Hey, everyone. Okay, I know I said I was going to start working on Crucible, but then this idea got in my head and it wouldn't go away and my friend started pushing me to write it, and, well, it all snowballed from there. It is, however, most definitely a oneshot. For anyone who hasn't read my other story, Stryker, Katya Riley (Shadowhawk) and Sam Ross are two my OCs, part of a SHIELD team containing Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and Bucky Barnes. Okay, I've babbled on long enough, so, for what it's worth, I hope you enjoy my crazy idea.

Do I really need a disclaimer? If you recognize it, ten to one it isn't mine.
Endless thanks to my amazing friend for the beautiful cover art.

A car honked and Clint jumped, one hand flying to his quiver. Below him, Natasha turned and smirked, unphased by the sudden noise, laughter in her eyes. The archer raised his fist–fully intending to give her the finger–but the arrival of a certain Star-Spangled Captain knocked that notion out of the sky. They didn't need an incredulous shout of "Language!" to blow their cover.

"Shadowhawk's back," Rogers whispered. "We've got the 'all clear'."

Clint flipped down off the ledge, landing lightly on his feet next to the Captain. Natasha slipped out of the shadows in the front of the alley, coming to stand at Clint's side.

He leaned over and muttered, "Итак, как долго мы следовать за ним?"

"Пока он не дает заказ, мы не согласны с."

Cap glanced over at them. "I don't even want to know, do I?"

"Nope." They all jumped as the door to their right swung open, spilling red emergency light into the dark, dirty alley, along with a grinning, metal-armed assassin.

Rogers looked, confused. "I thought you didn't speak–"

"Not anymore. But if it's anything like what they usually say, it'll turn your ears red." Bucky gestured for them to follow. "Come on. Shadow's got the security down."

Earlier that day…

"Quit arguing, Barton! He's going with you."

"We don't need him!" Clint glared at Fury over his desk. "The four of us will do fine."

Fury glared right back. "You do need him. Your team doesn't have the best track record with bringing people in alive."

"We're assassins! You pay us to make sure people don't come back alive. Of course we have a bad record."

"He's going on this mission."

"You can't replace Natasha!"

Fury stood up out of his desk chair, towering over Clint at his full height. "Last time I checked, you weren't director. Rogers is leading this mission–no more arguments."

Clint turned and stalked out of Fury's office. Startled agents jumped out of the way as he charged down the hallway, muttering angrily under his breath. He burst into the break room–alarmed agents' heads turning so fast that they would definitely be feeling that during training this afternoon–and headed for a table in the back corner. The look on his face must have been impressive, since Sam slid his coffee over without an argument. Clint took a long draw, then sighed and leaned back in his chair.

The three other assassins and their handler watched him warily. Few things could upset their Hawk this much, and those few were not good.

Sam glanced across the table to Natasha, and the two had a silent argument, which Natasha must have lost, as she sighed and turned to the man sitting next to her.

"The mission's that bad, huh?"

The archer laughed humorlessly. "Oh, it's not the mission. The mission's fine. It's the fact that Fury insists Cap's going to be part of it."

Across the table, Bucky visibly brightened. "What's wrong with that?"

"Fury insists it's a four-person kind of job."

"What's that...oh..." Katya eyes widened. "Who's staying back?"

"Natasha."

"Как ад я!" Heads turned at Natasha's outburst. "I'm coming with. Fury can–"

Clint quickly threw his hand over her mouth. "Nat," he warned, glaring over her head, "shh. They're kids here."

The two young agents, who had been not-so-discreetly listening to their conversation, turned away, ears burning.

Natasha shook him off and turned to Sam. "Can you fix this?"

The handler took the file from where Clint had set it on the table. All eyes were on him as he flipped through it, glancing over the information. After a few tense minutes, he closed the file and looked up at his team.

"Katya and Bucky are supposed to shut down security, Clint's there as a sharpshooter, and the Captain..." Here Sam squinted at the paper, "Rogers is there to...to make sure no one dies?" Sam flipped back to the first page. "Wait, this is a capture mission?"

"Yep." Clint crossed his arms. "The good Captain is going to be there to keep all of us killers in line."

Bucky rounded on Clint. "Don't take this out on him! He didn't ask to replace Natasha!"

Clint stood and slammed the coffee cup down on to the table, making it rattle. "No one's replacing Nat!" he growled, storming out of the room.

"Clint!" Natasha jogged after his retreating figure. "Hey, wait up!"

The archer stopped and leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed, his body drawn tight as a bowstring, but under all that pent-up anger, Natasha found fear.

Clint Barton was scared.

"Come on," she said quietly, pulling on his arm to get him to move. Clint followed, maintaining a stony silence. Together, they walked through the halls of the helicarrier into the engine room, scaling a thin metal ladder bolted to the wall up to a small ledge. Below them, the men and women of SHIELD bustled about, keeping the great ship in the air, oblivious to the two assassins perched above them.

Natasha stretched out her legs and leaned back against the wall, her feet just shy of the edge. Her partner remained tense beside her, his knees drawn up to his chest. Natasha didn't press, letting it stay quiet for a moment, the noise below slowly fading into a comfortable background drone.

"Fury's giving you a separate assignment."

"For sure?"

"Yeah. I saw the file on his desk."

"Проклятие."

"That about sums it up."

"Anyone else's name on it?"

"Nope. Just you."

"And this is what's got you all nervous?"

Clint didn't even try to deny it. His partner probably knew him better than he did at this point anyhow. "Yeah."

"It won't be like the last-"

"You can't know that!" He finally turned to look at her. "I can't know that! He's going to be calling you into his office and sending you off to who-knows-where alone."

"I can take care of myself, Clint." Her tone wasn't reprimanding, only a gentle reminder.

