Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She had shown up one rainy afternoon without warning, like a chill.

Maria Hill arrived that afternoon in a black SUV with a small escort, with Wanda Maximoff in the back seat. She came looking for Sam Wilson, had a brief, urgent conversation with him, told Wanda to get out of the car, and left her there immediately. Bucky happened to be in the area—well, maybe not entirely by chance: he and Sam had been having a tense argument about the latter’s decision to give up the Captain America shield when they spotted the unusual motorcade in the distance, and confirmed with no small measure of surprise that it was heading toward them.

Four of the black cars were security detail; Agent Hill emerged from the rear seat of the fifth, while Wanda stayed in the car staring out with a vacant expression. Both men were certainly surprised to see her there—after Tony Stark’s funeral they’d lost contact. She didn’t call to them, didn’t try to say hello, didn’t even make eye contact. Instinctively, Bucky and Sam took up a defensive stance side by side. It wasn’t that they specifically distrusted Maria, but it was obvious that this wasn’t a social visit.

After the usual formalities, Hill approached Sam and handed him a folder of papers. A fine drizzle began and wouldn’t stop for practically the whole month.

Hill barely exchanged a word with Bucky, and she didn’t bother to hide what she said from him; rather she made sure the three of them moved far enough away from the other agents and vehicles so as not to be overheard. Something very serious had happened to Wanda in a small New Jersey town—something that involved too many people from a new government office that specialized in unusual incidents. The moment the rumor spread that a former Avenger was involved, Maria had used all her influence to be the one to handle the case, even if it meant fighting tooth and nail with Agent Rambeau and a whole department of people who wanted to lock Wanda up in a lab and study her the second they had her.

Sam wondered, not without reason, why Hill had come to him and not Fury. Hill didn’t give many details about Fury’s whereabouts, but hinted she hadn’t been in contact with him for some time.

“When Fury deigns to show up, he’ll find you,” she said simply—being Fury, that was less a hopeful comment than a verdict. “In the meantime, I couldn’t leave her with them. What happened in New Jersey was… serious. Serious and terrifying. They’re not going to be gentle with her.”

She sighed briefly, pointing at the folder Sam was leafing through.

“The details are in there; you can keep that copy. I made every call I could and called in every favor to get her out. She… is not well. I know the Avengers no longer exist formally, but I thought if anyone might know what to do, it would be you.”

She paused, and both men glanced sideways at the woman in the back of the car. Though she stared out at the bay, her eyes weren’t really focusing, and she didn’t seem fully present. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“You don’t mean ‘as a friend,’ right? More like an ‘Avengers-level threat,’” Sam said slowly, nodding.

“The government hasn’t entirely given up on the trial thing but…”

“Wait, what trial? What the hell did she do?” Sam demanded impatiently, while Bucky raised his eyebrows. Of the two, Bucky had more experience dealing with hearings and knew what was coming; Wanda must be in deep trouble. He thought briefly about his own runs with Doctor Raynor, the surprise inspections of his apartment and the close surveillance month after month. That was no way to live.

“I don’t think there’ll be a trial, really,” Hill assured him, looking him square in the eye. Then she lowered her voice and took a step closer to Sam. “The truth is, as much as we like to pretend we’re ready for anything, nobody over there knows what to do with her—how to contain her, if it comes to that. She’s far beyond our capacity, and my bosses won’t admit it. That’s precisely why I managed to get her released. I convinced them you were the best option—” Sam froze with the folder open in his hands and shot Maria an anxious look, wondering what kind of mess she’d dragged him into. The photos between the pages showed utterly strange images, and Wanda appeared in almost all of them. Bucky picked one up over Sam’s shoulder: an aerial shot of what looked like a red glass cage in the shape of a hexagon, and beneath it, almost an entire town. “Besides that, I really thought it would do her good to be among familiar faces. Hell, I’m so lucky to have found you together here—the more, the merrier.”

Hill nodded toward Bucky, and he returned a half smile out of reflex, but on the inside he wasn’t so sure about what he was being asked. He’d hardly spoken with Wanda; he didn’t know much about her, and he wasn’t certain that the two of them were the best people to handle anything important at the moment since they mostly ended up arguing anyway. Sam visibly tensed despite the flattering pitch and didn’t know what to say. So Hill expected him to act more like a friend? He could do that without being asked, of course; he didn’t know her well before either, but if Steve had trusted her, that meant something for him. Still, the ominous contents of that thin folder gnawed at him.

“I… look, I don’t think I can promise anything…”

“But you’ll try, I know you will,” Hill said enigmatically, with a stern expression. The sentence felt less like an order and more like a plea. “Although you must know it won’t be easy and there are no guarantees. What I’m doing here is basically transferring jurisdiction of a… ‘problem’ that’s gotten out of our hands. Don’t be confused,” her tone hardened, “she’ll be an adult, a hero, whatever you want—but right now she is legally detained by the State. I want you to look at the last page; those are the charges…”

Hill took a notebook out of a pocket while Sam flipped through the pages, and she followed along as he read. Both Sam and Bucky were stunned by the recap of what had happened in Westview; it was absolute madness, like nothing they’d ever heard. And it had all started only about seven or eight days earlier, while the two of them were arguing over the old vibranium shield. Bucky suddenly felt very small. Beside him, Sam swallowed as he digested the information.

“And that’s only what we know,” Hill concluded, closing the notebook. “Like I said, a box of surprises. If you feel it’s too much, I can take her back to the facility for a while but—”

“No,” Sam said firmly, “no thanks. That won’t be necessary. It’s… undeniably a lot, but she’s our friend” Sam looked to Bucky for support, and Bucky nodded emphatically. Maybe “friend” wasn’t the exact word, but it wasn’t the time for pedantry. “If there’s one thing we’ve already lost too much of, it’s friends. I’m not turning my back on her now.”

Hill regarded them both with a searching look. Although Bucky had been surprised by Wilson’s decisive stance, he realized Sam had said aloud what he himself had been thinking: he couldn’t bear to lose more people, and although it was terrifying to hear what Wanda was capable of, he wouldn’t have felt right just walking away. He knew what would happen if she remained under government control, but the question that nagged him was why she didn’t use her powers to free herself, given everything she could do.

When Wanda stepped out of the car carrying nothing but a travel bag in her arms, the first thing she did was apologize to Sam for “the whole scene Agent Hill had made” and promised she wouldn’t get in their way again. When the last car disappeared from view, she said goodbye and turned around with every real intention of leaving—until Sam physically stepped in front of her to stop her. With evident surprise, he assured her it was no trouble having her there, and that he’d actually love for her to stay a while until she found a place of her own, saying something about “keeping an eye on friends” or something like that.

Wanda only half-listened. She didn’t really feel like they had ever been friends—neither with Wilson nor with Barnes—but when she looked into his eyes, she didn’t sense any malice or deceit there (and she would’ve known if there was any). Beside him, Barnes tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned, though it was obvious he didn’t have much chemistry with Wilson and they weren’t exactly on the best terms. But right now, she couldn’t care any less. She couldn’t care about anything, really. Still, if she had to choose between having somewhere to sleep and spending what was left of the afternoon—and her remaining energy—searching for a place, the choice was easy.

“Are you serious?” Her own voice sounded so strange to her. She hoped no one else noticed.

“Absolutely,” Sam emphasized, meeting her gaze. “Give it a chance. You’ll see you’ll like it here. Get some rest—we can talk tomorrow if you don’t feel like it right now.”

Bucky understood why she hadn’t fought off the agents herself or tried to run. She was completely drained and defeated, just going through the motions. Was this really the same person who had managed to enslave an entire town without even realizing it?

Even though Sam wanted to get back to fixing the family boat as soon as possible, he decided it was best to give Wanda some space for a few days. His sister wasn’t thrilled about the idea of an unfamiliar, potentially unstable woman staying under the same roof as her kids—no matter how much of a “friend” she was to her brother. She was fiercely protective, and Sam wasn’t about to argue with her on that.

Bucky chose to postpone his talk with Sam until the next day; the air was already tense enough. He kept a bit of distance, quietly watching as Sam helped Wanda settle in, showing her how to turn on the heat and handle the basics around the boat. He was certain a bit of peace and quiet would do her good—and that soon, things would start to fall back into place.

Chapter Text

However, it seemed both of them had underestimated the situation. Hill hadn’t been exaggerating when she said Wanda wasn’t well. Although she had some money, she showed no interest in something as basic as eating to survive; she didn’t speak unless spoken to, didn’t stray far from the boat, and her eyes were puffy and red all day long, though they never actually saw her cry. Sam tried to be the best host he could — he figured it was better not to bother her much the first week — but worry didn’t leave him as the days passed and nothing changed. If anything, she looked subtly worse every day, and it was Bucky, coming and going, who noticed the shift first.

