Chapter Text
Sam woke up in the morning feeling well-rested. For a split second, he lay still with his eyes closed, enjoying the calm that had so rarely accompanied him lately. Instinctively, he turned in bed, seeking the warmth of another body, but the space beside him was empty.
Instead of panic, he merely stretched and then sat up.
From the kitchen came the soft sound of a pan and the smell of frying eggs. Sam smiled to himself, rose slowly, and made his way there.
The man was standing at the counter, focused on cooking. Sam approached silently and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder. For a moment, he simply stayed there, breathing calmly, feeling the familiar warmth.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
Bucky turned his head and smiled, leaning down to brush Sam’s lips with a short, tender kiss.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Why are you up so early?” Sam asked, sitting on the stool by the counter.
Bucky shrugged and began plating the food. When he set one plate in front of Sam, he looked at him more closely. For a moment, his smile faded when he noticed the shadows under Bucky’s eyes.
“Another nightmare?” he asked quietly.
Bucky waved it off, as if it were nothing. “Nothing. You can get used to it.”
He sat across from Sam, resting his elbows on the table. Sam opened his mouth to say more, but Bucky preempted him, changing the subject.
“Sarah called.”
Sam looked up from his mug. “She did? What did she want?”
“She asked whether we’re getting married in Louisiana, New York, or Washington.”
Sam let out a short laugh. “We’ve been engaged for a week. Maybe we could slow down a little?”
Bucky smiled faintly, that quiet, almost shy smile that always appeared whenever the conversation drifted to their engagement. As if the very idea of it was beautiful to him, but still difficult to fully grasp.
“Well,” he said calmly, “she’s waiting for an answer, Samuel.”
“Oh, please.” Sam rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fiiiine. Then let’s make this huge, life-changing decision.”
He exaggerated the seriousness in his voice and looked at Bucky, clearly waiting for a reaction.
Bucky simply leaned more comfortably against the counter and yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.
Sam waited a moment. Then another.
“Well?” he asked finally. “What do you think?”
Bucky looked at him as if he’d only just remembered there had been a question. He thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
Sam smiled briefly, but something in him clearly shifted.
“You don’t know…?”
"I want Wakanda,” Bucky added after a beat, that half-joking glint in his eye.
Without thinking, Sam grabbed a tomato from the counter and tossed it at him.
“Haha. Very funny. I’m serious, Buck.”
Bucky’s smile vanished almost instantly.
“I am serious,” he said. “I just… really don’t know.”
He reached for a glass of water and took a sip, as if the conversation was over.
Sam felt the tension rise in his chest.
“Delacroix would make sense,” he began carefully. “My family’s there. It’d be easier for Sarah with the kids. New York...well, that’s your city. Washington isn’t bad either. We both live here, so it’d be convenient. We have options. I just… want us to choose together.”
Bucky didn’t answer. He stared down at the table. The eggs on his plate were still untouched. “And you?” he asked finally. “What would you choose?”
Sam sighed quietly.
“It shouldn’t be just my decision. Tell me what you want, I’ll tell you what I want, and we’ll think it through. So?”
“Honestly?” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t care. What difference does it make? It’s just a wedding. It won’t change our lives.”
The words hit harder than Sam expected. He took a deep breath, anger beginning to rise.
Bucky and his inability to make decisions. Unless it was a damn mission then he could act instantly, decide for everyone, ask no one. But when it came to their life, their future, it was always the same: I don’t know, you choose, it doesn’t matter.
The only truly important decision Bucky had made since they met, one that had nothing to do with a mission, was saying yes when Sam proposed.
“That ‘just a wedding’ of yours is supposed to be the most important day of our lives,” Sam said slowly. “It matters to me. I want it to be perfect. And believe me...it does change mine life. I hope it changes yours too.”
“Of course it does,” Bucky replied more quietly, looking down.
“Then,” Sam’s voice trembled before he could stop it, “...try to make one decision. Just one. The location. The flowers. Or the damn cake!”
Bucky flinched, as if the words had actually hurt. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”
Sam shook his head.
“It’s always ‘for me.’ And I don’t want to be the only one planning. The only one deciding. The only one thinking ahead. In every aspect of our lives! ”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Bucky asked, his voice hardening.
Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second.
“That sometimes I feel like I’m alone in this. In our relationship.” Silence fell. “Like you don’t care,” he added more softly. “About our apartment. Our life. Our future. I’ve always handled it, and you just sit there like none of it matters.”
“Like it doesn’t matter to me?!” Bucky slammed his hand on the table. “You’re talking about us?!”
“Yes!,” Sam said without hesitation.
