(A/N) Well, as the title might suggest, the concept of the Winter Soldier has always fascinated me, and I found myself somewhat surprised that it hadn't been played with more. So this is me…playing with it. I'm not entirely certain where this little plot bunny's going, but I suppose the one warning I can give you in advance is that this will get slashy in a Steve/Bucky sort of way, so if that bothers you, you can vacate well in advance of things heating up.

The Winter Soldier

Chapter 1: If I Die Young…

The last thing Bucky Barnes saw as he was ripped away from the train was the look of horror on Steve Rodgers' face.

As he fell, he didn't really feel the cold wind rushing past, or think about the horrible death that awaited him at the end of this fall. All he could think was, Steve, I'm sorry…sorry I wasn't faster…stronger…I'm sorry. This isn't your fault, Steve. I…I wish I could have…

Could have what? A different voice asked.

I…I don't know, he answered. It seemed the fall wasn't over. I just…feel like I had so much to say to him…like it wasn't supposed to be this way.

Interesting. Do you want to live, James Barnes?

Well…who wouldn't?

That's not a yes...but then, it isn't a no, either. All right, little soldier. I will save your life…for a price of course.

The next moment, the cold became a thousand times colder and Bucky felt like he was ripped in a hundred different directions all at once. When he finally coalesced back into being out of the screaming agony, he crumpled into a heap on the solid ground.

"Am…am I dead?" he asked, barely able to make his mouth move through the pain.

"Certainly not. I saved you, just as I promised."

"Where am I?"

"Open your eyes and see for yourself."

Slowly opening his eyes, despite his massive headache, Bucky glanced around, taking in what limited sight his place on the floor afforded him.

It was night and slightly foggy, but he could still see the rocky plane they were on. The man standing over him was dressed…very strangely, from what he could see…looked like some kind of old timey armor. This didn't hold his attention for very long, though. It was the way the man was looking at him that bothered him…smiling down at him like a cat smiles down at the mouse it's about to eat.

Looking away from the unsettling gaze, Bucky found his eyes drawn back to the stars overhead…and as he looked, he began to realize…they were not his stars. He had been through survival training and he knew the night sky. This was not it. He was looking at a completely different set of stars.

"What is this place?"

"So you've figured it out. You're very far from home, James Barnes…much farther than you can even conceive. I didn't just take you away from that gorge. I took you out of time itself…brought you here to me…no easy feat, little human. Though…it seems the transference was not without its costs," the man said as he knelt beside him, lowering a hand to his left shoulder. Glancing down, Bucky found his entire left arm had been torn clean away. He was in so much pain from whatever the man had done to him, he'd hardly noticed this one specific thing.

"Don't worry, little soldier, this is easily rectifiable," the man said, resting his hand on the bleeding stump. Almost instantly, it froze over, stopping the bleeding.

"Th-thank you," Bucky managed to mumble. Even though he wasn't quite sure he should trust this man, he had saved his life. "Who are you?"

Briefly, the man frowned. "You will know me better hereafter, man thing, but my name is Loki."

"You…said something about a price?" Bucky asked as he slowly sat up, still in pain, but starting to feel it dissipate.

"Naturally. You can't have something for nothing, after all."

"No," the weary soldier agreed. "What do you want? I'm not exactly rolling in dough, but I'm pretty sure I could come up with-"

Loki actually began to chuckle at this. "No, no, no, you misunderstand. Your mortal wealth means nothing to me."

"What do you want, then?"

"It isn't a thing so simple as wanting something. My price for saving your life, James Barnes...is your life."

"What?" Bucky asked, trying to leap to his feet without much success.

"Down, boy!" Loki ordered harshly, snapping his fingers. The next moment, Bucky was on his knees, chained at the wrist and neck to the rock beneath him.

"What is this?" Bucky demanded, struggling pitifully against the chains.

"You belong to me now, little soldier. You owe me your life…and I intend to use it. Should my plans fail, you will be the weapon I'll use to destroy the Avengers."

"Avengers? What?"

"Oh, yes…you wouldn't know them, would you?" Loki asked smugly. "They're a group of special warriors, much like your Steve…and he will be their leader, Captain America…and if I can use you to break him, the Avengers will fall," he explained, running a hand gently along Bucky's jaw. Quickly, he jerked his head away, biting Loki in the process.

"Like Hell am I gonna help you hurt Steve," he growled.

Loki backhanded him viciously across the face, sending Bucky's already aching head spinning.

"That's no way to treat your master, cur. I'll have to punish you for that."

