Chapter Text
“Where?” I heard my uncle’s footsteps on the dock as I stared out at the gulf, the sun slowly dropping below the horizon.
“Does it matter?” He stopped short of me and I felt his gaze on me.
“Yea, it does. What were you two up to? Was it sanctioned?” The questions that had been rattling around in my brain since I received word began to tumble out of my mouth quicker than I would have liked them to. I bit my lip to stop them. So many damn questions. Sam was silent. “So it was covert? Meaning he gets zero recognition from the government and everyone is happy that the big bad former Winter Soldier is no more?” I felt myself tense and I clenched my fists at my side. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Lance…” Uncle Sam started to speak, but I shook my head, still not looking at him.
“He trusted you with his life. You were the constant. Falcon, Captain America, whatever the fuck you wanted to go by…whatever fucking costume you pulled out of your closet that day. And you’re going to let him get shafted. Let my family, the only family I have just fade away like he meant nothing to this country and the world. A fucking super soldier that gave his all and he can't even get a mention on the evening news.” Sam moved closer and I just knew what was coming. “Don’t touch me.”
“Lance, believe me when I say I’m working on it.” I shook my head.
“Work harder.” I said softly. “I’m going home. I need some fucking sleep. I’m jet lagged and haven’t slept in over 36 hours.” Sam placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Just stay the night here. I don’t like you being at the house alone.” His voice was soft and I turned to look at my aging adopted uncle. He face was more wrinkled than I remembered and his hair was starting to grey.
“Empty or not it’s my home.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
***********
The house was pitch dark as I started up the walk to the back door. Dad had chosen to settle just up the way from Sam. When you have nothing remaining from the 110 years of your life, I guess you grasp onto whatever feels like home and family. Sam Wilson was that for him. My dad was a difficult guy for people to understand and get to know. That I saw clearly in his interactions with everyone besides myself. With me, he was a different person. He loved being my dad and was there for all of the big moments in my life. All-Star baseball games, high school graduation, West Point graduation, my commissioning ceremony…he made a point to make it to all the milestones, missions be damned. However society could never completely see him in that role. Sure, he was Bucky Barnes, the Cap’s sidekick and right hand man with a metal left arm, but I don’t believe they ever fully trusted him. I know there were moments of doubt when Dad didn’t trust himself, even decades after the people of Wakanda removed the trigger words. He may have be free, but I don’t believe he ever truly felt it. And now he was gone. My hope was that now, in the afterlife he saw himself as I had. The strongest, most confident, brave person I ever knew. He was a hero, greater than anyone before him and anyone after him, and I was lucky to call him my dad.
Walking into the house I flipped the switch and basked the kitchen and dining room in a soft glow as the lights above the sink were the only ones I turned on. The house was perfectly tidy. Everything in its place. The paper from four days ago sat on the counter, folded just like Dad had just finished reading it. He had never really bought into technology and preferred a physical newspaper every day rather than reading it online, old habits die hard. I eyed the liquor cabinet in the corner and closed the space quickly, reaching for a glass and the bottle of bourbon like it was a life preserver. Pouring a glass, I took a lengthy sip of the liquid followed by a deep breath before I started through the house. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, perhaps just to take it all in as it had been left before they had left on their mission. Last minute or not, Dad always left the house clean before leaving. Even before running errands he would be sure everything was in its place before walking out of the door. Pictures of us on the walls made the house feel like a home. I had Sam’s sister Sarah to thank that pictures even existed. Growing up she was forever putting her camera in our faces and making sure there were pictures of everything. There were school pictures of me, a picture of Dad and I at one of my high school baseball games, the two of us on the boat, both of us sitting on the back porch.
The final picture on the wall was the oldest we had and the one that meant the most to me. A picture of five year old Lance, blue eyes looking vacant, standing beside the older, taller, version of himself with blue eyes that could clearly be seen with tears in them. To the naked eye the photo may have looked awkward and someone might wonder why that photo was on the wall. Why there weren’t baby pictures of me anywhere to be found. This was the closest thing we have. This was the day I came home, the day that I became a person. It was the day Dad rescued me from Hydra and swore I would be safe. I felt my eyes begin to water.
At 25 years old, if you were to place a picture of me beside a photo of my father when he went to war you would swear we were the same person. And technically you wouldn’t be wrong. Genetically speaking we were. My DNA and my entire being was to be a replica of the infamous Winter Soldier. Hydra wasn’t stupid, they knew they had something in their Asset and they also knew that even with the freezes and the super soldier serum there was only so many decades their Soldier would last. They wanted a contingency plan, so they cloned him. It seems strange, but no stranger than my dad being 127 years old. The Winter Soldier got away from them, so they moved quickly at insuring I would be aptly prepared to replace him. I got the serum, the training, the works for a kid barely five years old at that point. Lucky for me I remembered very little, but I was also the first to have the serum so early in life. Once the Soldier remembered who he was and was able to safely return, he went back for me. Destroying everything in his path. That picture on the wall was the day he brought me back to Louisiana, the first time Sarah and Sam met me, the first time Dad called me son.
“Fuck!” I drained the glass in my hand, hoping that by a stroke of luck I could manage to get drunk for the first time in my life. It wasn’t possible, but I could hope to feel nothing for a bit. I touched the photo before heading back to the kitchen for a refill.
I had had as normal a childhood as I could have. Dad was home as much as possible and he would work with Uncle Sam, go away for a few days and I’d be with Aunt Sarah and Cass and AJ, who were 5 and 7 years older than me, but accepted me as if I were their biological brother. It wasn’t until I was 14 or 15 when the effects of the serum really showed itself. I was an outstanding baseball player, my vision, hearing and strength coming into play in a big way. It was our secret though. I didn’t flaunt it and I sure didn’t want people to know I was different and neither did Dad, he wanted me to feel normal. I easily got accepted to West Point when I completed high school and played baseball for the Black Knights as well as completed the Special Forces Q course and Ranger school prior to graduation and taking my commission into the United States Army. I loved my job. It was like I was a hand and it was the glove. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And two days ago I was in South Africa on a mission with my team when Dad and Uncle Sam were in the Ukraine doing God knows what. I didn’t find out until we were on our way back to Ft Bragg. I didn’t even pack a bag when we touched down in North Carolina. A teammate took me straight to the airport and I was in Louisiana as quickly as I could be. Looking down at myself I realized I was still in the clothes I changed into after the mission. Green tactical pants and a black polo and coyote hiking boots on my feet. This was all I had with me and the wallet in my pocket.
“Probably should always keep a go bag ready.” I muttered turning up another glass of bourbon as I went to sit on the couch. That’s what Dad would have expected, whereas I always had my bag ready for work, I never had considered needing one for personal trips. Sure I had seen dad age a bit in the last few years, not but so noticeable. But he was a super soldier. I thought I had nothing to worry about, I thought wrong.