Chapter Text
Bucky’s fingers twitched at his side as he looked up at the building. He could feel Alpine squirming restlessly in his bag, and Bucky was eager to get inside to let him out to stretch his legs. But a whole building would take time to deem safe, and the sun was already going down. They had been walking all day to make it to the safe house Zemo had been talking about - a place that would be easy to lock down, was filled with supplies, and near a town where they could scavenge. Bucky speculated that Zemo was also searching for the comfort of something familiar, after the weeks of apocalyptic living.
Sam walked up to the door and hesitated before turning around. “This is the place, for sure? Because I ain’t going in there just to get mauled by a bunch of flesh-eating monsters.”
“Zombies,” Bucky corrected. “Just call them zombies, that’s what they are. Even I've seen the movies.”
“Whatever-”
“Yes, this is the place.” Zemo butted in, rubbing his hands together and looking up. He adjusted the heavy pack hanging off his shoulders. Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes - the apocalypse was all it took to get the snobbish Sokovian to pull his weight in the group - but Zemo had a glint of mirth in his eyes at the sight of the old building.
It had been a rough few weeks during their trek to the safehouse. When it was first suggested that it would be the best place to hunker down, both Sam and Bucky objected to the idea, but slowly they realized that Zemo was right. A fortified penthouse stocked with weapons and food, close to the city for scavenging but far away enough that it wouldn’t be dense with the undead? It was a dream home compared to camping in the trees every night. It was a far walk on foot, and after the trio discovered that some of those monsters could hear even breathing if it was too hard, cars were not a risk they were willing to take. They tried biking for a while, but that limited their movement to roads or flat forest terrain, and Sam complained too frequently that Bucky could only bike for as long and fast as he did because of the serum.
So they set off, in search of Zemo’s safehouse, with rations, their guns and ammunition, Alpine, and an optimistic attitude. Being on the move would also be safer, Bucky figured, because settling down in the open would leave them exposed and careless if they got too comfortable. But a penthouse? What were the chances of a hoard making their way to the top floor, with all those stairs and hallways in the way?
Sam approached the doors of the building, and paused to turn back around. “Alright. Let’s get ready.”
“Take the cat,” Bucky ordered, gently taking his bag off and handing Alpine to Zemo. “Do not drop him.” He added firmly as Zemo fumbled with the shorthair for a moment.
“As long as he doesn’t squirm,” the Sokovian mumbled as the other two men approached the door.
Sam kicked the front open, and Bucky rushed in behind him, gun poised on his shoulder and ready to fire. After ensuring the lobby was clear, Bucky picked up a large stone off the entrance, and chucked it at the desk loudly, then propped his gun up once more. Growls came from deeper in the building, and five running bodies came around the corner, their infected limbs flailing wildly as their snapping jaws bit forward.
In five clean shots, all of the monsters were on the floor, twitching and bleeding. Zemo had protected Alpine with his arm, turning a shoulder to the rapid fire. He followed Bucky inside after he got a wave of confirmation, carefully stepping over the bodies on the floor. He didn’t try to see if they were people he once knew.
Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making sure the man was following him and his partner. He couldn’t read what was on Zemo’s face - an expression somewhere between fear and disregard - but he could only imagine that the Sokovian had to be excited to be going somewhere that was familiar, and presumably filled with his own belongings. It would be easier, hopefully, in the next while, with a place to settle into. As long as they could make it up the stairs.
Sam and Bucky decided it would be best to clear the whole building (there was no point in getting cozy in a house with an infestation, was there?), so floor by floor, they climbed the stairs with Zemo and Alpine in tow, annihilating the rotting zombies that came towards them. The various stages of decay on the bodies suggested that not all the creatures they encountered were people who once lived in the building, but some were looters, who failed to make their exit. By the time they made it to the final floor, everyone was sweating and shifting weight on their feet, though Bucky still felt like he could fight another 100 and not have to catch his breath. It was an unfair advantage, according to Sam, who lacked the obvious crutch of a super-soldier serum.
“Alright, Zemo,” Sam tapped the door leading to the corridor. “You said that the passcode on the door will still work with no electricity?”
“Yes, it was designed this way,” the light-haired man moved Alpine from one arm to the other to facilitate the cat’s antsiness. “I’ll do the code.”
Bucky glanced towards the stairwell. He hoped there wasn’t a sudden horde ready to rush them, where they would be trapped, unable to escape. He supposed there had to be some way to climb down from the penthouse, on the outside, but taking un-serumed Sam and Zemo with Alpine was a rather hopeless plan. When the door beeped and unlocked, Bucky took the baron by the shoulder and maneuvered the man behind him, then raised his gun, taking the lead to walk inside.