"Do your worst," Bucky challenged, grinning through the pain. "I'm not gonna help you."

"Oh, my little soldier, you seem to be under the unfortunate delusion you have a choice in the matter. Well…I will break you of that."

XxX

He's running through the snow, urged on by a drive he can't quite understand. He has to find him. He has to!

How could you just let him fall? How could you!

He finds him…broken against the rocks…his blood staining the snow…barely recognizable as anything human anymore.

"No!" he cries out as he falls to his knees, barely managing to even crawl forward. "No…"

He moves slowly toward the body, reaching out to gently stroke the remains of a cheek. "I'm sorry," he sobs quietly, leaning down to kiss the cheek. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

You were my best friend…the only thing I had left. You saved me…so many times. Why couldn't I save you? Why?

"You left me."

Gasping in shock, he stumbles back. The broken neck has turned and the empty eyes are staring at him.

"B-Bucky?"

"How could you leave me like this?"

"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry! I tried to save you!"

"I was in so much pain. I needed you, and you never came to rescue me!"

"Bucky, I'm sorry!"

The corpse doesn't move anymore…but even so, he can still hear his friend screaming.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted as he jolted from his sleep, breathing hard. For a moment, he was confused. Where was the train, the gorge, the snow, the blood…Bucky?

Then he remembered. He was in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s safe houses, he was a man far out of his time…and he was about seventy years too late to save his best friend.

"God," he murmured as he sat up, burying his face in his hands. Was he always going to be kept awake by these nightmares? The plane crashing…Bucky slipping through his fingers…

It had been nearly a year since the Avengers had defeated Loki and sent the Chitauri packing, and perhaps Loki was still getting to him, because in those few awful moments he'd heard Bucky screaming…he could have sworn he'd seen the trickster's face. He'd been absolutely certain Bucky was in danger…needed him.

But he doesn't need you, does he. He'll never need anything again. You saw to that.

On nights like tonight, he could sometimes comfort himself by thinking that they were all at peace. His comrades, the general, Howard…Peggy: he knew they had all lived well after the war, but he could conjure no such vision of peace for his oldest and dearest friend. All he had for Bucky was his last scream as he disappeared from view. If anything from his old life haunted him, it was that last sight. Most everything that came after it was a blur…a horrible, aching need to end the man responsible…and not have to acknowledge his own guilt.

"Bad dreams, Cap?" a new voice suddenly asked. Steve glanced up sharply to find Clint standing in his doorway. He hadn't even heard him enter.

"Yeah…bad dreams," he acknowledged, climbing out of bed and moving past the archer into the hallway, then down the stairs and into the kitchen. Clint followed, leaning against the entryway once again as Steve got himself a glass of water.

"That serum junk must have messed with your voice box, too…'cuz that was some pretty nasty screaming back there," he noted casually.

"It messed with everything," Steve said, draining the glass in only three gulps and setting it in the sink before gripping the counter's edge in both fists. "Maybe some things…not enough."

"D'you blame yourself for every guy you lose?" he asked. Steve was well aware that both Clint and Natasha knew all about Bucky. They knew pretty much everything about him and the other three. They had to. In fact, Natasha was probably just around the corner listening in…waiting to see if he'd go off. He'd gone off once before after waking with Bucky's name on his lips and the kitchen had been in need of remodeling after the fact. He wasn't as bad as Bruce, he knew…if he'd been the one to go off, there wouldn't have been anything left of the building…but he also knew he could be a serious threat if his control slipped. He didn't feel angry tonight, though…he just felt empty…empty and aching and horribly sad.

"Some more than others," he said, not looking back at the marksman. "Do you know what it's like…to watch your best friend die…and know you could have stopped it?"

"No…but I do know what it's like to lose someone you love…and to feel guilty for being alive when they're not. It's not that different."

"Maybe not," he responded, gripping the counter a little tighter. "And do you still hear that person screaming?" he asked, glaring at the faucet like it had somehow offended him.

"Sometimes," Clint said, finally moving into the kitchen and coming to lean against the counter beside him. "I've found the best thing to do is…find someone you can talk to. Y'know, you're gonna get some pretty bad splinters if you keep on doing that."

Blinking rapidly, Steve glanced down at his hands, only to find he'd been gripping the counter so hard his fingers had bored through the tiles and into the wood beneath them. Several pieces of wood and stone had come off in his hands. How on Earth had he not noticed that?

"Sorry," he mumbled, allowing the broken pieces of counter to fall away in order to examine his hands. He only had a few cuts, but the entire countertop would have to be replaced because of this.

