The Viper || BUCKY BARNES [2]

13 ― Criminals

2016 ― Berlin

Holland Stark, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson sat cuffed in the back of a German police vehicle, the quiet between them laced with unspoken frustration and a rising sense of helplessness. T'Challa sat silently with them, stoic and unreadable. Bucky was being transported separately in a containment chamber, sealed away as if he were a weapon instead of a man.

Holland couldn't tear her thoughts away from that image. The look in his eyes back in Bucharest—it haunted her. He knew them. She had seen the flicker of memory, of recognition, the moment his eyes met hers. He wasn't lost. Not fully. That was what terrified her the most—because if they didn't act fast, he would be.

"So, you like cats?" Sam asked, cutting through the tension with dry humor.

"Sam..." Steve sighed, voice low.

"What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat, and you don't wanna know more?" Sam replied. Holland didn't speak, but she couldn't deny it—Sam had a point. This guy came out of nowhere in full vibranium feline armor and managed to keep up with all of them.

Steve turned his attention to T'Challa. "Your suit... It's vibranium?"

T'Challa shifted just slightly, not fully turning to him. His posture remained composed, but the pain and fury in his tone were thinly veiled. From where he sat, Steve and Holland were defending the man who murdered his father. He didn't know yet that Bucky had been framed—none of them did. But they would soon.

"The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior," T'Challa said, voice calm but sharp. "And now, because your friend murdered my father... I also wear the mantle of a King."

Then he turned fully toward Steve, his gaze direct and cutting.

"So I ask you, as both warrior and King... how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?" Steve didn't answer. There was no point in arguing. Not yet.

When the vehicle came to a halt and the doors opened, Steve was the first to climb out. He immediately turned to help Holland down, gently holding her arm to steady her. The moment her boots hit the ground, her head snapped toward the transport vehicle trailing behind them.

Her heart clenched.

Bucky was sealed inside—trapped behind reinforced glass and steel. He didn't look afraid. He didn't look violent. He looked tired. Like someone who had spent too long running, only to be caught again for something he didn't do. He met her gaze, and for a second, they just stared at one another. No words. Just pain.

She turned around as Steve did the same and came face to face with Sharon Carter and a man she didn't recognize at first. "What's going to happen to him?" Holland asked, her voice low but tight, as if holding back a storm.

"The same thing that ought to happen to the two of you. Psychological evaluation and extradition," the man said.

"This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander," Sharon explained.

"What about a lawyer?" Steve asked.

Ross chuckled, completely unbothered. "Lawyer? That's funny. See, their weapons are placed in lockup. We'll write you a receipt." Holland's fists clenched at her sides as agents walked by carrying their confiscated gear—Steve's shield, Sam's wings, and her own sidearms. She caught sight of her guns and silently hoped no one was stupid enough to start poking around at the ammunition she kept loaded in there. That wasn't a toy.

"I better not look out of the window and see anybody flying around in that," Sam muttered, clearly irritated as they headed inside.

As they walked, Holland couldn't help herself. She turned back again. Bucky was still watching her. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, with guilt—and yet, beneath it all, there was still that sliver of the man she remembered. The one who saved her life more than once. The one who protected Steve like a brother. The man who gave her hope when all she wanted to do was give up.