For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.
Posting early 'cause my tomorrow is probably going to be more than a little insane. Hope y'all don't mind. ~K
Previously: Bucky meets Steve in his Bucharest apartment, getting ready for a fight. He recalls a particularly brutal fight from his childhood.
Waking up in the warehouse, he's overcome with emotions. They, like his memories, war with each other. He's a hurt animal, pinned down, backed into a corner. He wants to fight but he also wants to lick his wounds and retreat into the nothingness he'd found for himself.
Until someone dragged him out of it.
The sensation of lost time is always overwhelming. This instance is no different, although he wonders how many of these moments he's had exactly. He's never had a clear count, and the harder he tries to put a figure to the mindless hell, he finds that he just can't. Those pieces of time are far too illusive. Those fragmented memories come back, though, and he sees himself in a box, a rat in a maze, a dog in a cage. He hears words he wishes he could remember, words that piss him off, that make him irate.
And then there's a weird sensation that feels like ice water in his veins before he starts battling his way out.
He sees faces that look familiar, but he can't place them fully. Well, one he can. He looks up as Steve comes in.
Steve. The kid from Brooklyn. His best friend. His brother.
At least, they used to be. He can't imagine that Steve still feels the same about him, not after everything he's done.
The weight of everything hits him – the reality of their situation, someone going after the other Winter Soldiers – and he covers his face with his hand.
He used to be different. He used to be a good man. At least, he has a vague notion that his past wasn't always just violence.
Sometimes the images he sees in his head feel foreign, like he's watching himself do something instead of doing it himself. Sometimes those images are black and white. Sometimes they're gray. A lot of times, they're in shades of red and, weirdly, they taste metallic.
Sometimes, he remembers laughing. Warm guffaws, not the kind that sounds creepy after a moment – the kind where he gets lost in his head, the kind where he loses sight of reality. It's easy to get to that stage, though he does try his damndest, so he doesn't find himself adrift.
"Flying cars," he manages, glancing at Steve. "Do you remember when that was supposed to happen? That was the future... but it never was."
"Sometimes, Howard's ideas were too far fetched."
"Howard," he repeats, and his head tilts to one side. The memories are there – a deserted road, a Cadillac, frigid wind whipping around him on the motorcycle – but they're out of focus, like he's looking through a foggy window on a winter's night. And before the panic of the harsh reality sets in, he struggles to hold onto a good memory, one that's fleeting even as his brain reaches for it.
For some reason, he was never tired anymore. On some level, Bucky knew he should be exhausted. Fighting Hitler and Hydra was more than a full-time job, it was his life now. If he wasn't actually on a mission, he was being briefed abut the next one, or debriefing some higher up about the one that they'd just finished. But, somehow, Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan always managed to make sure they had a little downtime, usually in the form of a morale-boosting drink. Bucky was always happy to partake, but he never quite reached the buzz that he used to, and he guessed he was building up a tolerance. Tilting his high ball from one side to the other, watching thick amber liquid swirl and stick to the glass, he could envision it sliding down his throat, coating his belly. Maybe he needed to switch it up, go back to beer or something on a more regular basis, and then the whiskey would hit with a more powerful punch.
Though he always started with the rest of the aptly named Howling Commandos, he and Steve would usually peel off for a quieter conversation – a work conversation. Steve had tapped Bucky as his executive officer for the unit, and so the next mission was always on their horizon and staging and movement plans were usually still ticking around in the back of their brains, even during the occasional evening drink.
He and Steve had already met to discuss what was coming, and Steve had gone off to discuss further with Agent Peggy Carter. While her initial shooting him down had been hard to swallow, he'd gotten used to the fact that she was Steve's girl – best girl, if you asked the rest of the unit; only girl if you asked Bucky, and only to needle his best friend.
At heart, they were still adolescent boys.
Though now, instead of pretending to be in the 107th and lobbing crumpled up school papers at each other as grenades or carrying sticks as rifles, they were really there, living up to and enhancing the legacy that had all started with Steve's father. While he hadn't been as gung-ho and eager to join the war as Steve, there was a sense of pride at his assignment. It felt right, to be part of the same unit where Steve's father had served.
He glanced up when he felt someone sit down beside him at the bar. "Mr. Stark," he managed, nodding a bit.
"Sergeant Barnes," he returned. "Looking as standoffish as usual." Howard nodded to his glass. "Drink not to your liking?"