He tried to assemble every scrap of memory he had of a woman he barely knew. They’d had almost no interactions at all; the closest thing had been at Tony, Natasha and Vision's funeral, from which the first was the only one who had left behind a body to mourn. They’d exchanged the standard condolences for Vision and then lost track of each other entirely. Well, everyone had scattered chaotically after that day — you couldn’t really blame her. Sam wondered if Hill shouldn’t have spoken to Barton instead of them, but no one could reach him, and he couldn’t blame him either. You could say Sam and Bucky were the only ones still in contact with each other and with the rest of the world, but against their wills and very much to the dismay of the former. Barnes wouldn’t stop pestering Sam about Steve’s shield. Sam trusted the decision he had made, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t leave him alone about it for a while.

When he saw that insufferably smug guy raising the shield and calling himself “Captain America,” Sam knew they’d been laughed at. And when the trouble with the Flag Smashers blew up, he finally decided Bucky was right: he wouldn’t stand by and only watch.

Bucky was ready to leave, and Sam barely had time to tell his sister and Wanda that he’d be away for a few days, make sure Wanda had enough supplies, and promise he’d be back soon. He knew Sam worried about leaving Wanda behind, but it didn’t take a genius to see she wasn’t ready to return to action. Bucky kept telling him not to fret — they were doing the right thing, especially since they were about to pull someone as volatile as Baron Zemo out of prison and would already have their hands full.

But the “matter” stretched on for more than a week, and those days got completely crazy for both of them. In a handful of hours they found themselves chasing super-soldier terrorists, hiding from police, and going undercover in a foreign country posing as traffickers. The basics.

Barnes, meanwhile, didn’t have a single quiet moment to spare to think about Wanda. When they finally came back to Sam’s place, utterly exhausted, he was taken aback by how much she had changed. A couple of days after their return, with the family boat fully restored, they celebrated with friends and neighbors. Wanda, who had kept to the background while the repairs were underway, stayed for the festivities and brightened noticeably through the day. It was impossible not to get swept up in everyone’s joy; talking with neighbors and Sarah’s friends, she’d fit right in. Both men breathed easier and treated it as the end of the problem.

The positive effect, however, faded quickly, and Wanda fell back into the same gloom she’d arrived in. With more free time, Sam had insisted on showing her around town — they even drove into New Orleans a few minutes away — but although a few days earlier she’d followed conversations with interest and been politely kind to everyone, it was obvious now that she had no real interest in anything around her.

That indifference extended to everything: events, places, even people. She refused to talk about her life or what she’d been doing. Sarah warned them she hadn’t been any more communicative while they were gone, so both men couldn’t help wondering whether leaving her alone so soon had been a mistake. But what were they supposed to do — drag her into a firefight with a group of super-soldier terrorists? In her state she would probably have caused more harm than good, and that didn’t ease their guilt much.

She’d started wearing Natasha’s old red leather jacket again and spent most days sitting on the riverbank watching the boats go by. Rain or shine, she was there. It was the only fixed thing in her life.

She looked constantly pale and sickly. Bucky suspected she didn’t eat unless Sam or Sarah coherced her, so one of them always tried to be home for at least one meal a day. But it clearly wasn’t enough; even then she ate very little. He should have gone back to his apartment days ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to step away from the whole situation after everything Sam had gone through. He still set him on edge in many ways, but he felt he had to help him out on this. Hell, now that he thought about it, maybe he did feel a bit responsible for her. He couldn’t forget she’d saved his life in that fight in Germany. He had to try. He’d even rented a room in New Orleans instead of returning to his current place. Though his therapy discharge hadn’t been orthodox, he was pleasantly surprised the doctor had left him alone, so he wasn’t tied to a residence near the clinic anymore. He suspected Hill had a hand in ensuring no one showed up with a tank to take him back to a place where they could lock him down.

“Any change?” Bucky asked Sam one heavy, overcast midday soon after he arrived.

“Mmm,” Sam shook his head, preoccupied. “I think I need to contact someone more qualified than me for this.”

“What do you mean? A therapist?” Bucky couldn’t hide his distaste at the idea; the experience was still too fresh.

“No. I think this is work for a psychiatrist.” Sam put his hands on his hips and looked out the window. Wanda stood on the pier with her back to the house, staring at the horizon. “I know people in the capital, but, of course, we’d have to convince her first.”

Bucky shot him a sidelong look. “Go all the way there? And where would she stay?”

Sam took a deep breath, searching for an answer, but none came.

“More important: with whom? Because I don’t see her doing all that on her own,” Bucky continued. “Besides, Hill brought her here because she trusts you. And, for some reason, she trusts me,” he added with a skeptical grin.

“I know, but—” the newly minted Captain clicked his tongue without taking his eyes off the view. “This is beyond both of us, Buck. I have to think of an alternative, and there aren’t many options. If something comes up, if I have to act again, I can’t keep asking Sarah to watch her so she’ll eat.”

“If you go to your new government ‘friends’, you’d basically be throwing her to the lions. And you know it.”

Sam nodded silently. He didn’t doubt Bucky for a second; he knew Bucky wasn’t the kind to complain. If he said living under that constant, intrusive surveillance was physically and mentally devastating, then it was.

“We don’t know what they’d do to her,” Sam said, stroking his chin.

“Hill didn’t say it out loud, but we both know they wouldn’t hesitate to take her out if they couldn’t control her. That’s what they do,” Bucky grunted.

“Sorry, are we really talking about the same person who kidnapped an entire town and forced them to act exactly how she wanted? I don’t doubt they’d try to kill her, but that doesn’t sound like a problem for her. I’m more worried about what could happen if they push her too far.”

“Of course it wouldn’t be a problem, tactically,” Bucky admitted. “But… just look at her. She’s not going to fight back.” He jerked his chin toward the window, but Sam looked away, uncomfortable. “And if she does, there’d likely be too many victims.”

Sam swallowed. Of course he understood all that, but reconciling the image of an unstoppable, unknown force with the frail, consumed woman who made less noise than a mouse and avoided anyone’s gaze was hard. They were stuck. He was about to suggest trying to contact Dr. Strange when Bucky spoke again.

“Let me try something,” he said abruptly, as if an idea had just occurred to him.

“What are you thinking?” Wilson raised an eyebrow, suspicious. Barnes stared off into the distance and shook his head slightly.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something. But it’ll be better than nothing.”

Chapter Text

Bucky always made sure to approach from a place where Wanda could see him. His first attempt, two days ago down by the pier near Sam’s place, hadn’t gone well. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t heard him coming, startled when he spoke, and left in a hurry even after he apologized. After that, she stopped going to the pier. Instead, he found her sitting on the thin strip of gray gravel by the riverbank, knees drawn to her chest. You couldn’t really call it a beach —it was more a stretch of fine, colorless grit, not much to look at— but it wasn’t entirely a bad spot to spend some time either. There were big rocks scattered around, fishing boats gliding past in the distance, seagulls landing here and there, and the occasional stray cat wandering through.

At first Bucky figured she came there to be left alone, and that if he kept showing up, she’d just move farther away each day. Still, he didn’t let that thought stop him. He greeted her with a nod, and out of politeness, she returned it —barely looking at him.

He asked if she minded him sitting there, and Wanda gave him a long, wary look with those tired, heavy eyes before shrugging and turning back toward the water. Bucky sat down beside her on the gravel. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, or annoyed, or even surprised. In fact, her face didn’t change at all.

It was a busy afternoon for the people around the docks —a lot of movement and noise, boats coming and going, workers shouting over one another as they moved crates back and forth. You could sit there for hours, watching everything, getting lost in the rhythm of it all, and never really get bored. Bucky didn’t say anything for a while, mostly because he didn’t know how to start. It had all seemed a lot simpler in his head, but now he just felt like an idiot, sure he was going to screw it up somehow.

Eventually, he decided to speak up just to break the silence. He told her something funny Sam’s nephews had done the day before —the only thing that came to mind. Wanda didn’t comment, but she nodded every so often, which felt like progress. Then he remembered a couple of stories Sam had told him about the boat, back when his parents were still alive.

When the sun began to fade, Wanda stood up and excused herself, leaving the shore a bit abruptly.

“It’s getting cold,” she said flatly, and walked off toward the pier. That was all. Bucky watched her go, unsure if he’d said something wrong, then decided to wait until the next day to find out.

The next afternoon, despite the drizzle and unstable weather, Wanda was there again, staring at the boats. Bucky sat down just like the day prior, and before he knew it, he was telling stories about the dumb things he and Steve used to do as kids. She just listened, nodding once in a while.

Three days went by like that. Bucky wasn’t even sure what kind of reaction he was hoping for. He thought he’d figure it out as he went, but he didn’t have a clearer idea now than when he started. He’d never talked this much voluntarily with anyone who wasn’t Steve, and it felt strange to suddenly be the chatty one. Most people tried to fill silence because it made them uneasy —but not her.

One especially cold afternoon, he was midway through some random memory when she suddenly interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asked. It was the first thing she’d said to him in nearly a week, aside from the usual greetings.

“Hm?”

“Here.” She waved a hand toward the beach, then between them. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, really. Just… resting,” Bucky said with a shrug. Not entirely a lie.

“Mmh.”

“Last week was a hell of a ride. Feels like I could sleep for days —I just don’t want to.”

