"Who is that?" Bucky bellows as he races with Natasha and Loki through the seedy town. Natasha grabs his wrist and yanks him into a small alcove.

"Someone working with Thanos," wheezes Loki.

"What?"

"I'd bet my life on it."

"It looks like you'll get your wish. Our lives are bet on it," snaps Natasha. "We've got to—"

"Get the hell out of here," Loki finishes.

"The Chitauri?" Bucky demands.

"Their blueness would suggest they are Kree," Loki responds.

He has no idea what a Kree is. "Cast an illusion," Bucky tells him. He can feel Natasha's breath over his shoulder.

"Done." Loki snaps his fingers. "Come." He leads them into a crowded tavern, where they worm their way through a mob of drunken dwarves and elves and what look to be normal humans, some tottering around, some passed out.

"We need to split up," Loki announces as he turns to them, the wooden door handle clutched in his hand. The scent of stale beer almost reminds Bucky of parties he used to drag Steve too, and Steve would drag him home.

"That's all well and good for you," Bucky snaps. "You know this place. Natasha and I don't."

"I trust your instincts to figure it out." Loki nods at a snoring patron, grubby hands clutched around a bow and arrow.

"Clint's never going to let me live this down," Natasha gripes as she picks it up.

"I'll lead them in the wrong direction," Loki says. "You two head east. Get in a boat. Row there. There's a temple in a tree by the river. Even you mortals can't miss it. Stay near it. I'll be there within the hour."

"You aren't tricking us, are you?" Bucky demands. "Because wouldn't it make more sense for us to—"

"You don't know the Kree. You can't fight them. I'm going to lead them off."

"Sacrificing yourself. How noble," says Natasha, rolling her eyes.

"It's not sacrifice if you don't intend on dying," Loki retorts.

"You can't guarantee—"

"I might as well be a god compared even to you," Loki snaps. "Get going." And he's gone, and Bucky shakes his head and darts out the other door, Natasha on his heels.

"Give me that," she calls.

"What?"

"The bow and arrow. Clint's taught me a few things." She snatches it from his hands. "We need to get away from the town."

Bucky nods, his heart hammering. What if Loki doesn't come back? He wouldn't put it past the trickster. "This way." He ducks off the main road, heading east through a bog. His boots sink in mud. Natasha sucks in her breath behind him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she confirms as she pries her legs up through the sticky mud. Her red hair plastered to her forehead as sweat beads by her temples. Behind them, Bucky can hear shouts and scuffles.

"Do you think he's playing us?"

"I hope not," Natasha answers, her mouth set in a grim line. The mud grows less sticky, more fluid. Bucky sloshes through, peering through the thick trees. Something long and slender slides around his ankles.

"Look!" Natasha points through the trees. "A boat. We can take—"

Bucky's already foraging ahead through the swamp. Wilted leaves bat at his face and the mud turns into brown water with a sort of current. He grabs the boat and drags himself inside, offering his hand to Natasha, who takes it. Each grabs an oar made of rough wood that scrapes at their callouses.

"Where's this temple?" Natasha grunts.

"There," Bucky says, because it's right in front of them, through a wall of vines. A grove with several huts—houses? Smaller temples?—growing out of trees, with one giant tree in the middle. Fire glows from inside, and yet somehow it doesn't burn.

"If Loki is playing us, we can ask about Thor," Natasha says. "If he finds us, he'll help us."

"He can't fix me."

Natasha snorts. "No one can."

"What?"

"Once you're fully you again, what does that even mean?" she asks. "You'll still see their faces. What will you want to do?"

"Atone," he says simply. Her eyebrows plunge. "Like you."

"I don't know if I'm atoning or if I'm just doing the only thing I know how to do, but for a different side," she says. The current carries their boat, and she lets her fingers skim the edge of the river's surface.

She's nudging at all his worst fears. "Some people don't see you as any different, do they?"

She shakes her head.

