A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.

As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.

Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.

Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems

Winter Soldier

And You Will Know Me Still

Chapter11

Washington D.C.

Standing in the inky shadows, James fingered the left sleeve of his jacket. It and the shirt underneath had taken such a beating he couldn't let himself be seen. He crept from tree to bush to hedge until he came to a sidewalk café where he snagged a jacket and cap while the owner's attention was on the action up the street. He felt guilty for stealing the clothing, but at the moment, his need was greater.

To increase the confusion thereby decreasing the chances that the police would come searching for him, James went looking for the main transformer, finding it in the alley behind a closed furniture store. The glove came off and was shoved in a back pocket. He carefully inserted his left hand into the small space next to the lock and pulled. The housing came open with a metallic snap-clunk. The lock hit the concrete slab at the base and rolled into the grass.

He took a few moments to examine the workings then he reached inside and seconds later, all power went out including the street lights. With the lock broken, there was no way to hide what he'd done, but with the power out, the security cameras wouldn't have a record of who done the deed. He closed the doors and walked away. His main objective now was to verify that no one had gotten seriously hurt by the HYDRA agent who'd tried to assassinate him. Presumably, the man had communicated with others in the organization, and that meant James would have to leave D.C. as soon as possible.

As he neared the scene, he saw that the fire department had set up spotlights to illuminate the CSU's work area.

Now, with the power out, the police were too busy to go looking for him, so James took a chance and returned to the scene. He mingled with the crowd, the cap pulled low over his eyes. Everyone was so busy gawking that no one paid him any attention. Didn't seem to notice him at all, as he intended. Their focus was on the team of investigators moving among the pieces of the statue scattered over a large area around the zone of impact. Numbered yellow markers had been placed here and there indicating specific elements. By what logic they were chosen, he couldn't tell. A large number of photos were being taken, and it was reasonable to assume there would video as well.

Another group moved about on the roof. A man and woman talked, their expressions unsmiling, part annoyance, part frustration. Unfortunately, he wasn't close enough to hear their conversation above the noise from the crowd, idling engines and the squawk of radios. The woman on the roof pointed out the traffic cameras on the corners. Presumably, most of the businesses, including the apartments, also had video surveillance. Hands in his pockets and head down, he moved through the crowd, crossed the street and disappeared down the alley. Using the darkness to conceal his movements, James made his way back toward the Dugan home.

~~O~~

Taking care not to wake Dum Dum, James let himself in, closed the door and engaged the bolt again. He laid the key on the end table and went into the kitchen where Robbie had left his computer. Powering it up, he first changed the IP address to one that belonged to HYDRA, then hacked into the city's traffic camera system and replaced the videos of the scene with previously recorded footage on a loop. He did the same with the businesses' systems. Then, he created a virus that would seek out and create a fatal error in any video that found its way onto the Internet in which either his, the assassin's or Tracie's faces could be seen. The virus would stay active for four months then destroy itself, leaving no trace behind.

Accessing browsing history, James deleted everything he'd done then changed the computer's IP address back to keep anyone from tracking the virus to the Dugan family. When his work was done, he shut down, grabbed the backpack he'd purchased, went into the bathroom and flicked the light on.

With a silent groan for his sore muscles, he undressed from the waist up. The long sleeved shirt had been damaged beyond repair, shredded by the chunks of stone, his impact with the sidewalk and the slide and roll through the grass. He took the bag from the trash can and shoved everything inside, to be disposed of later.

If Tracie told the police where they met, he didn't want any evidence left behind when the investigators arrived. They likely wouldn't think she was lying. Just that they weren't able to find evidence to corroborate her story. Dum Dum and Robbie wouldn't say anything, he was sure, and it was a safe bet that Tracie wouldn't either. It was better to be safe than dead because he would die before letting HYDRA take him prisoner again.

He took a quick shower and stood in front of the mirror dressed from the waist down. Now that he was finally able to see the full extent of his injuries, it was surprising that neither Tracie nor he had been hurt worse.

The most severe wound was a gash on his neck just inside the hair line on the left side. Using one of the small towels, he wet it and cleaned off the blood. Unlike the minor cuts and bruises, which would be gone within a day or so, this one would take a little longer to heal. Four days at the outside. The rapid healing, a side effect of whatever had been done to him, was a blessing, especially under the circumstance. If he'd been given a choice… But he hadn't, so there was no sense is pining after the impossible.

James dried off and put the used towels in the bag with the rest and tied it shut. He pushed a hand through his wet hair to get it off his forehead. A knock at the door heightened instincts still on edge.

