Falcon & The White Wolf

Words by jesmalestiel, art by QuestinWitchFace

Summary:

Sam Wilson made a deal with a devil and had resigned himself to paying the price—until said devil made the mistake of giving him someone new to live for. Freedom is a foreign concept, and the healing process is slow, but Bucky and Sam have long since proved to themselves and each other that together they can make it through anything, even if it means facing their fears—both of the wizard who kept them prisoner, and of the love each shares for the other.
Or
A fantasy AU where Sam has wings, Bucky can shapeshift, and they both have a bone to pick with the wizard who made both their dreams and their nightmares come true.

Notes:

This was created as part of the SamBucky Reverse Bang and we are incredibly pleased with how it came out! It also fulfills square I3: Summoning for Rev’s Marvel Rare Pair Bingo Card.

Many thanks to our beta, tinysugacube, who stays being the 🐐 when it comes to grammatical prowess and making Rev’s fics shine. And of course, thank you to Marvin for his seal of approval.

prologue: is that a blue sky? (it’s about damn time)

“C’mon, just a little bit farther. You’ve got this,” Sam whispered into Bucky’s fur, petting his neck gently. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking more to Bucky or to himself. Part of him wished that he could be on his own two feet, or better yet his wings, but he was still recovering. They both were.

“Sam’s right,” Natasha whispered. “We’re almost at the border. Someone will meet you there.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Sam asked in surprise. “I thought—”

“I can’t leave everyone behind, Sam.”

A sinking weight that he’d always known was there settled more fully inside him. “Is that—”

“No,” she said firmly. “You two needed to get out. Anything more could have killed you. He trusts me. He shouldn’t, but he doesn’t know better and so he does. That’s how I was able to get you out. That’s how I’ll get the others out. It’s just a little bit farther. And then you’ll be free.”

Free. Something he hadn’t been for a long time. His wings rustled on his back. Freedom. What a concept, an impossibility until now offered. He leaned forward, resting his face against the back of Bucky’s head. He closed his eyes, just for a moment; and before he knew it, he was asleep—dreaming of a freedom he had only just begun to dare to imagine. 

chapter one: would I be who I am without the sadness in me? (i ain’t felt light in a while)

“I know it might not feel like it, but you have made immense progress.” Ororo smiled before taking a bite of her sandwich. Sam tried to return it, but his heart was heavy. It had been a month since their escape from the hell that was Ebony Maw’s lair. But that didn’t help the nightmares.

Was he doing better physically? Yes. Here in Wakanda he was free. He could breathe the open air, could spread his wings, had somewhere soft to sleep. Too soft, if he was feeling honest. Nothing about this felt real. Freedom…it had seemed impossible for so long. But finally, finally he had made it out. Bucky had made it out. And yet part of him would always be there. Always living through that hell.

“I don’t know about all that,” Sam sighed, making a half-hearted effort to push the food around on his plate. “It’s been…hard to adjust.”

“Give it time. You have time now—you have options, opportunities.”

“You keep saying that, but the problem is that I don’t know what I want to do. Being in that place…it was hell, but for a long time it was all I knew.”

“Have you been keeping up with your meditation exercises that Dr. Raynor gave you?” She took another bite of her sandwich. He envied her appetite.

“Not really. I don’t particularly like being alone with my own thoughts. And I fidget.” Sam ducked his head sheepishly.

“Maybe you need something different, then. When do you feel most at peace?”

There was an easy answer to this, if he could manage to say it out loud. Being with Bucky, witnessing that the other man was safe, that they had a place here. The tentative friendships he had formed with Mantis, Ororo, and Bruce (who he had known of while in captivity but had only recently become a true friend). Whenever he felt like he belonged somewhere. But he didn’t like to admit how much he had grown to depend upon the others in their community.

“When I’m flying,” Sam offered instead. It was not a lie. Flying…it truly made him feel truly free.

“Do you think you are ready?” she asked.

“Dr. Cho said my wings have almost completely healed. I just need to build my strength back up.”