There was a pause. Bucky stretched his legs out on the gravel, thinking that was the end of it. But something made him keep talking. Even though he’d gone back to his normal life after the mission, parts of what had happened still clung to him.

“I had this… I don’t know what to call it. Too many things from the past, all at once. I’ve been tired ever since, you know? I was barely processing the whole thing with Steve, and… I don’t think I was ready for everything else.”

He thought again of all his doubts about his worth, about the faith Steve had placed in him. Sam had helped him calm that storm, but the thought still lingered. It wasn’t easy putting those things into words —his therapist used to push him to do that all the time. But he’d never wanted to talk to her as much as he somehow found himself talking to Wanda. She just listened, quietly letting him get it out.

“Sorry,” he muttered after a moment, embarrassed by how much he’d just said. “That’s probably too much.”

“It’s fine,” Wanda sighed. And it sounded genuine —he knew she’d have just walked away if she were bothered, which told him she wasn’t lying. They sat in silence for a bit as a sharp wind picked up. Then she spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “You were on the news.”

“Mhm.”

“You and Jonathan Walker. What he did. They’re still talking about it everywhere.”

“Mmmpf.” Bucky grunted, still bitter. “Walker…”

Wanda tilted her head slightly toward him, still watching the water, and Bucky went off on a string of unflattering remarks about the man.

“I can’t imagine anyone less like Steve,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest, eyes distant.

“No. Not even close.”

“But no one cares,” she continued in that flat tone, eyes glassy. “People will compare them, they’ll criticize him, and then they’ll move on. He’s here, and Steve isn’t —that’s all they need. Give it time, they’ll settle for that.”

She fell quiet again, and Bucky didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t wrong —he’d thought the same thing himself. People could be cruel with their heroes, and quick to forget them. Neither of them knew yet that Walker was about to be stripped of his title for good.

“Soon enough they’ll see they can’t replace him,” Bucky said finally, more to convince himself than her. “Walker doesn’t even try to hide how mediocre he is.”

She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, though it came out tired and hollow.

“Although the Flag Smashers…”

“What about them?” Bucky prompted when she trailed off. Wanda shook her head.

“N-nothing. Just… I think they have a point. So many people losing their homes… I know what that feels like.”

“Oh.”

Right —he remembered she’d been displaced for a while, though the details escaped him. It made sense she’d empathize. But before he could say anything else, she added quietly,

“Sometimes it feels like everything was better when we weren’t here. The other half, I mean.”

Bucky turned to her so fast his neck almost popped. Her eyes looked enormous, but empty —just mirrors for the water and the dim light of the sky.

“No. That’s not true,” he said firmly, taken aback by the weight of the comment. “Nobody wanted that to happen. It destroyed lives.”

“Yeah, but… it already had happened, right?” She shrugged. “Maybe it would’ve been better to leave it that way.”

He took a deep breath, trying not to lose patience. The words stung, but he reminded himself —she’d come back to a world where the love of her life had been gone for years.

“We live in a world that makes it seem like Steve fought for nothing. Like Natasha, Stark, and… Vision, all died for nothing,” Wanda said, voice trembling slightly.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “It looks awful right now, yeah. But people will get through it —the world will, I mean. There are still so many people out there who believe in doing what’s right. And they’re here because of the Avengers, because of them. That’s what Steve, Natasha, Tony, and Vision were fighting for.”

Ouch. Maybe he’d overstepped, speaking on behalf of Vision like that. He’d never even met the guy. He panicked for a second, but Wanda said nothing. Just seemed to turn the words over in her head. Okay —so far, so good.

After a while, Bucky got up to leave. He tried to convince Wanda to come with him, to not stay out in the cold, but she refused, promising she’d go in soon. He decided not to push it. Taking off his hooded coat, he draped it over her shoulders. Before she could protest, he turned and walked down the pier toward Sam’s house.

“You need something warmer than that leather jacket,” he called over his shoulder without looking back. She half-started to follow him, then stopped.

He stayed talking with Sam until they saw her go back to the boat later that night, still wrapped in his coat. Only then did Bucky finally head home.

The next day —of course— she was there again, sitting in the same spot. Same weather, same view. At least she was wearing the warm coat this time. Bucky sat down beside her and tried to start a conversation like before, if you could even call what they’d had yesterday a conversation.

“So,” she said after the usual small talk about the weather, “did Sam send you to dig up details?” She shot him a sidelong glance, half suspicion, half poorly hidden fear.

“Details?” Bucky frowned.

“I see you whispering every day. What, it’s not all in that file they gave you?”

“Oh, that… No, I didn’t come here for that, Wanda. If it helps, I haven’t even read it.”

She turned away, unimpressed.

“I mean it.”

Silence.

“I’m not here to pry or—whatever. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. We’re worried about you.”

Silence again.

“If you ever want to talk—”

“No.” Sharp. Final.

He bit back a sigh, figuring that was it for the day. But then—

“Tell me what you two were doing. The day you left.”

He blinked, surprised. Well. That was something, right? At least she cared enough to ask. So he told her, roughly, about Zemo, Sharon Carter, the whole Madripoor mess —how everything had gone sideways almost immediately. But that wasn’t the important part. Without realizing, he started venting about how much it had rattled him to play the Winter Soldier again, even just as an act. Out of everything that week, that part still haunted him whenever his mind went quiet for too long.

Wanda didn’t quite understand what the “Winter Soldier” was. Bucky didn’t really feel like explaining the full story right then. She stared at him, waiting.

“It’s… something in my head. Was,” he corrected himself. “It’s gone now. The Wakandans helped me with that. But back then, if someone said a certain sequence of words, they could control me. Make me do things—kill, steal, kidnap, all kinds of…”

His voice trailed off, unsure how to finish. The sudden wave of self-disgust hit him like always.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to explain,” Wanda said quickly, looking away in mild embarrassment. He wasn’t offended —if anything, he was grateful for the change of subject. Those memories never made sense, no matter how much he tried to piece them together.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said after a pause. “Pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t help. Or so they tell me. If I just bury it, I’ll never get better. Or something like that.” He gave a small shake of his head. “That’s what my therapist used to say, anyway.”

“It’s fine,” she repeated softly.

Bucky thought maybe he’d said too much —until she added, almost to herself,

“‘Pretending it didn’t happen,’ how ironic.”

“What?”

“If anyone could pretend something didn’t happen, it’d be me. And look how well that turned out.”

He froze. She was talking about Westview —of course she was. But since he hadn’t read the file, he didn’t know the full story. He forced himself to stay neutral, to keep his voice calm.

“Pretending it didn’t happen just makes it worse. The consequences don’t go away. If we hurt people, it stays with us, no matter how much we try to ignore it.” He gave a small shrug. “Not my words, by the way. My therapist’s.”

He almost laughed at himself —Raynor’s words still haunted him, no matter how much he denied she’d helped. Wanda sniffed hard beside him, breaking his thoughts. Her eyes were full of tears again.

“I know you felt bad for hurting people. That means you’re still a good person,” he said quietly. Wanda looked up at him, surprised. “That’s why you can’t just ignore it and hope it fades away.”

She held his gaze for a moment, thinking.

“But what’s the point…” she murmured, almost to herself. “I can’t make it right. Not for anyone. What am I supposed to do if no one even wants me around?”

“You mean the people from Westview?”

She blinked a few times, struggling not to cry. Bucky dug into his pocket and handed her a pack of tissues, which she accepted with shaky hands.

She crossed her arms, gripping the sleeves of her jacket tightly. His jacket. Underneath it, she was still wearing Natasha’s red one. He hadn’t noticed until now. Wanda took a ragged breath, her chest tight with guilt and anger and grief. Her fingers were cold as she pulled a tissue free to wipe her eyes. Bucky didn’t speak, just watched her quietly, somber.

Maybe it wasn’t the best moment —everything already felt fragile. But he sensed this might be his only chance for a long while.

“Wanda…” he said softly. “What really happened in Westview?”

Chapter Text

"Everything I had… everything I ever dreamed I could want… was a lie. Every last bit of it, from beginning to end," Wanda finished, her voice strangled.

For almost half an hour, she’d been telling him what had happened in Westview—the handful of days when her powers spun so far out of control she could no longer tell fantasy from reality. How a psychopath toyed with her every chance she got, playing along whenever it suited her. How she felt herself slipping further into madness without understanding why, how she and Vision had fought when he tried to make her see the truth. How, in the end, she’d had to face the fact that none of it was real—only her, and her immense pain. And how it was up to her to make things right, at least for the poor people who’d had the misfortune of getting caught in her web. But doing that meant giving up everything she loved—and accepting that none of it had existed to begin with. Bucky stayed quiet, listening to every word and detail. He knew what it was like to question your own reality, but he could barely wrap his mind around the horror of realizing you were the cause of it all. At least he’d always had someone else to blame. Wanda didn’t. Not that it erased Agatha Harkness’s role in all of it—she had deliberately fed Wanda’s pain for her own gain—but the root of everything still traced back to Wanda herself. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly pay Agatha back for what she’d done, or if she’d ever need her—or that dark book she’d hidden deep in a forest before Maria Hill’s people had “escorted” her to headquarters. For now, both were safe, tucked far away from government eyes thanks to her magic.