"What're you apologizing for? You're the one who's hurt," Clint remarked as Steve ran more water to wash the blood away. These wouldn't take long enough to heal to merit bandaging.

"I should have better control than this."

"Hey, Cap, you're grieving. All bets are off when you're grieving."

Grieving? Yes…that was probably true. He'd never really thought of it that way, but he had never had a chance to properly grieve for his friend seventy years ago, he'd been so fixated on catching Schmidt. Upon awakening, there had been the whole business with Loki. It wasn't until a few months ago that he'd really been hit hard by the grief. He'd always been out of place in this time, but it hadn't been until that night he'd gone off that he'd really allowed himself to feel the pain of their absence…to really acknowledge that he would never see Bucky or Peggy again. Prior to that, he'd just been drifting…going through the motions of living.

All the doctors said grieving was a good thing…healthy. But he really had to wonder when it became unhealthy…when you had to admit to yourself that you were stuck and simply incapable of letting go?

"You know what you need?" Clint finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

"What?" Steve asked, sighing as he backed away from the sink and moved to lean against the fridge.

"You need to get out. Nat and I are going out on Friday, doing a little barhopping before we head back out. You should come."

"No, I…I couldn't impose."

"Don't even give me that. We'll find some other people to go, make a party out of it. Besides, probably best to be out of the house when Fury has the guys over to repair the counter."

Shaking his head as a sort of half-smile moved across his face, Steve finally gave in. "All right, fine…but you do remember I can't get drunk, yeah?"

"I remember. Doesn't make drinking any less fun. We'll get you to drink some stupid college kids under the table."

XxX

Little soldier…do you hear me, my little soldier?

I hear you, Master.

It's time to wake up now. Come and unleash my Winter on my enemies.

Yes, Master.

XxX

'Some other people' turned out to be Tony, Pepper, Sharon Carter, Dr. Selvig, and even Jane Foster managed to show up, which was amazing, given that S.H.I.E.L.D. had her moving around so much for her research.

Steve hadn't much cared for the idea of Clint's drinking game, but the others had been all for it (except Pepper, who had been only slightly hesitant), and Jane had talked him into it on the basis that any takers might learn a lesson and not drink themselves stupid again. So he'd agreed, under the condition they call all of his challengers cabs. Thus far, he'd bested three people, two male and one female (whom he'd taken slight issue with accepting a challenge from, but every single woman present had reassured him they would hand him his ass if he turned her down based solely on that fact; really, he should know better after having known Peggy), and was working his way through a forth. The young man tried to go for another shot, but tumbled off the bar stool before he could manage it. Sharon caught him as he went down, helping him to the floor.

"You are a fucking gooood, man," the boy slurred, going cross-eyed before passing out cold.

The others all had a good laugh at the praise, except for Jane, who seemed to be the only one to notice Steve stiffen at the word 'god.' As the group went back to their own drinks and bar food, Jane sidled into the seat the previous taker had vacated.

"Doing all right?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?" he asked absently.

"Well…most people don't look like they've kicked the proverbial puppy after being called a god."

"I just…I knew somebody back in the day who liked to think we were gods," he said, uncertain how much the physicist knew about his situation. "I lost a lot to him. Don't much like to think about it."

"Anything you want to talk about?" she pressed.

"Not to seem rude, Ma'am, but I did just say I don't like to think about it," he said, draining the shot his last challenger had left standing.

"All right, let me rephrase that. Anything you need to talk about?"

Steve almost laughed at this. "You don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"Mm-mm," she said, shaking her head, "but they say you're the same way. Gotta bring my A game to get anything out of you."

"Right," he said, already feeling stupid for the question he felt forming in his mouth. "Have you ever…lost someone, Miss Foster?"

"You don't have to do the ma'am or miss thing. Jane's fine…and the answer's yes. Both my parents died a while ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss…but were you able to make peace with it?" he asked.

"Mostly. I still think about them a lot, but it's not as painful as it used to be. I know they wouldn't want me to be sad forever. Missing the old days?" she asked him, not quite sure how else to phrase the question.

"Something like that. I…I think I've made peace with my girl…"

"Peggy?"

"Yeah…I know she and the others got to see the end of the war and…like you said, it doesn't hurt as much to think about her as it used to…even when the others try to set me up with Sharon."

Jane laughed a little at this, knowing just what he was talking about. Several people at S.H.I.E.L.D. had been hoping Sharon and Steve would hit it off. While Sharon was Peggy's great niece and very much like her from what the rest of them understood from Steve, she was still not Peggy and never would be. She was Sharon. The two of them were good friends, but it stopped there…and some of the more matchmakerly-inclined hadn't quite accepted that yet.

