Steve Rogers didn't trust a lot of people. Anyone he felt he could trust in the past was either dead or had done something to revoke that trust, and both of those categories seemed to be increasing in number everytime he turned his back.

So when Steve said he trusted in Sam Wilson, it was a compliment higher than it outwardly seemed. The man had saved his life more times over the past week than Steve could count, and was willing to follow him blindly on what could possibly be a wild goose chase after his long-lost friend. Possibly across the world.

Steve was going to use his Avengers funding and whatever he had leftover from SHIELD to get around. He abandoned his apartment in D.C. and packed up his shield. Sam gave his landlord notice and packed up his guns and kevlar. The wings, unfortunately, were fried. They sent them off to Tony to see what he could do, but in the meantime Sam was just like any other soldier, following his captain.

This was very important to Steve. This was his childhood friend, the man who was practically his brother. Who'd protected him from so many of those back alley bullies; who'd helped him out when he was in a tight spot, financially, mentally, and emotionally. Bucky was family. Steve didn't care that he didn't remember who he was, or that he'd tried to kill him a few times and almost succeeded. Bucky was worth saving.

But they didn't know where to start. How do you find a man who's been invisible for sixty years? Even Natasha had said it was impossible. That he was a ghost.

But that was when Bucky had HYDRA to hide behind. So that's where Steve and Sam started; in the wreckage of an organization that was HYDRA, Nazi Science Division. There were several bunkers they already knew the location of, and they were sure to hold some clue. Unfortunately, hacking information out of them was out of the question; the US government had appropriated all forms of digital data off of the internet. Natasha's info leak had been eye-opening, but only for so long. The two had to take what they could get from all the hard copies they found at the bunkers.

The HYDRA base under a D.C. bank yielded little but some discarded machinery and bins full of ash, no doubt from the scientists trying to keep their work away from prying eyes. Steve suggested they try and dig through whatever remained of the camp in New Jersey, but when they got there, it was reduced to rubble. What wasn't taken out in the explosion had been torn down by the state.

HYDRA had bunkers and bases all over the country. Steve and Sam had found them by using a new strategy of theirs; Zola had told them that they'd used Bucky to shape the century, to change history. So the two were scouring every scene of every major assassination in the last sixty years, in the high hopes that they were right. They found one in Memphis, Los Angeles, several in New York, and San Francisco, along with many , most of them were abandoned due to every member of HYDRA either being a self-sacrificial nutcase or a cowardly lion. Any stragglers that were left, Captain America and Falcon had no problem taking care of them.

They tried interrogating a few known HYDRA agents, using any and all persuasive methods at their disposal. Unfortunately, the Winter Soldier was a need-to-know-only project, and not even some of the higher ranking officers knew about him.

He really was a ghost.

It was in Dallas at the fifty-third bunker they'd visited that Steve was ready to give up said ghost. Not one HYDRA agent that was still alive could tell them a thing about the Winter Soldier program, and there had only been one mention of him in all the hard copies they'd read. In a file on Kennedy, it was mentioned that "the asset" had been used.

Steve sat on a dusty bench in the dark bunker and sat his chin in the palm of his hand.

"My best friend shot the President," he sighed. Sam put his flashlight on the floor and joined his friend.

"That's rough, buddy," was the only thing he could think of to say. There wasn't really a right way to console someone in this situation. A long silence danced in front of them as the two men watched decade-old dust fly through the air.

"He shot the president," Steve went on, "and several other leaders of the free world." There was a heavy pause. "I think he killed Howard Stark."

Sam turned towards his friend. "Howard Stark? As in, Stark Industries? Father to one of your little friends in spandex?" Steve nodded.

"Should probably avoid telling Tony about that one," he laughed. That would make for an awkward meeting. Hi, I'm Bucky Barnes, I murdered your parents and effectively ruined your life, nice to meet you.

Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was probably Maria again; the ex-agent had been helping them along in their investigation, pointing them in any helpful direction she could. Steve set aside all crestfallen feelings for the time being and at least tried to sound hopeful. But when he pulled out the sleek device, a different name flashed on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," Steve mumbled, swiping Tony's face across the screen to accept the call. He switched on speaker for Sam. "Tony," he said, "how are things in the big city?"