"Not so much," Bucky admitted, and he set the half-empty glass down, sliding it away from himself slightly. "This normally isn't your scene."
"My scene would be back in Manhattan," Howard agreed. "A dozen beauties lined up around me." He glanced at Bucky. "No offense."
"None taken," the sergeant assured him. "I wouldn't mind that reality myself."
Howard grinned.
"I get the feeling, though, this isn't a social call." Bucky looked at Howard. While they'd encountered each other off and on at headquarters, Bucky was still getting eclipsed by Steve, something he was coming to appreciate. Although, it had kind of stung the first time they'd met. He had been excited to be introduced after realizing Howard had been the one at the World Expo, but Howard had ignored him, traipsing along after Steve. After being tortured for so long – poked, prodded, and isolated – sometimes it was better, he was learning, just to be by himself.
The engineer and entrepreneur smiled. "Not so much, no. And this is strictly off book."
His interest was piqued, but a crease formed in Bucky's forehead. "What are we talking about, exactly?"
"Your pal's transformation. We're looking at three months worth of actual fieldwork now, real missions. You seeing anything that might be cause for concern?"
He let the words settle in his brain, filtering through what seemed like an easy, above board question, but it felt loaded. He'd been at the receiving end of far too many of those kinds of inquiries, and hoped he wasn't too rusty at dodging it. "I've known Steve my whole life compared to how long I've known you," Bucky said, his blue eyes assessing Howard's unreadable face. "Why should I tell you anything?"
"Because that guy has your back out there and if there's something that Erskine missed, well... It's something that's going to come back and bite you in the ass, fella, not me."
"Then, why do you care?" Bucky pressed.
"I care because I want to win the war."
"Weapons manufacturer, you want us to put our guns away?" asked Bucky with a scoff.
"I want the other guys to stop killing my best customers."
That was a statement Bucky could believe. "Thanks. I think."
"So, how about it?" Howard asked. "How is the Captain doing?"
To him, he would always be Steve. Even though, technically, kind of, Steve outranked him, he couldn't call him Captain. They'd skinned their knees together. They'd learned hard lessons together. They'd struggled and come out on the other side better because of the other. Steve was doing great. "This conversation's done," Bucky said, getting to his feet.
Except, Howard put his hand on Bucky's left arm, stopping him. "I told you this was off book 'cause I don't want the Army to know either."
Bucky tilted his head slightly.
"If there's something wrong with your friend, I want to make sure he's all right. He might've become a lab rat, but he was a real person to start. Having seen the before, I know why you protect him."
"No, you don't," Bucky said, but he sat back down all the same. "You know, we came to see you in New York. Before Steve became Captain America."
Howard's expression changed from concerned to curious.
"I was shipping out the next day. You were showing off some..." He drifted off, still amazed, actually, that such a thing could exist. "I dunno, ridiculous car."
Howard pointed at him. "I'm gonna get back to that. As soon as this war is over and we're all back home safe in our own beds. Well, warm beds, whether they're ours, necessarily, or belong to someone else of a softer persuasion, doesn't really matter. I'll make sure you get one. Flying car, that is."
Bucky chuckled slightly. "You're somethin' else, you know it?"
He shrugged a cocky shoulder. "I've been called worse. Listen, I know you've got no reason to believe me when I tell you, I'm not here because the government's asking me to check up on the Captain. I'm here because he's a guy trapped in a whirlwind of science and technology that, no offense, I don't think he can fully comprehend."
"Steve's the smartest guy I know," Bucky was quick to tell him.
"That's till you met me," Howard corrected. "Trust is earned, right? Fine. What can I do?"
His initial instinct was to blow him off again, to leave a tip for the put-upon bartender, and head back to the barracks. But he didn't. "Tell me what they did to him?" he asked instead. "Steve doesn't really... I mean, it's all hush-hush, right?"
"Quite," Howard agreed with a nod. "C'mon. This requires the good stuff," he told him, and he looked to the bartender, who sighed then dug out a good bottle of scotch, aged fifteen years. Howard paid handsomely for it, and grabbed glasses as Bucky picked up the bottle to review the label before they moved to a quieter table.
Maybe it would get him drunk finally. Maybe that was Howard's whole game, to get him to talk, but hell, it didn't seem so bad.
He nursed the first glass as Howard explained the very basics of the procedure. Vita-rays, the blue serum micro injections. The whole thing had taken minutes, and access to the city's power grid. "Presto-chango, we've got ourselves a super soldier, with an advanced metabolism, healing like you wouldn't believe..."