What struck Bucky the most was that Wanda was, and always had been, a witch. In his limited understanding of the subject, she didn’t fit the picture. He’d seen the aerial photos of the Hex in her file and could grasp the scale of power she’d unleashed, but still—his mind went to the image of old  ladies with broomsticks and pointy hats. Wanda was quite the opposite, hurling red orbs of light like projectiles. He remembered that from the brief time they’d fought side by side, and from the news reports of the Lagos disaster that flooded the media while he was still off the grid. Every channel had made sure to repeat over and over how dangerous Wanda Maximoff was, like she was some kind of walking nuclear weapon.

“And the other witch?” he asked. “The one who hurt you.”

Wanda shrugged.

“She’s still there. And she’ll stay there for a while. She doesn’t even remember her own name.”

“You did that with magic too?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Terrifying, but useful,” he joked. “So… what else can you do?”

She shrugged again. Looked around, then lifted a hand toward the horizon. In an instant, to his astonishment, the world changed. A red shimmer swept across everything around them, replacing it with something entirely different. Suddenly they were standing on a mountaintop overlooking a forested valley. Bucky scrambled to his feet and nearly lost his balance—the fine sand of the bay had turned into patches of grass and smooth, flat stones. He picked one up and turned toward her. Wanda just shrugged again, looking almost bored.

“Where are we?”

“Technically still in Louisiana,” she said. “But this place looks like the mountains in Sokovia where my parents used to take me and my brother on vacation.”

Bucky threw the stone, listening to it bounce down the slope, and took a few unsteady steps, taking it all in. The air was cold and clean, smelling of soil and wild herbs—nothing like the salty wind of the port. The clouds looked soft and close enough to touch, and when the sun peeked through them, he could feel its warmth on his face. There wasn’t a town in sight, but a dirt path wound its way up the mountain to where they stood, disappearing into the woods below.

A chill ran through him. That kind of power was… honestly terrifying. He tried not to show his uneasiness, but he was experiencing quite a mix of things. Now he understood Maria Hill’s tone, and SWORD’s hesitation about having to deal with Wanda.

He crouched down, picked up another rock—flat, round, perfect like a skipping stone.

“How do you do that? Is it something you put in my head, or…?”

“No. Well, I could do that too, if I wanted,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she plucked small weeds from the ground with a distracted air. “That’s what I was best at in the beginning—creating illusions.”

“So where are the people?”

“What, the people from the town? They’re exactly where they were. The town’s the same. It’s just us here now.”

“‘Here’ where, exactly?” Bucky glanced around, taking in every detail. Nothing looked out of place—nothing that gave away the illusion. The breeze, the mountain, the grass, the plants—everything felt real. Maybe a little too vivid, but still, nothing overdone.

“If I’m honest?” she said, squinting as the wind blew her hair into her face. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. I just… made it up, I guess. This place doesn’t exist. You wouldn’t find it on a map. And I don’t know how I do it. No one does. At least not SWORD, with all their machines and tests… not HYDRA either, when they experimented on me until my powers showed up stronger. Nobody there ever had a clue.”

Bucky felt his blood boil at the mention of HYDRA. Yeah, that sounded like them—thinking they could control everything, when they were just children playing with toys they didn’t understand.

“Not even the other wizard knows? Strange—the one from…”

“Oh yeah, Stephen. I haven’t talked to him since then. He probably knows. Maybe.”

“So why didn’t Hill call him first?”

She shrugged again. “You’ll have to ask her. I have no idea.”

She waved her arm slowly, and the mountain landscape faded back into the familiar view of the bay—the docks, the boats, the gray sky, the cold, salty wind.

“So basically, you could be anywhere, do anything…”

“Except be with the people I love,” Wanda cut in softly. “Aside from that tiny little detail—yeah, I guess there’s no real limit.”

A thousand questions crowded his mind, but he didn’t need to say them out loud for Wanda to know.

“It might look like there’s no limit,” she said quietly, “but there are consequences. Trying to rewrite reality to bring people back only leads to disaster. The disaster I’m apparently destined to be, according to everyone.” She let out a small, resigned breath. Maybe it wasn’t right to put so much weight on an old prophecy from a questionable book, but it was all she had. “Either way, I don’t know how to do it right. And I’m not risking it again.”

It was the only reasonable thing to do—but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Bucky didn’t say a word. He fidgeted with something in his hand for a while before realizing what it was: the smooth, round stone he’d picked up on the mountain. Still solid. Still heavy. Still warm from the midday sun.

Chapter Text

The long-awaited storm hit the next day. It was torrential — you couldn’t even see your own hand if you held it up in front of your face. It didn’t quite reach the level of a full-blown tempest, but most people agreed it had been close. The fishermen were frustrated about losing a workday and had crowded into the bars downtown, where the rain was lighter, escaping the cold wind from the bay and talking loudly with beers in hand. Bucky stopped by and stayed for a few hours, listening, thinking, and writing in his notebook. He rarely took it out in crowded places, but there was so much noise that day that no one paid him any attention. He hadn’t wanted to risk driving to Sam’s place with the roads in that state, but he trusted things would clear up by morning — and that Sam would reach out if anything needed his attention.
Still, he couldn’t get the conversation with Wanda from the day before out of his head.

When the sky finally cleared the next morning, he didn’t see Wanda by the shore — or anywhere else. He knocked on the boat’s door, and at first there was no answer. He was just reaching for the handle to check if it was locked when a woman’s voice spoke behind him.

“If you’re looking for Wanda,” she said, “she’s asleep. She had a terrible fever all night.”

Sarah stood on the dock, a bag of groceries under one arm and a key in the other.

“Wait here, I’ll just drop this off,” she told him.
Bucky stepped aside to let her pass. She pushed the door open just enough for him to glimpse her leaving the groceries on the table, but not much more. She carried a few bottles of water into the cabin and came back about ten minutes later.

“She’s still resting,” Sarah said softly as she shut the door behind her. “Better let her sleep. She didn’t drift off until after noon. But it'll be a good idea that you guys stop by later — she hasn’t eaten anything I left her, and I’m swamped today. The kids…”

“Of course, Sarah. Thanks for checking on her, I really appreciate it,” Bucky said. She waved it off like it was nothing. He took the grocery bags from her before she could protest and carried them to her front door himself. “Need me to run to the pharmacy or anything?”

“It’s all handled, don’t worry. The fever broke hours ago, late this morning. She just needs proper rest,” she said, frowning a little, “and to stop staying out in the rain the way she does.”

“She went out yesterday? Even with the storm?”

“Looks like it. Her clothes were soaked through, she even went to bed with wet hair. Lucky for her I keep a mini pharmacy at home,” Sarah said, shaking her head.

Bucky didn’t reply. He’d noticed Wanda wasn’t exactly bothered by rain, but there was a big difference between the light drizzles she liked to sit under while watching the boats and the thirty-hour downpour that had hit the bay.

He stayed nearby for a couple of hours, rested at Sarah’s place, and joined them all for lunch when the kids got home from school.

As for Sam, when he got back and heard about Wanda, the news hit him harder than he’d expected. It wasn’t the cold itself, but the way problems kept stacking instead of easing off, and it was all they did since the Flag Smashers mess. Something about it all stuck in the back of his mind like a sharp pebble in a shoe.

So when he happened to see Barnes walking back from the boat after another failed attempt to check on Wanda, he started to get suspicious. He’d been trying to talk to him all day, but Bucky just kept moving — if he wasn’t hanging around the docks, he’d vanish completely. The guy looked absurdly on edge, pacing like a caged lion instead of doing the reasonable thing and asking Sam or his sister for the key, since he knew they had one. Sam had gone down himself to check on Wanda and tried to talk to her a few times, but she was a heavy sleeper. Sarah had left everything she might need within reach, but if she’d woken up at all, she hadn’t touched a thing.

By the seventh time he saw Barnes heading toward the boat in under an hour, it started to feel too coincidental that the one day he hadn’t visited her, she’d gotten sick. Could it be that he felt guilty about it? Sam snorted to himself — the man absolutely would torture himself over something like that. But then he remembered how often Bucky drove back and forth from the city, staying at some cheap motel off the highway. Even riding flat-out on his bike, it was nearly an hour each way.
By the afternoon, Sam had an idea and went to chat with a few neighbors, do some asking around.
When Bucky made his umpteenth trip to the boat, Sam finally stopped him.

“You realize you look insane, right?” Bucky shot him a look of annoyance. “You’ve been pacing back and forth all day — it never occurred to you to just ask me for the key?”

“I didn’t want to wake her. Sarah said she needed rest,” Bucky said without turning around.

“Yeah, well, she also needs to eat. Come on.”

As they walked to the boat, Sam mentioned that soon they’d need to find Wanda a place in town — they’d have to start getting the boat ready before the fishing season kicked in. Bucky didn’t comment, but he agreed silently that it might be a good idea. She could use more light and space. He hadn’t really thought about finding a new place for himself yet; the small roadside motel was fine, and for now that was enough.