Bucky was the first to look away. He dragged a hand down his face and slowly let out a breath.
“It...It does matter,” he said finally, his voice tired. “I love you. I really do. More than anything. I’m happy about the wedding. I just… I’m not good at planning. At thinking about the future. For most of my life, I wasn’t allowed to have one. Let alone make decisions about it.”
The anger in Sam faded, leaving behind a heavy ache in his chest.
“I know,” he said quietly. Much more gently. “I know it was hard. I know what you went through—”
Bucky winced at that, but Sam continued.
“—but those times are over. Those people are gone.” He took Bucky’s hand. “They’re never coming back, and now you get to live again. I understand your struggles...But I’m here too. And sometimes I need you to be here with me. For us to do this together. That’s what a relationship is. We deal with things, but we do it together. As a team.”
Bucky looked at him with sad eyes and opened his mouth to respond, but instead, he yawned widely.
Sam frowned.
He knew Bucky too well. The serum meant he was rarely truly exhausted and if he was, something was very wrong. And he almost never yawned. Not like this. Not without control.
“Did you even sleep last night?” Sam asked carefully.
Bucky looked at him from beneath lowered lashes.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “And about the wedding—”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Sam cut in.
Bucky clenched his jaw.
“I slept,” he repeated, more forcefully this time, staring down at his plate as if it were now his greatest enemy.
“Buck, I’m not attacking you,” Sam said more quietly. “I’m just...if something’s going on—”
“Oh my God, Sam,” Bucky snapped, shoving his fork down hard. “Why do you even care?! It’s not your problem!”
The words hit Sam faster than he could brace for them.
“I’m your fiancé,” he replied slowly, struggling to keep his voice steady. “So yes. It is my problem.”
“You can’t save me,” Bucky shot back. “You can’t fix me. There is nothing to fix. It's just me. There’s nothing to talk about.”
Sam stood up from the table.
“Maybe there is,” he said more sharply. “Maybe talking would actually help.”
“Who?” Bucky scoffed.
“You.”
Silence fell. Heavy. Sticky.
Bucky rolled his eyes and reached for his glass of water, as if the conversation were already over. As if Sam had just crossed a line he was never supposed to touch.
And that was exactly it.
“That’s exactly my point!” Sam exploded. “This! We’re in a RELATIONSHIP, Bucky! We’re getting married! We love each other! And you act like you’re in this alone, like you don’t trust me!”
Bucky shot to his feet, planting his hands on the counter.
“I do trust you,” he snapped. “More than anyone else! What the fuck are you even talking about?!”
“The fact that you never let me in!” Sam fired back without hesitation. “Not into your plans, not into your fear, not into those damn nights when you barely sleep! Like you’re keeping me exactly where it’s safe… but far away!”
“Because I don’t want to burden you!” Bucky shouted. “Sorry I don’t tell you about every nightmare, every moment when I want to punch a wall because my fucked-up brain is feeding me things that aren’t real! And what would it change, Sam?! Would you pat me on the head and tell me it’ll be okay?!”
His voice turned mocking at the end.
Sam laughed bitterly and pointed at him.
“That." he laughed again" You always do that. You deflect. You push me away. You attack me so you don’t have to look at the problem. You pretend nothing’s wrong until it explodes. Why?!”
“Because it fucking works!” Bucky growled. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?!”
“But not with me,” Sam said quietly. “Next to me. And that’s not the same thing Buck"
Silence followed. Long. Vibrating.
Sam shook his head, like he was trying to pull himself back together.
“I don’t want to be just the guy you barely plan a wedding with on paper. I want to be the one you share the mess with. The fear. The exhaustion. In sickness and in health and all that crap. And you can’t even admit you didn’t sleep last night. Just—”
The phone rang suddenly, brutally slicing through the tension.
Torres.
Sam glanced at the screen, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then answered.
Bucky scoffed. “Sure. Don’t finish the sentence. Torres is more important.”
Sam ignored him and listened to what Joaquin was saying. When the call ended, he let out a deep breath.
“Mission. Suspicious base in Russia. American property from the ’60s. Possible dangerous tech.”
He spoke calmly. Professionally. Like this was solid ground.
Bucky nodded. Without a word, he walked into the bedroom. Five minutes later he came back dressed, armed, focused. Ready.
Sam watched him for a moment, then said quietly, “You know you don’t have to go. You don’t work for them anymore.”
“I’m going,” Bucky replied immediately.
No hesitation. No I don’t know. Sam smiled crookedly. “Amazing,” he muttered. “That decision came to you incredibly easily.”
