The Price We Pay for Family - 18

 

Cont...

The US Government refused to give them the military funeral Bucky deserved. Sam wanted to scream. They would let a black man be Captain America, but they wouldn't give the longest-serving POW the funeral he deserved. Rhodey stepped in and got the headstone next to Steve, at least. No funeral, but they were laid to rest together. If it even counted since they had no body. 

Sam didn't even want to think about where the body really would be buried. A dark hole in the middle of nowhere. Maybe one day, Sam would find it rotting away in some forgotten lab. He doubted they would dump it in some ditch on the side of the road, too suspicious. If he was being honest, they would never find it. It would be destroyed, too precious to be saved for something like burial. Like Vision. Sam thought of Wanda and her outburst in Westview and finally understood a little of it. The rage. The injustice. The pain. 

Sam couldn't sleep anymore. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Bucky's face covered in blood, eyes staring unseeingly at him. Don't be bitter or angry. Don't let them do that. It was so easy in concept. To let the anger go and just be sad. But Sam was angry. Angry at himself. He could have played the situation a hundred different ways, but he chose the one that put his partner in danger. All because it was his nephews. He had been too close, got too sloppy, and it had cost Bucky his life. 

Sam sat on the porch steps listening to the quiet of the night around him, and sipped his beer. The boys were asleep, and Sarah was in her room for the night, so it was just him up. Sort of. 

"I'm surprised you decided to show your face here. Thought you hated us." Sam looked over his shoulder to where the driveway led up to the house.

 "I dislike your attitude, but I have a begrudging respect." John Walker admitted before holding out a bottle of hard liquor, "Want something stronger?" 

Sam eyed the man before downing the last of his drink, "Why not? Sit on down and then explain why in Odin's name you're here." 

"Just wanted to pay my respects. It felt wrong to do it to an empty grave. Would have done it, at the funeral, but," John hesitated. 

"There wasn't one." Sam finished bluntly. 

"Yeah." John nodded, pouring some liquid into the two paper cups he was holding. 

Sam downed it and stared up at the sky for a long moment, "Why are you here, John? Why not anywhere else? Why here?" 

The Super Soldier didn't answer for a moment, "I guess, I guess it didn't feel right to pay respects to an empty grave or to any of the memorials to the two of them. So the only thing I was left with was the people who knew him. And not a lot did." 

Sam snorted, "He made sure of that." 

"Yeah," John admitted. "But he was a better man than the media gives him credit for." 

Sam side-eyed him, "I think there was something in that drink cause all of a sudden, you don't sound like you hate him." 

"Ha. No, after the Flag-Smasher takedown, he apologized for his words and actions earlier. Explained that he had a lot of problems in his head still but that how he had acted was wrong. I was in a good place to really hear it. I apologize for being a jerk. We had an understanding. We talked back when he was still in New York a few times. I learned a great deal from him."

 "Yeah? Like what? Sam asked, curious. 

"He told me once that I reminded him of Steve in one way and one way only." John chuckled, remembering it.

 Sam raises an eyebrow. From what he recalled, Bucky hated John Walker with a burning passion for trying to be like Steve. This seemed out of character. "How's that?"

 "The ruthlessness that said anything was fair game to get what you want. Like lying to get into the army six times." John chuckled, "I had never heard that one before."

 "Yeah, they kept that one out of the history books for a reason." Sam laughed, "What else he say?" 

"He warned that there was a physiological element to the Serum too. One that he warned was going to sound fake but was very real. He described it like an amplifier. It makes good men better and bad men worse. All about your moral alignment. That it heightened your ability to be blinded by emotions if they were the wrong ones." John poured more liquid into his glass, "I figured that since he was the leading expert on Super Soldiers having met the most over the years, he was probably right."

"So what you do?" Sam asked.

 "I quit working with the contract work I was doing. Cut ties with the shady people I knew and started working with the Natasha Romanoff foundation for trafficked souls. I get to bust up trafficking rings every few weeks, and the look on those people's faces," John shook his head, "It changes you. You can't go wrong busting up traffickers either. It doesn't have a messy perception like working with the GRC. It's nice, simple." 

