Mission 2022

Chapter One: Home

"Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes."
"Shut your face, Wilson."

The routine was well rehearsed in their little world. Sam had pet names for all of them: for Bucky, Sergeant Barnes; for Natasha, Little Miss Communist; for Wanda, Baba Yaga. It was frustrating, infuriating and predictable, but calming. Where those nicknames were, it meant Sam was, and where Sam was, that meant home.

"Haven't you missed me, pal?" Sam drawled as Bucky strode into the darkened kitchen, boots caked in dirt and hands caked in blood.
"Weren't not pals and I haven't missed you, Birdy."
"Don't hate, Barnesy. Birdy's actually a pretty great singer."
"I don't have a clue what you're rambling on about, Wilson."

Bucky, unusually, was in a foul mood. His face may have an overall sullen appearance, but that was to be expected after all that had happened over the years. He didn't usually, however, feel quite so sullen. Tonight, however, the mission had been long and messy. The target hadn't gone down without a fight, and so Bucky had to take some more extreme, amateur methods to complete his task.

"You know you love me really, Barnes," Sam continued, sipping from a chipped coffee mug.
"Are you trying to sweet-talk me into another mission, Wilson?" Bucky murmured, and aggressively scrubbed at the blood under his nails. Right now, he hated Sam. He hated the world. And he really - really - wasn't in the mood.
"Dang it, you've rattled my secret." Sam laughed. Why was he acting so carefree? They lived under an abandoned office block, under the constant, imminent threat of the discovery. Plus, Bucky was certain that, whatever their intent, their entire operation wouldn't sit well with a judge and jury.

"Tough, Wilson." He dropped into the chair next to Sam. "I've had enough of you bailing out on us. There's more blood on my hands than I'd care to admit, and a lot of it is your fault."
"Harsh." Sam mumbled.

"Harsh?" Bucky repeated. He didn't mean to raise his voice. He wasn't usually even that ill-tempered. It was just Sam, and being cooped up in that terrible place, and all the killing and spying and lies and Sam's incessant optimism. Drawing a short-handled dagger, he was out of his chair before he even realised it and his hand was up against Sam's throat.

"You wanna talk about harsh? Try my life, Birdy Boy," he growled.
"Your life? Oh, you mean sipping tea with the Wakandan high society, Sergeant Barnes?" Sam breathed back. He was hyperventilating and staring straight into Bucky's eyes. Killing was second nature by now and he could do it with barely a second thought, but was Sam worth it? Worth the guilt and the nights lost over pain and worry and the nightmares and the flashbacks and the sheer terror of knowing it was his fault? All his fault.

"Come on then, you gonna do it?" Sam teased. Sweat was beading his forehead. Bucky could. He really could. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd come this close.
"You gonna do it?"
"You know I will." Bucky snarled back, equally as menacing. But it was all empty threats, and Sam knew it. Bucky couldn't kill him. They needed each other.

"Enough."

Wanda Maximoff came striding into the kitchen at exactly the right moment, looking gorgeous even at that early hour. Her hair was free and floaty, and her lips and eyelids were a dark burgundy. She always looked rebelliously, naturally beautiful without even trying, and now, with energy pulsing around her hands that kept Sam and Bucky at a safe distance from each other, she looked like some ancient warrior goddess.

"Baba Yaga, nice of you to join us," Sam smirked as she lowered her hands and went to the cupboards.
"Shut your face, Wilson," she snapped, taking out a mug and the slightly grimy and out-of-date coffee jar.
"That's what I said to him," Bucky pointed out quietly.
"You too, Buck," she ordered, but not quite as fiercely. Bucky felt his cheeks burning as Sam feigned laughing at his comrade behind Wanda's back. Bucky rolled his eyes.

As Wanda opposite them, she began pouring coffee with a slow rotation of her fingers. Mystical, mysterious energy swirled about the cup and the pot like a cage of iridescent red ethereality. It was mesmerising, but maybe that was only to Bucky's eyes.
"You two are like children." She muttered, raising her arched eyebrows pointedly.
"Kids are hilarious." Sam shrugged, then glanced at Bucky. "Well, some kids," he added sardonically.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but smiled internally. Sure, he hated Sam. Sure, tonight's mission had been horrible, but, to be honest, he was with people he could trust, and people he could laugh with and, truly, that was what was important.