The front entrance was a slim hallway, painted in a neutral beige. A smell instantly hit Bucky like a bus, something all too familiar. He turned to warn the others when a shriek interrupted his thoughts. The zombie, a tall man in make-shift riot armour, rushed forward, jaws snapping and teeth bared. Bucky fired two shots, which hit the creature’s helmet and ricocheted into the wall. The zombie pounced on Bucky, nearly taking his nose off before he managed to flip it on its back and pin it by the chest. Sam’s boot came down on its head, popping the helmet off.
“Move!” Sam shouted, aiming his gun.
Quickly, Bucky leaned back and with one clean shot, the only movements left were small twitches. Sam sighed and offered his hand, then glanced towards the rest of the apartment.
“Oh, shit.” He mumbled.
The three men stepped over the body and moved further inside, taking in the scene before them. Decay was heavy in the air - two bodies were stacked in the corner of the open concept penthouse, clearly placed there on purpose. Bucky guessed they were somehow connected to the guy they had just demolished in the doorway, based on their similar clothing. Worse though, was the state of the place. Glass covered nearly every surface, and shelves had been torn from the walls. The art that had been hung was either smashed, drawn on, or ruined from blood spray. The couch was covered in old cans and its cushions were disrupted all over the floor. The kitchen was in no better state, with dishes thrown all about, empty cans and boxes littered on the counters, and every cupboard front was open and sorted through.
“Safe house, my ass.” Sam sighed, then dropped his bag and walked towards the window.
Bucky ran a hand over his face, then watched as Zemo carefully walked through the glass, still clutching Alpine, before placing the cat on the safe surface of a chair. He leaned down and picked up a frame off the floor, and stood utterly still, staring at it in silence. After a moment, Bucky followed the baron, hesitating a moment before looking over the shorter man’s shoulder at the frame.
The glass was cracked, but the picture inside was still visible - Zemo, with his family. It was sort of strange to see that domestic side of him, after everything else that had happened. It was a professionally taken picture, but the three of them were smiling so genuinely that it felt very candid. Zemo’s wife was a tall woman with dark hair and blue eyes, but their son was an almost perfect replica of his father. Same eyes, hair, nose, everything. A pang echoed through Bucky’s heart.
“I thought it would be safe here.” Zemo swallowed audibly. “To find the only comfort I have left destroyed, this place…” He trailed off, clutched the picture closer to him.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky offered truthfully.
He was mildly taken aback by the similarities of Zemo’s wife and himself - their eye and hair colour, as well as height difference in comparison to the baron, but he shook it off in favour of first introducing a plan.
“Let’s get settled here for tonight. It’s too dark to move now, and we know the building is safe. For now.” Bucky glanced at Zemo. “We can decide what to do in the morning.”
The three men got to the task of moving the bodies, and brushing away the glass enough to avoid any major injuries. It was easy enough to dump the three dead outside the doorway and lock up, but the smell still lingered. Zemo found some old, scented candles and lit them in a feeble attempt to mask some of the festering in the air, and to some extent, it added a bit of homey comfort. Sam worked at remaking the couch and chairs to be a bit more comfortable to sleep on. They discovered a few cans left of food in the storage in the kitchen; a small victory could be found in some beans and sliced peaches.
They ate mostly in silence, and Bucky shared his beans with Alpine, who had patiently waited to be allowed to walk around on the now safe floor, with all the glass swept to one side of the room.
“Someone can sleep in the bedroom, another on the couch, and someone should stay up, just in case.” Sam suggested through bites.
“Do you think that’s necessary? We’re in a safe house. In a penthouse.” Bucky gestured around them. “I don’t think anything’s going to get in tonight. I think we can relax, at least for one night.”
Sam put down his fork. “Do you want to take that chance? Getting too comfortable-”
“Alright, keep your pants on. Take the first watch, wake me up after.”
“Was that so hard?” Sam resumed eating, taking a peach slice from the shared can in the middle of their circle. He seemed to be ignorant to, or at least avoiding, the elephant in the room that was Zemo, who had barely spoken since he had removed the photograph of his family from the smashed frame and put it in his pocket. Bucky hadn’t pushed the baron to say anything, sensing that he needed space more than pressure, but was mildly concerned when the man’s usual quips and quirks were missing from the conversation. Zemo watched the can in his hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world, only taking small bites occasionally.