“Well then, my friend. Finish your lunch, and then the two of us will go flying.”

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to keep up.” He bit his lip, suddenly anxious. It had been a long time since he had tested out his wings. He was not sure he could confidently say he remembered how to use them now.

“Hey.” She touched his arm lightly. “I am fine going at your pace.”

“What if I don’t remember?” he asked. “What if I fall?”

“I will catch you,” she replied easily—like it was simple, the idea that he could rely on someone to catch him when he fell. And maybe…maybe it really was.

—

Sam and Bucky hadn’t just escaped together. They were, in many ways, all the other had had while in their prison. Not that the wizard ever described it as such. According to the wizard, they were roommates—rather than the more appropriate term to use, which would have been cellmates. Their room had no windows and could only be locked and unlocked from the outside. 

And then there were the experiments.

Sam had not been born with wings. He had been born into a normal, happy, human family with parents who loved him and a younger sister who looked up to him. They were comfortable but by no means wealthy; and so when Sam got sick, the burden of care he had placed on his family was more than he could bear. They did not deserve to watch him slowly die, to spend all their money on a cure that would never come. And so, when the wizard had come, had made an offer too tempting to refuse—he had taken it.

True to his word, the wizard had cured him of his illness. But that cure came with a terrible price, as all magic does. The wings were not the bad part of the deal, actually. He loved flying, and he had never felt so free as when he was soaring through the air. The breathing fire was kind of annoying when he had a cold, but it had the bonus that cooking was a much lower effort endeavor. But for defying death once, he was forever barred from that realm. He had to outlive not just his parents, but soon his younger sister, and her sons, and their children. And so he had gone back to the wizard, begging that the curse be removed. Because immortality…it was a curse, plain and simple. But the wizard had been waiting for this opportunity—for Sam to have lost everything, to come back begging for death—so that he and Hydra had the excuse needed to try every experiment under the suns on Sam. It was torture beyond torture; and because he could not die, there was no end. His spirit was nearly broken, he was utterly broken down.

And that’s when he met Bucky. 

He could not bring himself to care when they assigned him a “roommate.” It was hard to care about anything anymore. But despite himself, he began to let Bucky in. The man was an absolute mess. He was also less than consistent about whether or not he was a man at all. With a moment’s notice, he would shift from man to animal, taking the form of a large wolf, and then back again. His arm, made of a bright metal with a red star, changed with the rest of him. And despite himself, Sam was fascinated. He felt alive again for the first time as they opened up to one another. Bucky, like him, had been cursed with immortality, was older than he looked, and had been subjected to horrifying experimentation. 

But Bucky was different from Sam in that his memories and his actions had been manipulated. His thoughts were often scattered, and his grasp on his memory was…loose, to say the least. But he was kind, and Sam could not help but be protective of the first friend he’d made in a long time. And from the conversations they’d had on Bucky’s more stable days—which were occurring more and more frequently the longer they knew one another—he knew that Bucky felt the same.

But the two of them each having someone to protect brought out the worst in the wizard because now he had leverage over them both. At this point, they had been prisoners for so long that there were not many more experiments the wizard was capable of doing; and so he resorted to cruelty and torture for cruelty and torture’s sake.

That was when Sam knew they needed to leave. And so they did, and freedom…wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t bad, not at all, but Sam had lived a long life and had recently spent a good portion of that life imprisoned. Now that he was out, the world had changed without him. And he didn’t know what his role was in it all anymore. Yet despite his hesitation, he knew they were in a much better position than they had been in previously. 

—

A few months into their time in Wakanda, Sam was hiding in the shadows of the palace as he watched King T’Challa and Bucky do exercises on the lawn. It had been a pattern for a while now, that Sam would watch as T’Challa coached Bucky on how to master his animal form. T’Challa was also a shapeshifter, and Sam could not help but feel immensely grateful to T’Challa and his guidance in helping Bucky master his animal form, taking the time to assist him despite his important role as King of Wakanda. 