“Wanda? You awake?” Sam called out as they stepped into the dim cabin. Bucky moved ahead until he found the small berth — just two bunk beds facing each other and a tiny round window. The food, medicine, and glasses of water Sarah had left were all untouched.

“Wanda… hey, Wanda,” Bucky said, shaking her shoulder gently — then a bit more firmly when she didn’t stir. The bed was a mess of tangled blankets piled high. She suddenly blinked awake and sat up so fast she nearly hit her head on the upper bunk — she would have, if Bucky’s hand hadn’t been there. She rolled to the side and sat for a while, face buried in her hands, rubbing her eyes.

“Did you eat anything? No, right?”

“Mmmngh.”

“Didn’t think so,” Sam sighed, gesturing to the table. “Come on, you need something in your stomach before you take the fever meds.”

“Mghh.”

She got up, slowly. Bucky offered his arm, but she politely waved him off. It wasn’t far to the table anyway, but both men kept a watchful eye on her until she was seated and eating. Aside from her tangled hair and sleepy expression, she didn’t look as bad as they’d expected — though clearly she’d been through a rough night.

“It’s okay, the worst of it’s over,” Sam said, sounding optimistic, while Wanda washed down a paracetamol tablet with tea. “Not telling you what to do or anything, but please — be more careful, okay? Sarah said you went out yesterday, during the storm.”

He leaned down a little, waiting until she met his eyes before adding, in a quieter tone:

“We were all worried about you. Whatever you caught, it was pretty nasty.”

Wanda looked at him for a few seconds and nodded, then mumbled a quiet “I’m sorry,” eyes downcast again.

“No need to apologize, it’s fine. Just take better care of yourself from now on. We’ll get you some warmer clothes too — Bucky said you don’t have—”

Sam stopped when Bucky elbowed him hard in the ribs and shot him a look.

“What? You don’t expect her to walk around in your old jacket, not in this cold,” Sam muttered defensively.

“I’m fine, really, I don’t need—”

“Nonsense,” he cut in firmly, tone leaving no room for argument. “Maybe back at S.W.O.R.D. no one cared if you had what you needed, but we’re your friends. We do care.”

He went on rambling about how Sarah had been talking about going shopping in town one of these days, saying Wanda should tag along. But Bucky could tell she wasn’t really listening. Her glassy eyes drifted off, nodding here and there automatically. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be sick anymore, and he wondered if maybe they were exhausting her. He silently motioned to Sam that they should go, and Sam got the message — though not before repeating, for the tenth time, that she needed to eat properly to take her meds on time. Bucky practically pushed him out the door to make him stop.

“Hey, Wanda,” he said from the doorway. She looked up, eyes big and tired. “Call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”

She nodded.

“Keep your phone close, alright?”

Another nod. She even lifted it slightly to show him she had it.

“We’ll be back later.”

“Sure. See you,” she said finally, her voice flat but steady.

Bucky followed Sam down the dock and let out a sigh. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. He was just worried — maybe too much. Maybe he was overreacting. He wasn’t used to seeing people get sick. And she’d looked awful.

Sam noticed, but didn’t comment. Instead, as they walked past his house, he stopped and held out a key.

“It’s for a neighbor’s place — he’s fixing it up to rent,” he explained, seeing Bucky’s confused look. “You’re always driving back and forth on that bike of yours. Makes no sense to keep staying so far out if you’re gonna be around here this much. You can stay there a few days, it’s all sorted out.”

Bucky raised his brows, genuinely surprised. They weren’t exactly close — barely talked beyond what was necessary — and Sam had been so busy lately that he didn’t expect him to notice something like that.

“Sam, no, I couldn’t—”

“The renovations are on hold for a while, no one knows when they’ll resume. The family’s out of town for work, and old Mr. Mitchell moved in with one of his kids. They said it’s fine if you use the place for a bit.”

“Really? You’re sure? I don’t want to bother anyone—”

“It’s no bother, trust me. Just don’t break anything,” Sam said seriously.

“I don’t mind staying at the mo—”

“Come on, just take it,” Sam interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You’ve been around two weeks already, keeping an eye on Wanda when I can’t. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch here. There’s a real bed at the Mitchell place — smells like paint, but it’s solid. He went to school with my dad, I’ve known him my whole life.” He crossed his arms, looking almost proud. “You take care of that. Sarah and I will check on Wanda again before dinner.”

Bucky was a little dazed by how sudden it all was, but he thanked him and went to see the house.
It had gas and power, most of the big furniture covered in sheets or plastic, but the kitchen worked fine and the main bedroom was already set up. The other rooms still showed signs of the kids who’d once lived there — faded wallpaper, built-in closets, empty shelves.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad deal. He just had to hurry back to the motel for his things before they charged him another night. And maybe buy a few essentials. Tomorrow he’d wake up in that quiet little coastal town, the air still heavy with salt.

Chapter Text

The next day, Bucky didn’t expect to see Wanda in her usual spot, but he skipped the comment about her health and sat down on the sand beside her again. He was glad to see she was better bundled up this time—a scarf and dark gloves that he suspected were borrowed from Sam, along with his own jacket. Maybe he should just let her keep it; she probably wouldn’t go get another one if he took it back. Though maybe soon he could convince her to go somewhere else to see the bay—somewhere that wasn’t this cold, stony little beach.

“Feeling any better?”

“Mmh.”

“Really, huh? You don’t have to push yourself if you—”

“It’s fine, James.”

That was an ambiguous answer, but it would do for now. He nodded and let it go, until she broke the silence again.

“Thanks. For the food, and the other stuff.” She lifted one gloved hand slightly in a vague gesture.

“Oh. It’s not—”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no big deal, don’t wor—”

“I mean it. You didn’t have to.”

Her eyes were red again, and she looked somehow more miserable than usual. There was a different kind of ache in her voice. Bucky tilted his head as he looked at her.

“Why do you keep saying that? You say it all the time. We just want to help you out, until you get better.”

“Because I don’t want you to keep doing things for me,” she said quickly, almost as if forcing herself to talk before she changed her mind. “I just want… not to be here anymore. Not another minute.”

Bucky swallowed hard. The pressure in his chest tightened—like a claw squeezing from the inside.

“You mean… not here in Louisiana, or…?” he asked carefully. Maybe it was too forward a question, but it was impossible not to take it that way.

Wanda didn’t answer. She meant the other thing.

Shit. Great. So it was that.

“Yeah,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes fixed ahead. “I know the feeling.”

Pause.

“Have you ever…?” she asked quietly, without finishing the sentence. She didn’t need to. He knew what she meant.

“No,” he said simply, shrugging a little. “Not yet at least.”

“I have,” she said, like it was nothing. “The day before yesterday.”

That caught him completely off guard. His eyes went wide, and he turned toward her. Wanda barely blinked. As he stared, tears began to spill from her eyes, a few one falling onto the ground.

“I went to open sea. It wasn’t as far from here as I thought—maybe three hours flying straight that way.” She gestured absently in one direction, thinking aloud. “I kept going until I couldn’t see a single boat on the horizon. And I just… let myself fall into the water.”

The odd details from two days earlier crowded his mind—the fever, the wet clothes, her messy hair, her blank stare. Had it all been there, right in front of him, and he hadn’t noticed? His expression shifted from surprise to horror. His body felt heavy, so heavy it was hard even to breathe.

If Wanda noticed his shock, she didn’t acknowledge it. She kept staring ahead stubbornly as she spoke.

“And then I thought, ‘finally, it’s over.’ I felt so relieved it was ridiculous.” A nervous laugh escaped her as her lower lip started to tremble. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands pressing against her forehead. “But it wasn’t. I was still—something was keeping me from— I wouldn't swallow any water. It didn’t even touch my face. I kept sinking, but… nothing else happened.”

Bucky was frozen. The idea wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but hearing it from someone else was something else entirely. Especially from her, after everything she’d already been through.

“All I could feel was this constant suffocation that wouldn’t even knock me out—it just hurt. The darkness, the cold… that fucking cold.” Her voice trembled harder. “It went on for hours—no, I don’t even know if it was hours, I really don't know for how long was I sinking to the bottom—but it felt endless. And I ran out of air, but I couldn’t drown either. You get it?”

Her voice cracked. She was shaking all over now, trembling like a leaf. Bucky nodded, though he didn’t really understand. He’d never heard anything like what she was describing.

“Never in my whole life… have I felt anything that awful. ‘Awful’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. I don’t know what else to call it.”

Pause.

“All I could see was red.” She lifted her hand slightly, and thin red wisps of light curled around her fingers. “It was all around me, but… I wasn’t doing anything. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t make it go away. I really tried. I didn’t want anything stopping me anymore. And then I just… couldn’t take it. It was worse than I could bear. So I pushed myself up and came back to the surface to breathe.” She shrugged a little, almost ashamed of herself for giving up. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t clench them still. “I didn’t even know what day it was. There was still some light left, but I had no idea where I was. I drifted for a while until I sensed people on nearby boats, read their minds just enough to figure out where I was and where I needed to go, and then I just… flew back here.”

