Chapter Text
It’s not a secret that Sam likes flying. That he’s loved it ever since he was a kid, since that first time his family bundled into a tube of aluminum and engines, on the way to a funeral for a great aunt whose face he’s long since forgotten.
What he hasn’t forgotten, will never forget, is the roar of the engines as they bounced down the runway. That unbelievable moment when he felt the machine leave the ground, impossibly, leave the concrete and the grass and his stomach behind too. Followed by that terrifying moment when he’d grabbed at his dad’s hand on the armrest between them.
And the terrifying moments after, his eyes scrunched closed and his heart rabbit racing and his fingers clenched so tight around his dad’s hand his nails left little divots behind.
But then had been the moment when his father leaned over, bumped his shoulder into Sam’s and whispered in his ear. “Look, Sammy. Look out the window.”
And he hadn’t. Turned his face to the window but kept his eyes closed, finally peeling them open, one after another, after he’d gathered all his courage.
Then he saw. Wispy white clouds that revealed a patchwork of trees and buildings all clumped together, falling farther and farther away. His breath left his chest but when it came back it came back as a little laugh, the delighted sound falling from his lips too.
He’d stared out the window the whole flight, watched the world trundle by. Forests and cities and mighty rivers and rolling hills. He did the same on the flight back, watching the world reveal itself in reverse.
And he knew he had to get back up there, had to stay up there. However he could manage it, saving his pennies, telling himself he’d be happy to hand out peanuts for a living if it meant he could live in the sky. Then he’d seen the movies, and the commercials, men in white helmets and mirrored goggles, surrounded by stretched acrylic cockpits, the world whizzing by around them, and it hadn’t taken long til he found himself in a recruiter’s office, signing his life away on a black line.
Learned about a whole different way of flying, some years and change after that. Never looked back. Sure, he’s spent plenty of time on planes since then too, but it never quite compared to the wings. So maybe he’s gotten used to it, being able to jet wherever he wants, whenever he wants, under nothing else than the power a Wakandan princess stashed in this shiny suit he’s got on. Maybe he’s gotten spoiled, learning what it is to fly with nothing but the wind sighing in his ears, nothing but the planet streaking by below him.
Or maybe, he thinks, considering the metal frame around him and the worn seat underneath him and the white helmets in front of him and the dull vibration from the rotors atop this hunk of bolts rattling through all his bones, he’s just gotten old.
No, he decides, scowling as he eyes the interior of a UH-1N Iroquois that should have been consigned to the scrapyard decades ago. He’s definitely gotten old. Though he thinks this helicopter might be even older.
“Can’t believe you’ve still got this bird flying,” Sam comments into his headset. And he considers tapping one of the struts, if he wasn’t a little worried that might knock it loose.
This bird’s pilot turns her head from the seat in front of Sam. Just enough for Sam to see, below her goggles, a wide grin splitting a pale face weathered by years of wind and sun and snow. “My mama always said I could do anything I put my mind to. Plus, manufacturing really took a nosedive during the blip, if you’ll pardon the expression. We all kinda had to make do with what we already had.”
Sam considers the polished rivets, the spotless floor. He can complain all he wants about helicopters, and he can complain all he wants about the relative age of this one, but one thing he can’t complain about is the state that this bird’s crew have left her in.
And while he met most of that crew on the tarmac at F.E. Warren before this bird took off in a whirl of dust and snow, knows that keeping a craft like this airworthy takes a village, he also has no problem imagining its pilot, one Captain Emily Avery of Hot Sulfur Springs, Colorado, personally buffing every gleaming surface.
“Think you more than made do with this one,” Sam approves, begrudgingly.
“Yeah,” Avery chuckles, her attention back to the gray sky beyond her windshield. “You treat baby right, she’ll treat you right, right back.”
“Amen,” the young man in the seat next to her—one Lieutenant Charles Doyle—says in a syrupy tone that speaks to his upbringing in Birmingham. “Though we all know baby only has eyes for you.”
And yes, Sam knows where the Lieutenant is from, knows his folks are still back there though his sister is stationed in Germany, knows he’s a big Alabama football fan, an egregious sin that can only be forgiven by Sam’s abundance of grace and good spirit. And by the aww shucks vibe the younger man had given off when he’d admitted it, dimpled cheeks reddening, like he was fully aware what a grave lapse in judgement he was making, but he still had to make it anyway.
And yes, Sam knows where Avery is from too, though he hadn’t had the chance to get her opinion on CU Boulder’s playoff chances this year as she’d been a bit busy getting this bird ready to fly them out here.