And yet, he was jealous. He knew that he shouldn’t be, but nevertheless he was. The connection that Bucky had formed with T’Challa was intimate, and the close bond was almost as strong as the one he shared with Sam. Still, Bucky was getting better every day, and it was stupid to be jealous. Bucky needed all the friends he could get and had never begrudged Sam his own friendships. And yet. There was something about Bucky’s relationship with T’Challa that made Sam feel threatened in a way that he couldn’t quite grasp.

It had taken a while for Sam to adjust to the fact that being away from Bucky didn’t mean that one or both of them were being tortured or otherwise exposed to pain. For a long time now, the only time that they could be assured of the other’s safety was when they were locked together in their prison cell of a room. But now that they were free, they had slowly gotten used to being separated. Still, Sam liked to keep watch on Bucky when he could, especially when he knew Bucky was doing something strenuous like this and would seek Sam for comfort afterwards. So Sam would be there, whenever Bucky needed. Even if it made him jealous to see them together.

“Hi,” Bruce spoke from behind Sam, and he did his best not to flinch as he turned toward the other man, not having heard his approach. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

San rubbed the back of his head, his gaze darting back to Bucky before turning fully toward Bruce. “No, it’s okay. I’m just still not used to…” he trailed off. He was not used to most of his current experiences, and wasn’t sure how to articulate it. Luckily, Bruce understood.

“It’s difficult, I know. I struggled to adapt—I’m still struggling to adapt. The Big Guy and I aren’t really used to this either.” Bruce wrung his hands together, and Sam felt even worse about his reaction. 

Bruce was another escapee of the wizard, having broken himself out only a few days after Bucky and Sam. Or rather, the Big Guy had broken out, bringing Bruce along with him. Scouts had found the Hulk hiding in a cave, unwilling to transform back into his more vulnerable form. From what Sam had heard, the Hulk was incredibly wounded and hesitant to trust anyone who approached him until Mantis had come, using her powers as an empath to communicate with him directly and let him know that they could take him to safety. Bruce had been one of the people Sam had felt distress at leaving behind, and so his escape and subsequent arrival in Wakanda had been a welcome one.

“It’s not easy, for any of us,” Sam offered, resting a gentle hand on Bruce’s arm before his gaze naturally gravitated toward Bucky again.

“No, it’s not,” Bruce agreed. “How’s he doing today?”

“It’s been a good day, so far.” Sam smiled, watching as Bucky and T’Challa, now in their wolf and panther forms respectively, playfully chased each other across the field.

Bruce nudged Sam’s shoulder. “You’re good for each other.”

“Dr. Raynor says we’re dangerously co-dependent.” Sam’s smile turned rueful. “I don’t know that she’s wrong.”

“Dr. Raynor doesn’t know everything. Are you a bit codependent? Maybe. But you’ve only had each other for so long. It’s natural for you to depend on each other, to be dependent on each other.” Bruce paused. “And to love each other.”

“Of course I love him, he’s my best friend. We’ve been through so much together; to have made it out and see how he has become even stronger, and being able to see him be soft and happy as well…it’s truly a gift,” Sam said, his smile softening again as he looked at Bucky.

“Have you told him that?” Bruce asked.

Sam blinked, looking at Bruce. “What?”

“Have you told him how much you love him? Actually let him know how much he means to you?”

“Why would I do something like that? He knows I care about him. He has to know that by now, after everything we’ve been through. Why are you asking me about this?” Sam turned to Bruce with crossed arms.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend.” Bruce stepped back, hands raised. “I just thought, with you standing here all jealous—”

“I’m not jealous,” Sam interjected automatically, lying like a liar. Before Bruce could respond, the white wolf had bounded over toward them, standing in front of Sam and growling at Bruce, who stepped back even further. Sam’s hands automatically found themselves in Bucky’s fur as he dropped to his knees, nuzzling his head against Bucky’s. “Hey, I’m okay, it’s okay,” he murmured softly. “We were just talking.”

