Winter Wakes The Wolf

except this ain’t physics 101, and sam’s both got eyes and long peeled the carton lid off, all right? boom, bucky’s dead inside the box.

❛that’s all you got?❜

(that was a good german accent, by the way. he doesn’t need to go too far back to unpack why.)

it’s okay to be wrong. bucky does that all the time.

you could say it’s none of sam’s business. except he’s gonna make it that ‘cause it’s raining all over the parade he didn’t ask for.

❛look, man, i didn’t give ‘em the go-ahead.❜

is he apologizing for an inauguration of something he didn’t even want? doesn’t want.

worst of all, maybe, it’s steve’s birthday. sam’s not sure how to feel about all that, but bucky seems to have made up his mind for the both of them.

No? He's going with that? Okay. The thought is punctuated with a frown and a nod, neither of which are amused.

"The most appalling part of all of this - " Aside from that accent, because he's still not over it, "Is that you still think they need your permission. You're not a leading authority to them. You are a figurehead. A tool. A pawn."

He could go on, but decides to stop, because it occurs to him that Sam doesn't really know what he's talking about. He's apologizing for something, probing, hoping Bucky will let slip what the real issue is. Sam is grasping for straws, and coming up with air.

Which leaves him with two options - to continue the charade, see where it goes and what he can get out of it. Or simply put the man out of his misery.

“i am coming back to wakanda”.

Brows crease at his criticisms of her idea of what she believed love to be, and she can't help the small sting of hurt she felt when he brings up names and riches. Sure, her mother was allowed to marry her father without too much pushback because of her father's wealth and name, but that wasn't what their love was based upon. Nor were her ideas about it. "I don't need money to love, Bucky. That's not what love is." And in her mind, she had the long list of men she'd turned down for that very reason.

Gwen continues to listen to him, her face falling when Bucky mentions what he believes he's "good for", and finally she stands up, smoothing her skirt. "Well, perhaps we can just choose to disagree on that. I don't believe love should be painful." She turns to face him, feeling the bit of anger coursing through her at him for thinking so low of himself. "And that is absolute bullshit," Gwen fires off, letting her "societal norms" of respect and politeness towards a man go right out the door. "You are so much more than whatever you're wrapped up in. You are.....you are so full of greatness and everything good and I do not want to sit around here and listen to you speak another word like that. I can hardly even stomach the idea of those people who believe that being around you. I mean it, if I ever find out what woman did this to you, I will punch her in the throat."

In fact, it was everything. At least when it came down to the small hope that had been their potential love story. And she had no idea, because he would never, could never, bring himself to tell her. He could never truly peel back the layers to show her this shame, that he'd tried and failed. That the boy who could get everything finally met his match, and it was now defining every interaction between them.

Bucky knows she saw the shift in him as they grew older, and his platonic feelings fell away into an attraction turned to genuine feeling. He'd put a sort of distance between them for the sake of trying to preserve what they had. But the true shift in their dynamic? That fateful dinner that left him cool and reserved and her desperately clinging to normalcy?

How could she not know?

"I know." He finally relents, but he's not entirely sure she heard him the first time over her ranting. So he cuts her off again, when she's crossed over to grab her bag. To signal she's finally going to leave him be and when he's speaking at her back. It's easier this way. "Gwen, I know."

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms around them, and rests his chin on one. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not the reckless one." How can he be when he's consistently having to clean up after the rest of them? The only one he never has to worry about is Rebecca - but Steve, Gwen, and June? They are the three that charge into things heart first, consequences be damned. They don't see the bigger picture until after the fact, when Bucky is cleaning cuts and bruises and wiping away tears. It's a luxury he's never given himself, and partially why he tries to shield them from the bigger decisions that threaten to drown him.

"I don't jump to conclusions or make rash decisions. This - " He briefly breaks his pose to motion to himself, then reverts back, as if making himself smaller will protect him in this rare moment of truth. " - is a necessary evil that I'm not even going to begin to poison the term of love over. It's," Transactional sounds horrid, but not far from the truth. "It's over for a while."

