[12]

They were in the quinjet when Natasha got the second text from Clint, confirming what they already knew: that he was in Lander, Wyoming. There was some questions of what he meant by having the flu, which, according to Natasha, was code for deep shit.

30 minutes later, the reports came in about an explosion in one of the small parks in Lander.

"That absolute idiot!" Natasha snapped when Tony silently showed her the report on his tablet. She was flying the jet, and he didn't really want them to crash, but she needed to know what they were flying into, and anyway, she knew Clint best out of any of them.

"You think he was involved?" Tony asked, eyeing Natasha who turned her attention back to the windshield of the jet, hands gripping the throttles so tightly that her knuckles were going bone white.

"Who else?" she bit out without looking at Tony. "I swear that anywhere Clint is, chaos usually follows. The moron can't stay away from it."

Tony didn't say anything, but he understood. She was hiding it behind harsh words and pinched lips, but her worry for Clint was evident.

He reached out a hesitant hand, placing it on her shoulder and gently squeezing.

Her head jerked around at the touch, and for a moment Tony thought he had made a huge mistake and was about to lose the hand. He quickly made peace with the idea of only having one hand for the rest of his life, when Natasha's face softened and she gave him a nod of thanks.

He nodded back and then stepped away from the controls; Natasha would need a moment to prepare for what might be waiting for them in Lander.

Hell, Tony needed a moment to contemplate the idea that they might be down another teammate. A teammate he didn't know well, but a teammate nevertheless.

"Tony?" Steve's quiet voice came from the back of the jet where he and Sam were strapped in. "Did you show her?"

"Yeah," Tony said, walking carefully back to his seat. He tossed the tablet to the side, sitting back down.

He mashed his palms into his face, rubbing roughly. His stubble pricked his skin, and belatedly Tony realized that it had been weeks since he had properly shaved. The stress of waiting for something to happen for the past month had overtaken anything else in his life.

"We don't know that he was near when the bombs went off." Steve's voice came again, floating into Tony's ears.

Face still buried in his hands, Tony didn't bother to try and smother his snort. It came out muffled, but it was loud enough for Steve and Sam to hear it.

"Then who else, Steve?" Tony snapped, dropping his hands and lifting his head. He looked towards his teammate, eyeing Steve with a sudden and hot anger. "We know that Clint is in Lander, running missions for Fury. We know there was an explosion in Lander." He paused. "One plus one equals...?" He held up two fingers, glaring at Steve.

Steve accepted the anger that Tony was shoving at him with a small nod. Tony could see the way he let it rest on his shoulders, making them bow under the weight of it. He had expected Steve to snap back, yell at him, but he didn't. He only gave Tony another nod, and then sat back against his seat, turning his gaze to his boots and gripping the straps that held him in with both hands.

Tony swallowed, still staring at Steve as his anger shimmered down to a small glow. That right there, was the reason that Steve was more than just the figurehead of the Avengers. Sure, he and Steve led the Avengers together, but Steve was the leader. That thought made Tony's mouth twist, and he didn't really know why.

So he lapsed into a sullen silence, glaring at the opposite wall of the jet and purposely not looking at Steve's profile.

A sense of doom was slowly filling Tony, starting at his ribs and crawling up into his throat. He didn't know what was waiting for them in Lander, whether it was Clint's dead body or Bucky Barnes, but he did know, that no matter what happened, he was going to lose. Lose his teammates, lose justice for his parents...lose himself. It was just a matter of time.

.

.

Black smoke tickled Tony's nostrils as they trudged up the hill to the smoldering ruins of what had once been a park.

He wished for the tenth time since they had landed the 'jet that he had worn his Iron Man suit and not just the red and gold gauntlets on his wrists, but they had collectively decided to ditch their costumes in favor of their civilian clothes so that they wouldn't attract too much unwanted attention.

