haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

002. the truth

TWO—THE TRUTH
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SAM HESITATED BEFORE he spoke, resting his hands on the table. Finally, when he opened and closed his mouth for what felt like the hundredth time, I cut in.

"Are you going to talk, or just stare at me until the sun comes up?" Covering my mouth, I wait for a yawn to pass. "You're kind of stealing my night from me."

"Sorry about the secrecy," Steve put forth, a hand reaching up to absently stroke a growing beard. "I didn't want to take any unnecessary risks." He noticed he was touching his facial hair, then, and his hand dropped back to the table, resting together with the other. Wringing them in anxiousness, he looked to Sam to start off the conversation.

I don't know what I was expecting. But what they told me? That was definitely not on the list.

"He's..." Sam jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the unconscious man on the couch.

"He's not drunk, is he?" I asked, "Because I can't have anyone puking on the carpet. It would be a mess." I curled my lips in disgust just thinking of it.

My friend chuckled lowly, but it lacked feeling. "Always going on about your carpets," he muttered, his voice longing as if it were looking for something. "No, he's not drunk. Just out of it. He's been through a lot in the last few days."

I made a circling motion with my hands that said, keep going, get on with it, I don't have all night.

"Well, he's like Steve," he finally said, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking out the windows, all around the rooms, as if someone of danger was listening. "You're sure there's no one else here, right?" He asked.

I couldn't stand the look on his face, although it did confuse me. Reaching over to grab his hand and looking him dead in the eye, I promised, "there's no one here, Sammy. We're in the middle of the woods. No one's going to find us here." I tried to ignore the pang in my heart as he pulled his hand away and back in his lap.

"Okay," he said, sighing a little, but not in relief. "Okay." His eyes were dark, completely unrecognizable from the man I'd known since we were little. It was like he'd folded back in on himself, regressing back into a toddler scared of finding monsters under his bed.

What happened to you, Sammy? My pained heart called out, but I didn't have the courage to say anything. It was hard enough to get this conversation going, anyway.

"He's my...friend," Steve said, deciding to continue without Sam. "We fought in Germany at the same time, but not...together." He sounded like he didn't want to talk about it much. I didn't blame him. No one ever wants to talk about wartime, no matter how long ago it was.

"So he's from your time?" I couldn't help a small smile from raising on my lips. "That's so cool, I thought you were the only one," I spoke with wonder.

Steve's words were grim and bitter. "So did I," he mumbled, so quietly I almost missed it. "But then he was there again, a completely different person from the one I knew."

I nodded knowingly. Sam had been like that after coming back from his tour. I'd thought that would be it; he'd recovered and was close to the old version of Sam Wilson I'd grown to trust. But something had happened during the past three years. He was different, even more closed off than before.

"What happened?" My voice was soft, careful not to disturb the shroud of silence that now covered us.

He sighed, clearing his throat gently. "A whole lot of shit," he concluded, again in that low, bitter tone. "I lost him more times than I can count. Wakanda was supposed to be safe. No one was supposed to find him there." Steve ducked his head for a few moments. When he looked back up, his eyes were ringed with red.

My eyes slid over to the figure of the third man on the couch, his shoulder still rising and falling with his breathing. Now, not slung across the shoulders of Steve, he looked peaceful, as if he were only sleeping.

"They tore him apart, changed him, made him a..." Steve's mind seemed to be in line with mine, as he looked over at his friend, shoulders slumped in defeat. "They made him a killer."

I snapped out of any sort of sleep-filled trance I'd previously been in. "What? He's a what? Sam?" I whispered angrily. "What is this? Some kind of ultimate heist? Breaking a murderer out of prison and bringing him here?"

"You have to understand the full story, El, I promise. I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't completely trust you to do the right thing." Sam's eyes were wide. He was pleading.

But I wasn't finished, the shock hadn't faded. "The right thing? The only right thing I can think of doing right now is calling the feds! And yes, Sam. I really would."

Steve's eyes were filled with despair. "Maybe you were wrong, Sam. She doesn't want to help."

My childhood friend looked hesitant, but he began to stand up. "I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, El."

"Wait."

He sat back down, eyebrows knit in confusion.

I sighed. Elda, what the hell are you doing? "I never said I wasn't willing to help. I just want to make sure I know what I'm getting myself into. That means everything. From nineteen-forty-five to today. Spill it," I directed these words at Steve, who merely nodded.

"Of course," he said, "it's only fair."

Sam was peering at me in disbelief. "What?" I shrugged, smirking at him. "I don't give up on family on the flip of a dime, Wilson. Even if you've gone MIA for the past few years."

He nodded uncertainly but settled back in. "It's a lot to ask of you, El. But if you're willing to do it, we'd be forever grateful."

"Skip the formalities," I said. "Let's get to the good stuff. What exactly do you want me to do? I'm not some kind of soldier like you guys, I've only got a house and my garden out back."

The two men held my gaze, their chins dipping in meaning. It took a few moments, but it finally clicked.

"You're absolutely crazy."

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muah!

published on: march 21, 2018