The damage had already been done, but there was no going back on her side either. June had submitted pieces in an upcoming show at the art gallery already. Had been chattering about it for weeks. The rest was in her own hands. Bucky knew Cheryl likely felt her hold over him slipping, and it had caused the abuse. Freedom was so close, he just had to wait it out. Which meant Gwen butting out.

@lamentingwclf

"I can't!" Karen fires back just as quickly as his demand is aired. Can't or won't? It was the latter- mostly. But if she were to tell him she'd been tracing the whispers of the souls demonizing Bucky's past, well it probably wouldn't end in a conversation better than this one.

"Listen, everything is fine- I just asked the wrong question to the wrong person. They're just trying to scare me off, but it's not something I haven't dealt with before. So just- just breathe, okay? You don't need to get involved and you don't need to protect me."

"Right." He says, though his tone is dripping in sarcasm. "So it's okay for you to dig around my past, but you don't want me to be involved. You don't want me to protect you." Bucky's response is a mix of throwing her words back at her and a hell of a lucky guess. He hadn't entirely been sure what she'd been digging into, but her sudden caginess around him as well as a few things that had popped up on his own radar lately gave him a hunch.

She listened to him speak, leaning back into him and simply thinking on it. Wanda couldn't completely argue against those words. How he coped wasn't how the majority of the populace would term to be coping. "I know everyone copes differently. But it's also good to know you do cope. What I've gone through isn't-- Well, it's not the worst the world has to offer. And today was hardly anything compared to some days. You're coping mechanisms are your own. But it's nice knowing everyone copes in their own way, that there's no, uhm, right way about it."

How he coped was up to him. It wasn't something she would pry into right now. She recognised some of the methods, simply from observation. When you were around someone so often it was harder not to pick up on things. Though Wanda supposed the fact she cared for him meant it was important to her, in a way. He was used to pure survival. She wasn't used to it in the same way but she had purely acted for the sake of survival before. When her adoptive parents died, when it was just her and her brother, they had fled. They'd stolen, they'd fought, they'd hid. They did almost all they could in order to survive. It wasn't always nice. It certainly wasn't healthy. But sometimes simply living was the best and only thing you could do.

Wanda's hand reached for his, not taking it but letting her fingers softly roam his skin. Across one finger, to the next... Idle movements, but she gained some comfort from the touch.

Her movements froze when he spoke up though, eyes narrowing questioningly at his words. He knew? Wanda listened, not bothering to hide her emotions in his presence. If he asked how she felt, she'd no intention of lying to him, so why waste energy hiding her expressions? Besides, it was mostly a mix of mild confusion and curiosity - with a nice amount of annoyance as well. A.I.M. was something she had heard of before. Not in any level of depth, but it meant when he explained that she understood. And it did make sense. An organisation like that wouldn't hesitate to design weapons like this with no care for how they were used.

Silence fell for a moment as she thought on his words. It was hard to answer, because was there one single answer to this question? "Why?" she repeated, before sighing softly. Her hand that had rested on his went to her head, fingers rubbing her temple gently. Wanda could hazard a guess, but that would be it. "Because I'm a weapon, too, I suppose. Ah, I mean--" She tried to think of how to answer this, and found some focus when she decided to look properly at him. "I don't think my ego is that big that I think I'm unstoppable or the most important person out there. But what I can do isn't exactly cheap parlour tricks. It's... It's reality altering. It's chaotic." And as far as she knew, there was no end to it. She felt tired when she used her powers, but with each training session or actual fight her stamina built. And frankly, Wanda was only scratching the surface of what she could do. She held her hand out, a swirl of red mist around her fingers. Dancing wisps of soft light.

"I'm a witch. And a mutant. And, oh, I don't know what else. It's all just labels. What it adds up to is being able to alter probabilities with the flick of a wrist, cast spells, and alter reality. ...The casting spells part is a work in progress. That sort of thing needs to be taught, and much as I never actually attended a school I don't think it's on the regular curriculum. There's plenty of magic users out there - sorcerers and warlocks. But my magic is innate. It's part of me. Chaos magic. Fun name, isn't it? It just means old." Also powerful. And linked to an ancient god. Evil god. That was attached to her. Maybe. Well, hopefully he didn't ask further questions yet, she didn't have any answers to her own questions about herself.