His eyes raked the scene as they neared the top of the hill. It was hard to see where the explosion had gone off, but it looked like it had happened deep in the mess of trees, out of view of the public eye.

There was no way to determine the extent of the damage or if there had been casualties.

Tony's gut clenched and a desperate thought of please don't be any casualties raced through his mind.

Nondescript black SUVs and several emergency vehicles blocked any clear way into the park, and clumps of men and women in suits stood silently by their black cars, while local law enforcement officers scurried around the scene with harried looks on their faces; Tony guessed they weren't used to bombs going off in their town, but then again, he wasn't sure anyone was used to that.

"So the plan," Tony said, side-eyeing Steve, who was standing at Tony's shoulder, "is to waltz up to the yellow tape and the G-men and ask if we can take a look around?" He didn't give Steve a chance to reply. "SHIELD isn't part of the government anymore. We can't just—"

"Steve Rogers?" A new voice broke into Tony's words. He threw a baleful glare at the interrupter; he was just getting started on his rant.

The man was wearing a suit and sunglasses, and was standing at one of the black SUVs. He was staring at Steve, recognition clear on his face, despite Steve's disguise of sunglasses and a baseball hat. Tony had said that Steve looked just like himself, only with accessories, but no one had listened to him.

The man strode forward, leaving his group of agents behind, hand outstretched. "I'm Agent Todd Morris."

Steve hesitated a moment before taking the hand and giving it a firm shake. It wasn't hard to see that Steve would always be uncomfortable with people recognizing him, but he was hiding it better than he had when Tony first met him.

Morris' eyes flicked from Steve to the rest of the group. Tony watched as they widened at Tony's small wave and Natasha's impassive face. Sam clearly made no impact on the agent, but if that bothered Sam, he didn't show it.

"We...we weren't expecting the Avengers," Morris stuttered out, cheeks coloring slightly. He visibly shook himself, pulling it together. "Fury didn't mention that you would be showing up." His voice was firmer this time, and his mouth tightened in a sudden suspicion.

Tony frowned; he hadn't realized that the G-men were, in fact, SHIELD agents. Or at least, some of them were.

"Fury doesn't know we're here," Steve said, taking it in a stride that SHIELD was already on the scene. "We want to see him, but before doing that we need to know what happened here." He gestured to the smoke still rising into the blue sky behind Morris. "Give us a rundown."

Morris threw a look over his shoulder to the smoke, frowning.

"It's not—"

Natasha slinked forward, easily pushing Steve out of the way so that she was nose to nose with Morris.

He blinked rapidly at her sudden proximity, going crossed-eyed under his glasses.

"Tell us where Clint is. Now."

"How did you know...?"

"Now."

Morris hurriedly flapped a hand to his left, gesturing to where an emergency vehicle was parked. Its lights were flashing red and white, and Tony could see agents and EMTs clustered at the back; they looked like they were packing up and getting ready to leave.

Natasha took off without a word.

Steve and Tony exchanged a look in a moment of rare solidarity, and then followed behind her. Sam stayed, probably to deal with Morris.

Natasha made it to the huddle of people first. One of the suited men tried to stop her from moving past them, but with an easy twist of his hand, Natasha sent him falling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

Steve and Tony passed the whimpering man, leaving him in the dirt as they followed their red-haired teammate.

Tony wasn't sure what to expect when he got to the back of the ambulance, but his stomach was doing little flips as his considerable imagination raced forward with images of Clint dead in the back, or Clint bloody, but alive and grinning under white blankets.

He blinked the images away and then watched as Natasha's shoulders sagged as she peered into the back. He didn't know what that meant, if it was good or bad, and picked up his pace.

He skidded to a halt at Natasha's side, peeking over her shoulder to look inside the back of the ambulance.

It was empty.

No Clint. No Barnes. Nobody was inside.

A wave of relief crashed over him, but then he looked closer. The gurney's sheets were rumbled and stained with dirt and rusty blood.