Silence. She wiped her tears away harshly.

“I don’t even understand how I made it back,” she went on after a while, her voice picking up speed. Maybe Bucky should’ve said something by now, but his mind kept short-circuiting whenever he tried to think. “I was so tired, hungry, freezing, and I had to stop several times to rest, but I didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know if it was my magic that had kept me from dying out there, and if it would still work after pushing myself that far, or if I could protect myself long enough to make it back. Which is so stupid because the whole point of going out there was to die, right? I shouldn’t have cared if something happened to me, but I did, and—”

Her voice broke, and she left the sentence hanging. She couldn’t go on. She lowered her head and covered it with her arms, crying bitterly. She didn’t really feel better after saying it all—her throat was still tight, maybe even tighter. She didn’t feel like she’d lifted a weight off her chest. That was what people were supposed to feel, right? She didn’t feel lighter either. None of those stupid things people said about confession or relief made any sense.

So why had she told him everything in such detail? It would’ve been better to spare him all that. To spare anyone. No one needed to hear that. It was awful.
And yet, despite the choking in her throat, the crying, the shame of failure, and the exhaustion of coming back at all, she’d felt like she couldn’t keep it in anymore. She couldn’t face it all by herself again. James had been around these past few days—maybe he cared, even just a little—so maybe she should at least… what, explain herself? Ask for advice? She didn’t want that. Not now. Maybe she’d thought about it before, days ago. But she already knew what people usually said: don’t do it. Find something to live for. Sam was that kind of person—the one who’d tell you life was worth living for all sorts of things—but he had no idea what it was like to lose everything she had. And James? Maybe he did know what loss felt like, but they weren’t close enough for him to care. That’s why she’d never said anything before.

But sometime between collapsing into bed after somehow coming back alive, and sitting here on this shore an hour ago, the thought had formed in her mind—and she’d decided James had to hear it. She had to tell him. Not because he’d understand better than anyone else, or because he’d know what to do. Not even for him to scold her. Just because no one else knew. Because no one but her knew. And she couldn’t bear that. Something in her hadn’t wanted to die and had fought tooth and nail against it—but that didn’t mean she magically felt fine now. Maybe if she told him, she wouldn’t want to do it anymore. The mere thought of trying again terrified her.

Beside her, Bucky was silent and frozen. He could feel how fast his pulse was racing—it echoed in his ears and all through his body in the most unpleasant way. After a while, he looked straight ahead again, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. Guilt and grief twisted inside his chest. He could hardly swallow, couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He’d never been good at comforting people anyway—that was more Wilson’s thing.

Was there even anything he could say that wouldn’t sound stupid or empty? He felt so lost. He thought about all the times he’d felt the same way—like he didn’t want to go on, didn’t want to exist like this anymore, too tired to change anything. He’d imagined it plenty of times—how everything would be better if he weren’t around. It was something that came up often back when his mind was trying to piece itself back together after seeing Steve for the first time in decades, and again after the fight that split the Avengers for good. The world would’ve been better if he’d never come back. Steve would’ve been fine. Everyone would’ve been fine. He shouldn’t have been there at all, in that time, that place. Accepting his past didn’t mean the weight was gone. Sometimes he still had no energy left for even the basics. The idea of never having to do anything again—good or bad—felt almost liberating.

Intoxicating.

But sadder than words could ever express.

And Wanda—he really liked her. She’d been through so much. Too much for one lifetime. And it wasn’t fair that she should feel this way too.

It wasn’t. It just wasn’t right.

When he slowly lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulders, he realized how cold they both were, even through their coats. He gave her a light squeeze, and she started crying harder. For a second he thought he’d made it worse and hesitated to pull away—but then he felt her small fingers brush his hand, and he relaxed a bit. At least she wasn’t pushing him away. That seemed like a good sign. He tugged her gently toward him, and she leaned into his side without resistance. They stayed like that for a while. Every so often, Bucky rubbed her shoulder, trying to give her some warmth—he couldn’t tell if she was shaking more from the cold or the tears—until eventually, she stopped crying.

What time was it? Hard to tell, with all those heavy gray clouds. Bucky didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there, but finally both of them seemed calmer, and another thought crept into his mind. Practical things. Keep busy with the practical things. Stay distracted. When had either of them last eaten?

“Come on,” he said, standing up with quiet determination and gently pulling her up with him. Wanda’s eyes were puffy and her nose red; she let him guide her automatically toward his motorcycle. He handed her his helmet. She stared at it for a moment, processing what was happening—she couldn’t think of a single reason to get on a bike with James right now, or where they could possibly be going.

“Put it on and get on.”

James was already seated. Wanda fastened the helmet, feeling a little bad that now he didn’t have one, and climbed onto the back seat. The last time she’d been on a motorcycle was when her brother had stolen one as kids—they didn’t know how to drive it, almost crashed twice, and ended up getting caught by the road police and sent to a refugee center for a few days. At least they’d gotten hot food out of it, but she’d been scared of motorcycles ever since—too wild, too unpredictable.

“Hold on tight. That’s not enough,” James warned when he noticed she was just gripping the seat. How fast was he planning to go? She didn’t argue—just wrapped her arms around his waist.

But he didn’t go fast. Not at all. He kept it just above the speed limit. He didn’t say where they were going, and she didn’t ask. They rode maybe twenty minutes down the foggy road. She stared out blankly while the warmth from the bike’s heater brought feeling back into her hands. She wondered vaguely what came next, what would happen now.

When she looked up again, they’d stopped at a roadside diner—the kind that looked frozen in time, like something out of an old TV show she used to watch with her parents and Pietro as kids. It was one of the first things she’d looked for when she’d finally arrived in the U.S., but she’d only been to one a couple of times before.

Inside, Bucky led her to a quiet corner booth. The place was busy, and a TV was on, so nobody paid them any attention. They sat down, and a waitress dropped off the menus.

“Order whatever you want. My treat,” Bucky said. Wanda glanced sideways at him, tempted to say she wasn’t hungry, that her stomach had been upset all morning even though she’d only had tea—but she knew he wouldn’t believe her, and honestly, the idea of arguing exhausted her. So she told him to just pick something for her. Bucky ordered a bit of everything—sweet and savory—and coffee for both.

To her surprise, everything smelled so good it was impossible not to give in.

It was strange—they barely talked, but there was so much noise around that it didn’t matter. The chatter, the laughter, the buzz of people watching the game on TV—it all felt so distant and yet so comforting. They were surrounded by strangers having fun, full of energy, and somehow, just being there made her feel part of it.

After a while, Wanda asked if he’d been there before. He admitted he hadn’t, though he’d driven past plenty of times.

“I can see why it’s always packed,” she said, glancing around. “It’s really cozy. And everything’s delicious.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky agreed, already on his second coffee and third dessert. Then, on impulse, he added, “If you want, we can come back tomorrow too.”

“I… don’t know. Maybe,” Wanda said, shifting a little in her seat and looking down. It was hard to picture tomorrow—or even the next hour. It was easier not to think, just to drift along with the moment.

Bucky kept talking—about whatever came to mind—and she let him. He told her about the bar in Louisiana where he sometimes sat down to write in, and the house Sam had found for him to stay in. After almost two hours, the diner began to empty as night fell. The rain had stopped, and people were heading home. Wanda seemed more relaxed now, though tired, and Bucky was exhausted from talking—he wasn’t used to it. To him, she still looked like a drenched little bird—or maybe that was just because she barely reached his shoulder and slouched in her seat.

He asked if she wanted to head back. She shrugged, unsure.

“It's probably the best choice.”

Bucky paid, and they headed out. His mind buzzed with questions. Was it okay to leave her alone now? When they got off the bike near the docks, he hesitated, then gently suggested she could stay at his place—there were plenty of rooms, after all—but she politely refused. She understood his concern, but it felt like too much.

“I don’t feel bad enough to… do something stupid again. You can relax,” she said softly, looking down and fidgeting with her nails.

“Good. Because I need to find you here tomorrow, okay?” The words came out before he could stop them, and he instantly felt like an idiot. How did you even tell someone, “hey, please don’t kill yourself in the next twelve hours,” without sounding completely ridiculous? “If you start feeling bad again or anything, just call me. Anytime. I’m close.”

Wanda nodded, and she meant it. Bucky nodded back, not in a hurry to get back on the bike. He could’ve walked her to the door, but that felt like too much too.

She couldn’t blame him for worrying she might do something drastic, but it all felt strangely distant now—like a bad dream from a week ago. The only thing that felt real was the last three hours, sitting in that diner with a cup of hot coffee while the storm swallowed the world outside. Even though the rain had stopped by the time they left, the fog still hung heavy, and they were both soaked. They said goodbye on the sidewalk, and Wanda hurried back to the boat as the drizzle returned.

The houses she passed were lit and peaceful, so still it felt like a movie set instead of real life. Ironic, considering her entire life had been a distorted movie for about a week, and she hadn’t even noticed. She brushed the thought away as she stepped inside, turned on the lights, and peeled off her wet clothes. She felt oddly calm, almost serene. The pain and the memories were still there, of course—but somehow, they felt a little lighter. Maybe talking to James hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

»»---------------------►

It had all been so surreal.