"Barnes? You okay?" Relieved, he took a shirt from the bag and slipped it on before opening the door. Dum Dum's eyes roved over James' upper body checking for himself. "Heard there was a ruckus up the road a piece. Were you in on that?"

He wanted to tell the truth. But his friend would be better off with the lie. "No. Met Tracie. We had a beer, talked a little and I walked her home. End of story."

Leaning on this came, Dum Dum seemed to accept James' edited version of the night's events. He noticed the pack on the floor. "You're leaving?"

James transferred the rest of the clothes to the backpack. Now was the time for truth. "HYDRA's here. They're looking for me."

"Won't do them any good to come around. You were never here." Dum Dum inhaled and exhaled, his shoulders sagging just a little. "You're welcome to come back any time."

A moment passed between the old friends and James sighed. "I had no right to drag you into this. Thanks for everything, Timothy.

His friend chuckled. "No one's called me Timothy since before my wife passed. And only when she was pissed. Which, thankfully, wasn't often." He tapped his temple. "I'm no dummy."

James extended his hand. Instead of taking it, Dum Dum drew him into a hug. James resisted at first, his arms held out to the side, then slowly, he returned the embrace with gentle pressure. His friend whispered, "Take care, Barnes."

Dum Dum moved to the bedroom door, paused a moment, and apparently thought better of looking back. He went inside, and the door's click sounded like the one in his head where he'd put away all the things he didn't want to think about until such time as he could deal with them calmly and rationally. At this moment, it seemed as though it might never happen.

Best case? The door stayed locked for the rest of his life, however long that might be. Worst case? It burst open when he least expected it or at the most inconvenient time.

He slipped into the jacket, shoved the cap in a back pocket, picked up the backpack and left by the rear door without looking back. It was time to make a future for himself in this world, one that didn't include being controlled by another. He would choose for himself, do for himself. And maybe, one day, make amends for the suffering he'd caused.

The mournful sound of a train drew him to the railroad tracks just a few blocks away. Tromping through the dense bushes and weeds, James shrugged the backpack onto his shoulders and waited for the right moment to jump aboard the fast-moving train. He knew for a fact that this one wouldn't be going through the mountains like the one on the mission to capture Zola.

Gauging the speed, he ran alongside, jumped and grabbed the ladder at the end of a tanker car, climbed up and walked over the top. Soon, he reached a car that had a sliding door. Hanging by one arm, he grabbed and twisted until the lock broke. He tossed it away, opened the door and swung inside. Sliding the door closed again cut out the wind. He dropped the backpack in a corner of the empty car, using the pack as a pillow. Before long, he'd gone to sleep.

~~O~~

Lying in bed, Dum Dum listened for Barnes to leave. Only after hearing the back door open and close did he turn out the light and close his eyes, though he didn't go to sleep right away. For the first time since his wife died, the former Howling Commando prayed. He made a special note to include Barnes and ask God to watch over him.

~~O~~

In the morning, Robbie knocked on the door then let himself in. "Gramps! Yo, Gramps! Breakfast is ready. Mom says you gotta come to the house. Doesn't want you cooped up out here all by yourself all the time. Gramps?"

"Hey, Gramps? You decent?" Going to the bedroom door slightly ajar, he knocked. "You better have clothes on cause I'm coming in."

He pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Everything was just as it always was. A pair of worn slippers beside the bed, photos of the Howling Commandos and Gramps' Purple Heart hung on the wall alongside photos of the family and friends.

His great-grandfather lay on his side facing away from the door, the covers pulled up to his neck, just as he always did.

Reaching out, Robbie touched him on the shoulder, giving him a small shake. "Gramps?"

There still was no response. The boy backed up and ran toward the house. "Mom! Come quick! Something's wrong with Gramps! Mom!"

Brooklyn, New York

"Nashville?" Steve stared at Maria for a few heartbeats, wondering if she were delusional, had misheard Eli or was having a joke at his expense. None of the above, he decided. It wasn't in her to play those sorts of games.

"Is there any reason Barnes would go to Tennessee?" Sam put in, asking the question that was on all their minds. Well, someone had to ask the not-so-mind blowing questions.

Shaking his head, Steve paced over to stand in front of the grandfather clock, watching the pendulum swing. "None. During the war, we were all over Europe, but here at home, he did basic at Fort Leonard Wood and we've both been all over New England. But unless he was sent to Tennessee as the Winter Soldier, I don't see how Nashville having any importance to him."