"I know. I didn't mean to say you couldn't. It's just..." He ran his hand through his hair. "If something happens, you're on your own. I mean, sure, an extraction team could be there eventually–I would be there eventually–but in the moment, when it really matters, when it's the difference between life and death, it's only you." Clint took her hand, and the partners leaned against each other, Natasha's head on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. "I want to be there in that moment, because we are undoubtedly stronger together. We keep each other alive." Clint put his arm around her shoulders. "And it's you, so you'll almost certainly be okay, but it's that one chance that you won't be, and I won't be there-"

"Clint." Natasha squeezed his hand. "It's going to be fine. We'll figure something out."

"I do have an idea…"

"If it's anything like your last one, I'm not interested."

"Oh no." Clint grinned. "It's better."

"Hey," Steve grabbed Barton's shoulder before he could get onto the jet. "Bucky told me what's going on. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for-"

"It's fine Cap." Clint smiled. "No hard feelings."

The Captain was visibly relieved. "Thanks."

Without another word, Clint walked up into the jet and sat down in the copilot's seat. He wouldn't be flying this mission–Sam would–but he was a thousand time more comfortable in the cockpit of the plane than he was as a passenger. Sam glanced over at him and Clint gave him a thumbs-up. He had safety-checked the jet and they were good to go.

With a quiet whir, the Quinjet rose steadily into the air. Then Sam hit the throttle, and they were soaring away from the Helicarrier towards Berlin.

The flight was calm, with almost no turbulence as they cruised over the Atlantic. Clint was relaxed in his seat, watching the world fly by, hands occasionally drifting to his phone. The other three were going over the mission (again), but the archer felt no need to join them. He had read through the file once, and that was more than enough. Clint only turned around when Bucky stood up.

"Good idea. I've got that old map in my bag. Let's see what matches up."

Clint opened his mouth as if to protest, the closed it again, resigned.

Bucky walked over to the hatch on the floor and pulled it open, kneeling to reach into the compartment. Clint turned back to the window. A moment later, he heard Bucky yell, startled, then recoil. Sam's head whipped around, and everyone else was on their feet.

"We really need to work on your definition of 'better'." Natasha pulled herself out of the cargo bay.

Sam just stared at her, before putting his hand over his face. "You didn't–no, what am I saying? Of course you did." He turned to Clint, who was trying hard not to look guilty. "Do you realise the problems you two just caused? She's supposed to be on a different assignment!"

Natasha shrugged. "Kosice is practically right next door to Berlin. I'm just hitching a ride."

"Right next–Natasha, it's five hundred miles away." Sam sighed in frustration. "How is it that you two constantly make me feel like a high school principal?" He turned back to the plane, resigned. "Please tell me you at least have an idea about how to keep us out of Fury's office?"

"Ummm….sneak back to Chicago after the mission's done?"

Sam leaned forward, knocking his head on the plane's yoke. "Great," he muttered, "now I've got to figure out how to get us out of this mess…"

Clint couldn't help but grin as he slipped back into the body of the jet, sitting down on the bench next to Natasha. The rest of their team was trying to hide their laughs (and Clint may have seen Bucky slip Katya ten dollars) except for the Captain. Steve Rogers was watching them with a look that was part shock, admiration, and outright taken aback.

He glanced back and forth between the two, who were now leaning over the file Clint had grabbed from Bucky, going over their plans. This mission had just taken an unexpected (though maybe not bad) turn. Fury had sent them to capture a nameless, off-the-grid scientist, a man with dangerous intel–intel the director seemed determined to use for SHIELD's benefit. Thus his presence. With a team made up of two assassins who had a very good reason to hate any scientist with a passion, and two more who were terrifyingly unpredictable, Steve felt that maybe Fury was right in sending him. Somehow, he doubted that the man would survive unharmed, in one piece, if Ross' team was left on their own.

As he watched, Bucky snuck up to Clint, reaching out to grab the file, only to have his hand slapped away. Natasha was too busy laughing at the carefully detached look on Clint's face to stop Katya, who had snuck up on his other side, from snatching the folder and darting to the back of the jet, where Bucky joined her, laughing. She waved the folder in the air, smirking as Clint got up and went back to the copilot's seat, fishing his copy of the file out of his bag before rejoining Natasha, discreetly flipping them the bird as they resumed whatever it was they were going over.

There was a part of Steve Rogers that rejoiced at seeing Bucky joking around with his team, having fun and totally comfortable around the people he worked with. There was another part–a darker, aching part–that yearned for the days when it was him sitting where Clint was. They had had a team, but no matter who was around, at a certain level it had always been Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes against the world.

But things had changed, and they had both moved on–hell, Steve had moved on first. Bucky had come back to his old friend heading a new team, a team, Steve now saw, that Bucky would never have found a place on. The Avengers were all about light and heroism, saving the world and being good. And no matter how much he thought his friend deserved it, Steve knew Bucky could never be a part of that. Would never let himself be a part of it. The Winter Soldier was a creature of shadows, someone who could never exist under the spotlight constantly hovering over the Avengers–not unlike his teammates. Sure, Clint and Natasha had helped them out on occasion (always as Hawkeye and Black Widow, never as themselves) but he could count on the fingers of one hand the times they had come in to help unasked. Looking back, Steve found he wasn't all that surprised with the way things turned out, the assassins banding together to create a team that was just as close-knit and exclusive as the Avengers could be.

They touched down in a small airfield just outside of Berlin. There was no one around, but Fury, true to his word, had made sure that a fairly indistinct van was waiting for them at the edge of the tarmac. Sam, dressed in his civilian clothes, got in the driver's seat, the rest of the team piling into the back.

Steve spread out the map in the middle of the circle they had made. "Okay, here's the plan." He pointed to the alley behind the building. "Clint and Natasha will stand guard here–"

"По крайней мере, он достаточно умен, чтобы не попробовать, отделяющий нас," Clint muttered.

Natasha smirked a little, gently shoving her partner to get him to quiet.

"–and I'll be around on this side of the building. Katya and Bucky will get in and disable security, them come and get us."

Bucky looked over the map and groaned. "We're going to the top, aren't we?"

Katya glanced over at him. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I just wish that someone–" He glared over at Clint "–would stop insisting that I take the roof."