Bucky frowned. “What the hell are you getting at?”
Sam didn’t answer. He turned away and grabbed his jacket.
A moment later, they left the apartment.
Between them stretched a silence tense, familiar, far too well-known for two people who were supposed to say till death do us part very soon.
Silence filled the quinjet.
Not the familiar, comfortable kind of silence they knew so well, where a single look was enough to understand each other. This one was stiff, tense, heavy with things left unsaid. Sam and Bucky sat across from each other, each staring at something different the wall, the floor, or absolutely nothing at all.
Neither of them said a word.
Joaquín Torres looked at Sam, then at Bucky, then back at Sam again. He swallowed. “Uh…” he began carefully. “I just wanted to ask if you’ve already thought about wedding gifts…”
Both of them almost simultaneously frowned even harder, as if the very sound of the topic was physically painful. They stared anywhere but at each other.
Torres quickly raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Or… or I’ll just move on to the mission,” he corrected himself.
“Good idea,” Bucky replied dryly. Sam snorted under his breath.
“Of course that already matters to you,” he muttered.
“Sorry for caring about the mission,” Bucky snapped. “It’s only other people’s lives, why worry about it.” “
You know that’s not what I meant,” Sam shot back.
Torres stiffened even more, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“Okay… so, um… it’s pretty simple. Some Russian criminal group has taken over an old American base. We were experimenting there a long time ago, back in the sixties. Your mission is straightforward. You go in, secure the most important equipment so they can’t get their hands on it. Or, preferably, destroy everything. God knows what horrors they might have down there. And history tells us that most experiments from that era were… terrifying. Disasters best left buried.” He glanced at Bucky uncertainly. “No offense.”
“None taken. It’s the truth,” Bucky replied coolly.
“Right…” Torres nodded awkwardly. “You shouldn’t run into anyone. And if you do… the Russians probably won’t want to fight. And if they do, I doubt they’ll pose much of a threat. Just arrest them. Destroy everything and get out.”
“Good plan,” Sam agreed. “Some inventions are better left in history.”
The quinjet began its descent. Moments later, they were flying over empty, barren terrain.
“The entrance is there,” Torres said, pointing downward. “Between the rocks. Hidden underground.”
Both of them nodded. Sam spread his wings. Bucky shot him a clearly irritated look. “Let me guess,” he muttered. “Too low for a parachute?”
“Just a little,” Torres confirmed.
Bucky glanced at Sam, clearly hoping he’d at least jump down with him like usual. Instead, Sam leapt out of the quinjet without a word. “Asshole,” Bucky muttered under his breath.
He took a deep breath and jumped. “AAAAAAAA—”
Thud.
He hit the ground hard on his back. For a moment, he lay there motionless, hearing only Sam’s laughter echoing from above. He rolled his eyes, pushed himself up, and brushed himself off.
“Let’s go,” he growled, heading toward the hidden entrance and shoulder-checking Sam hard as he passed him.
Sam rolled his eyes and followed after him.
The mission was going smoothly and efficiently. They moved from room to room, destroying every document, blueprint, and scrap of paper that never should have seen the light of day. Every movement was precise; every file, every piece of equipment ended up either in the right hands or in a pile marked for destruction.
From time to time, they ran into Russian scientists who turned out to be criminals planning God‑knows‑what. They had broken into the base to obtain new weapons and technologies.
Sam and Bucky arrested them without difficulty, leaving them in one secured area so the military could collect them later. If anyone tried to run, they were immediately subdued with a level of precision no commando would be ashamed of.
One of the escapees suddenly fired at Sam, but Bucky reacted instantly, deflecting the bullet with his own arm. “No need to thank me,” he said sharply. Sam rolled his eyes, clearly amused.
“I have vibranium wings. I would’ve been fine,” he replied, snapping cuffs onto the criminal.
Bucky sighed in disappointment and continued down the corridor. A moment later, Sam caught up with him and they walked on together, shoulder to shoulder. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable, filled with words left unspoken.
“So… are we going to talk about this, or what?” Bucky asked suddenly, making Sam freeze for a moment. He hadn’t expected Bucky to be the first one to reach out.
But irritation and the adrenaline of the mission won out over the need for a conversation, so Sam only replied, “Now’s really not the best time.”
“Sure,” Bucky answered in a hollow voice. “I just thought—”
“Well, we’re on a mission now. You could’ve thought about it before agreeing to come,” Sam snapped.
Bucky looked at him with an expression that said a lot. He looked like he was about to say something important. Something heavy. Sam waited—but after a moment, Bucky clearly changed his mind and only nodded, moving on.