So surreal to wake up—what time was it? What day?—and find Bucky’s face hovering above her, worried, checking her forehead and cheeks with his good hand. Such a simple gesture, but full of warmth and familiarity after crawling back from absolute hell—the hell of realizing even death wouldn’t give her peace. She’d been in shock for a minute or two, staring blankly at him while her heart pounded out of control. Sam had been talking, asking questions, and she heard herself answering in a whisper, though it felt like someone else speaking. It wasn’t until they were all sitting at the table and she smelled the hot tea in front of her that things started to feel real again, and the fog in her head began to lift. Oh wow, she really was still here. And she felt like absolute hell.

By the time she went to bed, she’d already known she was sick—she must’ve caught something on her little seaside trip. At some point before falling asleep, she’d thought maybe the fever would finish what the ocean hadn’t. Maybe if she was lucky, she’d just go to sleep and not wake up. And yet—there she was. Awake. And now that damned James Barnes was handing her soup and tea with biscuits, while that damned Wilson smiled with sheer relief as he put away the groceries and the bed linens Sarah had lent them, talking non-stop the whole time.
The two of them looked like the calmest, kindest friends in the world… Friends? Her friends? What was she even thinking. It was just pity, surely. Some strange sense of duty toward a former teammate. Was she even still living up to the ideals that had once driven that team? Did she deserve that kind of treatment? What a cruel joke—especially when, once upon a time, she’d done everything in her power to pull them apart.

She shook her head, disoriented. Was this really the time to be thinking about any of that? Her mind was all over the place. God, she must’ve looked awful—hair a mess, face flushed. She vaguely remembered Sarah talking to her at some point, but couldn’t tell when it had been, or if she’d dreamed it.

Now, standing in the same spot almost thirty-six hours later, everything felt distant and strange—and yet it was still the same boat, and she was still Wanda. But there was a subtle difference: she no longer felt like an outsider the way she had back then.
It was… nice, almost hypnotic, the way the mere thought of that filled her chest with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time. She could at least wait and see where it all led—and a part of her was grateful to have something to wait for. It was comforting, after living so long in an emotional void.

She changed clothes and slipped into bed, her thoughts drifting as she turned those feelings over and over—until she fell asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Text

Sam could tell there was something different about Barnes’s expression—something that hadn’t been there the day before. Even though Bucky kept insisting that everything was fine, that Wanda was doing better, that he’d be back the next day, there was just something different in the air. He didn’t say anything, but the thought lingered with him all night.

Something unusual must’ve happened. Wanda definitely looked a little better since she’d left the boat and spent most of the afternoon out with Barnes. The same pattern repeated the next day: hours sitting by the shore, followed by a motorcycle ride somewhere. Sarah was already teasing him about his constant state of alert, but Sam trusted his gut, and it told him that whatever was going on, Barnes was handling it his own way. Whenever Sam asked, he’d just say they were “talking,” and Sam had nearly laughed in his face. Him—talking? But he kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t mess up whatever the other man was doing. Whatever it was, Sam could tell Wanda wasn’t going to tell him—and neither would Bucky. There was some kind of quiet understanding between them that he wasn’t part of yet, and he couldn’t really blame them. He’d barely been around lately, running back and forth with all the bureaucratic mess. He still had to answer to the government, and they’d interrogated him extensively to compile the final reports on the terrorist attacks and their abrupt conclusion. He was grateful to be able to rely on Bucky for something so sensitive—and to see how genuinely concerned the man was—but part of him felt like he wasn’t doing enough himself. He had other things weighing on his mind too; the whole experience with the Flag Smashers had left him thinking about how fragile their connections had been for so long. Maybe it really was time to start thinking about getting the Avengers back together—whatever that meant now.

Ten days after the storm, he was still turning it all over in his head during his last visits to the government offices, while Bucky and Wanda spent every afternoon together—sometimes just sitting in silence by the shore, sometimes talking on the dock beside the boat until late into the night.

»»---------------------►

Bucky took a sip of the coffee Pepper had insisted on making for him. FRIDAY already had holograms projected in front of them in the living room, and Pepper was scrolling through folders to find what he’d asked for. She’d only agreed to meet with him out of pure curiosity at his unusual request, and Bucky couldn’t thank her enough. He knew she had every reason not to think too highly of him, and that he didn’t exactly have the right to ask her for favors—but if he didn’t take the risk, he’d never be at peace.

Morgan peeked in every fifteen minutes or so from the doorway; like any kid, the shiny metal arm caught her attention instantly, but no amount of coaxing from her mother could get her to come much closer.

“Looks like this is it,” Pepper said at last, playing a security recording from the old Stark Tower. She let out a soft gasp when Tony’s image appeared, and for a moment she was lost in the memory of those years when they’d been apart, not on the best of terms. It all seemed so small now, so meaningless. She logically knew those old recordings were still around somewhere, but she’d never had a reason to watch them. Seeing him again in such vivid detail nearly tore her apart from the inside—those holograms were painfully lifelike.

Bucky was feeling something similar. It was strange, almost jarring, to see every gesture, every detail of the man who’d been his one true friend, his anchor through so much of his life, as if it were standing right in front of him. Damn it, Stark’s tech was so advanced it could probably project them right into the room as if they were all alive and at arm's reach. But Bucky had learned not to fall into the trap of nostalgia. It was dangerously easy to sink into the past and try to live through memories, but in the end, that was always a slow kind of death.

He kept working the holographic interface with quiet patience while Pepper excused herself for a moment, stepping away from the videos. He felt bad for making her dig up all those memories, especially since he and Stark had never exactly been close—but now that his plan was in motion, he was determined to see it through. Pepper didn’t mind letting him take over for a bit anyway.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. He asked the system to select and enlarge a few stills so he could study them closely. They were sharper than he’d expected—perfect, even. His heart picked up, though he couldn’t quite define the feeling. He only knew it appeared whenever he pictured Wanda’s face when she saw what he’d been working on.

A faint movement caught his eye at the edge of his vision. Morgan again, peeking from the doorway, glancing between him and her mom—too fascinated to leave, too shy to come closer.

“Hey, Morgan,” Bucky called softly, raising his metal arm. Pepper discreetly wiped a tear away and put on a casual smile for her daughter. “Bet I can lift you with just this hand. Wanna see?”

Morgan took a cautious couple of steps forward, eyes still glued to the shiny arm.

“Can I take it apart afterward?” she asked eagerly.

Bucky and Pepper burst out laughing in unison. Five. She was only five.

»»---------------------►

By the time Bucky returned, the sun was starting to set. He jogged the whole way from the road to the dock, excited to deliver the precious envelope in his hand—but the boat was empty.

Sarah’s house was empty too. His pulse spiked instantly as flashes of that night crossed his mind. Could it be happening again?

He retraced his steps quickly; the few fishermen still around were packing up, and the place was almost deserted. This time he wouldn't be reckless and he’d call Sam, no matter if he was bussy on a mission. Sam could search from the air while he searched by land and—

He froze at the end of the dock, phone still in his hand. When he lifted it to dial, something caught his eye. There she was—Wanda—lying exactly where he’d left her that afternoon, curled up under her coat, her arm bent under her head. She was hard to spot from any other angle; he might’ve missed her entirely if he hadn’t looked just then.

“Wanda!” he shouted, hurrying down the dock. He knelt beside her and gently shook her shoulder. “Wanda, can you hear me? Are you okay? What—”

She startled awake, blinking and trying to orient herself.

“What… oh, I must’ve fallen asleep. Shit, ouch,” she mumbled, sitting up. One arm had clearly gone numb from being under her for so long.

Bucky touched her hands and forearms—they were freezing, as usual.

“Let’s get you out of here, you’re ice-cold. Your blood pressure probably dropped a bit.” He helped her to her feet while she brushed the gravel and sand off her clothes, rubbing her eyes and yawning as they walked toward the bike.

“Sorry, I scared you. I don’t even know when I drifted off,” she murmured.

“It’s fine. I get it. Happened to me sometimes too.”

He kept an arm around her waist just in case. She almost protested but didn’t really have the energy. Maybe it was for the best anyway—she wasn’t exactly steady on her feet.

Bucky drove them back to “his” place. Before letting her in, he asked when she’d last eaten, and Wanda honestly couldn’t remember. The first thing he did was prepare a big mug of coffee and some eggs on toast, while Wanda curiously looked around from the kitchen table. He’d spent the last few days fixing up little things around the house—changing bulbs, tightening loose chairs, repairing the big window that looked out on the backyard—to make the kitchen cozier since he always ate there. No one had asked him to; it just felt like something worth doing. He’d even brought in a small radio and an old box TV he’d found collecting dust in the attic. He almost never turned it on, but the whole setup gave the kitchen a warm, lived-in feel.

By the time he set the plate and mug in front of her, the sun was gone. He sat across from her with a couple of toasts of his own. He’d probably have to insist she stayed for dinner too if he wanted to make sure she ate properly. He knew how something that simple could feel like a chore when you weren’t all there.