Bucky gave another low growl at Bruce, who was now walking away, talking softly with T’Challa, before turning back to Sam and giving him a long lick across the face. “That’s disgusting.” Sam grimaced, wiping off the slobber using his shirt. Bucky simply wagged his tail and gave his usual wolfish grin. “Alright, I forgive you. This time.”

chapter two: love deeper (even if it kills ya)

It would be inaccurate to say that Bucky’s mind was simpler when he was a wolf. He did not lose any of his cognizance, any of his intelligence. But things were simple in that the world did not feel so complicated. He was, in many ways, free. Free of the pressure and pain and weight of humanity, of the things he had done, the people he’d hurt, the memories that weren’t quite his. Being a wolf allowed him to be more open, more playful.

And more protective.

He knew that Bruce was no threat to Sam; but even from across the field and in the middle of his game of chase with T’Challa, he knew that something was wrong, could feel that Sam needed him, and so was there faster than many would have expected possible with hackles raised. The playful lick he gave Sam’s face upon receiving his assurance that everything was alright was only partially performative. It was in fact his own assurance that Sam was okay. Still, there was something weighing on his friend: Despite the relaxed smile on his face, his wings were tucked tight against his back, smaller than usual—the way they always were when Sam was trying his best to disappear.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. This would have to be a human conversation. He hated those. He flopped down so that his wolfish head was on Sam’s lap and waited for Sam to get into a comfortable position, leaning against the castle wall on the edge of the field, before returning to his human form.

“Sam,” Bucky murmured, keeping his eyes closed and voice steady. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sam said automatically, his fingers still running through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky opened one eye and gave Sam an unimpressed look. “You wanna try that again, pal?”

“I’m proud of you, that’s all.” Sam’s voice was defensive but also earnest. He wasn’t lying. “That’s allowed, right? I’m allowed to be proud of my best friend.”

Bucky flushed and closed his eyes again, not quite able to meet Sam’s gaze. Best friend. The term felt…not inaccurate, but also like it did not quite fit any longer. Time was slippery for immortals like them, and the years of torture had bled together as they shared their cell for who knows how long. But something had shifted since they had come to Wakanda. Bucky had no name for the way that his heart did something complicated (beyond the gratitude at finally getting to hear the sound properly) every time he heard Sam’s laugh, the music that was Sam’s way of showing amusement. He had no words to describe the visceral need to seek out Sam first thing when he woke up—just to prove to himself that Sam was still there, still safe, still his in the way that mattered most, even if he could not articulate to himself what that even meant. 

But Bucky realized that, regardless, best friend was starting to feel too small.

“I’m proud of you too, you know.” Bucky cautiously opened his eyes to meet Sam’s. There was something fragile about this moment in their shared gaze.

“It’s been a good day.” Sam carded his hand through Bucky’s hair. “A really good day. We’ve both come so far and I just—” Sam swallowed, breaking their shared gaze for a moment before looking back. “I’m really proud of you.”

Bucky knew Sam, perhaps even better than Sam knew himself. And, over the years, if there was one thing that Bucky had learned, it was patience when it came to their conversations. Sam rarely said everything at once, and Bucky had learned to give space for the silences between Sam’s words the same way that he listened to the spaces between heartbeats. Sam was clearly working his way up to something, and Bucky would wait and give him space to say it on his own.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air between them, so fragile that it was almost as though one sharp breath would cause them to shatter. Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore, which made Bucky feel relieved as he had no idea what his face was doing at that moment. Sam’s eyes were instead fixed on the dual setting suns and the glorious shades of amber and rose painted across the Wakandan horizon.