The silence grew even worse, the tension thickening the air. When they reached the next room, Sam let out a breath of relief, preferring another brief fight over more of this awkwardness.
They approached the door, and Bucky kicked it in.
The next room turned out to be a massive laboratory. Fluorescent lights reflected off metal countertops, and the hum of old ventilation systems filled the space. Sam noticed out of the corner of his eye how Bucky tensed as they entered, his movements stiff, muscles tight. Sam said nothing, knowing silence was better than words right now.
They carefully scanned the room, assessing what was worth taking and what should be destroyed. Every step was quiet, deliberate. Suddenly, Bucky grabbed Sam by the arm.
“What—?” Sam started, but Bucky pressed a finger to his lips.
“Someone’s here,” he whispered, barely audible. Sam frowned, and together they moved toward the next door.
They opened it slowly, silently. In the adjoining room, they saw a man pulling a small, suspicious-looking case out of a safe.
Bucky raised his gun, ready. Sam brought up his shield.
“Don’t move,” Sam said firmly. “Put down what you’re holding, raise your hands, and turn around slowly.”
The man slowly set the case down and turned toward them, hands still raised. He was middle-aged, white, with a thick dark beard and piercing green eyes. When his gaze met Sam’s and Bucky’s, he smiled broadly, openly satisfied.
“Captain America and the Winter Soldier,” he said with a strong Russian accent.
“You’ve trespassed on an American military base and attempted to steal from it. You’re under arrest,” Sam said, his voice calm but authoritative. The man only smiled wider.
“You arrest me, and then you destroy all these technological marvels?” he asked lightly, nodding toward the case. “Unfortunately, I can’t allow you to destroy this.”
Bucky’s gaze shifted from the case back to the Russian. His eyes were cold, focused steel.
“I don’t think that’s your decision,” Bucky said evenly.
The man looked him straight in the eye, smiling even wider, as if he sensed a familiar echo of the past in him.
“Zimniy Soldat,” he said in Russian, mockingly. “You once worked for our country. What happened?”
“Freedom happened,” Bucky replied, lifting his gun higher. The man didn’t flinch, still grinning.
“Ohhh, I remember how much I loved reading about HYDRA and their weapons. I was fascinated,” he said, a note of admiration in his voice.
“You’d better shut up,” Sam growled, pulling out the cuffs. The Russian didn’t seem bothered at all. He even stepped closer, continuing calmly.
“I learned everything about how HYDRA operated. Their mind-control methods were incredible,” he sighed appreciatively. “Those trigger words don’t work anymore, do they?” he asked, sounding almost disappointed.
Bucky’s smile was tight, his eyes never leaving the man. “No. Sorry. It won’t work,” he said calmly.
“What a shame. Such excellent programming,” the Russian replied, as if discussing the weather.
Irritated, Sam stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. The Russian didn’t resist, still speaking evenly. “But are you sure they got rid of everything? HYDRA worked very hard. It’s difficult to erase it all in just a few months.”
Sam froze, startled by the confidence in his voice.
“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, frowning.
The Russian smiled slyly. “I heard they created one more emergency word… that’s all I’ll say.”
Bucky frowned, unsure what to make of it. “You’re talking nonsense. You’re just trying to distract us. Sam, arrest him,” he said at last.
Sam nodded, remembering he still had a grip on the man. He opened one cuff and clipped it onto the man’s wrist when the Russian suddenly spoke again: “Oh really? Maybe. Let’s run a little experiment, shall we?”
“Shut the hell up!” Sam snapped...but he didn’t get to finish, because the Russian cut him off loudly, triumph ringing in his voice:
“SPUTNIK!”
Sam raised his eyebrows, thinking the guy had lost his mind.
He was about to make some snarky remark…But then he looked at Bucky...and his heart stopped.
Bucky stood rigid, his gaze empty, staring into nothing. Then, suddenly, he collapsed to the floor.
“BUCKY!” Sam shouted, releasing the man and dropping to his knees beside his fiancé.
Bucky lay motionless, eyes closed, unresponsive to touch or voice. “Bucky… hey, Bucky,” Sam shook him gently, checking his pulse and breathing. Everything seemed normal, but Bucky still didn’t respond. “Bucky… Bucky, don’t be an asshole, please… look at me,” he whispered, panic starting to lock his chest.
He didn’t notice the Russian smiling, grabbing the case, and disappearing down a side corridor.
Sam saw only Bucky, kneeling beside him, frozen. “Torres… Torres!” he shouted into the comms. “Send medical support! Now! Bucky needs help...Bucky… Bucky, open your eyes. Please. Baby, please…I am sorry. Come on! Honey...”
