fifteen.

(—welcome home)

HE DREAMED IN small bits and pieces.

Flashes of a world long gone, consumed by technology and humanity's need to push forward. He dreamed of towering buildings and busy streets and the smell of cigarette smoke filling the gaps in between people. He dreamed of black and white movies and an almost flying car and popcorn, his arm slung casually around a girl whose name he couldn't remember.

He dreamed of a fitted uniform and a gun slung across his back, an easy-going grin stretched too wide on his face as he said goodbye to his best friend, struggling to not let any of his fear peek through his facade. War, he was off to war, and only God knew when he'd return; be it in one piece or a casket.

He dreamed of dirt stuck underneath his fingernails, the smell of gunpowder filling his nose, shouts ringing in his ears as he fought side by side his childhood friend who'd grow a foot and a half since the last time he saw him.

These flashes were brief but brought forth a sense of belonging, of happiness.

Then something twisted and someone was falling— he, he was falling through the frigid cold air, a scream startling from his lungs until the impact knocked him unconscious.

It was here that everything was ripped away from him. His memories, his sense of self, his dreams, his ambition, everything just... gone within a matter of seconds, thrown down a dark hole with no hope of return.

And in place of his emotions was an all-consuming nothing that quickly bred a never-ending rage.

This rage tinted everything red: the training, the surgeries, the assassinations, the wiping. Over and over and over again, a cycle that was slowly killing him, a cycle that would've killed him if he hadn't been tasked to kill the man who'd helped him through everything from high school to war. Bucky, the man had called him, but he didn't recognize that name. Not anymore.

The rage flickered away leaving behind a void that accompanied him through the countries he traveled through, his head held low as searched. He didn't know what he was searching for, only that he knew he was missing something important, something critical.

He finally settled down, staying for more than a few months in a cramped apartment, living off of the meager sums he'd procured through his travels. The numbness stayed and he grew to live with it, piecing together fragments of his memories as he relearned what it meant to live, what it meant to be free.

Then, he dreamed of her.

She came into his life half drunk and with such an intensity it had left him breathless. He thought of sitting in her living room, watching as her hazel eyes were consumed by darkness, palms uptilted as she helped him draw out his memories one by one. He thought of watching her carefully cut out newspaper clippings, wondering why on earth she was helping him when she surely had better things to do.

He thought of laying next to her, their eyes closed, hands intertwined as they were bound by her sisters, black markings spiraling on their skin. He remembered many days that bleed into nights where they laid like that, memories shared between the two: most were his, few were hers.

He thought of her helping him, of saving him, of putting herself in danger when she easily could've left him to die.

And somehow during the time she'd spent with him, the numbness had receded. In its place were emotions he hadn't felt in eons. When he thought of happiness, he thought of quiet nights spent bent over journals, ink staining their fingers. When he thought of fear, he thought of the moment when the bond between them snapped, only for it to manifest a few hours later. And when he thought of hope, he thought of her outstretched hand and the words that had fallen from her lips.

I'm not giving up on you James, so don't you dare give up on yourself.

Warmth, small but present, bubbled in him as he realized what he'd been searching for. It hadn't been an object or a place or anything in between. It had been something intangible, something that most found in four walls with a roof over their head. He'd been searching for a home, and he found it in the last place he expected, in the form of a witch that was too stubborn for her own good. 

James felt tired, his eyelids sealed shut and his limbs heavy. Slowly but surely feeling came back to his entire body as he started to wake. The whirr of technology was a low, constant hum that added to the white noise of the room.

"Sergeant Barnes, can you hear me?" A voice pierced through the hazy veil that laid over him.

He peeled open his eyes, feeling them droop immediately. He blinked a few times, his vision blurry making his surroundings look like large blobs of differing colors. He squeezed his eyes shut, humming a quiet confirmation in answer to Shuri's next question, the princess carefully unstrapping him from the table he'd spent several months laying on.

When he opened his eyes again the room snapped into focus. He was aware of the princess moving around him, aware of the guards stationed at the door clad in crimson and gold armor, aware of someone talking just outside the room.