“I love you so much it scares me.” Sam laughed. “I’m not trying to make things weird, I just—it wasn’t ever something we could say, could express while imprisoned. But now that we’re free…I just keep thinking about that place, all those years of torture, and how the only thing that kept me going was you. Wanting the best for you, wanting to ease your suffering, afraid to let myself hope for a world where we could be free and together. And here we are.” Sam gave another watery laugh, and Bucky took Sam’s hand almost automatically; for all that his mouth had run dry, his heart was doing the complicated and terrifying thing in his chest that he could not quite name. “We’re here, and you’re happy, and I finally get to know what your laugh sounds like. And T’Challa’s helping you in ways that I never could, and I should be grateful. I am grateful. But I find myself jealous because I want to be the one making you happy. I want—I just want you. You’re my everything.”

Sam trailed off, and the silence stretched between them, vast and terrifying.

Bucky couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Their hands were clasped as tight as a vice, and Sam was looking at him with those big, brown, impossible eyes, and his wings were fluttering with anxiety. Sam—who had been his anchor, his compass, the one fixed point in a universe that was doing its best to drown him—was now asking him for something that Bucky had thought so impossible that he’d buried the desire so deep he’d convinced himself it didn’t exist. Except it did, and Bucky felt lost, because how did Sam not know that he was already Bucky’s everything?

I love you. 

The words wreaked havoc through his skull. There was joy, exhilaration, but also panic—cold, sharp, familiar panic. It had been terrifying, every time that Sam was pulled from their cell, every time that Bucky wondered whether he would ever come back. Bucky had done so many awful things, some while under the mind control; but others he did of his own volition, because he knew if he didn’t then Sam would suffer. And Bucky couldn’t bear to see Sam suffer, especially knowing that the love he had for him was returned. The wizard needed to be stopped, or Bucky wasn’t sure he could ever feel safe enough to love. 

“Buck?” Sam’s voice was small, uncertain, and the hand in Bucky’s hair had gone still, for all that the other was still clasped tightly with Bucky’s own. “Say something. Please.”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I’ve been in contact with Natasha.”

Bucky instantly knew he had said the wrong thing—he watched Sam’s face crumple and felt Sam pull back, breaking their hands apart and standing up as the hope behind his eyes died and was replaced by confusion, then hurt, then something carefully blank. “What?”

“Natasha,” Bucky stood up as well, even as he was spiralling, words tumbling out because he didn’t know how to stop them, didn’t know how to say I love you too despite  the words clawing at his throat. “She’s been working on something. A plan. To take down the wizard forever. So that we can all be free.” 

Sam’s wings were drawn up tight against his back, the defensive posture distressingly familiar to Bucky—especially because this time it was his fault.

“She’s been gathering intel. Building a network. Other survivors, escapees like us and Bruce. Allies from other kingdoms, not just Wakanda. She thinks we have a real shot.” Bucky’s panic continued to rise as he heard himself rambling, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t face the look on Sam’s face. “She needs us. Needs people who know the layout, know his patterns, know—”

“Bucky.” Sam’s voice cut through Bucky’s spiral like a blade, and he abruptly stopped speaking. “What are you doing?”

Finally, Bucky looked Sam in the eyes, took a long look at the man who was the love of his distressingly long life, and what he saw made his heart crack in two. Sam’s eyes were dry now, empty. The vulnerability from only moments ago had been packed away so thoroughly that it was as though it had never existed. His wings were tucked so tight they had to have been hurting him, and his hands were clasped together tightly with his legs shoulder-width apart. He was as still as stone.

“I just told you that I love you,” Sam said quietly, emotionlessly. “And you’re talking about a mission.”

“I—” Bucky’s throat closed, unable to let out even a whisper.

“Is that your answer?” Sam asked, crossing his arms. “Is that what this is? Because if you don’t feel the same way, you can just say that you don’t need to—” Sam let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t have to pivot to talking about the wizard just to let me down easy.”

“No.” The word tore out of Bucky before he could stop it. He stepped closer, but stopped when Sam stepped back in turn. “No, that’s not—” Bucky gestured helplessly. “Sam, that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?” Sam asked, throwing his hands up into the air.

Bucky looked down at his shaking hands, watching them tremble, metal and flesh alike. “I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

The admission hung between them, heavy. Sam’s expression flickered. “Of what?”