Then he suddenly remembered the reason he’d been gone all afternoon. He excused himself, went outside, and returned with the large envelope he’d kept under the motorcycle seat. He handed it to Wanda, who looked at it curiously.

“Almost forgot. I wanted you to have this.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He nodded toward the envelope. “I went to see Pepper today. She helped me find and print some things—you’ll see.”

Wanda raised her eyebrows with genuine curiosity—something she hadn’t felt in a while. Being around Bucky stirred feelings she thought she’d lost. She pulled out a few thick, high-quality prints and froze the moment she understood what they were.

“What…” she whispered, but couldn’t finish. The warmth she’d regained from the food spread through her chest as she stared at her brother’s face for the first time in years.

There were four photos. Bucky explained that they were from the tower’s security cameras—hallways and the helipad—from the day she and Pietro had joined the Avengers to stop Ultron. Two of them showed him from the waist up, one in his usual clothes and the other in the training sweatshirt he’d borrowed from the locker rooms. He looked serious, focused, walking down a hallway. He was with Wanda in the other two—apparently as they were heading outside to board the aircraft. In one, she was holding his hand with a neutral expression; in the last, both were laughing. She remembered now—the joke Pietro had cracked right before they left. She couldn’t recall the words, but the moment came back crystal clear. He’d always found the right time for a joke because he knew it cheered her up, something he’d done ever since they were kids. She’d completely forgotten that until now.

“I’m sorry there aren’t more,” Bucky said awkwardly, still standing beside her, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Most were too blurry or unclear. Pepper had FRIDAY fix the colors and printed them right there…”

He trailed off when he realized Wanda was crying, one hand over her mouth, trying to hold herself together.

“James… how… why…” she stammered, gesturing at the photos scattered on the table. “All this… I can’t believe it, something so… I…”

She broke down, pressing the last photo to her chest. For a moment, Bucky panicked. He’d expected an emotional reaction, sure—but watching it unfold right in front of him was something else. Was it too much? Should he leave her alone? Get her a glass of water?

After a few seconds of hesitation, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it might help—but she only cried harder. He almost pulled back until he felt her hand close around his, fingers tightening. And that settled it.

He moved closer, leaning down to wrap his arms around her from behind. She clung to his forearms, still holding the photo. Bucky guessed she was hugging him really tight—though with his strength, who could tell. Her hair brushed against his face, tickling his nose; she smelled like floral shampoo, damp earth, and sea salt.

Wanda, meanwhile, thought she’d never stop crying. Not in her wildest dreams had she expected something like this—so simple, so human. She felt overwhelmed, happy, nostalgic, sad—all at once. She held onto Bucky as if he were a life jacket in the middle of the ocean, something she didn't had the other nigth when she jumped into the water. And then the memories came rushing back like cold water: the sadness, the gray sky, the plan, the trip, the shore, the boats shrinking in the distance, the water, the cold, the pain—the endless, unrelenting pain.
The color red. The air. The return. The exhaustion. More exhaustion. The silence. Bucky. Bucky sitting beside her on the shore, like always. Her telling him everything, every last terrible detail.

Oh God—why had she done that? Why was he still here after she’d dumped all that on him?

Bucky, silent on the beach. His arm around her shoulders. The roadside diner. The rain, the people talking. The heavy meal they’d had there. The simple eggs and toast he’d just made her.

The walks. The rides. Early mornings and long nights. And now this—this gesture, these photos that meant the world to her.

Her sobs slowly eased, but neither of them moved. Then, at the same time, they both became aware of the situation and the same thought crossed their minds: how long had they been like this? What was the socially acceptable amount of time for a hug like this? Was the other one uncomfortable now?

Before either could act, a knock on the door startled them—then the sound of it opening, followed by Sam’s voice calling from the empty living room.

“Hey Bucky, have you seen Wanda today? I brought some groceries and thought—” Sam froze in place, bags still in hand, staring at the scene in the kitchen. They instantly pulled apart; Bucky stepped back, Wanda straightened up, wiping her face with her sleeve. But the tension was obvious.

“Uh… sorry, I didn’t mean to… interrupt?”

“No, no, not at all, Sam, it’s fine—really,” Bucky said, his voice higher than he would’ve liked. Great. Perfect. Could he sound any more suspicious?

“Hey, Sam,” Wanda said quietly from the table, waving without turning around. Her face still burned with embarrassment.

“Hey, Wanda. You okay?” Sam’s tone shifted from surprise to suspicion, then concern. “You’re crying. Are you alright?” He looked sharply at Bucky.

“No—yes—I mean, it’s fine, Sam, don’t worry,” she rushed out, tripping over her words. When she finally looked up, her face was still red and puffy. She gestured toward the table. “I know this doesn't look... but I was just… Look. Look at this.”

She picked up the photos and handed them over the counter. Sam set the bags down and took them, still wary.

“Remember I told you about my brother, Pietro? That’s him,” Wanda said, pride clear in her voice. Sam looked through them one by one, piecing it together as she explained that she hadn’t had any photos of him since they were kids.

“Wow, I see” Sam said softly, stopping at the one of them together. “You can tell you loved each other a lot.”

“More than anything,” she murmured, smiling faintly.

“But wait—these are new?” Sam pointed at the envelope still on the table.

“James brought them.”

“Seriously? You did all this?” Sam turned to Bucky, raising a brow. Bucky explained what he’d done with Pepper that afternoon. Sam was stunned—he never would’ve guessed Bucky had planned all this on his own without saying a word. “Thoughtful” wasn’t exactly the first word he’d use for him, but clearly, he’d underestimated him. Wanda’s eyes were still red, but there was a lightness in her face that even Sam couldn’t miss.

“Wow, Barnes. Who would’ve thought,” he said with a grin. “You’re a box full of surprises. A box of few words and a staring problem.”

“Oh, is that so? Funny, I actually had something for you too.” Bucky pulled another envelope from his jacket and handed it over with mock indifference.

“For me? What are you up to…” Sam fell silent as soon as he saw what was inside. Photos—of him and Steve Rogers.

He stared, speechless, flipping through them. Four pictures again, pulled from tower and compound security footage. Each showed him and Steve in some small, ordinary moment: chatting after training in the gym, discussing something in the hallway, joking with each other after a morning run through the grounds, sharing a cup of tea in the kitchen. Wanda stood up, leaning over his shoulder for a look, and gasped. Clearly Bucky had had a busy afternoon.

Sam felt a lump in his throat, but he managed to keep his voice steady when he finally looked up.

“Thank you, Bucky. Really… this means a lot to me.” he said with a serious expression, yet in a soft tone.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Bucky muttered, waving it off. Truth was, he’d been nervous about those photos. It had been a last-minute idea, and he didn’t know Sam well enough to predict his reaction. He liked to think he’d done it because he would’ve wanted someone to do the same for him—even though he knew there were no photos of him and Steve in any of those cameras. That stung, and it felt deeply unfair. So, for those who did have pictures with Steve, they deserved to hold on to them—as proof, as memory, as something good left behind. Same as Wanda with her brother.

“Just thought you’d like to have them. I tried to pick one that showed off all your physical assets, but sadly, Stark didn’t keep cameras in the locker rooms,” he added, miming exaggerated muscles.

“Oh, I bet you’d like that,” Sam shot back, smacking his arm with the envelope. “Though honestly, that’s a relief. I always had my suspicions—”

“Ew, stop,” Wanda cut in, wrinkling her nose. “You don’t actually think there were cameras, do you?”

“I do,” Bucky said, dragging a chair with a wicked grin.

“Stop it, James!” Wanda swatted him with her empty envelope. “Now I feel uncomfortable and I don’t even know why.”

“Did you say something about groceries, Sam?”

“Oh—right,” Sam remembered, glancing at the bags on the counter. “I thought the three of us could have dinner tonight.”

“Great idea, thanks,” Wanda said. “We just ate something, though. You don’t mind eating late?”

“Not at all. I’ll come back later,” Sam replied, picking up two of the bags as he headed for the door. “I should unpack my stuff anyway.”

“Ten o’clock?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

Sam closed the door softly, shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and started walking home. He couldn’t stand being in that kitchen for another second. The jokes had helped ease the tension, but his patience had limits—and he was grateful the streets were dark and empty so no one could see the few stubborn tears escaping down his face. There was no way in hell he’d ever let Barnes catch him crying.

Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy thought—that the three of them could actually make a team. It wasn’t like he and Bucky had worked through every single rough edge during their last mission, but they’d smoothed out the ones that mattered most, and what he’d just witnessed tonight gave him more hope than he’d had in a long time. As long as they could look out for each other like that, there was no reason history had to repeat itself.

It wasn’t so far-fetched to think they could make it work, at least at the beginning. Maybe later they could try to get Banner on board, reconnect with Thor, or even consider that chatty kid, Spider-Man, if things went well.

He’d definitely bring it up with them—it was worth a shot. But better tomorrow, he decided, glancing back toward the house from the shadowed corner. Tonight, he just wanted dinner and a bed.