"Peachy. Stopped a couple terrorist organizations, saved the president, Thor's back from his family vacation, and that spider kid wrecked Times Square. You know how it is, Cap."

"Need any help?"

"Actually, I'm here to help you. You said to keep an eye out for anything related to your friend from the glory days. Well, guess who just popped up on the radar."

Steve's heart stopped. He exchanged glances with Sam, who looked just as anticipatory. "What d'you have for me, Stark?"

You could practically hear the smirk in Tony's voice. "I had JARVIS running a constant sweep on all of New York's assets: credit card sales, library cards, utility bills, security footage, anything."

"So, you essentially spied on an entire city," Sam commented.

"Picked up a few pointers from this intelligence organization, maybe you've heard of them- oh wait, you helped dismantle them. Right. Who is this guy, Cap?"

"Name's Falcon. Helped saved the world a few months back," Sam quipped.

"Good for you, you want a trophy? Try doing it on a daily basis."

"Stark, Falcon, focus. Tony, what did you find?"

"Someone on the East side of Brooklyn just paid their water bill under the name James Barnes. Security footage from a nearby gas station shows a man that fits your description. Really let himself go, though; I guess losing his HYDRA buddies really took it outta him."

So that's where he'd been hiding. They'd only left New York a few weeks ago; they could have walked right past him.

"Looks like he went back home. His memories must be coming back," Steve said. He sighed. "Thanks for letting us know, Tony. I owe you one."

"I accept all forms of payment, including cash, checks, and blood samples."

"I told you, Tony, that's too risky."

"Bruce'd love to see what makes you tic, Cap."

Steve shook his head. "I'll call you if we need back-up. See you in New York." A final swipe across the screen and the call ended.

"So, that's Iron Man, huh?" Sam asked. "What a dick."

"He's better once you get to know him," said the Captain, adjusting the shield on his back. In one swift motion, he stood up and kicked the flashlight off the ground with his toes. He shined it in Sam's face. "You ready to see the Big Apple?"

His friend grinned. "Let's do this."


He couldn't go to work anymore. He couldn't go to the store anymore. He couldn't leave his house anymore. He could hardly leave his bed anymore.

His body had changed into something different, something… grotesque. That small swell in his stomach that had saved the mugger's life a few months ago was now a veritable protuberance in his midsection, starting at the bottom of his ribcage and sitting low on his hips. Any shirt he had barely covered it. His skin stretched uncomfortably around it, making deep purple tiger stripes on his side. It wasn't soft like fat, nor was it hard or tumorous. It simply felt like an extension of his body.

It moved. Every now and then, he could feel something just beneath his skin, like something was flying or swimming around in there. More recently, he could even see something push against his skin, making a small bump on his flesh.

It scared him.

Not so much as when he discovered he was being followed, though. Bucky chanced a venture out into the world every few weeks to stock up on essentials, and only at night when not as many people could stare at him and his deformity. One night, he was trudging back to his apartment, feeling hungry and sick and tired, when he heard the scuff of a shoe from behind him. Turning around, he didn't see anyone. It would've been better if he had seen someone; now he knew they were hiding.

This happened again and again, until he was sure he was followed as far as his apartment building. He considered going out one night just to confront whoever this was- he was a trained assassin, after all. No one bested him at sneaking. But ever since the growth had gotten bigger, he'd felt more listless and lethargic, not wanting to walk around his home so much as stalk and confront his stalker.

As it turned out, though, he didn't even need to lift a finger. They came right to him.

Eight or nine months after the Helicarrier fell(he'd begun to lose track), Bucky was laying on his couch, feeling sorry for himself. He'd been doing that a lot lately, if nothing else but for a lack of anything else to do. His job had fired him for never coming in, and he wasn't about to apply for anything else.

He was sure that this thing inside of him was killing him. It would make it so that he couldn't move at all, getting so big that it would split his skin. It would crawl out into the world and do whatever HYDRA had programmed it to do. It must have been a failsafe, in case the Winter Soldier ever turned on them. An organism planted inside of him with a time release, slowly killing him from the inside out.