Clint just shrugged. "You're never going to get over it if someone doesn't help you."

"Not everyone wants to be a bird, Barton."

"I do not-" A sharp cough from the front of the van stopped Clint in his tracks. Resigned, he turned back to Steve. "You were saying?"

Rogers tried to look unperturbed by the sudden tangents their conversations took, and went on, pointing to a parking lot a few blocks away from the building. "Sam will be here, waiting for our signal. When he gets it, he'll come meet us in the back alley. We will go in, get the target, come out. Simple as that. Everyone clear?"

The archer grinned. "Crystal."

Present time…

They followed Bucky into the hallway, each bathed in the eerie red light. Katya met them on the other end, slipping quietly out of the guard's break room. "That's the last of them," she whispered. "Night security's pretty lax."

"Did you get a look at the monitors?"

"Yeah." She pointed a finger towards the ceiling. "He's up in his lab on four."

"Nice work." The Captain turned to the rest of his team. "Okay, here's the deal. Surround and drown. Hawk, Widow, you two get into the lab. Get him nervous, on the run, make sure all other exits are covered. We'll wait for your signal and come in the front."

Clint turned to Natasha, a huge grin spreading across his face. "You know what that means? We'll have to go in through the air–"

"There's a balcony outside the window."

"Well," the archer said, turning to go, "Darn."

As they moved up the darkened stairway together, Natasha leaned over to her partner. "You memorize maps. You knew that balcony was there. Please tell me you were not–"

"Just looking for an excuse to force you into an air duct?" Clint shrugged. "Maybe just a little."

She punched him in the shoulder–hard–and Clint had to force himself not to wince.

At the fourth floor, they turned to the rest of the team. "We'll see you in a couple minutes."

Steve stopped them before they could continue up the stairs. "What's the signal for us to come in?"

Natasha smirked. "You'll hear it." Then the two assassins were gone, disappearing up into the dark.

Frustrated, he turned back to the other half of the team. "They're always like this?"

Bucky shrugged. "Pretty much."

"I don't know how you put up with it," the Captain muttered, staring at the door leading off the stairwell. It was unlocked, but the door at the end of the short hallway wasn't. It was firmly shut with a heavy-looking deadbolt. Steve studied it for a minute, wondering how much force it would take to break. Deciding it was too much, too loud, he turned to his friend. "Can you pick it?"

The simple tools were already in Bucky's hands. "Consider it done."

Clint and Natasha had the same luck one floor up, breaking into what seemed to be an office. Papers were scattered everywhere, the desks loaded with books. Pencils appeared in random places, and the bookshelves were full of odds and ends. The place was a mess, and the two assassins almost didn't find the computer, hidden as it was under a mountainous pile of unopened mail. Natasha moved to copy the hard drive while Clint went to the window. He pulled it up, propping it open with a couple of textbooks.

"What's it look like, Hawk?"

"Nothing major." He paused. "A simple jump, really."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Not for me."

Natasha finished with the computer and moved to the window. "What do you mean by–Really, Hawk? A simple jump, huh?" Below them, and about fifteen feet to the right was a tiny balcony. A really, really small balcony. "The two of us aren't even going to fit on that thing."

Clint stood up, standing precariously outside of the window, balancing on the thin ledge. He pulled his bow off his back and, in the same sweeping movement, grabbed an arrow and fired it into the wall of one of the neighboring buildings. From the shaft trailed a thin black line, deceivingly strong. Natasha stepped up onto the ledge next to him, and they each wrapped an arm around the other, holding on tight. Together, they stepped off the window ledge, and for a moment they were falling, before the line snapped tight with a jerk that nearly sent Natasha tumbling to the street below. She let go a moment later, landing gracefully as a cat on the ledge. By the time Clint swung back, she had already picked the lock and was slipping inside. He touched down a moment later and followed her in.

They were in the corner of a large laboratory. Gleaming silver tables lined the room, mysterious machinery made up of piping that flowed in jerky twists and turns dominated the center, and off to one side a boxy contraption sat, ominously glowing, not from the harsh fluorescent lights shining down, but from something inside.

Clint pointed to the open doorway off to the side (probably a closet or storage room of some sort) and cocked his head. Natasha nodded. She heard it too, a faint humming, different from that of the devices around them, and decidedly human. She tilted her head towards the main door, and Clint nodded. While he watched the closet carefully, arrow nocked and ready for anyone who came out, Natasha moved to the main entrance and gently pushed it open.

The rest of the team filed in, and Clint motioned them over to the closet. For a moment they stood there waiting, hoping he would come out to them, but after a few seconds Cap raised his hand.

Three fingers.

Two fingers.

One finger.

At the closed fist, they all moved, Bucky and Clint leading the charge. The first thing Clint felt was annoyance. The maps had been wrong. This was no storage closet, but a smaller laboratory. Then his adrenaline spiked as the man at the lab table (presumably their target) spun around with a cry of terror, raised a gun Clint hadn't seen, and shot Bucky straight in the chest.

Katya cried out, and Steve rushed in, shield raised to cover his best friend. But Bucky didn't stop. He kept going, knocking the weapon out of the man's hands. No blood darkened his uniform, and he showed no signs of pain. As the Soldier spun towards Clint to try to grab the scientist–who had dodged Bucky's grasp–he noticed the tiny dart sticking out of his chest.

The scientist sprinted for a shelf anchored to the wall, and Steve flung his shield, knocking the man's legs out from under him. But the force of the blow propelled him forward, and his hand closed around a small vial, which he threw towards the approaching assassins. Bucky tried to bat it away, but he missed, the vial smashing against the floor at his feet.