Because, he’d told Bucky on that tarmac, like he’s told him a thousand times before, it pays to pay attention to these sorts of things. Pays to make a little human connection. Pays to know a little something about the people who have your life in their hands, and even if they didn’t it’s still worth knowing a bit about them anyway.
And Bucky, silent and sullen as if his sole purpose was to make Sam look even more gregarious by comparison, had stood there and sulked while Sam did all the hard work. As per usual.
“And I’ve only got eyes for her,” Captain Avery croons, patting the instrument panel fondly.
“You sure?” Bucky asks from the back bench next to Sam, because apparently he is capable of speech. “Got a little drone you could take off our hands if you change your mind…”
“Shut it,” Sam snaps. “You know he can hear you.”
“Seriously,” Bucky continues. “I’ll even pay the adoption fees.”
Avery barks out a laugh, and the scowl Sam throws at Bucky is lost when the other man insists on staring out the open door at the treetops speeding past.
Sam turns away from glaring at the back of Bucky’s skull, settles for watching Avery and Doyle at the controls. Checking the instruments and tweaking their course, their gloved hands tracing a beautiful ballet across the panels.
So okay. Maybe Sam is still enjoying being up in the sky, even if he’d prefer to do the flying himself. But it’s fine, in here. The windscreen cuts the worst of the winter wind, because apparently mid-April is still winter in these parts. Worn as this bench is, it’s surprisingly comfortable for something military-issue.
And riding instead of flying gives him a moment to reflect on the briefing they’d gotten in a cramped conference room at F.E. Warren while he’d gulped back some scorched black sludge they’d jokingly named coffee.
Research site during the Cold War, Rhodey’s pixelated face told them from a similarly cramped conference room somewhere in Stuttgart. Supposedly shut down decades ago. And Sam and Bucky shared a look, the so what clear on both their faces.
From the digging we’ve done, looks like the place was used by SHIELD, back in the day, Rhodes also told them.
And the so what on Bucky’s face shifted to something like well, shit, when he’d asked Rhodey which SHIELD? SHIELD SHIELD or Hydra SHIELD, and been told it might have been the latter.
And Sam’s face had shifted to well, shit, too, when Rhodey also told them he’d sent in a JSOC team to check the place out a few days ago. And that they’d lost contact with that team, somewhere north of the Colorado-Wyoming border, and somewhere north of this facility. And hadn’t heard from them since.
That sounds...bad, Bucky opined, and if the tone was flippant the tautness at the corners of his eyes told Sam his attitude was anything but. And Bucky hadn’t said much else at the briefing and he hadn’t said much on the tarmac and he hadn’t said much of anything until just now.
Sam cuts a glance over at Bucky again, finds him still turned away. So Sam can’t see his face, but he can see the sharp line of his shoulders. Wouldn’t have been any talking Bucky out of coming along for this one, and Sam wouldn’t have tried. Even if the whole situation is giving him that same churn in his stomach he got the first time he flew on an airplane.
Sam pushes that thought away, attention back on the pair in front of him. “How long you two been flying together?”
“Oh, few years now,” Avery answers. “Works out well. I tell him what to do…”
“...and I do everything she says,” Doyle replies, so practiced Sam knows it isn’t the first time.
“Hmm. So you listen, when someone tells you what to do. Must be nice, having a partner like that.”
Bucky is looking at Sam this time, when he glances over. Lips curved, eyes wide. The picture of goddamn innocence.
“Shut up,” Sam grumbles.
The smile gets wider, grows into a smirk. Sam turns to the side so he can glare out the window instead of at his infuriating partner. Dark green pines poke up toward the sky, surrounded by a blanket of white, a few patches of brown earth peeking through where the mountain sun has worn away the snow.
The mountainous vista is serene, save for the helo’s whirling blades. It looks calm, majestic, like the civilization that’s miles away could never even get close, couldn’t touch it. Like it would dash itself against those rocky peaks all around, never managing to break through before it retreated in defeat. Looks like everything else in the world could fade away, disintegrate into dust, and these mountains and trees would still stand tall, a bulwark against the void.
Looks beautiful. Looks awe-inspiring. It looks…fucking cold.
“Still waiting for that assignment in Tahiti,” Sam sighs.
Bucky tuts. “Too warm. Too nice. You’d be beside yourself with boredom in half a day.”
“This place isn’t so bad,” Avery adds. “Used to go camping, not too far from here.”
Sam frowns at the skyline, cut in pieces by jagged peaks, saw teeth edged with snow and ice. Then down at the ground down below, spying a frozen creek bed and flocked trees and more of that endless snow. And not much else. “You came here willingly? In your free time?”
Avery lets out another easy laugh. “Indeed, I did.”
“And what, you parachute into your campsite or something?”
