Chapter Text
The hours stretched, until Sam couldn’t stand the walls anymore. He stepped out into the cold, phone pressed to his ear, pacing under the flicker of a security light as the city’s quiet pressed in. Torres picked up fast, sounding like he hadn’t slept all night.
“Hey, man. You got anything?” Sam asked, voice tight.
“ I wish, dude. I mean—sort of. Got a few folks who saw something, but it’s all like ‘shadowy guy on a roof,’ y’know? No one saw a face. It’s New York, people don’t look up. Couple witnesses swear it was a pro—had to be, with the angle and the timing. But nothing. Feels like this guy could teach a master class in not leaving a trace. ”
Sam exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. “Of course he could. Why make it easy, right?” His voice was clipped, sarcastic, but underneath, exhaustion bled through. “Anything from street cams?”
“ Nope. Feeds are scrambled. My tech guys say someone looped footage, maybe jammed signals too. I’ve got people up on the roofs, searching for literally anything—fibers, prints, whatever. Not holding my breath. Whoever did this was ready. Knew the spot, knew when to take the shot. Wasn’t just lucky, Sam. ”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well. Feels like that’s my life lately. You see any sign it ties to Valentina?”
Torres hesitated, then let out a low sigh. “ Man, I wish. She’s playing the grieving handler card for anyone who’ll listen. Unless she put her name on the damn bullet, we’re stuck. ”
Sam didn’t answer right away, just stared out across the lot, chewing the inside of his cheek. “This shouldn’t have happened. Not to him. He’s the last person to get caught with his guard down. Not since—since we started working together. Always sleeping with one eye open. Used to drive me nuts.”
Torres’s voice softened, more like the kid Sam remembered than the agent he’d become. “ Sam, look… You and Bucky, you’re stubborn as hell, both of you. He’s out there busting his ass trying to save the worst of us—‘cause he knows what it’s like, you know? You can’t carry all that for him. Nobody can. ”
Sam’s laugh was bitter, short. “Yeah, well, I’m starting to think neither of us know how to stop carrying other people’s crap.”
“ That’s probably true, ” Torres said, and Sam could hear the shrug in his voice. “ But listen. Don’t let whatever went down last time be the last thing he hears from you, alright? That’s not how this ends. He’s still fighting in there, so you gotta fight with him, too. ”
Sam shook his head, but a grudging smile tugged at his mouth. “Thanks, Joaquin. Just keep me posted.”
“ Copy that, Cap. I’ll keep shaking the tree. Hang in there. ”
Sam ended the call, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and blew out a long breath into the icy night. Then he turned back toward the Compound, jaw set. Maybe he couldn’t fix the past, but damned if he wasn’t going to be there for whatever came next.
On his way back to the medbay, Sam didn’t expect to find Yelena lurking by the elevator, her frame tense, fingers flicking a folding knife open and shut in steady rhythm. She barely glanced at him as he approached, metal clicking echoing in the empty corridor, but Sam had no illusions—she was waiting for him.
He slowed, trying not to look as tired as he felt. “Cho out yet?” The words came out quieter than he’d meant.
Yelena didn’t answer right away. She snapped the knife shut, sliding it into a pocket with deliberate calm, then peeled herself from the wall and closed the distance between them. Her eyes were a challenge, unblinking. Sam squared his shoulders. He wasn’t about to be bullied, not even by a ex Black Widow.
When the silence dragged out, Sam sighed, hands half-raised in an empty gesture. “Look, I’m not here to fight, all right? I get that none of you want me around. Trust me, I’m not exactly loving this either. But I’m not gonna start throwing punches in a damn hospital corridor.”
Yelena snorted, her mouth twisting into a smirk, all teeth and no warmth. “That’s rich, coming from you. Pretty funny, actually. Considering you were the first to say you didn’t want our sorry asses anywhere near your precious legacy.” She spat the words with venom, pushing him verbally, daring him to snap back. “You made it crystal clear—you don’t like people like us. Ex-assassins, ex-cons, freaks that don’t fit the poster.”
Sam pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Wasn’t my best moment. I’ll give you that. I was wrong—about a lot. I don’t trust Valentina. And for the record, I wasn’t thrilled about the ‘new Avengers’ bullshit either. You think I wanted a PR war with her? With you all? That’s not how I pictured any of this going down.”