"How do you believe it then?" Bucky wonders aloud. "How do you know that you're not an assassin anymore?"

"I'll always be an assassin. I'm not Russian; they put a bounty on my head." She smirks. "I accepted it."

"Well, I can't. I don't want to be an assassin anymore." And yet the memory of those words—seventeen—no—not now—never—no—closes in around him, stuffs its hand down his throat and chokes him from the inside. You can't unmake what they made you into.

And it's so wrong, and it's so unfair.

"The people that matter see me differently," Natasha says softly. "Clint. Bruce. Steve…"

Steve will always, always believe in him. Even though he shouldn't. Bucky could almost laugh. He looks into Natasha's eyes, blue-green and alive, and he can only tell her that he doesn't see her as an assassin. Even though he's seen her assassinate.

Natasha blinks.

Please believe me, he wants to say. Because he needs her to believe it, so he can believe it about himself. Because she doesn't deserve to be labeled by something she was groomed to be from birth.

Shouts echo through the bog. Natasha yanks up her bow and arrow, tensing.

"Loki?" Bucky wonders aloud as they glide under the temple. A rope ladder dangles.

The shouting dissipates, but the hair on Bucky's neck still stands up. His phantom arm tingles. "Give me the bow."

She studies him and hands it over. "I'll help you climb up."

He nods. Natasha jumps and pulls herself up the ladder. Bucky's eyes search the surroundings—one other house has a flickering light; the rest are dark and dull. Heat sizzles up from the water and the crevices between trees and vines and leaves and dead branches are black and impossible to make out.

"Come on," Natasha calls as she climbs into the temple place.

Bucky stands, the boat rocking beneath him. Something snaps in the background, and he whirls around, an arrow slinging out at a blue creature whose face Bucky barely has time to take in, because something else slices past him, and then there's fire and heat and the temple above him and Natasha explode into red and yellow and black, black smoke.


"Don't thank me," Jane says. "It's thanks to them." She nods at Peter Quill, Drax, Rocket, and Groot.

"We heard from Xandar that there's this whole pack of Kree warriors headed towards some other realm. Like they were in the galaxy, and then they were just gone," Peter narrates, waving his arms around for emphasis.

"Gone where?" prompts Thor. Clint tenses.

"A place called Nornheim? They're working with Thanos, no doubt, and they're after like some humans. Like you," Drax says, unsheathing a knife. "It will be amusing to go and kill some more Kree."

Gamora rolls her eyes.

"Couldn't there be other humans?" questions Sif. "I mean, Starlord, you've been living far from your home planet, so—"

"Not according to the data they sent me from Xandar," Jane interrupts, her eyes bright and cheeks red with excitement. Thor can only imagine how thrilled she is to examine alien technology. "The different patterns in energy make it likely that—"

"It's Bucky and Nat," Steve interrupts.

"Let's go," Clint says. "I'm not leaving Nat to the mercy of some crazy Kree. Didn't they try to annihilate the galaxy?"

"Well, only one of them," Gamora says, crossing her arms. T'Challa stands directly behind her.

"One's enough if they succeed," Sam says dryly.

"Thor, you should come with us," Gamora says.

"Why?" demands Rocket.

"I am Groot," argues the tree.

"Okay, okay, you're right, he's the only one who's been to this Norn-place before," grumbles the creature.

"What are the chances of us running into Thanos?" asks Drax.

"None," Gamora says. "We get their friends. And then we leave."

"Capture a Kree maybe for information?" suggests Tony, crossing his arms. He still won't look in Steve's direction, but Thor sees the way he pinches his eyebrows, how his lips turn in a scowl. He's worried about Natasha.

"I must find and kill Thanos," insists Drax, clenching his fists. T'Challa frowns.

"It's his way," Gamora says to T'Challa. "You won't change his mind."

"He doesn't get to go," Tony says, pointing at Steve. "I don't trust him."

