This story takes place somewhere along the lines of the messy Doctor Who timeline; let's say it lies somewhere after the events of the 50th anniversary special and before the Christmas special (obviously, as we're dealing with 11 in this story). As for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, this is set just after the events of the Winter Soldier, so if you haven't watched that movie, you might feel a little lost. Actually a lot lost, so maybe you should go watch it (by the way it's awesome)

This story involves a lot of fluff, heavily fixating on the relationships between Steve and Bucky and Clara and Bucky, but will also involve all of the Avengers as they work their way through the newest additions to Avengers Tower, AKA Clara and Bucky. This story revolves around Bucky's recovery, so expect a lot of pain, turmoil and torture as Steve, Clara and company try to help turn the Soldier back into Bucky Barnes. This is not going to be an easy ride, so please, prepare yourselves and... enjoy!

Winter's Fallen

Chapter 1

"Chance Meeting"

"This is brilliant!" Clara squealed as she scampered through the Smithsonian entrance. New planets were a blast and hanging out in the Victorian Era was always a journey, but sometimes the trips closest to home were the ones that brought the young brunette the most joy.

The Doctor had taken Clara to all sorts of History Museums in the past, scattered across the Universe in all kinds of different time periods. Of course, to Clara, most of it wasn't History and most was definitely not her History, but the stories the Doctor told Clara always left her with a sparkle in her eye. Sometimes it was just so hard to believe that this was her life now. Babysitter by day and companion to a thousand-year old Time Lord by night. She felt like a superhero, which, incidentally, was the very reason she'd asked for this trip in the first place.

"Alright, so I want to see the Captain America exhibit," Clara said hurriedly as she drunk in the vast interior of the museum. "I'll take a guess and say you won't be joining me."

"I just don't understand your fascination with it all," the Doctor grumbled as he followed in from behind.

Clara simply rolled her eyes. The Doctor had been this way ever since she'd brought it up and she wasn't stupid, Clara knew exactly why he was acting like a cosmic nine-year-old. The Doctor was jealous. It was as plain as day. Ever since the Chitauri invasion in New York and then, later, the mishap with the Asgardians and Dark Elves in Greenwich, the Doctor had been showing Clara less and less of the modern world. Yes, Clara understood that it was dangerous, but the Doctor had kept her out of London the one time Thor had been there. Thor! The hot God of Thunder with the gorgeous blonde hair and toned biceps, along with other parts. One of the Avengers!

Clara clenched her fists as she picked up her pace. She would be damned if the Doctor ruined this trip for her as well.

"Captain America was the world's first proper super hero," Clara recited with a coy smile. She could almost feel the Doctor rolling his eyes from behind her back. She elected to ignore it. "Anyway," Clara persisted, spinning on her heels so she could face the Doctor as she continued her pursuit towards the exhibit, this time walking backwards. "This exhibit shows us all the found footage, all the history!" Clara expelled a breath. "It's as close as I'll ever get to the real thing anyway."

The Doctor clenched his jaw in that infuriating way that proved he was not impressed. "You mean the Avengers?"

Clara grinned. "So you do know what I'm talking about."

"I know enough that we shouldn't be getting involved," the Doctor warned, though his gaze was beginning to wander. Clara grinned victoriously. She knew the Doctor wouldn't be able to resist a museum, no matter what century they were in.

"Relax," Clara said as she turned to face forwards again. "I'm not planning to turn up at their doorstep. I just wanna know more about the members. They saved the world."

"And I've saved all of time and space from being destroyed!" the Doctor said, sounding affronted. "Frequently!"

"Oh keep it in your pants," Clara scolded half-heartedly. Though in truth, she did enjoy the stories the Doctor told her. "We're almost there, you sure I can't interest you in a little peek?"

The Doctor rolled his shoulders in exasperation. "I'll leave the spangled latex suits to you if you don't mind."

Clara laughed. "Says the bow-tie wearing alien."

"Oi," the Doctor said, winding his fingers protectively around his collar. "Bow ties are cool!"

Clara didn't gratify that with a response.

Clara could only assume that on an average day the Captain America wing would be pretty hectic, but this was no average day.

The whole world had sat and watched the SHIELD hellicarriers as they shot each other down over DC. Though the media were trying their best to overlook the ordeal, Clara knew the facts. SHIELD had fallen; HYDRA was everywhere.

