AN: Fucking. Finally. First off, to those who have been waiting: I am so, so sorry about how long this chapter has taken to arrive! (Writer's block = small understatement.) I really hope that the wait has been worth it, and I'll try not to take so long with the next chapters. Secondly, because it's taken so long, I haven't done a serious edit of this. I might do one later on, but until then, there very well may be mistakes. And I'm not 100% happy with it - haven't been all the way through, tbh - but I'm tired of spending so long on the same chapter, and until I get in a better writing headspace, it won't get better. Anyway - I think you've waited long enough now, so the final thing I'll say is: thank you so much for your patience!

We'll Make the World Ours

4. An Interlude, An Intervention

The bathroom was very white. From the tiles to the cubicles themselves. And clean. White and clean and bright enough to induce a small headache. It gave Bucky the sense of something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and with the Grand Canyon memory already pushing itself around his head, he was growing frustrated.

Having done his business, he went to the gleaming sink and wet his hands, pressing them both to his face before the water started to feel warm. Leaning against the porcelain he squinted into the mirror and tried to work out what it was about the Grand Canyon that had him so… worked up, for lack of a better phrase. Two conversations were overlapping themselves in his memory: one he'd just had with Clint, and another one with a voice he couldn't place. All he could discern was that the person was young, male, and incredibly important to him.

"The Grand Canyon?"

"Yeah. I know you haven't been, so stop looking at me like I'm crazy."

"I'm just surprised you haven't been."

"You think my parents have time to take me anywhere?"

"Alright, you have a point there."

"So. You'd come, right? If I asked you to?"

"What, to the Grand Canyon?"

"No, idiot, Mars."

"Ha ha, you're so funny… Well, I guess it'd be nice to go somewhere warm. Out of the North in general, really. And the view is supposed to be pretty spectacular –"

"Gee, where'd you hear that?"

"Oh my god, do you want me to go with you or not?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

"Not very nicely."

"Christ, just give me an answer –"

"Yes, Bucky! Yes, I'd go to the Grand Canyon with you… Hell, I'd follow you to Alaska if you wanted to go that badly."

Would that person still follow him to Alaska? Would Clint follow him to Alaska? Bucky shivered, the water sill cold on his face, and tried to discern more about this mystery friend; but it wasn't long before another shiver went down his back, and not because he was cold. Bucky looked to his right, and sure enough, there was a man staring at him peculiarly. Bucky stared back, confused, and mildly panicked. He didn't have another 'situation', did he? (God, if that small incident wasn't something he wished he could forget!) Or did this man recognise him? Of course, he could just be staring at the smelly, badly-dressed young man next to him and silently judging, but the more they stared at each other and the faster Bucky's heart pounded, all he could see in the man's face was recognition.

Shit. No. No no no, not again, not another Brock – this guy probably couldn't live up to his threats in the same way, but Bucky didn't want to take the chance. Even if all he did was phone the police, there was no way he wanted to be separated from Clint and taken back to D.C. They needed to leave, now.

Giving the still staring man a tight smile, he grabbed a paper towel and all but fled from the bathroom, the rough material pressed over the lower half of his face. He kept it there as he made his way back to Clint, eyes darting over every person around him. Nobody else appeared to have seen him, all too interested in their own lives and those of their friends to notice a guy with a paper towel slink between the tables. Hell, not even Clint, who was busy clicking something on the computer screen. "We need to go," Bucky said, lowering his makeshift face-mask a little.

"Okay," Clint said, then looked up and did a small double take. "Is your nose okay?"

"What?" he snapped, wishing the questions could wait until they were outside and away from people who were recognising him.

Slightly mollified, Clint gestured up at him. "The paper towel. I thought maybe –"

"My nose is fine," he grunted, throwing away the towel and ignoring how his nose throbbed at the lie. "Can we just go, please?" That man could be right behind him.

Wearing a concerned expression Clint stood up, collecting his bag as Bucky made for the café door. "What happened in the bathroom?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Really." The air outside was warm. He missed the cold of the water.

"Then what's got you so wound up?" Clint asked, appearing next to him. "You weren't like this before you went in." Bucky wiped a hand down his face. "Was there an earwig on your toilet paper?"