"If he acts out, I can remove his spine," Drax offers. Thor almost laughs, but he's not entirely sure the man isn't serious.

"On second thought…"

"I leave and you all revert to being toddlers?" complains Bruce. "And no," he adds in response to Starlord's gaze. "I could kill you all if I had to spend any time in that cramped enclosed space."

"I'll take care of him, Steve," Clint promises, clapping his hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Wanda, you coming?" asks Starlord.

"I'll sit this one out," Wanda says. "I trust Clint and the rest of you to do a good job." Thor notices her hand closing over Vision's. Is she afraid to leave him?

Are they together?

Thor watches Jane, and instead of her face haunting him, another face appears."I can't leave my father."

"Yes, you can," Sif counters. "You must. For your friend's sake. I'll watch over your father, Thor, I promise." Her eyes meet his, warm and fiery brown, determined and honest.

Thor shakes his head. "You go."

"What?" Sif blinks.

"You've been there, too," he points out, clasping her shoulders. "Okay, so it was a bit of a disaster last time, but you can handle it. You can help them find Natasha and Barnes. I know you can."

"Sounds great," says Rocket. "Now can we get moving?"

"You better come back," Laura Barton says to her husband as she kisses him.

So had you, Thor thinks as he watches Sif nod and join the others.


"Make one move, Terren scum, and we'll skin you alive," snarls one of the blue creatures.

Bucky doesn't care. He can't move, or he would. His entire body feels bruised, his knees throbbing like they've been bashed in with a hammer, his face raw and his shoulders and chest smarting and stinging from burns. And worst of all is the dark, dank clouds weighing down his heart and his lungs and everything inside him that keeps him alive.

She's dead because of me.

If he hadn't left… taken Loki up on his offer… none of the Kree have even mentioned the wayward prince. Did they kill him? More likely, Bucky thinks, Loki fled. Left them.

You thought the crazed man who tried to take over the world, who killed thousands in New York, could save you? You trusted someone known throughout history as a liar?

And the only person, besides Steve, who saw him as anything but a monster, is dead because of it.

I'm so sorry.

But those are words he's never spoken aloud, because they're words, pathetic sounds meant to convey something that actually convey nothing, that repair nothing. Because Natasha, a woman who liked him, who believed in him, goddammit, who kissed him and told him he was more than a monster, is dead because he was an idiot.

Bucky shuts his eyes and wishes they would skin him. He twitches his fingers, remembering that he only has one arm. He moves his legs against the binds they have.

"That's it!" rages one of the blue men, charging at him with what looks like an enormous anvil.

Crush my skull. Please. Get rid of this poisoned brain.

Instead, someone in the distance lets out a feral screech. The blue man stops.

A woman clad in armor, with a double-sided blade, races through, followed by a green woman and what looks like a very angry tree. An arrow lands in the dirt next to him.

"Hey, you," says a familiar voice. Hawkeye. Clint.

No. Bucky gapes at him.

"Hold on," says a gruff voice. A man almost the size of the Hulk unsheathes a blade and uses it to slice off the black, thick ties binding Bucky.

"Where's Natasha?" Clint demands, grabbing Bucky by the shoulder. His fingers dig in against a burn. White-hot pain explodes and Bucky can't see for a moment. But he can hear.

Where's Natasha?

What can he even say?

He shakes his head. His vision starts to return. Blurry mud and twigs.

"You don't know?" Clint asks him.

"Buncha wimps," says a furry animal as he glances at a dead body. An animal.

"Where is she?" Clint yells.

"She's dead," Bucky hears himself say, and he hates it, hates the cold way it floats into the air, a fact that shouldn't be a fact, wouldn't be true if it wasn't for him.

You'll always be a murderer.

"What?" Clint croaks.

"Did the Kree kill her?" demands a dark haired woman, polishing her blade. Blood drips off it, dark and thick.

He doesn't even know. Probably, unless Loki did it, which Bucky can't say didn't happen. Either way, it's on him. Her blood. He almost wishes it was, so he could see. "It's my fault."