A few hours later, they were already at the hospital. Bucky still lay unconscious, and no one could explain what had happened.
Several more hours passed before Shuri arrived, straight from Wakanda, having come specifically because she knew Bucky and his body best. She ran a series of tests, analyzing every detail, then nodded and stepped back toward the lab for a moment.
Meanwhile, Sam sat by the bed, holding Bucky’s hand. Hours had passed since the mission, and Bucky still hadn’t reacted. He lay motionless, looking as if he were asleep, but gave no sign of life.
“Bucky, you stubborn bastard…” Sam whispered, feeling tears in his eyes. Their last argument suddenly seemed meaningless. Now, only one thing mattered: making sure Bucky was safe and healthy.
“I’m sorry, Buck… I’m not mad anymore. Just wake up, okay?” he continued, stroking Bucky’s hand with his thumb. He closed his eyes, silently praying that Shuri would find a solution before time ruined anything.
And then…
“I didn’t expect a short nap to end an argument,” came a weak, quiet voice beside him.
Sam opened his eyes and saw Bucky, just opening his own eyes, with a faint smile on his face.
“Bucky!” he exclaimed, hugging him and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
Bucky returned the kiss, holding Sam for a moment longer.
“Hey, honey,” he finally said, and Sam smiled through his tears.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, still holding Bucky close.
“What do you mean?” Bucky replied, furrowing his brow.
“You know… your sudden collapse to the floor,” Sam explained, worried.
Bucky frowned, looking confused. “Uh… I assumed that Russian bastard shot me or something. That wasn’t the case?” he asked quietly.
“No. You just fell. No injuries. You were fine. You were unconscious,” Sam said, his heart tightening.
“Oh… I remember,” Bucky murmured. “Guess that bastard was right about some code still being in my head…” he added sadly.
Sam looked at him, heartbroken.
“Damn,” he whispered, knowing how hard that must be for him.
Bucky stared into space for a moment before trying to get out of bed.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Sam interrupted gently but firmly, pushing him back onto the bed.
“What?” Bucky asked, surprised.
“You need to rest. You’re not leaving here,” Sam said firmly.
“I feel fine. I slept a few hours. I’m okay. I need to talk to—” Bucky began.
Suddenly, the door opened and Shuri stepped in, smiling widely.
“Bucky! My favorite white boy,” she said jokingly. “So it seems I was right you’d wake up right now.”
“You knew?” Sam shouted, looking at Shuri in disbelief.
Shuri shrugged, as if confirming something obvious.
“I suspected,” she replied calmly. “Now come on. Enough lying around. White Wolf, we have a few things to discuss.”
Bucky looked at Sam with a face that clearly said: I told you I could get up. Then he swung his legs off the bed and stretched lightly, as if he had really just woken from a long nap.
They followed Shuri down the corridor.
Sam kept glancing at Bucky with concern.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked again.
Bucky smiled softly.
“Yes. Really. I feel like I just slept,” he replied calmly. “Actually, better than before. Several hours of sleep, no nightmares. Perfect rest.”
“Barnes is right,” Shuri admitted, opening the door to the lab. “By my calculations, that’s exactly what your body did. It just… poof,” she made a theatrical hand gesture. “Shut down. Went into a hibernation state for about ten hours.”
Bucky frowned as he entered. Sam automatically grabbed his hand and walked with him. The lab was smaller and simpler than the one in Wakanda but still impressive—sterile, modern, full of screens and equipment.
At the table, Torres sat with a book in hand.
“Barnes!” he exclaimed, immediately getting up from his chair. “Damn, you scared us. When Sam brought you in by quinjet… man, it was terrifying.”
Joaquín approached and lightly hugged Bucky. Bucky stiffened for a moment—a pure reflex, instinctual—and Torres immediately stepped back, as if realizing what he had done.
The only people who could touch Bucky without warning were Sam and Steve. And Steve was dead… so basically, only Sam.
“Uh… I’m glad you’re alive,” Torres added awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
“Me too, man,” Bucky replied calmly.
He sat at the table opposite Shuri. Sam stood next to him, still close, as if just his presence could protect him. Their shoulders touched, and both looked expectantly at Shuri.
“Now will you explain to me what happened?” Bucky asked directly.
Shuri nodded with a sad expression, then pulled out a pen and wrote something in her notebook. For a long moment, she just stared at the page, as if unwilling to touch it.
Finally, she sighed loudly and said,
“This is what caused it.” Then she slid the paper across the table toward Bucky and Sam.
There was a single word on it: SPUTNIK.