Essentially, she was a problem. And didn't it make sense to eradicate the problem? She'd already shown she wasn't on their side.

"Actually, it's all a work in progress." Her voice glum for a moment. Power was hard to control, and until recently she had feared what she could do. Fear meant instability and therefore she was involved in plenty of accidents. "Sounds ridiculous to say it out loud. Witches and mutants and weapons, oh my. Like a book."

It drew out of him the person he'd been before Winter Soldier had stripped him back to a base level of aloneness he'd never experienced before. Though, that was a lot to put on someone else, and he did not want Wanda to think he was using her pain for his own mental gain.

But he did also observe a pattern of behavior in her to lessen. She would underexaggerate the things she had been through as a child that bled into her adulthood. She would wave off injuries that would cause others to pause. Wanda also watered down her powers and abilities. While it was a strength, in its own right, and in a way, he admired her for it. But sometimes, in those moments when he would watch her without her knowing, when he'd see her drop her guard even for a moment, he couldn't help but wonder if someone had told her before that she was too much.

"You're not just a weapon." Bucky feels the need to tell her this before he continues with a logical line of thinking. His grip on her tightens as if to stress the point. "But I won't lie and say they don't see it that way. To them, your power is likely something to harness and it being so limitless - and likely even mostly unexplored - the possibilities of what could be done with it are endless."

To bend or alter reality alone would assist in planting candidates in office. To tweak numbers, raise endless amounts of money. The list of suspects alone tripled from just that, not just in America, but across the globe. It could be anyone pulling those strings.

He reaches up to press his palms against the slope of her neck, framing her face with his thumbs. As he does so, he tries to think of the best way to phrase what he's thinking and get to his point. "I know even talking about weaknesses can feel like an invitation for them to be exploited, but that isn't what I'm trying to do here." Bucky's hold tightens because he doesn't want her to shy away the same way he would at someone even mentioning the word weakness. It left him feeling raw and vulnerable, but he's aware too that this could be a projection.

"I want to help you, and I'm obviously not at the same level as you, but I can fight - " Gaping wound to the side and countless other scrapes and bruises she's had to clean up aside. "I can teach you, just in case."

Just in case they one day succeed and do find a way to stop those powers. Just in case he can't get to her fast enough. Just in case he needed that own peace of mind himself.

Oops.

He thinks at the slip up. It is happening more frequently, a sign of comfort, and really he should tell her. But the fact is, he likes that she doesn't know. He likes that there's a chance to be normal.

you’ll love me for the rest of your life and i'll miss you for the rest of mine.

McCoy doesn’t grimace — he’s smelled worse, and hell, bars back in Mississippi or Georgia smelled just as damn bad in the heavy heat — but he’s resigned himself to smelling like cheap booze when he gets home. If he was going to smell like a cheap beer and cigarettes, at least he was going to enjoy it.

Snug inside his jacket, McCoy addles up beside his leather bound friend for lack of a better word. There was someone at home for this man — someone who’s apparently used to waiting — and wasn’t that familiar? Maybe dark and mysterious here has better luck than McCoy ever did; maybe whoever that was is far more patient and understanding.

Maybe they don’t even notice.

McCoy doesn’t plan on asking any further than he did. The bottle makes a right distraction — bourbon — which is a hell of a choice. He raises a brow and curls his lip up in a slow grin. He might have judged this man too soon.

“ Well, ” not that it’s anyone’s business, but here they are and McCoy’s grateful for the hospitality, “ I had nowhere else t’go if I’m being honest. My ex-wife, she took the whole damn planet after the divorce. The house, the dog, the picket fence, ” his accent is thicker around the words, teeth showing.

“ There were a lot of people here, people to help after — y’know, ” McCoy gestures with a clumsy wave then takes the glass, gives himself something to hold onto. He doesn’t talk about it much. Most people around know or can tell — make assumptions — with a bedside manner left to be desired, “ Everybody just started popping back up like popcorn kernels and overloaded the bowl. Kept me busy. ”

The glass comes up to his nose, smelling woodsy and bitter, delicious, as McCoy eyes him, “ I take it you do something not all that different at the end of the day. ”

No.