Tony could feel blood draining out of his face, eyes glued to the stains. He reached a hand up, tapping it against his cheek as if that would help get the blood flowing again.

"There's no body," he said when no one spoke. "That's good, right? Someone tell me that's a good thing."

"It is."

Tony twisted around at the newcomer's voice. It was one of the local EMTs. He had broken off of the group, who were all keeping their distance after what Natasha had done to the other man. He was also standing a considerable distance away from them, out of reach of Natasha's hands.

Tony waited for him to say something more, but he didn't. He just eyed them warily; fingers tapping against his navy blue pants.

"Well...?" Tony prompted, resisting the urge to reach forward and shake the kid until he told them what he knew.

The EMT eyed them and then jerked his chin at the gurney. "We were the first responders to the scene. One fatality and two survivors." He rattled it off so casually that it took a second for Tony to process what he had said.

Someone was dead? Tony didn't blink, waiting for the EMT to continue.

"The two survivors dragged themselves out of the woods by the time we got here," he continued, gesturing vaguely behind him. "One of them was unconscious, but the other one was coherent and was able to tell us that his teammate had several lacerations on his face and chest and a concussion. I was helping treat him in here when he woke up and started throwing a fit about being patched up. Really funny guy." The helpful EMT's mouth twisted sourly. "But—"

"Who were they?" Natasha cut in lowly.

The EMT shrugged. "I wasn't told. You government people showed up and whisked them both away. I think they must have been agents too. At least I think they were because they weren't arrested and the guy with the concussion kept demanding to see Fury and then saying that he needed someone." The EMT frowned, eyes squinting into the distance as he tried to remember. "Someone called Nat, I think?"

The name sent a tidal wave of relief over Tony and his teammates. There was only one person who got away with calling Natasha by a nickname, present group excluded.

That meant that Clint was alive.

They turned to leave, to go find Morris again and demand to be taken to Clint, when the EMT spoke again, stopping them in their tracks.

"The other guy was okay too. Scary as fuck, though." He paused and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "He had a metal arm."

.

.

"Rogers," Hill said, mouth opening to say more, maybe to stop him from getting to Fury, but Steve ignored her; she wasn't even a blip on his radar as far as he was concerned.

Fury stood behind her, arms crossed over his black sweater. He watched as Steve pushed past Hill, who made a futile attempt to grab his arm. He could clearly see Steve coming, but either he didn't care or he didn't think Steve was a threat.

His mistake.

Steve's knuckles met Fury's face with a satisfying crack. The sting of bone hitting bone spread throughout Steve's hand, but the discomfort was fleeting and pushed aside as he threw his fist out again for another hit.

Fury's head jerked backward and he stumbled a few steps away, but he didn't fall down.

Steve's lips pulled back over his teeth in a growl and he raised his fist again when Fury held up one hand to ward Steve off while the other went to his split lip, gingerly touching it with the pad of his finger.

"You going to hit me again?" His voice was muffled, like it was coming from under water.

Steve couldn't hear clearly. The roaring in his ears, the rage pounding against his skull, was too loud.

It took all of a second for Steve to realize that he was about to lose any semblance of control he had over himself.

Another second passed and it occurred to him that this was what Tony had to be feeling, but not towards Fury. Tony's rage had only one destination in mind.

If Steve wanted to fix this mess, to stop Tony from unleashing his anger, than he needed to be in control.

So he reigned it in. Took a breath, swallowed down the anger, and loosened his fingers.

He splayed out his hand, working the joints. The blotchy red spots on his skin wouldn't turn into purple bruises; they would fade and heal within the hour, and the only reminder Steve would have of punching Fury would be in his memories.

And Nick Fury's bloody lip. That would have to do for now.

"Feel better?" Tony said, sliding up to Steve's side.

Steve glanced at him. Tony's words were light, but Steve's rage had frightened Tony, leaving him shaken.