Bucky flinched. That was exactly what the Russian had said.
“I won’t say it out loud,” Shuri said quietly. “And no one else in this room should either. No one should. Not around Bucky.”
Bucky stiffened. He didn’t pull his hand back, didn’t get up, didn’t say a word, but Sam felt it immediately. The subtle tension in his fingers, a slight muscle twitch.
Sam squeezed his hand tighter.
“It… was in him all this time?” Sam asked.
Shuri nodded, visibly uncomfortable.
“Yes. Hidden very deep. Beyond the main set of commands. Even when we scanned his brain, we didn’t notice it. That word is different. It doesn’t exist as a control tool… only as a failsafe.”
“A failsafe against what?” Bucky asked calmly, too calmly.
Shuri looked him straight in the eyes.
“Against you.”
The single sentence hung in the air like something toxic.
“HYDRA treated you like a weapon system,” she continued. “And every system has an emergency shutdown procedure. In case it stops operating as intended.”
Sam felt something inside him break.
“So…” he started, clenching his jaw, “with one word, they could just… shut him down? Like some damn object! Take away his consciousness whenever something didn’t go their way?!”
“Yes,” Shuri said bluntly. “A quick sleep. No pain. No trace. No struggle. And that’s exactly what your body did on the last mission, following the programming implanted years ago. It just took away your consciousness.”
Bucky stared at the paper.
“That’s why I don’t remember the fall,” he said quietly. “There was… no fear. Just… darkness.”
Shuri nodded.
“Your brain went into a complete hibernation state. Like someone hit the ‘off’ button. Ten hours. Perfectly timed.”
“Like a machine,” Sam said bitterly.
Shuri averted her gaze.
“Yes,” she admitted. “And it’s… disgusting.”
Silence fell.
Bucky finally looked up.
“Does it… still work? Whenever someone says that word, will I fall asleep?” he asked.Sam instinctively moved closer.
“Yes,” Shuri replied. “As long as that word exists in your head, it’s active.”
“But only as a shutdown?” Sam asked, fearing worse consequences.
“Exactly. Not control. Not obedience. Just stop.”
Bucky exhaled slowly.
“So I won’t go back to being the Winter Soldier.”
“No,” Shuri said firmly. “That word can’t make you do anything. It can only… take away your consciousness.”
Sam looked at Bucky, as if to make sure he was really here.
“And someone else could still use it. Anyone who knows the word.”
Shuri nodded.
“Yes. That’s why we need to remove it. But don’t worry… I have a plan.”
Bucky squeezed Sam’s hand.
Shuri’s plan was simple in name only.
Some time ago, she had built a machine.
A machine capable of interfacing with the human mind at a level even HYDRA would consider dangerous. The device could modify memories, erase them, change them, overwrite them with false ones. It could influence personality, reactions, behavioral patterns. And theoretically… also remove control codes.
Bucky listened silently, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
“So basically my worst nightmare,” he finally summarized dryly. “A machine that can turn my brain into mush without me even noticing.”
There was more irony than fear in his voice, but Sam knew him well enough to understand it was just a shield.
Shuri looked at him with clear sadness.
“Yes,” she admitted without avoiding the truth. “And that’s why… you don’t have to agree to it.”
She hesitated for a moment, then continued slowly.
“We can’t remove this word the same way we removed the others. HYDRA used a different technology. Deeper. More advanced. It’s… woven into your defense patterns. And I understand if you don’t trust me. Allowing someone to tamper with your brain is serious. If you decide that…”
“No,” Bucky interrupted her.
Sam felt his hand squeeze tighter.
Bucky looked Shuri directly in the eyes.
“If I’m going to let someone put a machine on my head, knowing they could literally do anything to my mind…” He paused, then finished calmly, “…it’s you.”
A small, genuine smile appeared on his face.
“I trust you.”
Shuri returned the smile, though a shadow of responsibility still lingered in her eyes.
“That’s why you’re my favorite white boy,” she said softly.
Bucky let out a short chuckle.
“When do we start?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” Shuri replied, suddenly serious.
Bucky exchanged a look with Sam. No words were needed. They nodded simultaneously.
“Alright,” Sam said.
Torres, who had been quietly sitting between them, looked around nervously, then nodded as well.
“It’ll be fine, man,” he said, trying to sound confident.
This time Sam really smiled.
“Of course it will.”
For convenience, Sam, Bucky, and Torres had been given rooms in the hospital wing reserved for guests. Joaquín could have gone home, but he insisted on staying the night “just in case.” Sam didn’t protest. In fact, he was grateful.