Breaking the silence, Sam stood and stretched, groaning as he did so. He looked at the large windows, then back at the other two men. “Alright. Off to bed. I’ll wake you in a few, Buck.”
It only seemed right to allow Zemo the bed, so Bucky was curled on the couch, tucked under a thin blanket with Alpine sleeping near his head, on the arm of the sofa. The door to the bedroom was open, and Bucky could see the vague shape of Zemo tucked into his covers. Sam was somewhere near the window, pacing, and quietly humming to himself. The wind outside blew against the apartment building, creating an eerie sort of whistle that echoed in the open space. Bucky tried to close his eyes, get a few hours of sleep before he switched off for watch duty, but he couldn’t get his mind off of the baron in the other room. The open door taunted him - a beckon to go inside. Bucky rolled over.
Escaping an apocalypse brings people closer, and this was no exception. Did Bucky really ever have a choice, when it came to saving Zemo? He certainly couldn’t just drop him on the road. The strange magnetism between them kept the group going, even when Sam bitched and moaned about the extra mouth to feed. Zemo proved useful in a lot of ways Bucky wasn’t expecting, too. His positive attitude, willingness to lug Alpine around, and his wisdom and foresight helped them quite a few times, as well as his ability to use a gun. Zemo was crafty, but he also knew when to cut the bullshit and work as a team. It had been a surprise when the baron had offered the safehouse as a location to work towards - it seemed unlikely that the world would ever recover to its previous state, but if it did, the safehouse seemed like a place Zemo wouldn’t want Avengers knowing about - yet he still led them right to it.
There was also the other thing. The weird thing Bucky had tried to avoid thinking about. That fluttery, all-too-familiar feeling that had started like a tumour in his chest, growing and spreading like a cancer though the rest of his body. That other thing.
Not that Bucky wanted to compare it to cancer - that was the wrong analogy. But he knew, knew very well, what developing feelings for someone, especially a man, close to him could lead to. Years of pining after Steve before…everything, taught him a tough lesson in self discipline. That was a yearning that hadn’t gone away easily, and the memories of them swimming together in their youth, or sharing a cot at a sleepover, still stirred something deep Bucky, but many decades had passed since those times. Now, it had returned full force, and sadly not for any of the kind, thoughtful, or ever just plain good men that Bucky knew in his personal life and that supported him, but no. Baron-Fucking-Helmut-Zemo. Of all the men in the world that hadn’t had their brains eaten by zombies, the one who Bucky had a complicated relationship with was the one who happened to be at his heels in an apocalypse, stealing the former soldier’s heart.
Bucky rolled over again and sighed. Was an apocalypse like a clean slate? Could he just move past, forgive and forget everything that had happened beforehand? He thought about the baron’s hazel eyes and imagined being close enough to decide if they were more green or brown. This would be the death of him.
“Hey.” Sam was at his side, tapping his shoulder gently. “Switch.”
Slowly, Bucky sat up, moving Alpine’s tail off his head in the process. “Yeah, I’m up.”
“You okay?”
Bucky involuntarily glanced towards the bedroom. “Yeah, just…feel bad for him, I guess.”
“This has been hard on all of us, but he'll manage.” Sam paused. “I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to you talking to him about it, though. I’m going to hit the hay, don’t fall asleep.”
“I won’t, thanks, Mom.” Bucky rolled his eyes and moved to allow his friend to lay down. Walking towards the window, the overcast sky darkened the night more than normal, and the thought of rain was both a blessing for fresh water, but hell to walk through if it stormed. Bucky walked away from the window, deciding to sit at the kitchen island instead, and focus on doing a maintenance check on his guns.
About an hour passed that way, along with occasional rounds about the apartment - looking out the windows, peeking into the bedroom, the bathroom, and the front hall. No sounds or movement indicated that anyone else was in the building except for them. It was nearly another boring hour later when Bucky was checking the rooms again when he was startled by Zemo’s voice whispering to him through the darkness.
“James?” he spoke quietly, and the former soldier nearly jumped from surprise, instead checking behind him to see if Sam was asleep.
Zemo sat up in his bed, though in the darkness it was difficult to make out his expression, or where he was looking.
“Would you come in here for a moment, please?” Zemo continued speaking lowly.
Bucky checked behind him again, finding both Sam and Alpine still snuggled soundly on the sofa. He closed the door more behind him when he stepped inside, but left it with enough view that they could easily jump out in the case of an emergency.