“Of this—” Bucky gestured vaguely between them, a space that was both far too small and impossibly vast. “Of us. Of wanting something so badly only to have it—to have you—taken away. Because that’s what happens, Sam. That’s what always happens. Everyone I’ve ever loved—my parents, my sisters, Steve, people I can’t even remember because it hurts—they are all gone, and it was my fault. And you…” Bucky’s voice broke. “You can’t die, but you can be hurt. You can be taken, you can be used against me. Because I would do anything to keep you safe, even if the world burns down in the process. And if I let myself have this, if I let myself love you the way I want to, the way I’ve been trying not to for years—” Bucky stopped, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in an utterly impossible goal of keeping the tears from pouring out of his eyes.

“Years?” Sam’s voice was softer now, curious, and his stance had loosened, his wings not quite as stiff.

Bucky’s chuckle came out sounding wet. “Decades, probably. Time’s a wibbly-wobbly mess.”

“Decades.” Sam stepped closer, and Bucky leaned toward him though they did not touch. “Bucky—”

“I know.” Bucky dropped his hands, miserable, before reluctantly meeting Sam’s gaze through eyes that burned with unshed tears. “I know I handled that… badly. I know I panicked. I just—when you said that, all I could…” He swallowed before continuing shakily. “All I could think about was losing you. And then I thought about the wizard, about how he’s still out there, about how—even if we lived the rest of our stupidly long lives in Wakanda—we’ll never be truly free until he’s gone. And Natasha—her plan is good, Sam, it’s solid. It could work, we could end this—and make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment, staring up at the rosy sky. Slowly, the tension in his body released, in the way Bucky knew when Sam forced himself to relax as part of the daily meditations Dr. Raynor insisted on (and which had often failed abysmally for him, but nevertheless he’d managed to adopt some of the practice).

“You want to fight.”

“I want to win.” Bucky reached out, hesitantly at first, softly cupping Sam’s face when the other man leaned in. “I want to earn this. Earn us. I don’t want to spend the rest of our forever looking over our shoulders, waiting for him to find us again. I want—” Bucky stopped, unable to continue for a moment.

“What do you want, Buck?” Sam asked, placing a hand on Bucky’s waist and leaning in closer.

Bucky shuddered and closed his eyes before opening them again, rubbing his thumb across Sam’s stubbled cheek before dropping his hand down to the other man’s shoulder. “I want to come back from that battle and tell you that I love you properly. When there’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

Sam stared at him. The last flicker of sunset caught in his eyes, turning the warm brown to gold. “And if you don’t come back?”

The question landed like a blow, and Bucky closed his eyes again. “Then at least you’ll know,” he murmured. “At least you’ll know that I felt the same way. That I always have.”

Sam reached up and grabbed Bucky by the chin, eyes flashing. His wings beat restlessly behind him, betraying his agitation. “No. That’s not good enough.”

“Sam—”

“No.” Sam’s grip softened until he was cupping Bucky’s face, but his eyes remained fierce. “I am not letting you go into battle with this as our goodbye. I’m not doing that again; I can’t do that. If something happens to you out there—whether you die, or get taken or, I just. If I lose you before we even get to try—” Sam’s voice cracked. “I can’t do that, Buck. I can’t.”

Bucky’s heart pounded, blood rushing through him. “Then come with me.”

“What?” 

“Come with me.” Bucky reached up to carefully take Sam’s hand in his own. “That’s what I was trying to ask while getting all frazzled before.” The words were pouring out now, but in a way that felt right where his earlier panic hadn’t. “Natasha’s plan—it needs both of us anyway. She’s got intel on the lair, on the hydra he’s been building—”

“An actual hydra?” Sam asked. “I thought those were extinct.”

Bucky grimaced. “Apparently he summoned it from another dimension. It’s in the lower levels—multiheaded, vicious, and he’s been feeding it—” Bucky faltered for a moment before continuing. “He’s been feeding it prisoners.”

Sam went completely rigid, his wings ceasing their restless fluttering.