"What happened?" Clint shouts, grabbing his shoulders again. Pain sizzles and slices at him.

"Your friend is dead?" inquires a large man.

"I am Groot!" cries the tree.

What exactly can he say? He made a deal with Loki and it all went wrong? What will Steve think? Will his friend still struggle to keep Bucky alive, still insist he's not a monster?

He wishes he was the one who exploded. He wishes the blue people had skinned him alive, or just cut his throat, let him die covered in red, the way he lived. He wants to die. He can't take it anymore. All those faces—they storm his mind, linger in his palms, the soles of his feet, his chest and mind, and now there's no hope they'll ever leave, and one of the only people who believed in him is dead because of him.

He's never felt quite like this before. He was always too selfish to die.

"She's dead because of me," he says.

"Is this one of those misplaced guilt things?" asks a man in a leather trenchcoat. "Or did you, like, actually kill her?"

Indirectly, yes.

He doesn't answer, and that's enough for Clint. He punches Bucky in the jaw.


Natasha gasps as she wakes up. Her lungs burn as if embers smolder inside her, and her palms sting. She lifts them to her face and finds them wrapped in crude gauze.

"Oh good. You're awake," says a droll voice.

"Loki." Natasha sits up. Her ribs stab at her, and she lies back down. "Where's—"

"Your boyfriend?" Loki supplies.

"He's not my boyfriend," Natasha snaps.

"I don't know. The Kree swarmed—"

The explosion. Red, light, and the heat searing her clothes, her body. "How did you—"

"As soon as you entered the temple I grabbed you and we jumped out. My illusion still worked for them to blow it up." Loki scowls. "I miscalculated. I thought Bucky would be there too, but he wasn't."

Natasha pushes herself up on her elbow. Her stomach roils, and for a moment nausea overwhelms her. Breathe in. Breathe out. Easier said than done with broken ribs. And that knee of hers—oof. "The Kree—they have him, don't they?"

"Probably. But I have no desire to fight them all by myself." Ashes still smear Loki's face.

"Coward," she accuses.

"I saved your life. Remember that." Loki slumps back against the wall, sliding to the floor. So much for a dignified prince.

You saved my life.

Loki saved my life.

He didn't have to come back for you both.

Natasha almost laughs. "Thank you."

Loki blinks as if startled. He nods and glances about the small hut they're in, refusing to meet her eyes.

You don't know what to do, Natasha realizes. For once, Loki doesn't have a plan.


"I trusted you," Clint seethes. "I fought for you! I gave up so much for you because I thought—because I believed—Steve said—" Tears stream down his face. "Nat was one of my best friends!"

"I am so sorry," says the warrior woman. The green woman next to her nods.

Natasha was one of mine, too, Bucky thinks. The only friend he really had who didn't know him before the Winter Soldier. He closes his eyes.

"You don't get to do that!" Clint rages. "You don't get to close your eyes and pretend this isn't real. This is real!" His fingers grip Bucky's swollen jaw. He gasps.

"Would you like me to remove his spine?" offers the large man.

"What is with you and removing spines?" complains a raccoon.

"He needs to face the king," says the warrior woman. "And the rest of your Avengers. Maybe the story isn't quite as clear cut as—"

"I don't care whether he did it directly or indirectly," Clint says, breathing hard. "Nat's still dead."

They cared enough to come looking for Natasha. Bucky's face burns. She really had found a family.

"You," Clint says, jabbing his finger in Bucky's face. "You're going to tell your story to the rest of the Avengers. To Steve. None of this 'I suddenly forgot how to talk' crap. Or I'll get Wanda to tear it from your head."

"She can do that?" asks the man in the trench coat. "Cool."

Steve.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut even as he hears Clint yelling again, hears the threats lobbed at him. He can't face them, because he doesn't know what he'll say to Steve. How can he explain any of this?