That wasn't quite right either.

There was much Bucky was taking for granted and it was some combination of idiocy and aloofness that caused the behavior. His partner's understanding only solidified it. He simply just wasn't used to having someone waiting, someone that he should call regularly, update of his life status at minimum. Labeling it, though, that terrified him more and more each time he did finally drag himself through the door with eyes closed afraid that this time would be the time its empty.

He does, however, catch the surprise that crosses the doctor's face at his choice. That pleasant surprise that causes Bucky to roll his eyes in response. He's old. Set in his ways, and likes what he likes, but doesn't waste his breath raising that point. That and the topic had already shifted.

"How do you take a planet in a divorce?" He does ask, with his brows tented in confusion. Divorce wasn't entirely unheard of in the 1940's, but it was somewhat frowned upon. Back then, it was your reputation at stake, but now, planets? There's a moment where he just pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom what he's being told; but it's entirely possible that McCoy is being facetious and Bucky just has space and aliens on the brain.

"I was one of those that popped back up." In fact, he'd been doing it for years. There was a running joke, apparently, to never assume he was dead or gone. "Actually, my run in was a group of individuals who are feeling some kind of way for being displaced after the blip. That all those resources are stretched thin again." He taps the table with his finger tips, the feeling starting to come back and settle somewhere in his brain as masked pain. "It's hard to not argue their point, but they are going about it the wrong way."

When Bucky gives his revelation about baseball she feels her chest tighten in both pride and heartache. Of course, he was offered it. He was just so bright, so talented, but equally as stubborn and selfless in his fight to take care of his family and Steve- and her. So of course, he didn't take it. It could have changed everything....but he made his choice. As did herself and Steve.

"....Wouldn't it have been something if you went and then got called up to play for the Yankees? I don't know if Steve or I would have ever forgiven you."

A shaky breath is taken and Gwen glances up to the night sky again, letting the cool November air fill her lungs as she weighs his question. "I want to be in Harriman, in 1937, and in that poor excuse of a tent between you and Steve. I want that quiet again, that freedom, and happiness. That was...that was the best weekend of my life, you know?" A small flicker of a smile comes to her lips as she remembers the memories created that week, and how her smile stayed plastered on her face those few days. "But....I can't."

She takes another breath. "I liked Louisiana. I like being around Sarah and the boys. I like sitting on the boat and talking to Sam. I like the people there and how it's quiet. But....New York is home. You're home. I want this to be my home. But right now...I want you to stand up."

Gwen turns to him again, waiting for him to do as she asked before crossing over to him and throws her arms around, hugging him as tightly as she can. And suddenly it's no longer 2024 and they're not standing in the backyard of house outside of New York. Instead they're at the docks in 1945. He's in that same uniform he had on as he did when he left, but now, there's no longer a need to put it on again. There's no war. There's no more trauma. It's just a soldier's welcome home. And after so so long Gwen is finally able to hold her Bucky as tight as she possibly can.

So his son's continued association, and the way he threw himself in to academics and athleticism equal parts arrogant and prideful. He assumed Bucky saw himself as more than versus the truth. It was never hubris, but the desire a boy has to make his father proud. Bucky wanted George to see him again.

By the time he was seventeen and got the letter, his feelings were mixed. It didn't matter George had died by then. The sport and his future were still tainted by the sound of snapping bone and silent tears.

"Quiet?" He all but scoffs, pulled from his own silence, and his expression is nothing short of incredulous. "We remember that trip very differently." In that Bucky and Steve hadn't invited her, but they talked about it in front of her knowing she'd come anyways. They took for granted extending invitations then, if there was something they wanted to do themselves, they kept it tight knit until it was just the two of them. But they hadn't anticipated just how much she would bring, and that Bucky - despite his initial denial - would essentially end up a pack mule.