“Well, by not too far, I mean on the other side of the state line. Same forest, though. Off a trail that was off a forest service road that was off a dirt road that—”
“Was in the middle of nowhere, is what you’re saying.” Sam interrupts.
“Yes, sir,” Avery says, though if Sam were still in the service he’d be saluting her, not the other way around. “Just the way I like it.”
“Uh huh. And I take it you never ran across any secret, abandoned government facilities while you were out there?”
“Can’t say I did.” She shakes her head. “At least not that I knew about. Knowing what I know now though, about SHIELD, and Hydra? Well, makes a girl wonder.”
“Makes all of us wonder,” Sam notes lowly.
“Guess they found a good place to avoid unwanted visitors,” Bucky notes. “While still being under everyone’s noses.”
“Wasn’t that SHIELD’s MO, though?” Doyle asks. “Got in with everyone, acted like the good guys, then…” He makes a slashing motion across his throat with a hand.
“That wasn’t SHIELD. Well, okay. It was SHIELD, I guess,” Sam admits. “But they weren’t the ones who did all the bad stuff. That was Hydra, posing as SHIELD. SHIELD was…the good guys. I think.”
“I dunno,” Doyle ponders. “You got a group that lets itself get taken over by a bunch of bad guys who almost manage to kill millions of people…kinda sounds like there’s something wrong with that group to begin with.”
Sam shoots a glance at Bucky, whose gaze is still averted. But his head tilts a bit to the side like it does when he’s considering something. “You…might have a point,” Bucky agrees.
“How’s about we can the moral philosophizing for now?” Avery interjects. “We’ll be coming up on the landing site in a few.”
Sam leans to the side, trying to see through the front of the helicopter, though much of his view is blocked by Avery and Doyle and the cluster of instruments they’re both consulting. “You guys know anything about the group that dropped in here before?”
“Know a few of them,” Doyle volunteers. “Spence, Alvarez. Know they flew in a few days ago. Know no one heard from them after that.”
“Spence was flying,” Avery says. “Damn good pilot, dozen combat flights under his belt. Figured he could handle anything that got thrown his way.”
“But they never made it back,” Sam says.
“Right. So I guess Colonel Rhodes thinks you two have a better chance at figuring out what the hell is going on here than they did,” Avery notes.
“And I guess he thinks you can manage to get us there in one piece.”
“Guess so,” Avery agrees. “Imagine the Colonel would be here too, if it weren’t for that business in Sokovia.”
“Surprised Rhodes manages to get out from behind his desk every once in a while,” Sam mutters.
“You know, he said you’d say that. Also said if you two managed to get on my bird without somehow managing to injure yourselves in the process, he’d consider it a damn miracle.”
The laugh comes from Bucky this time. Sam’s too busy sputtering in outrage.
“Okay,” Doyle says, and Sam can’t see his face, but he can hear the smile in the younger man’s voice. “Should have eyes on once we get over this last ridge here.”
“Checking out an abandoned government facility tied to Hydra and SHIELD, in the middle of nowhere, that a special forces group also went to check out and no one’s heard from them since?” Bucky grumbles, so softly Sam can barely hear him over the helo’s drone. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Way to jinx it, Mr. Positivity,” Sam groans.
“Doyle and l will wait at the landing site,” Avery reviews, ignoring Sam and Bucky with the practiced ease of someone who either has children or is well-accustomed to dealing with childish men. “Stay there in case we need to boogie out in a hurry. You two do some initial recce of the site, report back what you find.”
“Yes ma’am,” Bucky responds, like the little suck-up he is.
Avery chuckles. “And here’s hoping nothing—”
“Shit! Sam!”
Sam snaps his head around to look at Bucky, a split second before the world behind him turns white and red and orange, impact slamming him forward.
Hit, he realizes, we got hit, but the explosion punches the air from his lungs before he can voice it.
Someone grabs at his side, tugs him sideways toward the open door and he scrabbles at the seat, ready to push back until he realizes it’s not someone it’s a thing, fucking gravity, and the view beyond the door flashes gray-green-white as they spiral, force of it shoving Sam back in his seat.
Green gets closer white gets closer too fucking close they’re falling too fast he needs to brace needs to get out needs to –
Needs to fucking fly, and the wings pop out, too big in the tight space but they push him up, off the seat, forward into Bucky, other man snatching at whatever he can hold on to and then that whatever is Sam when they dive out the open door, something smacking into the wings just as they clear it.
They spiral too, gray-green-white, can’t pull them out of the spin but he has to try, flares the thrusters as they skim over green tips. Past that into the white, white bigger and closer and closer still until it’s right in front of him all around him it is him and –
White. White white white.