Yelena rolled her eyes, the motion sharp. “You think we did? News flash, Captain. None of us asked for this circus. When we met Bob, we were trying to kill each other. Literally. Then Barnes—Bucky—got in the middle and wouldn’t let go. Valentina saw her window and played us all. We were never meant to be anyone’s symbol, least of all America’s.”
She leaned in, voice flat. “I’m not Natasha. Don’t even try to compare us. I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who keeps getting dragged back into other people’s wars. But for whatever reason, Bucky believed in us. Fought for us. He’s the only reason we’re even a team. He made us want to be better than what they turned us into.”
Sam looked away, jaw tight, caught in the space between apology and confession. “Yeah. I get it, believe it or not. Before any of this, before I put on the shield, I didn’t think I was the right guy either. Wasn’t my idea to take up Steve’s mess. Bucky had to smack sense into me to even try. I guess I forgot what that felt like.” He hesitated, then forced himself to meet her eyes. “I was wrong to cut him off. I was wrong to—hell, to make it about me. I see that now.”
Yelena’s laughter was bitter. “See it now? Bit fucking late, don’t you think? He needed you, Sam. Instead, you let your pride run the show. You let him drown alone. And you know what? That’s why he’s lying on a slab right now with half his blood on the floor. Because you couldn’t pull your head out of your ass long enough to see what really mattered.” Her words were knives.
Sam’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking along his cheekbone. He forced himself to keep his voice steady, though every word scraped. “I never wanted it to end up like this. I sure as hell didn’t want to stop being his friend.”
Yelena took a threatening step forward, her glare practically burning a hole through him. “You think that changes anything? If you weren’t Bucky’s friend, you could’ve fooled the rest of us. You don’t get it, Sam. You broke him before that bullet did.” Her voice trembled with something just south of rage. “He’s been falling apart for weeks. Nightmares, insomnia, skipping meals—he barely even talks anymore. He spends his days picking up the pieces you smashed. All that time defending us against the media, taking the blame, getting pelted with rocks just for standing up to you. And you—” her voice cracked, “you just kept pushing.”
That landed deeper than Sam would admit. He stared at the ground, fists curled so tight his knuckles paled. The idea that Bucky’s progress, the hard-won inches of normalcy, had been ripped away—that he’d been the one to do it—made his stomach knot with guilt. “He’s gonna wake up,” Sam insisted, as if saying it could bend reality. “And when he does, I’ll tell him myself. I’ll make it right.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “You want to take a swing at me, do it now. I probably deserve it.”
Yelena’s answer came quick—a fist to his jaw that caught him by surprise and dropped him to one knee. He spat a bit of blood, dazed but not angry. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it that fast,” he muttered, touching his jaw. “Not bad.”
She stepped in again, but before she could take another shot, Alexei and Ava rushed in, dragging her back. “Enough!” Alexei barked, practically hauling his daughter off her feet. “You said you had to pee, not pick a fight.”
John stormed over, tone half exasperated, half desperate. “Yelena, what the hell’s wrong with you? This is the last thing we need—if they throw us out, Bucky’s got nobody.”
Ava glared at Yelena, voice sharp. “You really think throwing hands is gonna help him? Use your damn head for once.”
Yelena twisted against Alexei’s grip, glaring at all of them. “He gave me permission! He earned it. And if it makes him even a little less of a stubborn asshole, maybe it’s worth it!”
Sam hauled himself up, dusting off his coat, voice quiet but level. “Let her go. She’s right. I did say she could. And she’s not wrong about me, either.” He looked around the group. “I screwed up. I judged you all before I ever tried to understand. Bucky saw something I missed, and I owe it to him to try to see it too. I’m not promising miracles, but…” He shook his head. “I’ll try.”
John blinked in surprise, his usual swagger faltering. “Well, shit. Didn’t expect that from Captain America.”
Alexei let out a snort of laughter, more relief than amusement. “About damn time. Now, if we’re all done with the confessions and punching, we should probably get upstairs. That’s why I came down—Cho’s out of surgery.”
Yelena swore, wrenching free. “You could’ve led with that, old man!”
They didn’t waste another second. The group piled into the elevator, shoulders brushing. As the doors slid shut, Sam pressed a palm to his sore jaw, glancing sidelong at Yelena—who, despite everything, almost managed a smirk.
The ride up was silent, everyone holding their breath, waiting for news.