He gave Clint an incredulous look, but the blonde only shrugged and claimed it happened to him once, and Bucky could only laugh. The panic abated, but rather than make Clint worry about being chased again (or possibly dying) Bucky told him: "I got part of a memory back."

To his surprise, Clint's eyes lit up and he grinned. "You did? That's great! Uh – was it? Great?"

Bucky shrugged. "It wasn't bad. Just a conversation, or part of one, with somebody. We talked about the Grand Canyon."

"And you don't know who it was?"

Bucky shook his head. "I think it was a guy, but…"

"Well, it's better than nothing, right?" Clint said after a moment. "Come on, let's look for a car park or something."

"You're not planning on hot wiring another crappy car again, are you?" Bucky asked. He wasn't sure his nose would appreciate bogus suspension.

Clint lifted a shoulder briefly. "We can try and look for a lift if you'd rather. I just thought that maybe after last time –"

"Wasn't your fault."

"I thought you might prefer it if it was just us two. I mean, if you're sure about sticking with me at all."

Deciding to lighten the mood a bit, Bucky slung an arm over Clint's shoulders. "Oh, I'm sure. You owe me for saving your life – I gotta make sure you don't forget that." Clint laughed, and Bucky tried not to notice how the action felt under his arm, how it sounded so close to his ear, or how it all made him want to laugh in response.

"My turn," Clint said, thumb out over the road, eyes on the kerb he was balanced on even though Bucky had asked him not to do that after he nearly fell into oncoming traffic. "Dark, milk, or white chocolate?"

"I don't remember. Look where you're going." Clint wobbled, and Bucky tamped down on the urge to keep a hand on him. "Have you ever been in hospital?"

"Oh yeah. I've made friends with a few doctors and nurses."

"Sounds like you're a frequent visitor."

"Was that a question?"

"No, but that was."

Clint raised his head to scowl at him, but Bucky just smirked. "So, I might be a little accident-prone."

"No shit."

"Hey! The motel was the first time anyone has actively tried to kill me!"

"So you're saying someone has passively tried to kill you?"

"That is not what I'm saying and that was your question."

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had done in a while. Before Clint, he'd spent weeks on his own, barely knowing where he was and why and with the instinct to run, to go further. Part of him was still waiting for the illusion to come crashing down.

"Do you have any fears?"

Bucky hesitated. He had a few fears, but admitting to them would probably lead to more probing questions – the kind of questions that could end what he currently had. "I… I don't think I like heights much."

"Well, you know, that's pretty common," Clint said easily, finally ending his balancing act. "And better to have an idea than for us to go somewhere particularly high and find out when it's too late."

"Like the Grand Canyon."

Sharing a look, they both burst out laughing. It did sound ridiculous, but when Clint asked if Bucky wanted to change his mind about going, Bucky found himself saying he was fine with it still.

"I mean, maybe that's why I want to go," he mused aloud. "To see if I can conquer my fear or something."

"It's as good a reason as any," Clint said, holding his thumb out again. "I have no problem with heights, so if you need a hand out there…"

Bucky smiled at him. "Thanks, Clint." He had to wonder why the idea of being somewhere high made his stomach twist a little, and why that thought hadn't occurred to him before now. It was another uncomfortable reminder that he still had a lot of personal details to recover.

"Hey," Clint said suddenly, "this guy's stopping!"

A rusted red pick-up truck was slowing to a halt on their side of the road, and all at once Bucky was anxious. He shared a look with Clint, who seemed to be squashing down similar misgivings, and in silent agreement they approached the truck together. When the passenger side door opened Bucky's heartbeat kicked up a notch, and even though he managed to get it somewhat calmer as a man climbed out, it went up again when he saw the guy's face.

"Hi there!" he said, a friendly grin stretching his too-shiny, slightly warped skin. Gesturing with a hand he added, "Sorry about my face – I was on fire. Kinda like Ghost Rider, but only as fun for about five seconds." Bucky had no idea what that meant. "I'm Wade."

Speaking for both of them, Bucky said, "I'm Bucky, he's Clint, and we're looking to get to Arizona."

"Or as close as we can," Clint said.

Wade nodded, still grinning strangely. "Arizona, nice. Grand Canyon? Eh, don't look so shocked – what else is there to do down there?"

Clint shrugged. "Phoenix isn't too bad, I hear."