As the former soldier lay there, he heard footsteps. From outside his open second-story window, he heard the shuffle of about three or four men. He stopped breathing so as to catch every sound. They stopped in front of his building and stayed for a while. Maybe they're just a bunch of kids, Bucky thought, out on the prowl in the middle of the night. Loitering in front of buildings. Maybe they actually live here. There was nothing to worry about. Until he heard the sound of a lock breaking.

As footsteps thundered up the stairs, Bucky grabbed the gun from the coffee table and lept behind the couch, suddenly invigorated with the possibility that he may have to fight for his life. As the group got closer to his apartment, their movements got slower and more catlike. Bucky recognized the footwork; they were closing in on their prey. Voices could now be heard just outside the door. Through a fine-tuned ear, Bucky heard one voice that was familiar.

The door was kicked open with a slam and bounced off the wall. Guns that had been primed long before they'd reached the building were set into shoulders and aimed. There were three men. Two medium sized agents and one larger, more agile one. Bucky recognized the familiar click of a standard-issue M4 carbine on all three agents; they were likely packing other close range side-arms. All Bucky had was a Ruger semiautomatic with half a magazine. Not to mention he was significantly weighed down. This wasn't going to be easy.

Through a reflection in the window, he saw the two smaller agents in HYDRA uniform with face masks and goggles. The kind of expendable he used to work with. The third one was the voice he'd recognized earlier; Agent Brock Rumlow, head of Pierce's personal guard and strike team. His face was now covered by what looked like a luchador mask, and in lieu of the all-black uniform, he had white straps criss-crossing his torso in a big X. Firearms littered his thighs and belt; he was a walking arsenal.

In the silence broken only by the creak of leather and the rattle of weapons, Bucky heard quiet taunts. Rumlow never could resists the cliche of the loud-mouthed cutthroat. "Where are you… come out, come out…"

Bucky kept his eyes trained on the reflection. If he focused and kept his reflexes sharp, he could take down the two lackies in one motion before Rumlow even registered he was there. Looking down at his hands, he saw his right was shaky from lack of food and sleep, so he switched to his left. His eyes flicked to the window. The men were coming closer. Just a little more…

Bucky shot up from behind the couch and fired- one, two. Both agents were down, and now Rumlow knew his location. He somersaulted around the couch, evading sloppy shots from the agent. He was worse at this than Bucky remembered.

"Show your face, you puppet!" Rumlow yelled, his voice muffled strangely by the mask. "You can't win this!" Oh, but Bucky would try.

He had two bullets left. He would only need the one.

Bucky stood up and faced the ex-agent with fire in his eyes. He wasn't going to die tonight. Rumlow saw him and brought his gun up, but hesitated. It was impossible to tell, but this was where Rumlow would usually smirk.

"You have something that belongs to HYDRA," he growled. "I'm here to take it back."

So he was after the arm. Bucky had become a traitor to whatever was left of the Nazi organization; he was replaceable. There are always more workers. But the arm was priceless- the product of years of research and funding. They weren't letting it go so easily.

"HYDRA is dead," Bucky mumbled, buying time to get his stamina back. That would be easy; Rumlow loved to talk. "You're all that's left."

The agent shook his head. "No, that's where you're wrong. It's me," he then gestured with his gun to Bucky's engorged middle, "and him. We're all that's left."

Bucky froze. Rumlow obviously wasn't referring to him, so when he pointed to Bucky's stomach, did he mean…

He'd never really thought about it, because it seemed so far-fetched. But nothing could be too far-fetched when you were a time-travelling cyborg assassin. Could it be possible that the thing inside of him wasn't a monster put there by HYDRA… but a baby? An actual human child? Why would Zola give him the ability to have children? What could they possibly gain from this? And how did Rumlow find out? He was starting to feel sick.

Bucky must have looked thoroughly confused at this point, so much that Rumlow laughed.

"Oho man, don't tell me you didn't know?" he laughed. "This is great. You know, HYDRA has known for years. They do blood tests every time you go in and out of cryo, you know that? There were plans, that as soon as you were too incapacitated to do your job, your mind would be put into stasis while your body rode out the pregnancy. You would've never even known."

If they'd known, why hadn't they just told him? It wasn't like Bucky had been in any place to resist or defy them. The Winter Soldier had been programmed to follow orders.