Now, though, the room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Sam and Bucky lay side by side in the narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. The lights were dimmed, only a faint glow from the hallway casting shadows on the walls. Neither of them slept. Their bodies were tired, but their minds alert, tense, ready for the blow that tomorrow would bring.
“You know,” Bucky suddenly said, very quietly, “if someone else had access to that machine… they could put me in there, and I’d come out as someone completely different.”
Sam didn’t move, but his hand automatically tightened around Bucky’s.
“With a different personality. Different memories. Maybe even a different name,” Bucky added. “And I wouldn’t even know something was wrong.”
“That’s why it won’t happen,” Sam replied without hesitation. His voice was calm, certain. “No one’s putting you in there. You go in. On your own terms. And you’ll come out yourself.”
For a moment, all that could be heard were their breaths. Sam lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as if the darkness might offer him answers.
“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly at last. “This is the end of what’s left of HYDRA. Then we’ll be free. We’ll get married. And we’ll be… damn happy.”
He felt it immediately.
The way Bucky’s body stiffened beside him.
Damn it. Between fear and worrying about Bucky’s life, he’d forgotten about their argument.
Too far. Too fast. Not now.
“You know I want to marry you, right?” Bucky asked suddenly. His voice was calm, but too tight like he was bracing himself against something Sam hadn’t named yet.
Sam turned his head toward him.
“I know,” he replied softly. “I want that too. I really do.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “But I also want you to help plan it. To be in this with me. Why do you pull away so much?”
Bucky shrugged and rolled onto his side so they were facing each other. For a moment, he just breathed.
“I don’t know…” he admitted finally. “It’s an important day. Huge. I don’t want to ruin it.”
Sam frowned.
“Ruin it for who?” he asked gently but persistently. “It’s supposed to matter to us. Not to the world. Not to anyone else. What matters most is that you like it.”
“You too,” Bucky added quickly, almost reflexively.
Sam gave a weak smile.
“That’s exactly why I want to do it together.”
Bucky looked at him for a long time. Too long. Like he was trying to memorize Sam’s face in advance, saving it for worse days.
“I know… I just…” He let out a heavy sigh. “I trust you. More than I trust myself. I know you won’t ruin anything.”
He went quiet for a moment.
“It’s enough for me just knowing we’re getting married. The rest… I don’t know if I deserve it. I want it to be perfect for you. Even if I’m just… an add-on.”
The words hit Sam harder than he expected.
“You’re treating me like some spoiled bride,” he shot back, half-joking more defensive than amused.
Bucky huffed softly.
“And stop saying you don’t deserve it,” Sam added more seriously. “Because you do. End of story. This isn’t supposed to be perfect just for me. It’s our day. Yours and mine. We’re both all in.”
“That… doesn’t sound bad,” Bucky muttered.
“That’s why we’ll do it together,” Sam repeated. “Always together.”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
“Yeah...maybe,” he whispered.
That maybe hurt more than a flat refusal.
"Okay,” Sam said after a moment, closing his eyes even though he wasn’t happy about it.
He tried to fall asleep.
He really did.
But his mind kept filling with the image of Bucky lying motionless on the cold floor of a lab. Too quiet. Too vulnerable.
“We have to catch that Russian,” Bucky said suddenly.
Sam opened his eyes.“Hm?”
“The one with the word. He stole the briefcase. It mattered to him. That wasn’t random,” he said, already calm, focused slipping into mission mode. “Something’s off. I can feel it.”
Sam sighed quietly and turned his head toward him.
“We sent in the military. They’ll handle it.”
“Sure,” Bucky muttered, clearly unconvinced. “But he really wanted it. This isn’t over. I know it.”
And that familiar irritation stirred in Sam the same one that always came back when a conversation about their life suddenly veered into mission territory.
“Buck…” he started, then stopped. “Do you seriously not know how to go five minutes without thinking about the next disaster?”
Bucky looked at him, surprised. “This isn’t a disaster. It’s a threat.”
“To the world,” Sam asked quietly, “or to you?”
A short silence followed. “To us,” Bucky answered at last.
Sam rolled his eyes, but unease curled in his chest. Because maybe… maybe Bucky was right.
“We’ll see,” Sam muttered finally, exhausted. “After the procedure. Okay?”
Bucky shifted closer until their shoulders touched. “Okay… good night, Sam.”
“Yeah.Good night, Buck.”
They closed their eyes. But neither of them really slept.
The next morning, they had breakfast in silence.
Well, actually...only Sam ate.
Bucky sat across from him, his hand wrapped around a cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched. The eggs on his plate had gone cold, untouched. He stared somewhere past the table, as if his mind was already in the lab, several hours ahead.