There was no cinematic whoosh of smoke, no cloud slowly rising into the air, just a thin stream of white vapor that quickly dissipated. Almost instantly, the air became heavy, thick and hard to breathe. Clint's eyes widened, and he barely had time to choke out the word, "Gas," before he and the rest of the team, their super soldier included, slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Hazy images. A flash of red, of silver, a white lab coat charging the door. He tried to raise his head but couldn't, and then the smoke was billowing over him and he was glad to keep his head down. Smoke. He could barely breathe, he was choking, and then his arm started to burn…

Steve's eyes snapped open, and he ripped his arm away from the burning pile of paper, his uniform already singed. Around him lay his partners, still under the effects of the gas. All around him the room burned, black smoke filling it from floor to ceiling, obscuring everything that wasn't directly in front of him.

"Cap? Hawk?! Widow, come in. Anyone there?" The voice in his ear was frantic, worried.

"Ross?" Steve croaked.

"Cap! What's going on? I see smoke."

"We were knocked out. I'm the only one up." Beside him, Bucky stirred, his eyes flickering open. "Strike that, Winter's up too."

"Can you get out?"

"Yeah. Meet us outside the building. Get some oxygen ready."

"Roger that. See you in a few."

Steve knelt down next to Bucky, shaking his shoulder. "Come on, Soldier. We got to get out of here." Bucky groaned and tried to moved away, so Steve hooked his hands under his friend's arms and pulled him up to his feet. Bucky swayed a little, eyes glassy, but the first big gulp of smoke seemed to bring him back to himself. He looked around wildly, every muscle in his body tensed. "Steve, what's going on?" His tone matched his body, wild and manic.

"I'll explain later! Grab Shadow!"

The doorway was full of angry, raging flames, and Steve doubted that they would be able to get out. He picked up his shield, ignoring the heat radiating off of it, and charged the wall, praying that the fire hadn't gotten into them yet. It hadn't, and Steve smashed an opening into the hallway beyond.

Bucky had Katya in his arms, and Steve slung the other two assassins over his shoulders. "Go!" he yelled, shoving Bucky towards the opening. Together, they raced the fire down the stairs, gratefully drawing fresh air into their lungs as the smoke dissipated.

True to his word, Sam had parked the van just outside of the front door. In the distance, sirens began to wail. As they came barreling out of the building, Sam leaped from the van, helped load his unconscious team into it, then pushed Steve and Bucky into the back, slamming the doors. The top speed of the van was tested as he pushed it to its limits, trying to get as far from the fire as possible.

There was only one oxygen tank, so Steve alternated the mask between the three unconscious agents and Bucky. His friend fought the mask, trying to keep it on the others, but Steve was persistent.

About midway to the airfield, Sam swore. In the distance behind them were strobing lights, and he could just make out the wailing cries of several sirens racing towards them. He managed to keep a good distance between them, but by the time they reached the tarmac, Sam was definitely pushing it.

He leapt out of the truck and onto the jet as fast as he was able, yelling, "Go, go, go!" as he started up the engines. Bucky wiped the van, making sure there was no trace of them left in it, and Steve got their partners into the plane. He didn't bother with any comfort, just lay them down on the ground and went back for the next.

When Steve went back to yell to Bucky to hurry up, he found his friend standing just shy of the edge of the ramp, arms folded across his chest, looking stubbornly annoyed. He tried to grab him and drag him in, but Bucky jerked away.

"Buck, what are you doing?" Bucky took a step back. "We've got to go! Get on the jet."

Bucky took another step back. "No."

"What?"

"I am not stepping one foot onto that plane until you put on a parachute."

Steve was actually speechless. He took another step towards Bucky, fully intending to pick him up and drag him onto that plane if need be, but his friend matched his every step with a backwards one. In the background, the sirens moved closer. Finally, Steve exploded.

"What the hell, Bucky!?"

Bucky remained frustratingly stubborn, pointing one finger at the plane. "Parachute. Then we'll talk."

Steve snarled in frustration but turned and ran up the ramp of the jet. From the cockpit, Sam yelled, "Ready to go yet?" which Steve ignored, ripping a parachute off the wall and throwing it on. He charged back onto the ramp, and Bucky broke out grinning when he saw what his friend was wearing. He sauntered up into the plane, and Steve closed the ramp, yelling up to Sam, "Go!" just as the police pulled onto the airfield.

Once they were safely alight, Steve rounded on Bucky, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Katya.

"What was that all about? You trying to get us killed?!"

"No," Bucky shook his head, "I'm trying to keep you alive."

"How is almost getting us into a firefight with the German police keeping me alive?"

"You're wearing a parachute."

"What does that have to do with anything?" He was getting more and more frustrated with every sentence.

"Really, Steve? Come on, we both know you don't have a very good track record with planes."

"I don't...what?!"

Bucky threw up his hands. "Do you know how many stories I've had to listen to about you jumping out of planes? And the big thing in every one is that you don't wear a parachute. That's stupid, Steve. Are you trying to kill yourself?!" He folded his hands again and glared at him. "And since no one else seems to care that my best friend keeps trying to pretend he can fly, I'm going to have to make sure you don't die. And that means wearing a chute! And with the amount of jumping off of stuff you seem to be doing, I may as well sew it into your uniform. Look at the first time we fought—you jumped off a bridge! And you'd think that would be enough for you, but noooo. You had to go jump off the freaking Helicarrier as it was flying. And when you died back in '45—"

Steve held his hands up, like someone trying to pacify a wild animal. "Okay, Buck, okay. I'll wear it. Alright?"

Bucky grinned and started going over his team for injuries. "Good."

When Steve turned around, Sam had spun around in his chair, trusting the autopilot. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the usually stoic Bucky, now happily grinning as he bandaged a cut on Natasha's arm. Finally, he met Cap's eyes and motioned him up to the front of the jet. Steve sat down in the copilot's seat, leaning over the armrest so he could whisper to Sam and keep a close watch on Bucky.

"What the hell happened to him?" Sam looked concerned. "Are you sure you brought Bucky back with you?"

Steve huffed a little laugh. "I don't know, Sam." Then he paused, thought for a moment. "You know, that scientist did shoot him with something. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now I wonder…"

"You think he's drugged?"

"Either that or...I can't even think of another reason."