"Canadian. Wouldn't know. But that's another story – literally – so let's talk business."

At that, Bucky and Clint shared a worried glance. "Uh, business?" Bucky asked.

"Yup."

"Right… Look, we can't exactly pay very much –"

"Whoa whoa whoa, you think I'm asking for money?"

Bucky blinked. "You're not?"

"Absolutely not!" Wade cried, looking alarmingly upset by the idea. "What kind of demented person would I be if I demanded you guys pay me for a portion of your grand journey of discovery?"

"Grand journey of what?" Clint echoed.

"That's what you guys are doing isn't it?"

"Not really – well, maybe, but… not really?"

"Great. Now, the only snag is, I'm not supposed to go to Arizona. Apologies for that. But on the bright side, I can take you as far as southern Colorado, so you'll almost be in Arizona! Just not quite."

"Not quite is fine," Clint said quickly, and Bucky warily nodded in agreement.

"Excellent!" Wade chirped, clapping his hands together. "Hop in then, Bonnie and Clyde, and we'll be Colorado bound before you can say 'excelsior'."

"It's Bucky and Clint," Bucky said as they followed him back to his truck.

"I know, but they sound similar."

"No they don't…"

"Bucky Bonnie, Clint Clyde, tomato tom-ah-to," Wade said, climbing back into the cabin. "Someone'll get it."

"Like who?"

"Never mind." And with that, he closed the door.

Perplexed, Bucky turned to Clint, whose expression mirrored his own. He wondered if Clint was also thinking of Sinthea's crazy ramblings, and how this Wade guy wasn't sounding too dissimilar.

"You want me to sit next to the slightly crazy guy?" Clint offered.

Bucky smiled tentatively. "If you're sure it's okay…"

"Nah, it's fine. I've fought off one crazy person already, second one should be a cinch."

"Here's hoping it won't come to that," he chuckled, and Clint opened the passenger door. He came face to face with a Dalmatian.

"Hey, spotty dog!"

"Oh, yeah," Wade said from the far side of the cabin. "You guys might have to ride in the back."

Looking in as Clint began cooing over the dog, Bucky noticed a distinct lack of seats besides the ones already occupied. "You don't mean the flatbed?"

Sounding mildly apologetic, Wade said, "Afraid I do, Buckeroo. Nate and Domino jump out otherwise and have adventures without me."

"You have two dogs?" Clint asked before Bucky could say anything.

"Yeah!" Wade patted a big grey lump next to him, and the lump raised its head. "This is grumpy Nate, and that's Domino."

"Do we really have to go in the flatbed?" Bucky said, talking around Clint as he leaned in to stroke Nate (though the dog looked thoroughly unimpressed by the attention).

"It sounds bad, I know, but I'll drive much more carefully than I usually do, and we can go down some scenic routes if you want; I just don't want to lose my friends."

"Dude, of course," Clint said to Bucky's surprise. "We'd feel shitty if we were the reason they ran off. You gotta look out for them, right?"

Wade practically beamed. "I like you." Clint was in the flatbed before Bucky could blink. "Hey!" he said before Bucky could follow his friend, and winked. "You can thank me later."

"For what?"

"For getting the ball rolling between you two. Think of this as an intervention!" Bucky just stared at him. "Get the boy before I do!" And with that, Wade leant over his dogs and pulled the door shut. From behind it, Bucky was sure he heard him say, "That we weren't going to break the fourth wall in this story, I know, but what was I supposed to do?" and officially decided that he and Clint were likely doomed.

The hard wood of the flatbed was made slightly more bearable by a couple of thick blankets that happened to be lying in a corner, though Bucky was still convinced that five minutes was all it had taken for his tailbone to be permanently damaged. "What if a cop car goes past?" he thought aloud, pulling the scratchy material up to his shoulders.

"We hide," Clint replied, as casual as if they were planning a surprise party in a coffee shop. "Look as inhuman as possible under a few blankets, police won't bat an eyelid. I mean, they probably have more exciting things to do than poke at a few blankets. There's that missing prince, right? They're probably looking for him."

"Sure," Bucky muttered, wriggling again. "If they haven't found him by now though, why bother?"