“You need to eat something,” Sam finally said, trying to make it sound casual.
“I’ll eat later,” Bucky replied. “It wouldn’t go down right now anyway.”
Sam didn’t push. He just got up, cleared his dishes, and shot Bucky a brief, concerned glance. A few minutes later, they were walking down the hallway toward the lab.
The door opened silently.
Inside, Torres stood with a cup of coffee in hand, clearly sleep-deprived, and Shuri was bent over a console, adjusting something, tightening something, checking it again.
Bucky stopped at the threshold.
And then he saw it.
The chair.
Huge, metallic, anchored to the floor as if part of the building itself. Above it hung a massive mechanical canopy, something between a helmet and a closed cage designed to completely enclose a head. From its interior dangled dozens of thin wires and cables, ending in tiny sensors.
Bucky shivered almost imperceptibly.
Sam noticed.
He immediately moved closer, so their shoulders touched. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
Shuri looked up from the screen.
“We’re ready to start,” she said gently. “If you are too.”
Bucky took a deep, slow breath. And then another.
“It’ll be fine,” Sam whispered, squeezing his hand.
Bucky nodded. “Sure…” he repeated quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “It will be fine. Just fine...awesome”
He approached the chair and sat down.
The metal was cold even through his pants. The backrest made a soft mechanical sound, adjusting to his shape.
“It won’t hurt,” Shuri assured him, stepping closer. “Your body will just umm switch into observation mode for a moment.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bucky muttered.
Sam grimaced but said nothing.
Shuri set a few parameters and then nodded. The metal canopy began to lower slowly, segment by segment, until it fully enclosed Bucky’s head. The wires connected automatically, lightly touching his temples.
“Thanks,” he whispered quietly before the canopy closed completely.
Sam stood right next to him, hands clenched into fists, biting his lip slightly. He felt useless. Like a spectator who could only watch.
Shuri pressed a button.
The machine made no dramatic noise. No flashes, no alarms. Only a quiet, low hum, like the breath of a massive beast.
Shuri stared at the screen, fingers gliding across the keyboard. Lines of code, brainwave graphs, parameters everything changed smoothly, methodically.
Bucky sat perfectly still.
Breathing evenly. Nothing happened.
And that was… the worst part.
Sam watched him, counting each breath, each second of silence, feeling his heart race faster and faster.
Too quiet. Too calm.
As if the storm was only gathering strength. After a few minutes, Shuri finally stopped working.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the graphs on the screen stabilized, and Bucky’s brainwave line returned to a perfectly calm rhythm.
Shuri smiled.
“All done,” she said softly, relief evident in her voice. “Everything they ever coded in there… is gone.”
She pressed a button.
The machine emitted a low, fading sound, and the metal canopy slowly lifted. The wires detached one by one, retracting like living, obedient creatures.
Bucky’s face was visible again. He looked… normal.
Calm. Breathing evenly. Eyebrows relaxed, jaw slightly slack, as if he had just woken from a short nap.
Sam felt the tension leave his body in one sudden motion.
“Hey…” he whispered, stepping immediately closer and crouching by him.
“Hey?” Bucky replied in the same tone, slightly questioning, but completely natural.
Shuri stepped closer, smiling with professional satisfaction.
“How do you feel?”
Bucky blinked a few times and looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Good,” he said.
“Nothing hurts?” she asked quickly. “Head, neck, spine? Dizziness?”
“No. Everything’s fine. Really…”
In the back, Sam heard Joaquín exhale sharply in relief.
Sam chuckled nervously, out of happiness, and instinctively placed his hand on Bucky’s knee.
The reaction was immediate.
Bucky jerked sharply, as if the touch had burned him.
Sam’s smile vanished in an instant.
Bucky straightened slightly in the chair, pulling his leg back. His gaze jumped from Sam to Shuri, then to Torres. His face was calm… but alert. Strange.
“Buck?” Sam began very cautiously.
Bucky looked at him, frowning.
“Who?” he asked.
Time stopped.
“Oh, crap…” Torres muttered from behind.
Shuri immediately knelt in front of Bucky, her voice tense, focused.
“Bucky… everything’s okay, right?” she asked slowly, choosing her words carefully.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “I feel fine. Just…”
He hesitated.
He looked at Sam one more time. Longer. More carefully. Like a complete stranger.
“Who…,” he started quietly, then sighed, clearly frustrated by his own ignorance. “Who the hell is Bucky?”
The silence that fell was louder than any alarm.
Sam felt something inside him break.
Well.
Fuck.