"That's good, I suppose," Jane said once she'd stopped laughing. "And as for what's really on your mind?"

Steve tried to laugh at her persistence, but it came out as more of a pained sigh. "I can't…seem to make any kind of peace with my best friend's death."

"The one who fell off the train?" Jane asked quietly.

"Yeah…Bucky. It still hurts just as much to think about it as it did when it happened. I can't…let it go," he said, feeling his throat tighten as he set his glass down and pushed it away before he had the chance to shatter it through inattention.

"Maybe…there was something unresolved between you two?" she suggested tentatively. "Did you ever think about that?"

"Unresolved…like what?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I don't know. That's for you to figure out. But trust me, I know about unresolved shit. It really sucks," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You'll wind up half crazy."

"Well…I think I might be there already," he confided, contemplating refilling his glass from the pitcher they had going. Just as he'd decided to reach for it, though, he heard the very distinct sound of a knife being drawn and thrown. Without even thinking about it, he pulled Jane in front of him to shield her, grunting in pain as the blade entered his right shoulder.

"Steve!" he heard Jane shout as he reached back to pull the knife out.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, dropping the weapon to the floor.

"I'm fine, you idiot! What about you?"

"Nothing to worry about," he reassured her, making sure she was behind him before turning to face his attacker.

When Steve looked toward the main entrance, he found himself faced with a man dressed in black from head to toe, head including a black biker's helmet that concealed his face. The man already had another knife drawn.

"So…who invited the Hells Angel?" Tony asked as he, Clint, Natasha, and Sharon all moved into line with Steve.

"What do you want?" Steve asked, staring down the intruder as best he could. The man remained silent, blade ready to be thrown.

"Pepper, Erik, Jane?" Sharon began slowly, her hand resting on her concealed gun. "I think now would be a good time to leave."

Pepper and Erik complied quickly, moving toward Jane to lead her out. The moment Erik's hand landed on her shoulder, however, their assailant let the blade fly, the steel weapon embedding itself in the bar just beneath Erik's arm.

"Foster stays," the man ordered, quickly drawing yet another knife. For reasons he couldn't fathom, Steve thought there was something strangely familiar about the voice.

"I don't think so," Erik said, pretty calm, considering he'd nearly had his arm sliced in half.

"Erik…do what he says," Jane said slowly.

"I'm not leaving you."

"I'll be fine," she said, her eyes remaining locked on the mystery man.

"Nothing will happen to her," Steve promised. "For now, make sure the others evacuate. We'll handle this."

Even though several people had already fled the bar, many still remained. They didn't really seem to get what was going on until Tony used his bracelet device to summon his armor from his and Pepper's car. As shouts of recognition arose from the crowd, Pepper announced to the oblivious onlookers, "Anyone who likes their limbs where they are would be pretty smart to vacate the premises right about now."

"She's right, you know," the man said when no one moved. "I'm only taking one prisoner tonight. Anyone else still here in thirty seconds is fair game." With that, he removed his left glove, revealing a hand that looked to be made of some sort of metal. A ball of energy soon materialized in that hand and the man flung it at the bar, shattering the wall of bottles.

This finally jumpstarted the crowd and they fled the building in panic, patrons and employees alike. As the civilians fled, Tony, now fully suited, turned his attention from making sure Pepper had left safely back to the enemy at hand.

"Now what do you have against alcohol, pal? That's a lot of really good drinks gone to waste. Who's gonna pay for that?"

The man said nothing. He just raised his hand again and flung another energy blast at Tony, who countered with a blast of his own. Both combatants easily dodged the attacks. As the man approached, Natasha and Sharon let fly a hail of bullets, which he also dodged. He seemed to be moving so fast, he just slipped between the rain of fire. Within seconds, he was standing in front of Steve, but when the first Avenger attempted to throw a punch, he found his shoulder and arm had gone completely numb.

"A little late to the party, aren't we?" he mocked, but before he could say anything more, Steve managed a blow with his left fist…a blow that sent their assailant crashing into the far wall. He hit the floor hard, and for several minutes, he lay still. Slowly, Steve approached him, kneeling beside him when the man made no response.

Still being cautious, Steve reached for the helmet, but that was when the silver hand darted out and seized his wrist.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me? Captain America, I'm hurt."

"How can I recognize you if I can't see your face?"

"Come on, Steve. That's no way to treat your best friend," he said, releasing his wrist.

"W-what?"