Good, Steve thought viciously, and then swallowed. Even if the scene had served as a warning to Tony, he didn't want to lose control like that again.

Steve unclenched his teeth and gave Tony a nod. "A little." He eyed Fury, who had taken a step or two away from Steve, creating enough distance that Steve wouldn't be able to easily hit him again.

Steve's eyes flicked around the room, finally taking in his surroundings now that his rage was shimmering.

The office was small, a lot smaller than Fury's old one in D.C. This one didn't have floor to ceiling windows either. Even if it was still on the ground level it was all painfully dark and enclosed, and Steve knew from Morris' rambling on the drive here that there were more levels under their feet.

A shudder gripped Steve as he imagined being locked down there for days on end.

His anger flickered again, close to the surface.

"Start talking, Fury," Steve said tightly, leaving no room for argument.

To Steve's surprise, Fury did.

Still prodding his face with his fingers, Fury said, "Barton's okay. He's in medical, two levels down." His eyes went over Steve's shoulder, and a brief second later Natasha was gone, taking Hill with her.

"And Bucky? Where the hell is he?" Steve felt Tony tense at the question.

"He's here too. Uninjured from the blast," Fury said. "We anticipated your arrival and any complications that might follow." He looked at Tony here.

Steve's jaw clicked; Fury knew the truth too.

"Barnes is safe, Rogers—"

"I want to see him," Steve interjected. "Now, Fury. No more platitudes, no more words. Tell me where he is." After he made sure Bucky was okay, he was going to get some answers about what Fury had been planning with Bucky and what had been done to him, but for now, Bucky came first.

Fury held Steve's eyes with his single one. Steve couldn't see any glimmer of what might be going on in Fury's head, but he never had been able to. He could only hope that Fury wouldn't pull any of his tricks and let Bucky go without any conditions or deals.

Even if he tried that, Steve wasn't going to follow Fury's rules; he was done playing that man's game.

Fury slowly nodded at Steve. "Come on then."

.

.

The elevator ride down was stifling with unspoken words and emotions, but Steve didn't care. He was too busy clenching and unclenching his hands in an attempt to stop himself from punching Fury again. Twice hadn't been enough.

But Steve was aware enough to realize that Tony was barely holding it together at his side. The other man was breathing swallow and rapid gasps of air, and his eyes were staring at nothing. Blank and hollow.

Steve could see the cracks under Tony's skin. They had been there for as long as Steve had known Tony, but they had lengthened and grown since the truth about his parents had come out.

Steve could see them, but he didn't know how to fix them. A part of him whispered that it wasn't his problem, that he hadn't caused the cracks, that Tony had already been broken, but Steve shook those thoughts away.

Whatever had happened, Tony was still his friend. He needed to fix this, and he would.

Just not yet.

The elevator jerked to a halt, and the doors slid open, revealing a well-lit hallway with a set of doors at the end of it.

Steve was out before the others even had moved. He was halfway down the hall in a heartbeat and a second later was at the doors.

They didn't budge under his hands, and his frustration grew. He pushed harder in an attempt to open them, even while a part of him knew that brute strength wasn't going to open them easily.

Fury silently appeared at Steve's elbow, punching a code into a keypad that Steve hadn't even seen. He then stepped aside, letting Steve shove open the doors.

It was dark inside, the only source of light coming from a glowing glass cage in the middle of the large room.

It was sparse in the cage, but Steve could see a hunched figure sitting on the cot.

Steve's heart raced and he jerked forward, practically running across the room to the cage. He stopped, almost running into it. Both of his palms slapped against the cool glass that was keeping Bucky enclosed.

His breath was coming in short gasps, fogging up the glass, as he stared at the man sitting on the cot. The man was hunched over his knees, face cupped in his hands. His dark hair was pulled back in a high knot that was starting to come undone, and the black leather of his jacket that was stretched across his back was spotty with ash.