Because of this, a lot more people had taken an interest in the exhibit that heralded the information of the one Avenger that had had a hand in it all. Clara had seen some of the crappy camera footage on YouTube, but that was as far as she'd gotten. The Doctor didn't like her studying those kinds of instances. As far as he was concerned they were far too dangerous for her and, more importantly, not his problem. As far as he was concerned, the attack that had threatened SHIELD was human, which meant that the humans were more experienced in dealing with the problem. Clara wasn't a fan of that, but she was in no place to argue. The Doctor could pick his battles all he wanted, after all, the humans had dealt with it just as the Doctor had expected. Captain America had come to the rescue.

Clara smiled as she walked by the large World War II posters depicting Captain America in his first uniform. There were walls in every direction holding a different snapshot of the first Avenger's life and with it, a sizeable paragraph of information. Clara stuck close by to the walls that held the most text. People liked to walk around and take photos, but hardly anyone ever stuck around to read the whole wall. Clara however, didn't fall into that category.

Clara wanted to immerse herself in the information. After all, she spent most of her time with the Doctor running, never able to stand and bask in the places that they ended up in. Here she was, Clara Oswald, standing in Washington D.C, reading the walls that held the life of a human super hero. She'd seen all kinds of aliens, some on Earth, some so very far away. But this, above all else, made her smile. Here was an example of an exemplary human being. Someone who had been just as ordinary as she had in the beginning. A person who had defied all odds to become a hero.

As Clara filed through the crowds of people taking photos and chatting animatedly with friends, she managed to find herself in a different part of the exhibit. Captain America's face was still everywhere, but with it stood photos of his friends, the people he had fought HYDRA with. Absently, Clara wondered how it must feel to have thought you had destroyed an organisation only for it to crop up seventy years later amongst the very ranks you worked in. She chewed her lip thoughtfully as she glanced along the names and uniforms of the men that Captain America had handpicked to aid him in the fight against Red Skull.

Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, James Falsworth, Jacques Dernier and… Clara frowned. There was another name there, one she had managed to skip over. With a determined look on her face, she backpedalled in her mind, bringing her finger up against the list of names. She dragged her hand across the text until she fell upon the name she'd managed to miss the first time around.

James "Bucky" Barnes

Clara felt a flutter in her heart as she read over the name once more. That name… impossible as it seemed, sounded familiar to her. Clara brought a hand to her face in nervous thought, her eyes scanned the name again and again as she stumbled backwards, surprising herself with the action. A number of people she bumped into shot her dirty looks to which Clara ignored. Her heart was thundering in her chest, beating out the name like a drum. Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes.

Without thinking, Clara turned on her heels, determined to know more. She filed through the crowds recklessly, ignoring the odd snide remark thrown in her direction as she went. The walls blurred together in a cacophony of red, white and blue, but Clara paid them no attention. She was looking for one wall in particular, something she had overlooked. It had seemed so unimportant at the time… but now? Now Clara didn't know what to think.

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Clara finally found it. A wall dedicated to Captain America's closest friend. A man whose face at first had seemed to mean nothing to the young brunette. Now, it meant something entirely different.

James Buchanan Barnes

James Buchanan Barnes

How could she have been so stupid? It had only been a few months ago, relatively speaking. It was hard to keep track of time inside the TARDIS. Still, the Doctor dropped Clara off as frequently as she needed so she supposed, in Earth standards, it had been just three months since she had met… him.

Unconsciously, Clara raised her arm, stroking her fingers across the large photo that stood by his name. She smiled to herself. Even in black and white picture-form, he was truly stunning. A man that had swept her off her feet from the moment she met him. Of course, it had been the 1940's in the midst of a war and he had been a soldier…

Okay I'm pretty sure this is still Earth.

Clara heard herself, a mere echo in the past, speaking in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, too afraid to let go of the photo that stood before her.

Well yes if you want to get technical about it, we're still on Earth, early 1940's would be my best guess. No, wait, hang on, hang on… Oh! That's interesting!

Clara remembered the Doctor as he excitedly spiralled around the TARDIS console. Something about where they had landed had been enough for them to stick around, at least for that evening.

The Modern Marvels of Tomorrow exhibition, amazing stuff, must have been at least three times… which reminds me, if you see any other TARDIS' hanging about, remember where we parked!

Clara smiled softly to herself. Despite her hopes of seeing a new planet being dashed, she had instead been presented with the start of the Stark Industry. A time where everyone was looking to the future, despite the war going on before them.