Kiba shifted against the wall she was holding up then moved over to the computers and booted up the system. "You're absolutely certain Brooklyn is where he'd go?"

"Nowhere else makes sense. His family's lived in New York for three generations." He faced the group listening to him spell out his reasoning. "Buck and me, we never talked about it, but the Army is where he finally found his place in the world. Before he was drafted, Bucky coasted from job to job, moving on when he got bored. The military gave his life direction. It showed him that he was more than just the dumb jock everyone in high school thought was worthless."

Maria's phone beeped. "Harrington forwarded a photo." She opened the email, and made an eye roll that had to hurt.

"What is it?" She held the phone out so Steve could see. "That's not Bucky."

Looking over Steve's shoulder, Kiba laughed. "You're right, Steve. His name's Kurtis Clarke. He's a country western singer."

Huffing, Maria tapped out a response for Harrington to forward to the contact, along with a comment on the contact's intelligence, visual acuity, possible familial relationships, and his ability to hold his liquor.

Lounging on the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, Santino waved a hand, deferring to Steve's familiarity with the subject. "For the sake of argument, let's say we're all agreed that Barnes is in New York, specifically Brooklyn."

There was a brief round of bickering, Steve, Maria and Newcomb the only members of the team who didn't voice their opinion of Santino's phrasing. When she'd had enough, Natasha got to her feet, ending the debate. "Steve's right. Which begs the question: if he's here then who the hell has Eli been chasing down for almost a week?"

Sullivan cleared his throat before speaking, "Maybe this Eli person got it wrong…"

Maria interrupted him by crossing her arms and glaring. For her, it had the same effect as someone else swearing, loudly. "Harrington's one of the best com officer SHIELD has ever produced. With the information we provided, I'm convinced the unknown signal he was tracking was Barnes. The only logical conclusion we can draw from these events…"

"He removed the tracker." Again sitting in the window seat, Clint peered through the gap made by his finger pulling the curtain away from the window. All through the meeting, he'd appeared preoccupied, but Steve knew different. Clint dropped the curtain into place and picked up his coffee. "He had to have help to remove the tracker. Who's the first person he'd go to, Steve? Besides you."

Clint didn't often call Steve by his first name. It was a privilege he reserved only for those whom he held in high regard or considered close friends. Unless he was being an ass. Then using someone's given name was an insult. That wasn't the case today.

And Clint was right. Under the current circumstances, there were precious few people Bucky could or would go to for help. He'd made no attempts to contact his best friend. That left only two names on the list: Rabbi Shulman and Dugan.

Taking one of the burner phones from the stash, Natasha dialed a number from memory as she paced into the kitchen. The jangle of the refrigerator door opening and closing covered her conversation. There was talk and laughter then footsteps coming back. Grinning, she said, "Shalom" pressed the end key and dropped the phone on the desk. "Norman hasn't seen him. Got digits for Dugan, Steve?"

He hadn't wanted to make contact with the last surviving member of the Howling Commandoes, but it was the only way to get the information they needed. Natasha handed him the phone she'd just used. After this, it would be useless. Even a second call could alert HYDRA or another agency to their location. They didn't have unlimited funds, so it was a risk they'd all agreed was necessary. Kiba had tried to hack into SHIELD's accounts, but they'd been frozen, and unauthorized withdrawals would send up a red flag.

Unlike Natasha, Steve stayed put during the call. It rang five times and went to voice mail. "The legend of the raven's roar asked you a question, and tranquility is omnipresent."

Everyone but Natasha and Maria were looking at Steve as if he'd lost his mind. Sam was the first to ask for clarification. "What the hell was that?"

Grinning wryly, Steve shut off the phone and laid it on the desk. "It's a code we used in the war. Basically, the recipient will find a message at a specific dead drop. In this case, Eli or one of the others will leave a phone number and time to call. Tonight at 1800 Eastern Standard Time. Kiba? I need you to send an email to Eli through an anonymous server."

"Consider it done. What's the message?"

Steve and Kiba conferred briefly over the wording while the rest of the team wondered off in search of other pursuits. Sam washed the dishes while Clint started a load of clothes in the washer, the two men bantering back and forth. It was clear from his tone that Clint was envious of Sam's ability to fly and the archer was using this time to get on Sam's good side so he'd let him try it out. Sam was a smart guy. He knew the score. He'd probably string Clint along for a while then grudgingly give in, making it seem like Clint was the one doing the favor.