At this, the man reached for the helmet himself, slowly pulling it off…and Steve stumbled back in shock, collapsing unceremoniously to the floor.

The hair was longer, the skin was paler and adorned with several scars, and the eyes were hard…so hard…but he would know that face anywhere.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah…it's me," he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand over him. "That isn't my name anymore, but it's me."

"But you…I…you fell. You're…alive?" he struggled to ask, feeling like he could honestly break down at any moment.

Bucky sneered as he knelt on top of him, pinning him to the floor between both legs. Steve didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe…for fear that this was some kind of sick joke. Bucky…James…alive!

"No thanks to you," he snarled, grabbing Steve by the collar and hauling his face up close to his, his expression twisting into something ugly and utterly unlike him.

"How?"

"A god took pity on me…and now my soul belongs to him."

Instantly, an image of Loki popped into Steve's head, but before he could say anything more, he felt a knife plunged into his stomach. Steve cried out in pain as he fell back, already feeling the strange numbness beginning to spread through his gut.

"Keep your eyes on me, Steve," he warned before getting back to his feet, heading toward Jane once again. Natasha tried to stop him, but a quick slash to her side easily put her out of commission.

"Nat!" Clint shouted as she went down, moving to her side. No minor injury like that should have been able to take her down. What the Hell was with these blades? Already, the Black Widow was beginning to shake and sweat was breaking out all over her body. Pulling out a knife of his own, Clint made to throw it at Bucky, but was stopped. Glancing over, he found Steve on his knees beside him, actually gripping the sharp blade in his bare hand.

"Don't…please don't," he begged. Glaring, Clint tried to wrench the dagger away from him, but Steve fought him, holding onto the blade, though it cut into his palm. "Please…please, Clint. I…I thought he was dead!"

Clint finally allowed the knife to drop when he saw the tears streaming down Steve's face, feeling torn as he turned his gaze back to the conflict at hand. Bucky had reached Jane. She knew there was no sense in trying to run after seeing the way he'd moved earlier. Holding up the knife still stained with Natasha's blood, he ran the tip along the physicist's jaw.

"You're a smart girl. I think you know better than to run. If this were to pierce your skin, it would kill you within the hour."

"What do you want from me?"

"Just come with me without argument…and no one else gets hurt," he said, offering her his metal hand. For several silent moments, she just stared at it.

"Jane…" Sharon began warningly, but the young scientist ultimately shook her head, taking the hand he offered.

"Hey, I'm not scared," she reassured all of them as Bucky pulled her close against his side. "You guys are gonna come get me, right?"

"No," Tony said, as if this fact were obvious. "We're not gonna come get you because you're not going anywhere," he said, flinging another blast at Bucky. Smirking, he actually vanished into thin air, taking Jane with him. Then he reappeared directly behind Tony.

"Cute," he said, the metal hand coming to rest on Tony's shoulder…and the blast issuing from it tearing through the armor and flinging the iron man across the room. Then he announced to the group at large, "Tell those idiots in Asgard to get off their asses if they want their precious trinket back."

"Bucky…Bucky, why are you doing this?" Steve struggled to ask, feeling the numbness spreading even worse.

"Why, Steve? Because I'd honestly like to see you dead. Unfortunately, the poison on those blades isn't quite enough to do it…it'll still hurt like a bitch, though. A large enough dose could kill an Asgardian. Not sure I like her chances," he said, shaking his head in feigned pity as he glanced down at Natasha.

"Bucky-"

"I told you," he snapped at him, "That isn't my name anymore. The person you knew is dead. I'm the Winter Soldier now, and you damn well better remember it…Captain America," he said, spitting out the name like some ugly curse before vanishing with Jane.

"Well," Tony grunted as he slowly sat up. "I'd say that's the end of the Avengers right there…'cuz thunder boy is definitely going to kill all of us."

"Bucky…God…Bucky," Steve whispered over and over again, unable to stop now he'd started. Struggling for breath, he finally collapsed to the floor, the sounds of Clint demanding medical support ringing in his ears as coherency slipped away from him. In this hazy, dreamlike state, the one question that rose above all the others was…

…how?

XxX

Meanwhile, in the deepest cell of Asgard, Loki Laufeyson smirked to himself, even through the enchanted muzzle that kept him from working a good portion of his power.

The Winter Soldier is awake at last. Midgard will soon fall.

XxX

(A/N) Can Loki pull people out of time? Don't rightly know, but I wouldn't put it past him…with limitations, anyway. After all, we did see the consequences of just this one instance. Imagine what might happen if it was more than one person…

So, doing anything for you?