And that's where she'd met him… a handsome young stranger with brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. They'd got to talking and he'd invited her to the exhibition, much to the Doctor's chagrin. Clara remembered that his reaction had fuelled her desire to go tenfold. She knew anything with this man wasn't going to be long-term, he was about to be carted off to England to participate in the war and besides, did she really want it to be? She had to remind herself that this wasn't her time period, no matter how enchanting the 40's seemed. At the end of the night, she would go back to the TARDIS and carry on her adventures and this man, well, he had duties elsewhere.

She remembered seeing the flying car, despite its failure when it came to presentation. She remembered her date talking with another man, a blonde, frail man who seemingly won no luck with his supposed "date."

Clara's eyes snapped open in alarm.

No. It couldn't have been, could it? Had she really met Captain America, the Captain America before he'd even become the hero everyone knew today?

And the man with the devilish good looks and cheeky grin; he'd introduced himself of course. He'd taken her ice skating, and, as the night grew later still she'd found herself in his company and his alone. She still remembered the morning after, stepping into the TARDIS, hair a mess, smelling of rustic New York. The Doctor had asked where she'd been and Clara had simply replied, "Just a little fling."

The Doctor had let it slide; after all, he wasn't one to judge. Clara had managed to squeeze a lot of information out of the thousand-year old Time Lord. One instance had involved a very naughty evening with Queen Victoria l.

Besides, the man Clara had met wasn't a king. Just a soldier with duties like any other. Except he wasn't.

Because that man had introduced himself. He'd said his name to her plain as day.

Bucky Barnes.

James Barnes.

Clara didn't realise she was crying until she felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away feverishly, hoping no one had noticed. Despite the waning crowds, no one paid much attention to the lone brunette girl, standing with her hand against the picture of a man she couldn't have possibly known.

Silently, she began to read the rest of his history. His time working alongside Captain America, fighting HYDRA, the Howling Commandos and, finally, his demise at the hands of a moving train. Clara shuddered as she read those final lines; she could feel her heart stuttering in her chest. The Doctor always warned her about the problems she might come to face with time travel, the people she would meet whose futures she couldn't change. And here was a prime example. Bucky had fallen from that train, but what if the Doctor had been there to save him? What if anyone had been there to save him? Clara closed her eyes. She couldn't let herself think like that. It was stupid. She was being stupid. With a shake of her head, Clara turned away from the exhibit. Suddenly, she didn't feel as excited to carry on her little research mission. All she wanted now was to find the TARDIS.

Clara stumbled down the crowded halls, whispering muttered apologies to anyone she accidently bumped into. Her mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts and emotions as she struggled to maintain a cool exterior as she searched for the exit. She didn't care that the Doctor wouldn't be in the TARDIS; he'd slipped a key into her hand on the way out anyway. All she wanted was to be left alone.

Just as that thought had crossed her mind, she glanced upwards and caught a glimpse of the glowing exit sign. Feeling a swell of relief in her chest, Clara made her way towards the doors, valiantly trying to wipe her eyes as she went. She knew she was being foolish, making a scene in front of a bunch of strangers, but she couldn't shake the sudden strong emotions that had overcome her. Bucky Barnes had died seventy years ago, but to her… it was like she'd only seen him yesterday.

With a final dash of speed, Clara flung one of her arms out in front of her, ready and waiting to take the door's weight despite the five foot gap still separating her from her target.

In that small instant where Clara's mind had been elsewhere, she failed to notice a hooded figure coming at her from her left. Had she been focused on her surroundings, she might have dodged that stranger, though, as fate would have had it, her left arm collided directly with his.

A sharp wave of pain washed over Clara, knocking the air out of her lungs. Immediately, she grabbed her shoulder, letting out a sharp breath as she rubbed vigorously at her arm. Whoever she had bumped into must have had arms of steel because the pain continued to throb through her bones even then, momentarily distracting her from her previous line of thought.

The stranger paused, though he hadn't turned to look at her or voice any kind of apology for what had happened. Stupid, Clara thought. Why was she expecting him to apologise anyway? She'd been the one in such a hurry to get back into the TARDIS that she'd very nearly broken her arm, damn, that hurt.

"Sorry about that," Clara said before she could think better of it. Evidently, the stranger didn't seem like someone to be trifled with. He was tall and muscular, though it seemed he'd given some effort into hiding that fact. He was wearing a baggy grey hoody which obscured most of his face and body, giving no indication of what he might have looked like underneath. Clara felt a sudden wave of foreboding wash over her, an instinct that she usually regarded during her time with the Doctor. The man had stiffened somewhat the moment she had spoken and for a short moment she thought he was going to say something back. Clara shook her head, expelling the enthralled charm she felt for the stranger. Something wasn't right; she needed to get back to the TARDIS.