It was Bucky. Steve knew it was, even without seeing his face.

He opened his mouth to say...what? What was he going to say to the one person who meant more to him than almost anyone?

He floundered, the pads of his fingers digging into the glass as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Which Bucky was sitting inside the cage? Was it the assassin that was sent to kill him, or was it a new version that Steve had never met? The thought that he might not find anything familiar about this Bucky sent shudders rippling through Steve.

And still his mouth gaped, and he didn't know what to say.

"Where's Clint?"

Bucky's voice startled Steve and he couldn't stop the shiver that ran down his spine at hearing Bucky's voice again; even knowing that Bucky was truly alive and sitting only a few feet away from him, it was like hearing a dead man speak.

"You bastards think that after what I did back there, you can just throw me in here and not tell me a damn thing? Bring me Fury or Hill. Someone more important than you—"

Bucky finally looked up and locked eyes with Steve, and the rest of his words died in his mouth.

"Steve...?" Bucky's mouth shaped the word and Steve could see his throat bob as he swallowed. "Are you—?" He shook his head suddenly and stood up.

Steve could see a mask snap into place over Bucky's face, hiding whatever weakness his friend thought he was showing.

They studied each other for a few moments. Steve stepped away from the glass and drank in the image of his not-dead friend, but he didn't know what Bucky was seeing when he looked at Steve.

Bucky looked better than the last time Steve had seen him. They had been fighting for their lives, but even still Bucky had looked pale and almost small under the bulky leather jacket and black pants.

Now his face was fuller and his eyes actually held a gleam of life and not the terror and anger that had flashed at Steve every time he had caught Bucky's eyes while they fought.

Steve's heart thumped painfully against his ribcage.

Bucky was alive, and maybe he wasn't the Bucky that Steve knew in the 40's, but at least this one was breathing, and that was what mattered.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky finally said, breaking the silence.

Steve blinked and focused on the present again. He tried to catch Bucky's eyes, but Bucky wasn't looking at him anymore. He was focused on a point somewhere over Steve's shoulder.

That hurt Steve more than he liked to admit, and he strode forward, pressing his hands against the glass again.

"I'm here for you. To get you out," Steve said, and then pushed off from the glass and rounded on Fury, who standing silently with Sam and Tony at the edge of the light. "Let him out. Now."

Fury's eyes slid from Steve's to Tony. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Steve gave Tony a brief look. The other man stared blankly back, no sign of his intentions on his face.

"Yes," Steve said, looking back to Fury. "Let him out." If Tony made a move against Bucky, then Steve's hand would be forced and it was clear who he would choose.

Fury gave him another second to change his mind before he shrugged and strode towards the edge of the cage. His hands danced up the seam that held the two walls together. A clicking sounded and a moment later, a door was revealed and slid open.

All eyes in the room went to the door and then flicked to Bucky, waiting for him to make a move.

Bucky was frozen, staring at the door. He slowly moved forward, flesh hand brushing at the strands of hair that was falling into his face. He tucked them behind his ear in an achingly familiar move that Steve lost the breath in his lungs for a second.

He sidled forward and then leaned down to go through the exit. Bucky's boots hit the cement with a satisfying slap and Steve saw a small smile flicker across his lips.

There was a quiet gasp behind Steve, but he ignored Tony; he could only deal with one emotional crisis at a time.

"Buck?" he said quietly.

Bucky looked at him, and Steve had no idea what Bucky was thinking behind his hooded blue eyes. It was such a strange feeling, not knowing what was going on in Bucky's head; ever since they were kids, he had always known what Bucky was thinking and vis versa. They had been completely in sync, and now, Steve couldn't help but feel that he was a step behind Bucky and he couldn't catch up.

Bucky swallowed and then turned to Fury, who still stood near the door.

"Clint?" he asked brusquely.

Fury shrugged. "He's giving the medics hell."