"Because it's the Prince," Clint said, frowning. "Come on, you were all for the Royal Family when Sinthea started talking shit about them." He cleared his throat. "And, y'know, people shouldn't give up hope."

"Hope?"

He nodded. "If they can't hope for the Prince to come back safely, they can hope for closure at least."

Bucky was speechless, something uncomfortable and familiar clogging up his throat. At what point, he wondered, had his life jumped onto the path that ended up here? And why? Conflicted, he asked, "You don't think your family's thinking that then?"

Clint sighed heavily through his nose. "No. If my family's thinking anything, it'll be what they're going to do to me when I get back." Letting slip a chuckle, he added, "Not that I'm going back, but they're too self-occupied to realise that."

"Good to know I don't have to push you to do the right thing, then."

He leaned closer, bumping Bucky with his shoulder. "What about you?" he said. "Any idea what your family's thinking?"

"None," he said, shaking his head. "The more I think about it, the… the harder it is, y'know?"

"Thoughts going round in circles?"

"Something like that."

The scenery drifted past them, a flat expanse of grass and sky and the one long road rolling out and away. As little as there was to see, Bucky couldn't stop staring; it was all so level, so unending, as though you should be able to see something – anything – in the distance, like a city skyline or even a lone farm. But the horizon was shapeless, just a line of blue and beige-and-green. As far as he was aware, this was the first time he'd ever seen anything like this, and he was stunned. Why was the land so empty? Why couldn't something be built on it, like housing, or a hospital, or a school? Did America truly need this much farmland, if that's what it was? It was mesmerising.

Beside him, Clint laughs softly. "I've got this friend," he said, "who I'm pretty sure would go mad out here. He'd see too much space and try and fill it all with something. He likes inventing shit, you see, so out here? Where there's nothing and no-one? No way he'd be able to leave it as it is."

For the sake of conversation (and to get out of his own head), Bucky asked, "What would he do?"

Looking around, Clint shrugged a shoulder. "Build a farm? But like, a super-advanced technology farm. No humans needed. Just the one guy, making sure everything is doing what it's supposed to and that the animals aren't dying by themselves, or whatever. Knowing him, he'd probably get bored far too quickly and call the whole thing done with, make a t-shirt to say he'd got it, and come back for the next project."

"A city guy, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Clint drawled. "He's got places in all the important spots: New York, D.C., Malibu I think, somewhere abroad… His father earned a lot of money doing the same thing."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? How did someone like that pick you out for his friend?"

"He wanted to sleep with me."

"He what?"

Clint cackled. "Your face!" Bucky gave him a shove, and he calmed down. "Nah, it wasn't like that. He did sort of see me as a… pet project, if you like. Told me I was living in the past. Fixed me up with these though," he said, and tapped a hearing aid. "Didn't even ask for payment, though I offered it."

"In what form?" Bucky said, grinning, and was pleased when Clint took it as the jibe it was.

"Cash," he insisted. "God, Buck, get your mind out the gutter."

"It followed you right in there, Francis."

Tipping his head back against the cabin with a smile, Clint groaned. "Ugh, please don't call me that."

"Why not?" Bucky laughed. "It's your surname, isn't it?"

He blinked. "Yeah, uh – sorry. Don't like it much."

"Oh. My bad, then."

"For the record," Clint said after a few beats, "I've never offered sex as payment to anyone other than sexual partners. And even then, never seriously."

Amused, Bucky said, "Good to know," and tried very hard to not ask the follow-up question: "So how many times was that?"

"Oh, come on!" Clint cried. "Seriously?"

"Well, we could be on the road for hours yet. Shouldn't we be getting used to weird conversations?"

"Isn't there a difference between weird and private?"

Understanding that he might be crossing a line, Bucky relented. "I guess so. Um… Sorry. You don't have to say if you don't want," he mumbled, and tucked himself further under the blanket. Maybe, if he willed it hard enough, he could slip underneath it and never emerge again. A small voice asked him if that was what he really wanted, and he couldn't think of a response.