In fact, most of that camping trip consisted of Bucky tending to their needs versus relaxing himself. But he'd done it all with a quiet stoicism and amusement he was capable of then. What he's referring to, however, is that there was nothing quiet about the trip at all. Gwen was a chatterbox. Constant questions and squeals of laughter. Shoes that weren't up to par for hikes, so they double socked her feet, and took things slow under the guise of Steve's asthma. At night, when the temperature dropped and she realized her clothing was too thin - the two knuckleheads ended up wrapped in Bucky's extra flannels and he tended the fire all night.

It was simply how things were, and he laments for those days too.

"Why?" He asks of her request, but it lacks the attitude it might once have held because he realizes it wasn't a demand. She didn't pout or tap her foot, she simply asked. There is, however, a bit of attitude in the actual act of standing. He takes his time returning the chair to all four legs, and pushes himself out of it. Bucky has all but folded his arms across his chest when she crosses to him and throws her arms around him.

A noise escapes him, a passing of air between his teeth at the surprise of the contact. His arms are raised as if he's not quite sure what to do with them.

After the truth was revealed to her about him, and his prosthetic, there had been passing touches. A hand to the shoulder, fingertips on the back of a hand. She'd attempted to touch his scars that first night, but he shied away as if the taint of them would spread across her olive skin. Turn it necrotic and black. All of these things had felt weaponized right down to the desperate press of her lips the night of their argument over her parents as she desperately tried to regain some balance.

Bucky realizes that he is shaking - a trembling that is causing a slight chatter to his teeth. He is afraid of what this contact could mean, but inevitably, he drops his arms to fold them around her. First the right, then eventually the left. Finally, he drops his chin onto her head.

They were two sides of the same coin. People who learned how to survive no matter what the world threw at them. Destined to be break and broken over and over again. Shaped by people who wanted to control them and they both came out bruised and damaged, but alive. A life of dept and guilt burdened onto their shoulders.

To let her in that first night they realized what was building between them was more than just mentor and protege. When the heat became too much to ignore, and their incorrect assumption that it would be one time. Get it out of their system. Move on.

To run away with her. When talk first started of arranging a marriage for her. At the time, they didn't know who the candidate would be, just that it would be a very political move and place her so far out of reach that the thought of being separated outweighed the real possibility of being caught. Punishment had been tenfold.

Her tongue is immediately bitten after her words fall from her lips. Stupid. Fucking stupid. Her attention is turned back to the jacket. Steve Rogers was the last person she wanted to thing about and surely Bucky didn't want him brought up. Not after everything.

"Look all you have to do is keep your head down and make sure your snake doesn't bite anyone. Or even worse, get out of it's cage." She shoots him a look then hands over T-Shirt, unable to stop the smirk that comes as it's his turn to give her a look.

Brown hues watch him as he takes it and steps back to change into it, and while once words like that would have brought a blush, all she can do is give a teasing grin now. "What show?" A hand is reached out to softly rest on his shoulder before they move to grab the rack. "I'm going to bring these to Sam. I haven't seen his show yet, maybe I'll be impressed."

"....Buck...just remember. I'm the one with blood on my hands tonight, not you." And she'd do it again. "And I'm not sorry about it...so get out of your head. You're alright."

It's the only thing he offers as he drops his gaze missing the way she's beating herself up over it. It is true. He can only imagine what Steve chose to share about him to convince her to help in the end. It raised a new level of self consciousness he wasn't prepared for because Bucky now wondered if he'd escaped one scrutinizing gaze for two others. He knew Sam looked for the remnants of who James Barnes had been that made all of this worth it; but he didn't need it from Sharon too.

Plus, that wild boy that grew up in Brooklyn died a long time ago. There was nothing suave, easy going, or care free about him anymore.

However, that doesn't mean her barbed comment about his appearance and Sam's doesn't hit its mark. That it doesn't appeal to his vanity in a way he's not proud of. Just that he chooses not to react. Chooses to turn away from her and continue tugging the shirt over his head to replace it with the tighter one that causes him to slip two fingers beneath the collar and tug unnecessarily. The move is ineffective, does nothing to loosen it - and his mind wanders immediately to how much it likely costs.

It causes a different sort of panic in that the whole outfit probably costs more than his family ever had in their entire lives.