"Well," Sam turned back to the controls, "Now I've got to give our director a call and tell him that the mission is still active." He looked up at Steve, sounding vaguely hopeful. "Unless you'd want to do that?"

Steve laughed and clasped Sam's shoulder, before standing and moving back to where Bucky still sat. "No, thanks. But I'll cross my fingers for you that he doesn't ask about Natasha."

"Of course he knows about Natasha," Sam muttered to himself. "And of course he's going to ask. I swear," He picked up the radio transmitter, "Sometimes they're more trouble…."

Katya groaned, bringing her hand up to rub across her face. She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she started to fall back. Gentle hands caught her, pulling her up to lean against a warm body. Katya tried to open her eyes, but everything was bright and blurry, so she clamped them shut and leaned back into Bucky's chest.

"Hey," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, "How're you feeling?"

She groaned in response. "Like I drank too much on an empty stomach. Clint and Natasha?"

"Waking up as we speak."

"Good." Eventually, she managed to crack open her eyes, and the world came slowly into focus. Tipping her head back a little, Katya saw Bucky grinning down at her. "What's so funny?"

"It is like we all got drunk. And it's funny because Steve can't get drunk, so I wonder what he thought when he woke up–'cause he doesn't know what it feels like. Unless he remembers from when he was short? Did we get drunk then? I don't really remember….I feel like we did at least–"

"Buck?" Katya turned to look at him. "Did you get hit with something too?"

"Hey, Riley?" They both looked up to see Steve standing at the front of the jet. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." Katya tried to stand, swaying only slightly as she got to her feet.

"Keep an eye on Clint and Natasha, okay, Bucky?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded, moving over to Clint, who was just starting to sit up. Feeling more clear-headed by the minute, Katya walked up to the front of the jet, bracing herself between Sam and Steve's seats.

Her handler gave her a one over. "Feeling better?"

"A lot, thanks. What happened?"

"You were gassed. Luckily Rogers here woke up before the fire could get you."

"Fire?"

"The bastard sent the whole place up in flames."

Katya turned to Steve. "Thanks." The Captain waved it off. Stealing a glance back to where Bucky was helping her partners sit up, she leaned into the two men. "What's up with Bucky?"

Steve glanced back as well, as if reassuring himself that his friend was still there. "Remember when the scientist shot him? I think–"

"That the dart was laced with something?"

Steve nodded. "And we have no idea what."

Sam laughed, harshly. "Oh, I have a few ideas. I've been listening to him ramble for half an hour–I don't think our Bucky talked that much in a week. He wouldn't even get on the jet until Steve put a chute on."

"So that explains it," Katya said, nodding towards the bulky pack Steve still wore on his back. "I was wondering why you were wearing that." She turned back to Sam. "So what's the plan?"

"We try to find that damn scientist again. SHIELD's got a small base a couple hundred miles outside of Berlin. We're heading there now. They've got a medical division, and while it's nothing like what we've got back home, hopefully they can give us some idea of what we're dealing with."

"Fingers crossed," Katya said, walking back into the body of the jet.

It took an act of God to get the blood sample that the medical division needed to try to figure out what was running through Bucky's veins. After Hydra, the Soldier had adamantly refused to go anywhere near a medical division. As time went by, it had gotten better, the odds of Bucky having a relapse dropping lower and lower, until most doctors were actually comfortable treating him.

Today, all that progress went out the window. And so did a needle, a sedative, a pair of restraints, and (almost) a nurse. Katya and Steve had to tackle Bucky, holding him down while he vehemently insisted, "Not that again! No–no–never again. No more!"

Steve had cleared the room while Katya sat on the floor next to Bucky, holding him, gently stroking his hair and murmuring comforts. Slowly, the wild look in his eyes faded and he closed them, leaning into Katya as his breathing evened out.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah." He took a few unsteady breaths. "Did I hurt anybody?"

"No."

"Good." A few more steadying breaths. "That's good."

"Yeah." Katya took his flesh hand in her own, rubbing circles on his palm with her thumb in a way that she knew relaxed him. "Bucky–what happened?"

"I don't….they were coming at me with a needle, Kat. And all I could think about was the last time someone did that, and it wasn't good. I can't remember why–but I know it wasn't. I don't know these people. I don't trust–"

"Easy, Buck, easy." Katya could feel his heart rate accelerating. "They're not going to do that again–promise." Her partner nodded in relief. "But, Buck, we need to know what you were injected with, and to do that we need–"

"A blood sample." He swallowed nervously. "How much?"

"Not a lot." Katya picked a vial up off the floor and handed it to him. "Just this."

"Okay." Bucky stood and crossed to the doctor's tray table, plugged the vial into the needle, and quickly stabbed himself in the arm. Katya and Steve winced as he did, but only Bucky looked away from the needle. Gently, Katya pried his metal fingers off of it, drawing the thin probe out of his arm when the vial was full. She handed it to Steve, then quickly grabbed a cotton ball and pressed it to the bleeding pinprick in his arm.

"Put pressure on that."

Bucky smiled softly. "Yes, ma'am."

Katya swatted him on the arm. "Don't 'yes ma'am' me–we were the same rank." She jerked her thumb towards Steve. "He's the officer here."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

"Jerk," she said, punching him this time, before turning to Steve. "Get that blood to the lab. Let's figure out what's in him and get the old Bucky back."

Steve tried to look serious, but he couldn't suppress a slight smile. "Yes, ma'am."

"I hate you all." Katya grabbed Bucky's arm and pulled him out of the room. "C'mon, let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere I can keep an eye on you."

Steve followed them out, turning the opposite way down the hall, but not before he heard Bucky's reply.

"Keep an eye on me? He's the one you need to watch! Steve's probably going to the roof just to jump off it for kicks. I swear, that man thinks he's invincible. He's not, you know, yet he jumps off of everything like he is. Seriously, I'm gonna sew that parachute into his uniform…"

The Captain couldn't help but laugh as he turned the corner.

"So," Clint steepled his fingers together, leaning forward, intent on what Sam was about to say. "How much trouble are we in?"