The two assassins kept their weapons trained on each other for what felt like an eternity. At least, to Bucky's aching ankles it felt like an eternity.

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do," Rumlow went on, taking one cautious step closer to his target. "Since I don't want to hurt him, I don't wanna hurt you. So you're gonna put your gun down, and we're going to leave the city. You're gonna give birth, and then, me and him? We're gonna rebuild HYDRA. It'll be bigger and better than ever before, and more ruthless. I, Crossbones, will raise him to be my successor, and then HYDRA will be free to give the world the freedom it deserves, for generations to co-"

Bucky shot him in the throat. Rumlow did love to talk.

The ex-agent fell to the floor. As Bucky watched him writhe around, choking on his own blood, he set a hand on his very large, very taut stomach. So, it was a baby.

Bucky Barnes smiled sadly. At least he was adding something good to the world, then. After all he'd taken away, he was long overdue.

He dropped his gun and went to the bedroom. He'd need to leave, and soon. Someone had most likely reported the gunshots, and there was no way he could hide the bodies or the evidence in his condition. He needed to pack it all up and leave. He didn't know where he would go, but at least now he knew he had company.

Bucky pulled a dusty backpack from the closet and threw it on the bed. It was joined with several shirts and pairs of pants, but he had to stop as he let out a loud yell. His knees hit the floor, followed by the rest of his body. His belly was cramping up, tightening and squeezing the life out of him. Bucky was in massive amounts of pain, and it was coming from inside.

He screamed.


"We're going to stake it out for a while first, to see if Tony's intel is right."

"The dude's got New York City under his thumb. I dunno how it could be wrong."

"I'm just saying, there could be a lot of guys named James Barnes."

"Whatever you say, Cap." Sam put the Chevy in park and rolled the windows down. They both unclicked their seatbelts and settled in for what was they both thought was going to be a long night.

Until they both heard gunshots coming from the apartment.

Without so much as exchanging a glance, Steve grabbed his shield and Sam grabbed his gun and the two sprinted across the street. Had they been sitting there a little longer, they would have noticed the kicked-in front door. Light streamed out onto the street as Sam and Steve run up the marble-tiled stairs. Another shot was heard. They ran faster.

Bucky's supposed apartment was on the second floor to the right. As they approached, they both brandished their weapons with deadly intent. Steve wasn't going to let anything happen to Bucky and Sam wasn't going to let anything happen to Steve.

The captain raised an open hand and signaled to lay low outside the battered door frame until he could get a handle on the situation. From the hallway, the two men could see the feet of at least one fallen soldier. The smell of blood and gunpowder floated poignantly in the air.

Steve was starting to stand up slowly when a loud, desperate scream filled the hall. Steve ran in, Sam hot on his tail.

"Bucky!" Steve called, searching the apartment for his friend.

"Steve-!" A strangled cry came from the bedroom, and that's where both men went. As soon as they rounded the corner, they saw yet another body, only this one was breathing and reaching out for help. Bucky had one arm, a metal one, stretched out into the hall, grabbing at the floor. The other arm was wrapped around some kind of bulge under his shirt.

As Steve stooped down to hoist his friend up, he noticed the wild, panicked look on his face. Bucky's legs were tucked close to his body, and there was sweat beading on his forehead. His whole form was curled into a tight ball.

"Hey, were you hit?" Steve asked frantically. "Tell me where you're hurt, we can get you to a hospital-"

He was cut off as Bucky let out another scream, this one drawn out and raw. As he did, he tightened his grip on Steve's arm and around his belly. That was when Steve noticed something was… off.

Bucky relaxed after another few seconds of yelling and writhing, and when he did, Steve started to gently pry his limbs open. When he had his friend on his back, with his head in his lap, Steve saw that there was more to Bucky than when he'd last seen him.

"Buck, what…" Steve stuttered, but couldn't quite find the words. "What is this…?"

It took a while for Bucky to get his breath back enough to answer. He looked his friend in the eyes for the first time in nine months, and before that, the first time in seventy years.

"I'm pregnant, Steve."

There was silence except for Bucky's labored breathing as the other two men absorbed the knowledge. This was hard to believe for Steve, who'd fought evil scientists and robots and aliens, let alone Sam, who was just a normal soldier. The Falcon holstered his gun and joined the other two on the floor.