Turning on her heels so sharply that her rubber soles squeaked on the varnished floor, Clara started off again at a speedy pace. She kept her arms at her sides, her back straight as she started back towards the exit.

Just as her uninjured shoulder had collided with the door, the stranger responded, "Wait." His voice was soft, like he couldn't speak any louder. For a moment, Clara thought he might be ill. Then he cleared his throat and said again with more conviction, "Wait."

Clara didn't know what possessed her to listen, but she did. She felt herself backpedalling, stepping away from the door and turning back to face the stranger. He'd turned to her too, and now Clara could see the shadowed outline of his face. Long locks of greasy dark hair obscured most of his features, but Clara could still see a chiselled jaw and a pair of lips that were set determinedly, almost aggressively. Again, she felt that ever lingering sense of foreboding. She shouldn't have listened to the stranger; she should have left while she had the chance. Suddenly, she missed the large crowds that came with the Captain America exhibit. She wanted to be back where people were paying attention. Still, there were people here, though their numbers were few. Clara knew that, realistically, if the guy tried something, she wouldn't find it hard getting some help. Besides, she'd dealt with worse. This guy was only human, right? The dull throb in her shoulder, however, reminded her of just how wrong she could very well be.

The man took a step towards her and, on instinct, Clara took one back. The TARDIS was parked just down the street from the Smithsonian, if she went for the door now, maybe she could get there before him. The TARDIS was safe territory; the Doctor had told Clara a hundred times over how sturdy her wooden doors were.

Still, Clara didn't know what to do. The stranger's hair obscured his eyes, making his intentions unclear. For whatever reason, she wanted to hear him out, but there was something in his stance… something trained that she'd only ever seen in attacking forces that made her feel on edge.

In that second, Clara made up her mind. She made for the exit.

She heard the stranger let out a slightly louder cry, though his voice sounded strained with the effort. A pang of guilt flashed through Clara's heart as she made her way out of the Smithsonian, trying to catch as many gazes of passing strangers as she very well could. Whoever this person was, there'd be no way he'd try something in a crowded, highly secure place like D.C, right?

Clara slid her hand into her jacket pocket, cradling the TARDIS key there as though it were her only lifeline. The Doctor had once told her that it was no ordinary key, that it held a psychic link with the time machine. Clara knew she'd never really gotten on with the TARDIS before, but she decided to give it a try anyway. Keeping her gaze set directly at the concrete below her, she tried to send her thoughts and fears towards the TARDIS, warning her that she needed to be ready to let Clara in, just in case.

Just in case…

Clara hadn't realised how far she'd gotten and, with a startled look upwards, she realised just how deserted the street really was. It didn't feel right. Surely there'd be more people around? Clara shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, trying not to think about the man that might be following her at that very moment. Just as Clara's insecurities were getting the best of her, she caught the distinct blue paintwork of the trusty old time machine. Clara smiled as she made broad strides towards it, feeling very nearly homeward bound as she reached for the key within her grasp.

Just a few steps from the wooden doors, however, she suddenly felt a cold, unearthly grip against her shoulder. With a silent scream, Clara felt herself being turned on the spot, the steely fingers of the stranger forcing her body towards him.

Clara stumbled backwards as soon as he let go, too surprised to make it the short distance to the TARDIS. The man's hair had fallen away from his eyes; they were large, a mirthless blue and held an emotion Clara couldn't quite grasp. The hand that dealt the damage, she noticed, had been hastily shoved back into the pocket of his hoodie. Clara didn't know what to say. The man hadn't apologised for his actions, but there was an emotion written on his face that spoke paragraphs. He stared at her, a look of both bewilderment and recognition on his face. Clara didn't know what to say, until, very suddenly, his features took on a different meaning altogether.

Clara's eyes widened in surprise, the familiarity of the stranger standing in front of her hit her like a punch to the gut. This man wasn't a stranger… he was…

No!

She couldn't say it out loud; she had to be seeing things. She'd only been thinking about him seconds before she'd bumped into him… maybe it was some kind of crazy hallucination from that, some kind of weird space matrix that had taken over her mind? Clara was sure the Doctor could explain it in a form of jumbled jargon that wouldn't make a lick of sense to her, but would sure as Hell make her feel better.