They were all sitting in the small spare room that the German agents had provided Sam. It was sparsely furnished, bare and blank, with a tiny bathroom. Clint was perched on the desk, Natasha beside him in the chair. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, and Katya, Bucky, and Steve leaned against the wall near the door.

Sam snorted. "Do you want the truth, or the answer that'll let you sleep at night?"

"That bad, huh?"

Another humorless laugh. "Fury's going to have you all running drills for months. He's pretty ticked that the guy took Bucky down as well. Any word on that, by the way?"

"Yes." Steve pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "They said it was a weird hybrid drug containing a whole slew of other drugs, but with pronounced spikes of levodopa, sodium thiopental, and benzodiazepine."

"In English, maybe?" Katya muttered.

"Mania-inducer, truth serum, and inhibition lowerer." Everyone turned to stare at Clint. "What?"

Steve shook his head. "Do I even want to know how you know that?"

Clint grinned. "Nope."

"Anyway," Steve went on, "they have no idea how to reverse it. Sorry, Buck, but you're stuck like this for a while."

Bucky, who had been staring out the window intently, as if watching something, turned back to his team. "Hm? Oh, that's okay. I don't mind, really."

Everyone did their best to keep the well, I do look off their faces. It didn't matter. Bucky was distracted again by whatever he saw happening outside the window.

Sam pulled out a map and laid it across the bed. "Fury's given us thirty-six hours to bring the guy in before we have to start job-hunting."

"Like he could kick us out," Natasha muttered, at the same time Clint said, "Generous."

Sam shot them a pointed look, shutting them both up.

"All known friends, associates, and fallbacks are on this map. Some we can rule out immediately, but there's still a good two dozen possibilities. SHIELD agents here are working to determine where he is, but it's going to take some time. So I suggest you all get some sleep, and I'll come get you when we know where we're going. Sound good?"

"You need rest too, Sam," Clint said gently. "I got some earlier today⏤I'll stay up."

"Getting knocked out does not count as sleep." He pointed at the door. "Go."

Bucky's room was the same as Sam's, minus the window, making it a lot darker. Katya threw an extra shirt over the lamp on the desk, causing it to glow softly enough to provide light to the entire room but not so much as to keep Bucky up. He could barely sleep in the dark without drugs running through his system; she doubted he could handle it now.

The bathroom door opened and Bucky came out, now wearing shorts and a t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He stood in the doorway, carefully examining the room in its ambient glow, then nodded contently. "Thank you."

"No problem. You good?"

"Good?" A strangled half-laugh. "No." He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. "I'm so far from good. Everything's vibrant, but dull and muffled at the same time. Does that make any sense?" Katya shook her head. "I can't keep myself focused on one thing–my head's all over the place. It's like how I felt after escaped in DC….oh, god. This isn't happening. That can't happen." Bucky looked up at Katya, his eyes full of fear. "I'm still me, right? I'm not turning into–"

"Hey." Katya sat down next to her partner, taking his hands, one freezing, one burning up, in her own. "You are you. That's not going to change."

"I relapsed today."

"You've been drugged, Bucky. You're not yourself. But I swear, you're not the Soldier either."

"He could come back."

"He's not going to."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Gently, Katya brushed the stray strands hair out of Bucky's eyes, her hand lingering on his cheek, before leaning forward to kiss him. "You're staying you."

Bucky sighed, putting an arm around Katya, resting his head on the top of hers. She leaned into him, both of them relaxing, comfortable in each other's presence, until Katya tried to stand up, and Bucky tightened his grip on her.

"Where are you going?"

"My room….I've got to sleep, Buck." He didn't move his arm. "I'll be right across the hall–you can come get me if you need anything."

"Stay here," he mumbled into her hair.

"Buck…"

"Please?"

She sighed. "Fine."

Katya could feel Bucky smiling. Never letting go of her, he laid them both back on the bed, pulling the thin sheet up over them. There was a moment of readjustment as they fit themselves comfortably together, Katya's head in the crook of his neck, Bucky's arms around her and his face buried in her hair. He could not keep in a sigh of contentment as their shared warmth pushed him closer to sleep.

After a time, Bucky murmured, "Kat?"

"Hmm?"

"Maybe you should wear a chute too."

Katya couldn't help but smile. "Go to sleep, Bucky."

"Mmm….Kat?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Love you too….Now sleep."

"M'kay." Bucky snuggled closer, and, together, they drifted off into unconsciousness.

Darkness. Bright flashes of light. Thundering claps overhead, all around. It could be a storm, but then the world exploded next to him, and he was falling, falling, reaching out for anything to stop him, anything to hold on to. But he wasn't falling, the plane was, dropping out of the sky like a stone. He tried to move, tried to find something to save his life, but then he was strapped down to the chair, the faceless scientist staring down at him, the cage coming down around his face, and then everything went white, and the asset screamed and screamed and screamed….

Bucky launched awake. He was covered in a cold sweat, muscles tense, panting and disorientated. A quick look around the room found nothing recognizable, save for Katya, who sat on the edge of the bed, looking upset.

"I couldn't wake you up," she said, sounding painfully apologetic. "You okay?"

Bucky shook his head. His chest was tight, his entire body on edge as unused adrenaline coursed through his veins. He could barely breathe. Katya made a move to touch him and he jerked away, the memory of the scientist still fresh in his mind. Trying to calm himself, Bucky took a deep breath but choked, blind panic rendering him helpless. That was it–he couldn't stay in that room another second. He was up and out the door before Katya calling after him registered.

She met him in the hallway as he looked around, confused. "Where're you going?"

"Downstairs," he mumbled, his left fist almost invisibly clenching and unclenching, one of the Soldier's few tells.

It took Katya a moment to realize what he meant. "Downstairs….Buck, we're not in Chicago."

"What?" Bucky took a closer look at the hallway around him. "Where are we?"

"Germany…." Katya was starting to look worried. "We're on a mission here, remember?"