It's that that causes the set of his brow when he finally emerges, pulling the black blazer on as if to shield himself from prying eyes. He's surprised to still catch her alone. "Guess there wasn't that much to see." There's a smugness to the comment as he comes across, stopping short of where she's fiddling with a bar cart. It's all gold and mirror and glass. Terribly fragile, or perhaps even terribly misleading.

Bucky's getting nervous. Or pissed. Or both. It's harder to read him now, there are years separating them, but there's just enough of him left he can piece it together. He's a jigsaw puzzle just missing a few pieces here and there. The big picture's still the same. Need to take baby steps is all. Not toddler-sized, infant. Maybe even embryo.

But the slow burn plan is halted in the time it takes for the man to say a single word.

It's been so damn long since that voice has called his name. Longer than he thought he could bear. More than half his life spent half alive and struggling to make it day to day besides. But Bucky had always been there to make waking up every morning worth it. Give him a reason to get out of bed. The only poor bastard dumb enough to be his friend.

And when Bucky graduated to highschool, Steve followed.

When Bucky went overseas to war, Steve followed.

No one could keep them apart. Not science, not God.

How the hell was he expected to let the man slip through his fingers now? Bucky said his name.

But he wanted to know who found him and Steve has the distinct impression that his intent is to 'fix' the liability so it never happens again. Tony's a damn good fighter but a sniper won't give you the chance to have a fist fight. He can't say no to Bucky, so he doesn't.

The glance doesn't slide under his radar and it makes him fidget. Is he waiting on someone? Timing this meeting? Is Steve running out of time to convince him? Or is he counting down to something? He knows it was dumb to come here without a plan but Bucky would have sniffed it out in a heartbeat. He always had a knack for it. So arriving in full red white and blue would've surely sent him running for the hills leaving Steve to sniff out the remnants of the life he'd made for himself here.

He'd done that one too many times. Picked through meager possessions looking for some semblance of James Barnes left behind in old scribbles of nonsense and broken timelines. Furious question marks dotted angrily in margins.

It's the first time Steve's reached for Bucky in the physical, fingertips brushing the straining knuckles of a gloved hand and he swallows harder.

But it is the logical part of his mind that he fights to listen to that says the person that located him and presented the information to Steve first is someone that is being protected. Steve is protecting them from him because his thinking is correct. If there is a threat to his carefully constructed freedom, he will take the shot. There will be slightly more remorse behind it, but Bucky Barnes knows no other way to keep himself safe anymore.

At the touch, everything stops, including his breathing.

Bucky doesn't have to guess to know the panic is showing on his expression for Steve is the first one to touch him in the better part of fifty years with any semblance of kindness and he is unable to process it. Everything holding him together threatens to shatter and break apart and neither of them can afford that now. It is not until the edges of his vision darken, and his ears are ringing that a sound escapes him, and dies on his tongue. His brows knit together, and he has to try again to choke out the word, "Don't."

Please.

He is not blind. He knows how hard it was for Steve to even reach out in the first place, or maybe the opposite. To sit across from him with memories intact of the life they shared and be met with nothing. It's so familiar, yet entirely different; but it doesn't stop him from slipping his hands from where they were so accessible to the safety of his lap. As he does so, he glances at the clock again.

Time's up. They need to move.

Bucky rises, slipping from the booth and towards the door. "Come on then." The invitation is not extended lightly, and won't be extended again. He knows by the sound of the steps behind him that Steve's trailing him, but doesn't take a moment to truly look or memorize it. The second they are met with the cool air outside, he's scanning every face, every car, every speck in the sky that seems out of place. He'd chosen a low population area for this exact reason, anything out of the ordinary stood out and was whispered about by the locals.

Spotting nothing he's content to continue the five minute walk down the trail towards the cabin he'd been residing in. It was an old hunter's cabin set back in a copse of dense trees, hiding it from an aerial view. It had been abandoned, and in need of minor repairs, but the inside was warm and nicer than the other places he'd left scattered and abandoned.

Once inside, he mentally sets a timer for twenty minutes. It's all he's giving them until he believes they need to move again.