"Good," Bucky said, and for a moment Steve could hear traces of his Bucky in that single word, but then Bucky straightened and started walking.

Steve's shoulders tensed and he half-raised his arms, expecting Bucky to come to him, but Bucky didn't.

Bucky spared him a glance and then brushed past Steve and the others, leaving the dark room in silence.

Steve's heart plummeted to his stomach and a choked gasp broke out of him. He didn't care if Fury or Tony saw the weakness; he felt like he was losing Bucky all over again.

.

.

Bucky forced away the memories of Steve that were flooding his mind; he didn't need them, not now. There was too much happening, and he didn't have time for them.

He wasn't the same person Steve remembered, his memories of their shared past had showed him that much. He didn't think he could ever be that person again.

Bucky could feel Steve's hurt radiating out behind him even after he was a level up and almost in medical. He pretended that he didn't feel anything, that he was frozen in cryo again, but telling himself not to feel anything was one thing and actually not feeling anything was another.

The emotions, a tangled mess of them, itched under Bucky's skin, and his arms twitched in response. A part of him wanted to swing around and march back down to where he had left Steve, and tell the other man that he wanted to go home, wherever that may be.

But then, Bucky heard commotion down the hall, and thoughts of Steve and going home were thankfully pushed to the corner of his mind.

There was only one person that Bucky knew could cause a ruckus like that.

He picked up his pace, passing several medics, who all wore similar looks of fear when they watched him stride by.

He was vaguely surprised that Fury had simply let him out of the cage and was now letting him wander the hall of his compound, unattended.

But then he remembered the look on Steve's face, the heartbreak and anger on it, and Bucky realized that Fury knew exactly what he was doing. He pushed that thought aside for now; he didn't want to deal with all these unwanted emotions.

Bucky's boots slowed as he reached a familiar room. He hesitantly poked his head through the open doorway, stiffening in quick surprise at the redhead standing next to Clint's bed. Her back was to him, and her arm was stretched out, hand intertwined with Clint's.

The hair on the back of Bucky's neck rose as he silently assessed her; she was more dangerous than her slight body suggested. He would have to watch his back around her, but then again, if Clint knew her, then maybe she wouldn't try to kill him.

Bucky turned his focus to Clint, who was lying on top the white covers of the bed, still dressed in his bloody and rumbled clothes from Lander. The blood had been clumsily wiped away from his face and several white butterfly band aides were on his face, holding the split skin together. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were still too large, but a grin stretched out across his lips when he caught sight of Bucky hovering in the doorway.

"Bucky! Come in, come in." Clint's free hand flapped, gesturing for Bucky to slide further into the room.

Bucky ignored the redhead, who had turned and was giving him a dark glare, even though his instincts were screaming at him to not let her out of his sight.

"Clint," Bucky said, feeling the hot burn of Red's eyes on him. "Your brain still intact?"

"More or less," Clint said. He jerked his chin to Red and then winced at the movement. "Bucky, Natasha. Natasha, Bucky."

"I know who he is." Her voice was cool and it spread an immediate chill in the room.

Bucky shot her a disinterested look, trying to show her that he wasn't intimidated by her (but he kinda was); they had definitely met before, and he had probably tried to kill her. All in all, he didn't blame her for the coldness she was radiating. He was honestly a little impressed; she had to be damn good if she had survived a round with him.

"You know him!" Clint said in a high pitched voice, bringing Bucky's attention back to the present. "Really? Why didn't you introduce us sooner? We're really good friends! Don't glare, Natasha, we are!"

"We're not that good—" Bucky started, but Clint stopped him with a rigid finger jabbed in his direction.

"You shut up! We're basically one step away from exchanging friendship bracelets."

Bucky blinked rapidly at Clint, wondering just how hard he had hit his head against the tree.

"How hard did you hit your head?" Natasha snapped, echoing Bucky's silent question. She let go of Clint's hand and leaned down to peer into his face, blocking most of Clint's shape from Bucky's view.