"...Pregnant?" he asked. "As in… like a woman, pregnant? With a baby?"

"Pretty sure that's what pregnant means, Sam," Steve remarked, still looking shocked and confused himself. "Buck, how long have you known?"

"Yeah, this woulda been nice to know when we were trying to kill you."

"Hey, I just found out five minutes ago, pal," Bucky said with a groan.

"You mean you went through a whole pregnancy without knowing you were even pregnant? Buck-!" Steve exclaimed, sounding exasperated and now genuinely concerned.

"Don't act like this is my fault!" Bucky all but yelled. "HYDRA put it in me, alright? And HYDRA just tried to take it away."

Sam nodded towards the living room where blood was seeping into the hardwood floors. "Is that who that is? HYDRA?"

Bucky nodded. "Rumlow and two other agents showed up. I took them out- aaahh!" He writhed in Steve's grip as he let out another scream.

"Bucky, you gotta calm down," Steve soothed, "we're gonna get through this-"

"Get it out of me, Steve!" Bucky continued to scream. No doubt someone had already called the cops for the gunshots. Now they had a noise complaint on their hands.

"We have to get him back to the tower," said Steve, reaching into his pocket. Out came the cell phone, and with one voice command, Tony's face was on the screen. The phone went into Steve breast pocket while he tried to help his laboring friend sit up.

"Never pegged you as a night-owl, Cap," Tony's snarky voice said from Steve's shirt.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, Stark. This is an emergency."

"You know how I get all tingly when you use old-person slang. Whad'ya need?"

"A doctor. Someone we can trust."

"You hit?"

"We found Bucky."

"Is he hit? ...Is that screaming?"

"Just get me a doctor, Stark. I'll be at the tower in ten minutes." The call ended with a definite click. Bucky was leaning up against the bed, clutching onto Steve's hand for dear life. His eyes were wide with panic and sweat rolled down his cheek.

Sam glanced over at Steve. "That's a twenty minute drive, man. At least."

"Then we better hurry." Steve got Bucky to sling his arms around his neck, then he slipped his arm under his friend's legs and lifted him bridal. "Let's move."

Sam grabbed the shield and followed, mumbling under his breath, "boy gotta weigh three hundred pounds and he lifts him like he's a supermodel, damn…"


That he now knew that what was really inside of him was a baby did nothing to change Bucky's opinion that this thing was killing him slowly. He couldn't imagine a worse pain; although he was sure if he remembered the pain of having his arm torn off, he'd have something to compare it to.

He was glad, grateful even, that Steve had come when he did. A little sooner would've been nice also, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He sat next to his old friend in the back of a speeding car. Buildings whizzed past in a blur, other cars becoming no more than fireflies. Whoever this Sam was, he was a great driver. Bucky searched his recently-opened memory banks and found he didn't have to search far to find his last meeting with Sam Wilson, codename Falcon.

"I ripped your wing off," Bucky said breathlessly.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Sam yelled above the roar of the engine. They heard sirens in the distance.

"Sorry about that," replied Bucky, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, also while trying not to get thrown around the back seat.

"Y'know, you might be one of the most polite assassins I've ever met." A taxi pulled out in front of them, effectively blocking off the road. Sam let out a shout as he swerved onto the sidewalk, almost hitting two trees, a meter, and a few pedestrians. After a quick rebound off the curb, and they were back in a lane.

As he felt another cramp beginning to take hold, Bucky reached out wildly for something to grab onto. Steve's hand met him in midair, and he squeezed into and oblivion. It was a good thing Steve was a super-soldier, or there might've been some broken broken bones.

The hum of pistons and the wail of sirens were both drowned out by fresh screams. Bucky leaned as far over his stomach as he could, trying to keep the pain contained.

"Hang in there, Buck, alright?" Steve urged, wrapping a protective arm around his friend's shoulders. "We're almost there, you just have to hang in there."

Bucky nodded stiffly. His eyes were screwed shut and he clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth might crack. Sweat dripped from his brow.

He'd hold on for Steve, but he wasn't sure how much control he had over the situation. If the baby was coming, it would arrive any time it damn well pleased. He could only breathe and pray they made it to the tower in time.