Natasha, Maria and Sullivan went up to the second floor speaking in Russian. From the little he understood, Steve surmised that they were changing to go for a run. That left Newcomb, Sullivan and Santino with nothing to do. So as not to disturb Kiba, Steve sent them into the basement to inspect and inventory their arsenal.

"Excuse me, Captain Rogers."

Wyatt Newcomb was standing in the archway between the living room and the kitchen, hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. He had the mannerisms and look of a military man, but his quiet demeanor made it difficult to believe he'd been a Marine. Unless the change had come after he'd returned from his last tour. It spoke of a trauma that had far-reaching consequences and could potentially spell trouble for the mission. "What's up, Wyatt?"

The other man glanced over his shoulder and back to Steve. "It's kinda personal, sir."

To put the man at ease, Steve motioned him into the den, taking the armchair while Newcomb sat on the sofa casting the occasional glance at the door. Steve kept his voice calm and soothing. "What's wrong, son?"

"It's that guy, Barton. That first night, I couldn't sleep so I went up to the roof for some fresh air." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I know he's your friend and one of the Avengers and all, but…"

That Newcomb had come to that conclusion on so short an acquaintance didn't surprise Steve at all. "But…" Steve prompted when Newcomb didn't continue right away.

"At first, I thought he was talkin' to himself. You know, to pass the time." The young man was obviously reluctant to say what was on his mind. Steve just had to wait him out. "But he wasn't. He was talkin' to the statues like they were real people. Even gave 'em names. Back home, we call that havin' a screw loose."

Laughter bubbled out, and Steve covered it with a cough. This wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last, that Clint had played crazy just to throw someone off balance. If they thought he was bonkers, they'd give him a wide berth. "Don't let it worry you, Wyatt. Clint may be a little on the odd side when he's off duty. Come crunch time, he's one of the best men to have at your side. On the other side, if you're one of the bad guys, he's your worst enemy. So just smile and nod and ignore the craziness."

Steve stood and Newcomb followed suit. "I will, sir. Thank you."

~~O~~

The rumble vroom of an explosion drew the shooter in the direction of the fighting. Sidling up to the corner, he peeked out and back quickly, his keen eyesight locating the last of the enemy taking potshots and randomly tossing grenades from behind a thick concrete wall in a desperate attempt to survive. It was apparent to the shooter that their opponent would die before surrendering. Your call, jackass.

His companion extended a small mirror similar to those used by dentists, allowing the shooter to get a visual on the enemy. Turning to his team, he signaled. They nodded and silently moved into position, his second remaining at his side.

The shooter was patient, more so than the enemy, and soon he showed himself. Just the upper half of his head to the nose, but it was more than enough. The shooter counted to three, spun out into the open, aimed and fired all in one fluid movement. The enemy's head jerked backward and he disappeared from view. Click-click.

He ran forward, rifle aimed at the place where the enemy had disappeared. The rest of his team joined him moments later. The man was lying on his back, arms and legs splayed out the sides, his helmet and the top of his head splattered over the ground around him, the trigger of his Dragunov SVD sniper rifle barely an inch from his right hand. The team leader froze in place as did the rest of the team.

~~O~~

"Good job, team. Going AFK. Back later."

Danny tugged the headset off with a sigh, tossing it on the table next to the controller and shut down the game system. Every night was the same. Go to work at the plant, come home, do his workout routine, take a shower, eat a microwave meal or take out, play an online game, Honor Bound, Sphere or some other game. Somewhere in there, he got in a little studying for his GED.

Boooor-ing!

His eyes landed on the binocular case he hadn't touched since his talk with Steve Rogers at the murder house. He still couldn't believe he'd actually met Captain America! His friends would freak, if he could tell them. He promised not to say a word, but c'mon! Captain freakin' America and Hawkeye! Two Avengers under one roof. Who wouldn't be impressed?

Against his better judgment, Danny turned off the lights and took out the binoculars. He dragged a chair over to the window and peered out into the darkness. A few people were walking with heads down, their steps quick, as if they were afraid to stay in the area too long.

A car drove up and parked at the curb across the street. The man always left early and came home late. No wonder his wife divorced him and sued for sole custody of the dogs.

A boy about sixteen, hands shoved deep in his pockets, let himself into the yard next door and went around to the alley to sneak back into the house. The kid was selling drugs and often went out late at night without his parents knowing. Danny thought about talking to them, but he'd likely not be believed.

Finally, Danny's eyes landed on the murder house. All but two of the windows were dark. One on the first floor and another in the attic were all that could be seen. While he was watching, the one in the attic went out, followed a short time later by the other.