A second later, Clint's hand appeared as he shoved Natasha away from him. She continued to glare, but gave him back his space.

"Actually not that hard," Clint said, voice lowering two notches. "Just wanted to break up the ice forming in here. You two need to lighten up."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped dangerously, "That was an act?"

Clint shrugged, settled back against the pillows with a grin. "I'm a better actor than you give me credit for, Nat."

She sputtered at him, while he turned his attention to Bucky, who was attempting to hide his own grin.

"Did you see Steve?"

The grin slid off Bucky's face easily, causing Clint to frown. "What's wrong? He is here, right?"

Bucky could see Natasha's interest rise as they waited for Bucky to answer.

He offered them a shrug. "He's here."

"And?" Clint prompted. "Are we all leaving?"

"You probably are," Bucky said with a nod.

"No, we're leaving together," Clint said, frown deepening.

"Steve doesn't want me," Bucky said, matching the frown. "I told you before, this version of me...this isn't the same one he left behind. It's broken." Bucky's mouth snapped shut; he didn't need to be showing weakness to the redhead. His eyes snapped to hers, but he couldn't read what she was thinking. "I'll stay here, and hold up my end of the bargain with Fury. You should go back with your team."

"You're on my team now," Clint said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Natasha's hands reached out to steady him as he stood up, swaying. He batted them away, still glaring at Bucky. "You're an idiot."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "So are you."

"I know that," Clint said, stepping away from the bed. "But I also know that Steve came all this way for you. Doesn't matter what version. He's here for you."

Bucky's stomach did a weird flip at that. He couldn't sort through the emotions that rippled through him; there were too many and they clouded his mind, so he shoved it all aside for what felt like the tenth time.

"Maybe," Bucky finally said, eyes dropping to the tiled floor. "But I don't—"

He was cut off by a loud wail of alarms that suddenly pierced the air. He flinched back from the noise and red lights that filled the room, replacing the white ones from moments before.

He squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling back two steps. His spine hit the wall with a thump. Behind his eyelids, images of red lights filled his mind. Red lights, red blood, and red mouths that were stretched into wide grins danced across his mind.

A flash of memories flickered in and out of focus. HYDRA using the red lights to condition him before they figured out a better way—

They used metal to beat him until he bled red pools on the cement floor. He used to watch the thick crimson blood swirl away down into a drain that sat in the middle of the room—

The red mouth was the worst. He knew what came next when he saw that man. Everything that made him a person was stripped away when the man came, clutching that—

Bucky wrenched himself out of the surge of memories, eyes snapping open. They flicked around the red room, catching sight of Clint and Natasha standing exactly where they had been before; he had only been out of it for seconds, and they hadn't noticed. They were too busy exchanging looks of confusion with each other to notice that he was trembling and sweating under the flashing red lights.

"What the hell is going on?" Clint called out, wincing against the blaring alarms. He pressed one hand against the side of head, trying to contain the rising headache he was sure to be feeling.

"I'll go find out," Bucky said, and left the room before they could protest.

The hallway was deserted, and an uneasy feeling swirled in his gut. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew when to trust his instincts, and they were telling him that something was wrong.

He paused and almost turned to go back to Clint and Natasha, but then, unbidden, his mind flashed to Steve, and he continued onward.

He came to a stop at the end of the hall, pushing out into the stairwell. His head ticked up and down; one way led upstairs where he would be able to find out what was going on, but the other led downstairs to where Steve was in the basement.

Bucky licked his lips, trying to figure out what to do. If there was danger than someone needed to help Steve and the other two nameless people get out; they couldn't stay down there by themselves.

He took a hesitant step down the stairs, furiously telling himself that it made sense; even if he wasn't going to go with Steve to wherever Steve called home, he needed to make sure the man he had grown up with was alright.

It wasn't sentiment; he didn't care about Steve. He didn't.