"I've been in three serious relationships." Bucky's head turned back. "Well – two and a half?" Clint waved a hand. "We'll call it three." He ticked them off on his fingers, explaining each one as he did so; "Bobbi was first. We had what you'd probably call a 'whirlwind' romance – sure we were in love after two days, incredible sex, astounding fights, but we were one heck of a team, y'know? Course I had to go and blow it by proposing after… I don't even know, but it was too soon, and something of a wake-up call. She still gives me life advice when she thinks I need it. After her there was Jessica. Different to Bobbi, but still deadly serious. Blew that relationship too, but I'll spare you the gory details. She's alive, I mean," he added quickly, "and still kicking my ass when she thinks I – yeah. We're good. Ish." He cleared his throat, finishing off with, "And more recently, I was in a no-strings-attached thing with this guy called Pietro. Such a little shit, but I kinda liked the sass. And the sex? Sweet Jesus. I don't know where his home country is, or what they did to him there, but he could – uh." Clearing his throat, he mumbled something about that being it and rubbed the back of his neck while Bucky hid a smile.

"You know how cute you are when you smile like that?"

"Shut up, Buck."

"Hiding it just makes you cuter."

"Will you cut that out? There are cameras –"

"Relax, I'll go make out with Nat in five minutes and they'll forget I was ever talking to you."

"They're not gonna forget that you talking to me is making me blush."

"Then if anyone asks, I made a disparaging comment about one of the journalists. Picture one of them naked."

"Bucky! You can't – why would you – oh my god, I hate you."

"Well, who'd've thought: you're cute when you're angry with me, too."

"What about you? Any idea if you got lucky in the past?"

Blinking back to the present, Bucky realised Clint was expecting a reciprocation – he shared his intimate details, now it was Bucky's turn. If he could, of course. What was he supposed to say, though? 'A mysterious guy and maybe or maybe not someone called Nat'? Great. Admitting to possibly adultery. Yet, perhaps he was wrong – maybe the conversational snippets coming back to him weren't discussions with a lover, but with a close friend. Teasing. In which case, 'Nat' was a girlfriend (probably).

"Nothing?"

"Um…" Moving his arms free of the blanket, Bucky mimicked Clint and counted off one finger. "There was a girl, I think. Nat something. I – I don't actually remember her, but I talked about her. About making out with her. So, I guess it happened?"

A beat passed before Clint beamed. "You remembered something again! Hey," he said when Bucky pulled a face, "any memory is better than no memory. Isn't it?"

"Yeah," he sighed, but Clint gave his arm a shove.

"Come on, say it."

"Any memory is better than no memory."

"Well we definitely know there's nothing wrong with your short-term bank."

Bucky snorted. The sun chose that moment to fully emerge from behind a cloud, and the sudden blossoming of heat was a pleasant surprise. Warming quickly, he pushed the blanket to his waist and tipped his head back, closing his eyes to enjoy the temperature. Both of them were quiet for a while, gradually taking off coats and then jumpers, and despite the chill from the air whipping past them, Bucky relished the feelings on his bare skin. He hadn't realised just how cold it could be up in the north. He was mentally debating whether or not to fall asleep when a question from Clint had him opening one eye.

"Can I ask about this?"

He was pointing at Bucky's left arm. Covered with a metallic tattoo from his shoulder to his wrist and styled to look like the limb was constructed of interlocking metal plates, it was almost as much a mystery to him as it was to his friend, and raising an eyebrow, he said as much. "You realise you probably already know my answer?"

Shrugging, Clint didn't quite hide his disappointment. "No harm in asking," he said. "Thought maybe it would be more significant or something."

It was – but the significance was what was missing. Bucky rubbed the back of his wrist where the silver faded out to his natural flesh tone. "I know that it's a secret. The tattoo, I mean. That's why it fades out here, I think, so I could hide it more easily. Wouldn't show up under a shirt sleeve by accident."

"So you were acting out?" Clint said with a sly grin, and Bucky chuckled. Clint poked a spot high on his bicep, inquiring about the hint of a design he could see there, and Bucky lifted his t-shirt sleeve to reveal the red star. When asked about it, he raised and dropped his hands in his lap, and Clint nodded in understanding. "Maybe that'll come to you, too," was all he said as Bucky covered it again.

He snorted. "How, when I'm supposed to remember so fucking much?" Hearing how bitter he sounded, he apologised on a sigh, dropping his head back against the truck cabin once more.

"Take your time," Clint said. "What'll come will come."

Giving him a sidelong glance, Bucky said, "Did you just change the words of that saying? Que sera, sera?"