Then, a stocky man in dark clothing came around from the back of the house and jumped the fence. Arms swinging loosely at his sides, he walked to the end of the block, his eyes never staying still, searching, but for what, Danny didn't know.

The man turned the corner and was gone, only to appear a few minutes later from a different direction. Casing the joint, I guess.

He walked to the far end of the block, crossed the street and just stood in the dark doorway of the grocery store. He could tell by the way the man moved that he was military. To Danny's surprise, the man lit up a cigarette.

Shaking his head, Danny was about to move on to something more interesting when the guy glanced over his shoulder as if someone had come up behind him. He adjusted the focus and could just see the man's lips moving though he didn't have a phone.

The man lit up another cigarette, puffed on it a few times and dropped it on the ground. His booted foot squashed it out of existence. After a look around, he came back up the street and returned to the brownstone.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew Danny's attention back to the store. A woman, slender and dressed all in black, came out of the doorway where the other guy had been standing. She too glanced around then broke into a jog and was soon out of sight, somehow avoiding the security cameras. If he hadn't already been on the alert, he'd never have seen her.

Danny now saw the scene from a vastly different perspective, certain he'd witnessed a secret meeting of some sort. There had been no kissing or hand holding so they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. And if she was part of Captain America's team, why were they meeting on the street in the middle of the night, acting as if they were doing something wrong?

Steve said to let him know if he saw anything hinky and this qualified, he supposed. It could also be something totally on the non-hinky side, but Danny didn't think so. Should I tell them or just keep an eye out until I have something solid? Yeah. I'll do that.

~~O~~

While Danny was watching the front of their refuge, Steve and the rest of the team were preparing to head out on the first of their searches. Instead of the spiral pattern they'd originally created, it was decided by a majority vote that they would begin with abandoned factories, warehouses, and so forth.

In point of fact, vote was a strong word for the process. Steve advised the team of the change and handed out assignments. There were token protests, but no one's heart was in it. Tired of sitting around, they were ready to get moving.

"We need at least two on-site while we're off property." Choosing a team at random, Steve nodded. "Newcomb and Santino. You're on watch tonight. We'll work up a rotation so everyone gets a chance to spread their wings. Questions?"

Clint stood, right thumb jammed into the waistband of his pants. "I'm the only member of this band of brothers and sisters without a partner."

Steve and Clint took in the faces of the others, stopping on Natasha at the same time. He was about to send the archer with Natasha and Ty, but something caused him to pause, to give the former partners time to work it out.

Shrugging, Clint returned to the window seat, taking the same pose he always did: wedged into the corner of the window seat. "I don't like being a third wheel. I'll find my own sidekick." He pulled the curtain aside and let it drop back into place, seemingly bored with everything.

Somewhat puzzled, Steve chose to see where his friend was going with his current episode of weirdness, which wasn't nearly as bizarre as some of the things he'd done in the past. "Give 'em a call."

"He's easier to talk to in person, and I can get to his place easy." Rolling to his feet, Clint took his bow case and quiver from the window seat. He already had a weapon shoved into the back of his pants, and a collection of knives hidden on his person.

~~O~~

Independent Defense Contractor Duane Nelson, better known by his pseudonym Dooney, shut down his computer and pushed away from the desk. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he rubbed his hands up over his face and back down again, letting out a long sigh.

Business was at an all-time high, though it pretty much took care of itself, due to the fact that he only did business with people he knew and seldom took on new clients unless they had excellent, verifiable references. Downtime consisted of his workout routine, taking gourmet cooking classes, the occasional "play date" with Rosalie, and trips to Vegas to gamble or take in a show. Football, baseball, basketball or hockey, were in the mix as well. Though the way his teams were playing this year, he was considering a big change in his sports viewing habits.

Dooney's business was stimulating and brisk. However, it had also fallen into a routine. What he really needed was excitement, an adventure. Something to put the spark back in his life. He needed to do something he'd never done before.

Slapping his thighs, he got up and went into the kitchen. To the left of the pantry hung a wine rack. He made a selection, opened the bottle, took down a crystal wine glass, and poured some of the deep red liquid, watching it coat the sides of the glass. Though he could afford the best of everything, he only drank wine he liked. Same with beer, liquor and food. He took a sip and turned around, his eyes hooded and unreadable at seeing a man standing on the other side of the island.

His uninvited guest tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, one hip stuck out to the side, bringing Dooney's attention to the weapon strapped to his left thigh.

One eyebrow moved upward a fraction of an inch and was joined by a cheeky grin. "Hope you don't mind. I let myself in."

TBC