me. Maybe a bullet in the head. Maybe I just wait for my time or some other lunatic finishes me off. Whatever.”
He turned and walked deeper into the dark alleys. After a moment, he vanished from sight.
Sam stood still, processing what he had just heard.
Just in case, he deployed Redwing and ordered it to follow Bucky.
He himself stayed put, analyzing everything. Bucky has suicidal thoughts… he’ll hunt down the last tormentor and end himself.
“He said he doesn’t care,” Sam whispered to himself. “Doesn’t care…” he repeated, feeling a plan forming in his mind.
Sam started running full speed, eyes fixed on Redwing’s readings.
The drone showed Bucky’s position—a shortcut through several side streets let him close the distance. After twenty minutes, he finally caught up.
“Man… you’re fast,” he gasped, standing next to him.
Bucky turned his head, looking at him with a mix of surprise and irritation.
“What else do you want, Wilson? I told you everything. Now leave me alone.”
“Wait…” Sam caught his breath. “You said you didn’t care anymore, right?”
“Yeah?” Bucky frowned, not sure where Sam was going with this.
“That means it doesn’t matter… whether you kill yourself or get sick? Whether you end up homeless? Whatever, right?”
“Wilson, I don’t know what game you’re playing…”
“Answer me. Please.” Sam said the last word quietly but firmly.
Bucky squinted. There was something in his look showing he wasn’t used to words like ‘please’. He’d spent seventy years obeying orders, not requests.
“Yes,” he finally said slowly. “As long as I don’t go back to Hydra or anything like that… I don’t care. Though death sounds the kindest…”
Sam nodded, grimacing slightly at the man’s words. But he didn’t want to show pity because he knew it would annoy him.
“That means it won’t make much difference if you die… or come with me to Steve… and then die?”
Bucky’s eyes widened, realizing where this was going.
“Theoretically… no. But that doesn’t mean I want to go there.”
“If you say you don’t want to, that means you do care about something. Because if you truly didn’t care, going to Steve wouldn’t bother you.”
Barnes sighed heavily.
“Fine... I don’t care if I die or go to Steve, life won’t make sense anyway. Bravo, you’re right. So what now? You want me to track Rumlow, and then I’m supposed to nicely come back to Rogers like a good dog?”
“No,” Sam replied with a half-smile. “I want to help you find Rumlow, and then… we’ll go back to Steve together.”
“What?!”
“Together it’ll be easier. I’ve got a passport, a car, I can arrange hotels, food. I have contacts with the Avengers, access to military tech. As a duo, we’ll catch him faster.”
“And after?”
“Then you meet Steve. Talk. See what’s next. I won’t tell you how to live after that. One conversation with him—that’s all I’m asking.” Sam spoke slowly, knowing it was risky but having no better plan.
Bucky looked at him suspiciously.
“Am I supposed to believe you want to help me find a man you know I...won’t treat gently?”
Sam swallowed but held his gaze steadily.
“I finally found you. There’s no way I’ll let you disappear again.”
Barnes stayed silent for a long moment. It was clear he was weighing every word.
“Alright... but if you betray me… if you even think about telling SHIELD, the Avengers, or Steve where we are and what we’re doing…”
“I won’t.” Sam interrupted.
“IF you do,” he repeated sharply, “you’ll regret it. I won’t kill you… but I know how to break a bone so you’ll suffer for months. And when you’re busy with your pain, I’ll vanish. So far you won’t find me anymore. And maybe after years, I’ll find Rumlow and finish it alone. Then I’ll kill myself. And you’ll lose the only chance to bring me back to Rogers.”
Sam nodded. He felt Bucky was just trying to intimidate him, but still, a chill ran down his spine.
“So… alliance?” Sam held out his hand.
Bucky looked at it in surprise, then slowly and uncertainly shook Sam’s hand.
“Alliance,” he said quietly.