"Oh, yeah….mission, right." Something in his tone made Katya wonder if he really did remember, or if he was just trying to make her feel better. "I'm going for a run."

That snapped her back from her musings. "Not by yourself you're not."

"I'll be fine."

"At least let Steve go with you. Then you can keep an eye on him."

It worked. "Okay. That's a good idea." Bucky turned to go to Steve's room.

Katya coughed, almost a laugh, and he looked back at her. "Um, Bucky? Maybe some shoes and pants?"

Steve looked up from his sketchbook at the knock on the door. Gently laying it down on the bed so that the pencils wouldn't roll away and vanish, he got up, stretching, and went to open it. He wasn't surprised to see Bucky standing there. With the crazy drugs in him, Steve had been anticipating a nightmare, if not an all-out relapse.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Bucky shook his head, and followed Steve back into his room. While Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, Steve put his drawing things away in his bag.

"You want to talk about it?"

Again, Bucky shook his head no. His fists were clenched, his entire body tensed. If you knew what to look for, he was trembling.

"You want to go for a run? Work some of the energy off?"

Bucky nodded forcefully.

"Okay, give me a sec to get ready."

Bucky still didn't say anything. To be truthful, it was really starting to freak Steve out. The last time Bucky had been this quiet was when he was first coming back from the Winter Soldier, and that was a time Steve definitely did not want to revisit. If whatever that scientist had given him was causing him to relapse, well, it only made the Captain more desperate to find him.

They walked out of the building together. This SHIELD base wasn't centered in a city, as many were, but rather on the edge of a small town. Bucky chose to take off in the other direction, towards the unincorporated areas, and Steve matched his pace. They ran hard for a few miles, Bucky pushing himself to his limit, still silent. Steve started to angle them back to the base, not wanting to be too far away in case something happened, when Bucky stopped, so suddenly that Steve ran on for a few feet before stopping and turning back to his friend.

They were on the edge of a lonely, unpaved country road. A fenced pasture was off to one side, a gently swaying wheat field to the other. The sky was just starting to show traces of dawn, a warm pink line forming at the horizon. Bucky stood in the center of it all, looking totally lost and out of place.

Steve took his time walking back to Bucky, taking it all in, trying to read his friend and figure out what was wrong. There was no trace of the Soldier in him, only a terrifying combination of hurt, anger, and fear. When he caught Steve looking, Bucky glanced away, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Why'd you do it?" His voice was small, nervous, as if Bucky feared the answer to his question.

"Do what?" Steve asked gently, not wanting to set his friend off.

"Crash the plane–no. Not get out of the plane."

"Buck, I had no time–"

"No, Steve. I've heard the tapes. You were in the middle of the Goddamn arctic, and you're telling me that plane had to go down that instant? You couldn't take thirty seconds to look around for a parachute? Or jump out of the plane when it gets closer to the ground, maybe land on your shield like you love to do? No. You had to go down with it." Bucky finally met Steve's eyes, his own full of pain. "Why?"

Steve shook his head. "I guess….it seemed like the necessary thing to do at the time. Besides, what was Captain America going to do when there was no war for him to fight in? Go back to selling bonds?"

"You could have found something." Bucky's voice was tentative, and Steve realized they were nearing whatever had been bothering him. "Like you said–you're Captain America. They weren't just gonna let you walk away."

"But that's just it. I was Captain America. People only saw me for what I was, not who. The only people who really knew me were dead."

"So now that I'm here, you're not going to let yourself die again, right?" Bucky's voice was so quiet.

"What? Bucky, what's going on?"

"It's just….I'm worried you still feel that way–like everyone only cares about Cap, not Steve. And that it's gotten to you. I've seen the footage, Steve, of New York and your missions since then, and they scare me. You act like you're invincible, pulling all these crazy stunts, these death-defying things, and it makes me think that you're not scared to die. And that maybe you want it. And I need to know that that isn't true. Cause….I don't know what I'd do if you died."

Steve had no words, so he just took that step closer to his friend and wrapped his arms around him.

"I know what it's like to lose a brother, Buck. And there's no way I'd ever do that to anyone." He tapped him gently on the back before stepping away. "You're stuck with me."

Bucky laughed, clearly relieved. "Look at you. You're a frickin' super soldier now, and I'm still taking care of you."

"And something tells me you always will."

"You bet your ass. You'll always be a scrawny little raccoon to me, Steve."

"Does this mean I can stop wearing the parachute?"

"Oh, no," Bucky shook his head vehemently as they began to move again. "No way. Consider that a part of your uniform now. Old habits die hard."

The run back was much more relaxed, that pace less desperate. It was still quiet, but rather than the horrible silence from before, this was the sound of two best friends who didn't need words.

True to his word, Bucky forced Steve into a parachute before letting him onto the Quinjet. The German agents had tracked the scientist to an old bunker outside of Berlin, a relic from Cap and Bucky's days. The team was headed there now, ready to finish this mission–and hopefully cure Bucky.

Bucky, who was now staring at everyone in turn, studying them as if trying to solve some great mystery. But when Natasha took the easy flight as a chance to practice her piloting skills (under Clint's careful direction) Bucky threw up his hands.

"That's it! Everyone here wants to be a bird."

Clint turned around, fighting a laugh. "What?"

Katya leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. "No, Clint, don't encourage him…."

But the damage was done.

"Think about it. Steve here's always jumping outta whatever he can like he can fly, Natasha's learning to fly, Katya can literally fly, and Clint?" Bucky snorted. "You've named yourself after a bird, you're always as high up as possible, your brother calls you 'Birdie', and you're a frickin' pilot!" Bucky sat back down. "Just admit it already."

The look on Sam's face was priceless. "What about me?"

Bucky thought about it, then nodded. "Congratulations. You and I are the only ones."

This time, Sam couldn't hold in his laugh.

The bunker was exactly like all the other bunkers Steve remembered–quiet, nondescript; a building you could walk right by and not realize it was there. They broke in easily, the door crumbling under Bucky's boot.