.

.

Tony was staring into the cage that had held Barnes for who knew how long when the alarms started blaring. It was muffled down in the basement, but they were still loud enough that Tony exchanged a concerned look with Sam, who had stayed with him while Steve and Fury had gone elsewhere to have their conversation about Barnes. Tony was glad that he didn't have to be present for that; he had seen Steve's rage and he hadn't liked it.

Tony was doing his best to sort through his own feelings about what he was going to do. He had finally seen his parents' killer, for however briefly, in the flesh. He had looked into the man's cold eyes and hadn't seen the Bucky Barnes that Steve had told him about. He had only seen the Winter Soldier looking back.

It was that, above all else, that had made Tony's mind up for him.

If Steve still couldn't see it, even after being faced with the emotionless man, then Tony would just have to show it to him. But then again, Steve was a stubborn bastard, and he probably wouldn't listen to reason. He wouldn't believe that the Barnes he knew was gone for good.

No, it was best for everyone if Tony just took care of it himself.

A sick feeling worked its way up Tony's throat, but he resolutely swallowed it down; he would do what he had too.

His eyes went to Sam, who was standing near the double doors, glancing around the room in confusion.

"What's going on?" Tony called out to him, starting forward. He didn't really want to be stuck down here if there was an emergency.

"I have no idea," Sam replied, "but I would suggest we double time it upstairs."

Tony nodded his agreement, quickening his pace.

Before he got to Sam and the exit, the doors sprang open and Bucky Barnes appeared, letting the double doors swing shut behind him.

Sam startled in surprise, dancing backwards to give Barnes plenty of space.

Tony froze, mid-step. He watched as the killer's cold eyes swung around the room, clearly looking for Steve. When he didn't find him, Barnes shifted his gaze to Tony.

"Where's Steve?" His voice sent shivers down Tony's spine. Tony clenched his chattering teeth and he took a careful step forward.

No one had a chance to answer Barnes because a moment later the alarms abruptly shut off and were replaced with a robotic recording, "There has been a breach. All levels are now on lock down."

They weren't given anytime to process the statement or do much more than shift their feet when loud clanging echoed throughout the basement, indicating just how serious the recording was.

Tony couldn't see into the hall, but if he had to guess, he would say that each level was now locked behind heavy blast doors at the stairs. The elevator were probably useless too.

Of course, he had his Iron Man gauntlets on his wrists and if he tried he could probably blast the doors open.

But then Tony realized that he was locked up with his parents' killer. It was a disturbing thought, and Tony's eyes fell onto Barnes, who was staring back at him with his cold blue eyes.

Tony's mouth twisted and he glared back. His fingers curled into fists and he suddenly knew exactly what he was going to do. Sam was the only one down here who could stop him, and that was laughable at best; Sam was a good fighter, but he wouldn't stand a chance against Tony and his gauntlets.

No one was going to stop Tony. It was a freeing thought, and Tony almost laughed.

He took a step forward, feeling Sam's eyes follow the movement from where he was standing.

"Tony..." Sam said quietly. "Don't do it, man."

"Shut up," Tony answered without looking at the other man. His focus was on Barnes, who was squaring up as if he knew what Tony intended. His metal arm—the arm that had killed his father—was clicking and clenching, and if Tony was thinking straight, he might have been worried.

"Who are you?" Barnes said, eyes narrowed as he studied Tony's face.

Tony felt a flare of anger burn into his ice cold resolution.

Tony's lips pulled back, baring his teeth. "You don't know me, but you knew my parents. I'm going to make sure you remember them."

.

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A/N: Ta-da! The groups have collided and there is ANGST!

This chapter started out really hard to write (I'm still not really happy with the beginning), but it just started to flow after awhile and I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out.
Let me know what you guys thought about this chapter. I feel like it's been a long time coming and now that it's here, I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Thank you for all the reviews/favorites/follows! I love 'em all.