Sam hummed, "Gotta be honest, you are the last person I saw him reaching out to. The whole 'Captain America' thing and all." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I thought that too, but I think he was just looking for a friend. I don't think he had many of them, so he was trying. Surprised me too, though. I really enjoyed his company, never would have admitted it. He would have been insufferable." John cracked a smile.

 Sam snorted, "Never in a million years." 

They lulled into silence before John nodded and spoke again, "I get it though, you know? Now at least. If someone tried to come around and claim he knew Lemar and then try and take his title, I'd be pissed too. Especially when the guy isn't anything like him."

 "At least now you get it." Sam nodded. He grabbed the bottle and filled his cup again before downing that too. 

John couldn't get drunk, but he knew grief drinking when he saw it. He grabbed the bottle and strategically placed it away from Sam's reach. Sam leaned against the porch railing and stared inside the house. "I think it's a curse." His voice slurred, confirming John's suspension that he was drunk.

 "What is?" John asks, grabbing Sam's paper cup and putting it aside. 

"The shield," Sam mumbled. 

John raised an eyebrow, "Really?" 

"Mmm. Become Captain America! Trade your best friend's life for the shield!" Sam waved his hand dismissively, "They never said it came at a cost."

 John sobered at the words watching the drunk national icon start to cry. Trade your best friend for the shield. "I guess they should have told us that before." 

Sam hummed in agreement, "I'm just the unlucky bloke that got him killed twice. Some friend I am." 

John leaned against the railing next to Sam and looked up at the stars, "I know what that's like." 

"He told me he didn't want to do it. You know that? He told me he didn't want to, but he did it anyway. I could have told him no. I should have told him no." Sam lamented, "I should have found another way." 

"There wasn't another way, Sam. I've seen the reports. There wasn't another choice." John shook his head, "You couldn't have done anything." "Everyone keeps telling me that." Sam huffed, "Believing it is harder."

 "Yeah," John agreed, thinking about his own sleepless nights, "It is." He looked at the now not so drunk captain and considered him for a moment, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

 "I don't know." Sam said with a quiet sniffle, "They won't even give him a proper funeral which I guess some part of me expected. It just doesn't feel right. None of it feels right." He fell back into silent sobs again, and John felt his dangerous anger fire inside him. The government wouldn't even let James come home even after death. So stupid. So meaningless. 

"I don't think it ever will."

 Sam let out a strangled sob, "Why'd it have to be him? There are enough Super Soldiers out there to find another and pay them for their blood. Why'd it have to be him?" 

John thought about the power running through his own veins and his careless words years ago. It must be so easy for you with the serum in your veins. Easy? What was he thinking? Nothing was ever easy. "I don't know."

 Sam shook his head, "I'm not going after them if that's what you're asking. I'd never catch them. I know that. All I can do now is wait until they surface and then burn them down."

 "I'll be glad to help you when that time comes." John offered. 

Sam shook his head, "No. I can't do that to you. Look at you. You made a life for yourself. You've mastered the power inside of you. I can't ask you to undo that to help me get revenge. Not my way."

 "So you're just gonna leave it then? Just walk away from what happened and wait?" John asked, surprised by Sam's restraint. 

"There's nothing else I can do," Sam shrugged helplessly, "Killing them won't bring him back. Nothing will." 

John swallowed his shock over Sam's calm answer. He was right, but there was no rage at his friend's death. No need for Vengeance or justice. But acceptance. "You're a special man Sam Wilson. I'm not sure I understand you. But I have a deep respect for you." John got up slowly and put a slip of paper with his number under the bottle on the porch, "If you ever need anything, just call." 

He turned to leave when Sam's quiet voice floated through the night air to him. Grief-filled but genuine, "I'm sorry we were never on good terms. I feel as though we would have been friends in a different life."

 John considered Sam's words. His anger and brashness. Sam's calm and collected poise. His destruction. Sam's creation. No, we never would have been in a different life. But in this life…. "Perhaps. Perhaps."

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