But not once did he look away from the steady gaze of Maev Barebone.

Relief flickered down the tether, followed by something else, something fleeting but filled to the brim with warmth. And yet, the witch didn't move from where she stood, her hands hanging loosely by her sides, fingers adorned with more rings then he remembered.

So, James took a step forward, testing his balance and finding it to be surprisingly stable. Then he was walking towards Maev, watching with wonder at the large smile that appeared on her face.

Happy, she was happy to see him something that James didn't think was possible.

He stopped in front of her and surveyed her from head to toe. Her black hair was shorter and she seemed a bit paler, but her hazel eyes held the biggest change, for there was a darkness that wasn't there when he was put under, a darkness that he knew all too well. But there was warmth as well, a blistering sort that eased his conscious.

Maev tilted her head to the side, "Is something wrong?"

James didn't answer right away, instead, he reached out with his right hand and pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. His fingers drop down to her neck, gently pressing against it. Heat radiated from her skin, her pulse beating against his fingers and he dropped his hand after a few seconds.

"I thought you were a pipe dream." He admitted, a sheepish smile slowly curling his lips up.

Her face softens, "Sorry to disappoint."

"You could never disappoint."

They stay like that for a moment before James finally turns his head to the side, soaking in the details of the room. He turns in a circle, stopping part way as Shuri reenters the room, having not noticed her absence.

The princess offers a kind smile, "If you don't mind I'd like to check your vitals once more and then my brother would like to see you." She pauses, glancing at Maev, "Both of you." she amends. James nods and the tall girl taps the thick bracelet on her wrist a few times, a glimmering light scanning him. She then looks down at it, flicking through a few things before nodding in approval. "Everything looks good, follow me."

The two follow Shuri out of the room, walking side by side down the clean hallways and up a few flights of stairs.

They enter a room with a long table, the king facing a window and watching the bustling streets below. He turns at the sound of their entry, inclining his head towards them. "I'm glad to see you're both here."

Shuri shuts the door behind them, leaning against the wall, not bothering to hide a large yawn as Maev and James walk forward.

"Would you care to sit?" T'Challa asks, gesturing to the large, plush chairs.

It takes a moment for James to respond, trying to remember the proper etiquette, "No, thank you."

The king glances over at Maev, but after she stays standing for a few seconds, he continues to talk. "As you've probably noticed, we did not replace your metal arm. Shuri did create one, but felt that it should be up to you if you'd like it or not." He held up a hand as James opened his mouth, "Do not feel obligated to respond right away, just know the option is always available if you'd like."

James nods, not knowing how to express the gratitude he felt upon hearing T'Challa's words.

"I promised Steve Rogers that I would keep you safe for as long as I could. Therefore, you have a few options. You may leave if you wish, but you may also stay in one of the many villages that exist in my lands underneath my protection. Shuri has one in mind if you're interested," He looked over at Maev, "this offer extends to you as well."

"I'd like to stay," James says, his voice quiet but sure.

T'Challa gestured to Shuri, "My sister will assist you with the transition. If you need anything or there's an emergency, she'll give you a way to contact her. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe someone let a rhino loose in the streets."

Glancing at Maev, James noted the confusion tucked into her furrowed brows at the king's words. Once T'Challa had left, the witch turned to Shuri, "...a rhino?"

The princess shrugs, "It happens more often then you'd think. Now come on, we have a lot to talk about!"

As the pair listen to the princess chatter away, they gravitate towards each other, the promise of a future spent in seclusion and peace laid out in front of them. Their hands brush, once, twice, and then James looks down as Maev interlocks her pinky with his, the witch listening intently to Shuri's excited words.

For the first time since he fell from that train, his happiness drowned out the numbness.

Maev tugs on his hand slightly, causing him to look down, her eyebrow raised in a silent question.

"I'm okay." He murmurs, and this time he means it.

i listened to "save you" by turnin brakes on repeat while writing this chapter and i highly recommend listening to it cause it's an amazing song

let me know what you think :)