Oh God, she needed the Doctor, because if this man was who Clara thought he was… but he couldn't be!

Clara felt her mouth fall open and, numbly, she watched as her right hand lifted up as if to touch the stranger's face, the scruff on his cheek. Thankfully, she pulled herself back to reality before she tried anything. Instead, before she could think better of it, she blurted, "Bucky?"

The man flinched. Visibly flinched, as though her words alone had caused him physical harm. His eyes widened marginally, a look of solid surprise crossing his features. He shook his head once before his lips formed a silent word, as though he were contemplating it himself. But Clara could read those lips, because they formed her name.

She nodded as though he had spoken aloud. "Yeah… I'm Clara, it's… it's me and you're… you're you."

She knew she wasn't making sense, but it didn't seem to matter. The man in front of her that was somehow, impossibly, Bucky Barnes opened his mouth to speak, though stopped himself before he could get the words out. Instead, a sharp flash of pain crossed his eyes. He took in a shaky gasp before collapsing in on himself, his right hand gripped tightly against his head.

Clara surged forward without even thinking. "Oh my God, are you okay?" She knew it was a stupid question, because he most certainly wasn't. Everything about Bucky screamed not okay, from his unwashed hair and broken expression, to the pain now wracking his body and finally, to the fact that he was standing right in front of her, seventy years from when she'd last met him and he was... alive.

The pain prevailed and, overwhelmed, Bucky dropped to one knee. Clara knew she had to do something. She took a step towards him, reaching her arm out in an attempt to help him up, but before she could get close enough, Bucky swatted her away only to groan out loud in response to the action. Clara bit her lip. "I'm trying to help you!" she said, trying again to move forward. This time, Bucky didn't respond to her, though she didn't think it was because his opinion of her had miraculously changed. He'd been reduced down to both knees at that point, his body shaking with pained shudders, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Whatever pain he was suffering from, it was bad. Really bad.

She managed to hook her arm around one of Bucky's shoulders before he suddenly slumped forwards, completely unresponsive. Clara gasped as she held onto him as tightly as she could manage, keeping him upright for all it was worth. The strain sent shockwaves of pain up both of her arms. Clara looked towards the TARDIS with a feverish glare. "Well?" she demanded. "Open up!"

The TARDIS made a soft whirr of discontent before the doors clicked and opened wide. Clara nodded firmly, muttering a hollow thank you as she carefully tried to balance out the unconscious man's weight. Bucky was heavier than he looked; Clara knew she wasn't going to be able to carry him towards the TARDIS, despite the fact that her doors were just feet from where Clara was standing.

Instead, Clara knew she would have to drag Bucky, unless she could get him conscious again. However, Clara wasn't sure that was a good idea. She'd seen the confusion in Bucky's eyes, not to mention the physical state of him. He looked like he'd been to Hell and back. Who knew, maybe he had. Clara managed to heave Bucky a few steps closer to the doors, pausing to catch her breath and to make sure she'd done nothing to aggravate his already poor state. What had happened, she wondered, to leave such a man seventy years out of his time period? More importantly, Bucky had been the only Howling Commando to die in service for his country. He'd fallen from a train, down a cliff. Surely no one could have survived that.

Clara didn't have time to think. She didn't know how long Bucky would be unconscious for and she knew there was something wrong. He hadn't sounded right, he hadn't acted right. When he had looked at Clara, it was as though he was looking through a pair of smudged spectacles, like the image was only half there. With a sinking feeling in her gut, Clara realised Bucky hadn't really recognised her at all. There had only been a spark, enough of a memory to give him a name, but nothing more. That had been all too clear in his expression.

Clara closed her eyes, hating that she could feel fresh tears accumulating. She couldn't act like this, she wouldn't. She had to focus on Bucky, on getting him into the safety of the TARDIS. She could call the Doctor from inside; maybe he'd be able to shed some light on the situation.

After a gruelling ten minutes of heaving and pulling, Clara finally managed to drag Bucky through the doors and next to the console. He'd remained unconscious the entire time, practically dead weight under her hands, though there was something off about that weight. Clara couldn't figure it out, but it was as though his left side was somehow heavier than his right. Exhausted, Clara collapsed next to him, eyeing the doors warily. She glanced to the console, feeling the TARDIS whir sympathetically for her cause. "Call the Doctor," Clara said to the time machine, taking comfort in the fact that it could somehow understand her plea. "It's an emergency."