"Blue serum," Bucky repeated. "You've seen the weapons, right?"
Howard regarded him for a moment. "Something tells me you're smarter than I was led to believe."
"Don't believe everything you hear," Bucky told him, gulping down the rest of what was in his glass, watching as Howard refilled it. Not to be outdone, Howard downed his own and started on another as well. "Is it the same stuff?"
"No," Howard answered, shaking his head. "I'm still looking into those, but it's... I don't know what Hydra is up to. I can tell you that it's a scary game they're playing and I'm through watching us lose pieces. The cost of this one is too high."
"You think we could lose Steve?" Bucky asked, trying not to let the reality of that thought hit him too hard. But, of course it did.
"God help us if we do."
Bucky met Howard's eyes.
"There's nobody else on this earth like him right now."
"He's just a man," Bucky told him.
"Oh, sure, just one man. One lone guy." Howard shook his head. "One fella that's been genetically engineered to perform miracles."
"God did that a long time ago," Bucky told him. "Your experiment just made him taller, bigger. I did try to make him, I dunno, stronger for a while. Took him to my boxing gym." Brooklyn felt like a lifetime ago already.
"That scrawny kid got in a ring?"
Bucky grinned at the memory. "Despite my best efforts to keep him on the heavy bag, yeah. Listen, Mr. Stark, you've got nothing to worry about with Steve. He's not missed a trick, not one step. I appreciate that you're concerned about him. And, I can see that you want to help." He hesitated for the briefest seconds before continuing. "I also know you flew him into enemy territory... I'd be dead right now if not for the stupidity of both of you. And believe me, if I thought, for one second, there was something wrong, I'd be screaming bloody murder to anybody who would listen so that Steve could get fixed. He's the same as I remember. Whatever you did to him... it worked."
"If anything changes," Howard said, glancing at Bucky, "you know how to get in touch with me, right?"
"I'll get somebody on the radio, I guess," he said, smiling a little. "We're out again tomorrow."
"Probably shouldn't be getting you drunk, then, huh?" asked Howard.
While Howard's words were starting to become a little looser, more free-form, the consonants and vowels trying to merge, Bucky still wasn't feeling anything. "I'm all right," Bucky told him, and he decided to press on, not sure he'd get another opportunity to pick Howard's brain. "Steve said Erskine was German. Worked with them before."
"Them," Howard repeated. "You're talking about Schmidt. Hydra."
"The guy with the red skull? Yeah, I'm talking about him." Bucky drained his glass again, and while it burned his throat and he felt like it should be affecting his extremities, his reflexes, he still felt normal. "How can it work so different?"
"Well, that's the question," Howard agreed. "The only guy I know who could've answered it was Erskine. I've got his papers and formulas, and I'm trying to wrap my brain around it, but there are shortcuts in the work, like he just... intrinsically knew." Howard filled Bucky's glass a third time and nodded. "We should finish this bottle."
"We're making a pretty good dent," Bucky agreed.
Howard shifted gears anyway, the scotch clearly affecting him. "You know, I'm surprised. You aren't as bad as I thought you were gonna be."
Bucky chuckled. "You don't know me yet."
"We're gonna get along pretty good, Sergeant Barnes. I can tell."
"I got one more question." Off Howard's glassy-eyed look, Bucky took another burning gulp for courage. "Short of a red skull or knowing that Steve was a hundred pounds soaking wet before he changed... can you tell if it's happened again?"
"Of course I could," he answered at once, puffing up. But it hasn't. There's nobody else with the technology. Hydra's clearly been working on blue zappy weapons, not how to reinvent the wheel, especially when Erskine had it perfect." He let out a breath. "It's just Captain America."
"And Schmidt," Bucky added, looking at the scotch in his glass.
"One too many," Howard told him.
Bucky clinked his glass against Howard's. "One too many," he echoed quietly.
Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes will return...
Lines from the Next Installment:
"This is a far cry from couch cushions," Bucky grumbled, adjusting the pack beneath his head, but equipment was a terrible substitute for a pillow.
"It could be worse," Steve said quietly from where he was stretched out a foot away. "We could be outside in the elements."
Bucky glanced up as the wind rattled the windows on the remote, abandoned hunting cabin, the rain pelting down thick and heavy – probably icily at this point. "True," he admitted.