“That’s where we come in,” Bucky continued. “Nat’s got a general team, but she needs us for the hydra. Needs people who can get close, who can move fast, who can—”

“Ride a wolf into battle before taking flight and cutting off the heads and breathing fire on the stumps to cauterize the wounds?” Sam’s voice was faintly hysterical. “Is that where this is going?”

Bucky blinked. “Well, I was going to say ‘work together,’ but actually—yes, that is exactly what she asked us to do.”

Sam stared at Bucky for a long moment before breaking out into laughter. “You want me to ride you into battle”—he snorted—“against an impossible monster”—he snorted again—“so that we can save a bunch of prisoners”—he wheezed—“and kill the wizard who made us immortal and tortured us against our will for decades.”

“Yes.”

“And then you want to tell me you love me.”

“Yes.”

Sam’s giggles were soon accompanied by tears running down his face. “That’s the most insane thing I’ve heard in ages, and Yelena spent over an hour lecturing me about the history and importance of pockets.”

“It’s a plan,” Bucky offered weakly.

“It’s a terrible plan.” Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as his laughter died down. “I love it. I’m in.”

—

Bucky was in his wolf form, running full-tilt through a corridor that was definitely too small for his current size with the love of his life on his back and a two-headed hydra gaining on them.

“Faster!” Sam yelled, and Bucky would have snarled at him if he’d had the breath. He was going as fast as he could, thanks, but it was no small feat to outrun a monster when you were also doing your best to not scrape your rider off your back and onto the ceiling. The corridor at last opened up to the forest, and they managed to achieve their goal: luring the Hydra out of its lair so that Sam could take proper advantage of his flying abilities. 

There was one thing, however, that they hadn’t accounted for—the appearance of a second, three-headed hydra that had appeared behind the first one that had chased them out. They were hidden for now, in a portable invisibility and protection bubble created by a kimoyo bead—something Shuri and her apprentice Riri had created. It allowed them to catch their breath before taking on what they realized was now not a two-on-one fight but a two-on-two. 

Bucky still liked their odds.

“Bucky.” Sam’s hands tightened in Bucky’s fur. “Plan?”

Bucky didn’t have a plan—or if he did, he didn’t remember it. What he had were instincts, and right now his instincts were screaming protect.

He shifted faster than he ever had before: One moment, he was on all fours as a wolf; the next, he was standing as a man and Sam was sliding off his back with a yelp of surprise. Bucky sent up a quick prayer to thank the gods that the protection bubble was also soundproof as he caught Sam, set him on his feet, and stepped protectively between Sam and the hydras, who were sniffing ever closer… shit, this thing probably wasn’t scentproof, was it? He’d make a note to mention it to Shuri.

“New plan,” Bucky said tightly, flexing his metal arm. “You fly. I’ll hold them off.”

“Like hell you will.” Sam’s wings spread with agitation, gleaming in the suns’ light. “We do this together or not at all, remember?”

“Sam—”

“No.” Sam grabbed Bucky’s face, forcing Bucky to look at him. “Together. We’re doing this together. And when it’s over, you’re going to tell me you love me, and I’m going to tell you that I love you, and then we’ll go back to Wakanda and figure out what the hell that looks like. Got it?”

Bucky’s heart was doing its best to beat its way out of his chest as he answered firmly—this was no time to swoon. “Got it.”

Sam kissed him—quick, fierce, and desperate. Then he was gone, launching into the air with a beat of his magnificent wings. Bucky let himself (for just a teensy tiny moment) swoon before shifting back into wolf form, breaking out of the protection bubble, and launching himself into the chaos. 

epilogue: is this real love i’m falling in (i think it is, do you think it is?)

Six months after they defeated the hydras, the suns were setting over Wakanda, painting the palace in shades of gold and rose. Bucky was lying on a blanket on the lawn, smiling as he watched Sam soar overhead and whoop with joyous laughter as he, Ororo, Carol, and Wanda played sky-tag together. It was amazing to think of how far they had come.