The lightbulb so clearly came on in Clint's head that Bucky burst out laughing.

Over the next few hours, their conversation rose and fell, ranging from Clint talking about archery to Bucky calling out shapes he could see in the clouds. Wade insisted on feeding them at nearly every gas station they stopped at, babbling about how he couldn't let them die, or that he didn't want to be forgotten about, or reduced to a 'plot device'. From what he seemed to be saying, he had no particular job, but took odd ones when he felt like it – though what these jobs consisted of, he avoided saying. He mentioned the fire once or twice, and Bucky was sure he heard the word 'cancer' at one point, but all in all, it was hard to imagine how someone like Wade lived. His strangeness made Bucky uneasy, but the guy seemed to genuinely like them both (especially when Clint made a fuss over the dogs). If it meant they kept being fed and got to their destination in one piece, Bucky supposed he could make an effort to be more optimistic about Wade's intentions.

"I just couldn't imagine life without him," he was saying, rubbing Nate's head affectionately. "No, wait, that's a lie. I've seen my life without him. It's still fun, but not as good."

"I'd love a dog," Clint said, scratching Domino under her chin.

"Rescue one," Wade suggested. "Call him Lucky. Feed him pizza. Don't give him to the girl."

"What?"

"Time to go!"

As night drew in, and the temperature cooled again, Bucky and Clint enjoyed companionable silence under the stars. Bucky had vague memories of star gazing as a boy, other bodies lying with him on a patch of grass somewhere, the sky a watercolour of deep blue splashed with pink and turquoise clouds, covered with stars the way a toppled pot of glitter cascades over the misfortunate surface it rested on. It was too cloudy for a repeat of such an image now, but he held on to the memory, imagining what could have been the reason for it in the first place. He was soon distracted when Clint shifted under the blanket, and his head lolled onto Bucky's shoulder. At first, Bucky froze – but a minute later, when Clint made a sound somewhere between a pig and a goat that had him clapping his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, he settled into the position, leaning into Clint slightly and letting himself relax. With the two of them so close under the blanket, the cold air lost its bite, and as he stared out into the dark expanse of land, Bucky ended up drifting to sleep with his own head resting on Clint's.

"The first weekend of July? Uh – shit, no, I can't. Natasha's opening performance is that weekend, so Steve and I'll be in New York for the week."

"Oh. Right."

"I could do the week after?"

"No, that won't work. That's when we leave for Japan."

"Oh."

"… Does this mean this is the last time I'm gonna see you?"

"Over summer, maybe. You don't have to make it sound like we'll never see each other again."

"Kinda feels like it."

"Come on. Don't be like that."

"Sorry. It's just…"

"What?"

"Sometimes it feels like you really are dating her."

"… I know… I know. I'm sorry."

Sleep wasn't easy, and when he woke up Bucky felt considerably unrested. The last vestiges of a memory were slipping away from his mind, and all he could see was a star-laden sky and three boys beside him; no context, no details. It was frustrating, and did nothing to help his sleep-deprived mood. He wanted to get off Wade's stupid truck. He wanted food that hadn't been squashed together in under five minutes. He wanted to be warm, he wanted to be comfortable, and he wanted to stop moving for a few days at least. Most of all, he wanted the rest of his memories back.

At least he wasn't alone.

"I love pizza, okay?" Clint said once Wade started the truck up again; he was referring to their breakfast. "Pizza's great. If I had a dog, I'd feed it pizza. Can't go wrong with it. But you know what?" He sighed, gazing forlornly at his food. "I really want some fresh mac 'n cheese right now."

"Pancakes," Bucky said, smiling softly. "I'd kill for some pancakes."

"That settles it then."

"Settles what?"

With a determined air, Clint said, "When we finally get off this goddamned truck, we're finding the nearest diner, and I don't care if we have to beg – we're getting pancakes, and we're getting mac 'n cheese, and we're gonna savour every fucking bite. Yeah?"

With a tired laugh, Bucky said "Yeah," his foul mood slipping away. Rolling with the change, he quickly leaned forward and ate the end of Clint's pizza slice, almost choking on it at the look of outrage on his friend's face.

Yeah. Without Clint, he'd be lost to the world.

(In the truck cabin, Wade declared his intervention a success.)