Unsure of what to do with himself, Bucky stood awkwardly near the bed, like a child shamefully in front of their parents, or like he was waiting to receive orders. Zemo didn’t speak for a few minutes, making the anticipation worse, and Bucky nearly began to say something, but was promptly cut off.
“Did you know,” the man finally said, “that if I close my eyes, I can picture exactly what my wife and son sound like dying?”
Bucky’s heart sank like a pit in his stomach.
“I can…picture it, too, what they look like dead. I know what their blood smells like.”
There was another long bout of silence, but this time, it didn’t feel like it needed to be filled with meaningless words. Bucky let the baron collect his thoughts, calmly keeping his focus on the window behind the bed.
Eventually, Zemo swallowed and wavered. “Before this was a safehouse, it was a vacation spot. For us. Nobody knew about it because it was in a friend’s name. My son walked for the first time here. It was our first vacation after the baby was born.” He paused. “After Sokovia, I turned it into a safehouse, because I have so little of them left, and my memories are spoiled from blood and violence. Travelling with you, I thought this could be somewhere untainted by everything out there. But I was wrong.”
Bucky could vaguely see Zemo fiddling with the photograph in his lap. Carefully, as if not to spook him, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and cleared his throat.
“It took me a long time to get the good stuff back. To sort through the bad memories and find the ones I wanted to keep. Stuff from Brooklyn - my friendship with Steve, our families, going to Coney Island, eating hot dogs on the beach with girls, all that shit. It all came back. It was slow, but it came. And I had nothing familiar anymore when I wasn’t the….when I was me again. Everything had changed. The cities, the technology, the buildings. I had to make that for myself. And I’m still learning, every day.” Bucky tried to find Zemo’s eyes in the dark. He wanted to reach for him, but kept his hands firmly on the bed. “The bad stuff is still there, it doesn’t go away, because I still remember every single life I took. But I’ll always have the good memories, and I know there’s more to come.”
A break in the clouds outside allowed for beams of moonlight to illuminate some of the room, and Bucky saw that Zemo was smiling.
“I’m glad you feel things are bettering for you, James.”
“But it’s the people I choose to spend my time with, is what I’m getting at,” Bucky continued, “because you’ll never be happy if you’re not with good people. I’ve had all these new people in my life to focus on, and Sam - pain in the ass that he is - is a goddamn blessing. And if you need to try and heal from what happened to your family, well.” He swallowed hard. “I’m glad you’re with us.”
Zemo quirked his head like a bird, letting out a small, amused huff.
“I am not what you supposed, but far different.” He said after a moment. “Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?”
“Whitman.”
“Yes.” Zemo looked at the photo in his lap, then back up. There was more brown in his eyes, than green. “I’m glad I’m here with you too, James.”
Unsure what to do or where to look, Bucky spat out what few lines of the poem he could remember. “Carry me when you go forth over land or sea, for thus merely touching you is enough, is best, and thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried eternally. Or something.” He added.
Zemo let out a genuine laugh then, something that felt like true mirth for the first time in weeks. Bucky couldn’t help but find himself joining in, watching the way Zemo’s eyes shone and his teeth showed when he smiled. It was easy to smile, too.
“Would ya’ll shut up in there, or go to sleep?” Sam’s voice echoed from the living room, and the other two sheepishly contained their chuckles as Bucky stood, stretching his artificial arm.
After repeating the action with the other, he paused, looking down at the baron. “I’m sorry about the penthouse getting looted. I think we can fix it up, though, stay here for a bit until we figure out our next move.”
“I have all the world’s faith in you, James.”
“Well, I only need a little.” Bucky stepped towards the door. “I’ll take your watch. Goodnight.”
Zemo laid back, watching the former soldier as he stood in the doorway. “Goodnight.”
As Bucky snuck out of the room, quietly avoiding Sam’s sleeping position to resume post by the window, he tried to calm his heart rate. It was a start, for sure. If nothing else, it was a start. Whether this was the beginning of a truce, or something bigger between them, it was a start. Trying not to smile, Bucky watched the rain clouds move steadily across the night sky outside. Zemo certainly seemed to reciprocate the feelings and amiability that Bucky was attempting to offer, and while it had been a very long time since the former soldier had attempted anything akin to flirting, he had felt pretty confident that a bit of cheekiness had leaked into their otherwise serious conversation. Outside, the very first early morning light was showing on the far horizon, and Bucky felt relief as the rain clouds moved further away.
Maybe the world would never return to how it was before, but it didn’t have to be miserable. Especially if they had each other.