It was dark and empty, with absolutely nothing screaming 'evil lair!', but Bucky had been in enough of these places to guess where the hidden door was. The seemingly heavy stack of boxes rolled away with ease, revealing a dingy trap door set into the wood. Steve broke through the lock with one swift strike from his shield, and they were in.

No one knew what other foxholes this place could have, so caution and surprise were thrown to the winds. They rushed in, separating to cover all the ground, hoping to trap the scientist inside. A pact had been made earlier that day, everyone agreeing that Bucky should never be left on his own, so Katya joined him, and together they cleared a hallway of rooms. The scientist was nowhere to be found.

Feeling more and more anxious, Katya raised her hand to her earpiece. "Our hallway's a bust. Anyone got anything?"

Natasha's voice filled her ear. "Nope. Hawk?"

"I got nothing. Cap?"

They waited for several seconds, but there was no answer.

"Cap?" Bucky's voice was bordering on panic. "Steve?"

Still no response, and Bucky was positively shaking. "Steve! Answer, damn it."

Katya reached out to reassure him, but the Soldier was already turning back down the hall and around the corner, sprinting down the path that Steve had taken. He ignored the rooms flashing by him, skidded around the corner, nearly slipping on the smooth linoleum, before charging at the double doors at the end of the hall, his partner struggling to keep up.

Bucky crashed through the doors, which swung wildly in his wake. The scientist jumped, his head jerking around. He was skittish and shaking and holding Steve at gunpoint. Bucky roared and launched himself at the man.

The scientist's eyes widened and he turned and fired at Bucky, but his shots were wild and they only grazed his arm, the bullets ricocheting off the metal with an echoing clang. The man was on the ground a second later, Bucky's hand tight around his throat.

Vaguely, he could hear Steve and Katya telling him to back off, to stand down, that they needed him alive, but Bucky couldn't hear them over the clamouring voices in his head. He was going to shoot Steve….He would've killed my best friend. He snarled and pressed down harder, the mechanics in his arm whirring.

And then suddenly Steve was crouching in front of him, staring intently into Bucky's furious face.

"Bucky. Look at me." The Soldier obeyed, his head snapping up. "I'm okay. Really. He didn't hurt me."

"He was going to," Bucky growled, "and that's not okay."

"But we have to bring him in, Buck. And they need him alive."

He didn't move, at least not until Steve laid a hand on his arm. "Don't do this, Buck. Don't go down that path. This guy doesn't need to die. Trust me?"

Of course I do.

Slowly, Bucky loosened his grip on the man, who lay on the floor gasping, one hand coming up to massage his throat. Katya knelt down next to him, and he leaned against her, utterly drained. Steve was dragging the scientist off the floor and handcuffing him when Clint and Natasha barged through the door.

"You okay?" Clint demanded, crouching down in front of his teammates. Bucky nodded weakly. "Good." He straightened and turned to the scientist. "How do we fix him?"

"I beg your pardon?" The man rasped, staring at Clint incredulously.

"Whatever you shot him up with last time we met. How do we counteract it?"

"The benzolevothiopental?"

Everyone just glared at him.

"Uh….well, a simple shot of flumazenil should counteract the benzos, which should then collapse the entire molecule–"

"Should?" Bucky's voice was low, lethal, and the scientist's eyes widened.

"Will. It will."

"It better. If it doesn't, I may just finish strangling you."

It did work. The doctors back on the Helicarrier managed to give Bucky a shot of flumazenil without any problems (though Steve and Katya were there, just in case of a relapse), and so far it seemed to be working. Or at least Bucky thought it was, as there were no doctors around to tell him otherwise.

He was sitting in a dark corner of the break room, away from any prying eyes at the windows, nursing a cup of coffee. His mind had cleared; it felt as though a fog had lifted, and Bucky took that as a good sign. Leaning back on the sofa, he sighed. It had been a long couple days, and he was absolutely exhausted, but not quite ready to sleep.

Or so he thought. Bucky snapped awake as someone sat down next to him on the couch.

"Easy, Buck, it's just me."

"Steve?" Bucky stretched, muscles complaining as he moved them out of the awkward position he had fell asleep in. "Wha' time is it?" He slurred, looking around blearily.

"Late. You gave the doctor's quite a scare, disappearing on them like that."

"Not you though?"

"Nah. Me and Riley figured you just couldn't stand being in there any more."

"You guys were right."

"So," Steve said, shifting to look Bucky over, "how're you feelin?"

"A hell of a lot better than I was this morning. Where's Katya?"

"She went to let the doctors know that they can stop looking for you now."

"Huh." Bucky looked around the room, which was the last place he would pick to hide in. "They couldn't have been looking all that hard."

Steve snorted. "You're not exactly a model patient, Buck. They probably didn't want you back."

"Punk," Bucky grumbled, but he didn't deny it.

"So, how much do you remember?"

"I get drugged one time and we're back to that question again."

"I'm serious, Buck."

He shrugged. "Most of it, I guess. A lot of it's blurry–hazy–like a dream.

Steve's face fell. "That's….good."

"What?" Bucky smirked, "Were you hoping I'd forget all the wonderful reasons I had for you wearing a parachute? Cause drugged or not, those were some pretty fine reasons."

"Can I at least stop wearing it everywhere?"

"I don't know. Can I trust you to not jump off things you shouldn't?"

"If I know that I'll be fi–"

"You're strapping that chute on tighter, Steve."

"Jerk. Fine. I promise to not jump off anything without a chute, okay?"

"Okay, punk." Bucky leaned back on the couch and took a deep breath. "You know I meant everything I said on that run though, right?"

"I know." Steve mirrored his friend's position. "You know I meant everything I said too?"

"Yeah."

"I mean it, Buck. I'm not going anywhere." Steve leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. "You're stuck with me, jerk."

The smile that broke over Bucky's face spoke volumes more than any words ever could.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. I really don't want to be one of those authors begging for reviews, but leaving even a few words will totally make my day, and I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you again, and Happy Thanksgiving!