Bucky woke to Sam’s hands on his face, Sam’s voice in his ears, and Sam’s wings wrapped around both of them like a shield.

“—okay, you’re okay, stay with me, please, just stay with me—”

Bucky blinked blearily as the world swam into focus. Sam, with tear tracks cutting through the blood and grime on his face, was hovering over him, expression caught between terror and relief.

“Hey,” Bucky croaked. He wished he could have come up with a funnier sort of pick-up line, but his throat was a bit too dry for that.

Sam made a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. “Hey yourself. You absolute idiot. You ran up a hydra.”

“Had to get you close,” Bucky croaked again. Sam, hearing this time just how dry Bucky’s voice was, hurriedly reached into his pack for water. He gave it to a grateful Bucky, who took several soothing sips, wary of wasting it when he didn’t know when they’d get more (though from the sound of things, the battle was over). 

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot.” Sam took the water back from Bucky and had a couple sips himself before putting the canteen back in his pack. “My beautiful, brave, terrible idiot who I love very much.”

“I love you, too,” Bucky replied softly. “And I’ll make sure to tell you that every day for the rest of our lives.”

“That’s going to be a long time.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Hey, Bucky!” A young voice pulled Bucky away from his reminiscing, and he rolled over to see three teenagers approaching.

“Hey, Pete, Ned, MJ. Would you like to enjoy the sunset with me? It’s a good one today.” The three had been among the youngest of the prisoners kept by the wizard and had grown a particular attachment to Bucky and Sam, having apparently witnessed some of their fight against the hydras while making their own escape.

“I wanted to give you this,” MJ said, handing Bucky a scroll as she sat next to him on the blanket, Peter and Ned sitting down as well with much less grace.

“What is this?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Just open it.” Bucky made a silly face at her before doing as she bade.

The image took his breath away as he saw the scene she had painted. It showed him in his wolf form with Sam—wings out, sword bloody—on his back, both of them covered in blood splatter as well as their own cuts and bruises. A hydra’s severed head lay upon the ground beneath them.

“MJ, did you paint this?” Bucky asked in wonder. “This is really good. Why have I never seen your art before? You’ve got some real talent, kid.”

“It’s just a hobby.” She shrugged. “I was—back when we were kept in the lair, we thought that the only way out was by agreeing to work for the wizard or getting fed to the hydra.” She exchanged a glance with both Peter and Ned, who nodded to agree with her statement. “You showed us another way. A better way. Natasha had told us to be ready, had let us know that help was on the way, but I didn’t really believe until I saw you and Sam fight that hydra. So I made this for you.”

“Well, I am honored,” Bucky replied, feeling slightly choked up. “You’re about to make me cry, and I’m, like, 200 years old, so that’s a real feat.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” MJ sighed, standing up. “It’s just a painting.”

As the three of them walked away, Bucky couldn’t help himself from shouting back: “I’m going to frame this!”

He admired the painting for a moment before tying up the scroll again and leaning back to watch the game of air tag for a bit longer. Twilight was truly upon them, however, and all of the aerial friends decided to call it quits for the night, flying off in various directions. Sam landed beside Bucky with a soft thump of feet and a rustle of feathers. “You’re staring.”

“You’re worth staring at,” Bucky answered easily.

Sam rolled his eyes as he settled on the blanket with Bucky. “You’re so corny.”

“You love it,” Bucky teased.

“I do.” Sam grinned, leaning in for a soft kiss. After a long moment, they broke apart. “What is that?” Sam asked, pointing to the scroll.

Bucky squinted at the stars. It was a moonless night, they should probably go inside. “You have got to see what MJ made us. I’m going to have it framed!”

Sam laughed fondly as he chased Bucky back to the palace. Life was good.

post-credits scene: there ain’t no god up above (just these hounds of love)

“So, Maw is dead. How unfortunate.” Thanos drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. “I guess I’ll have to do things myself.”

THE FALCON AND THE WHITE WOLF WILL RETURN…