"Bucky," Steve says, rising to his feet. "You don't want to do this."

The pistol shakes in the Winter Soldier's grip. His voice is flat, every English syllable practiced. "Put your hands behind your head."

If he were alone, Steve would submit. He would allow himself to be taken away, if only out of brash hope that Bucky might regain his memory in time, were Steve to have an opportunity to speak with him. But Natasha is wounded almost beyond belief, and to submit now would undoubtedly be to condemn her to death — or worse, to enable her rebirth as a weapon of HYDRA. The weight of her fate would be on Steve's shoulders, coupled with that of Bucky's resurrection.

Steve cannot imagine bearing such a burden. He would rather die.

The Soldier's stare is made of iron. "Put your hands behind your head, or I will shoot."

"You don't want to do that," Steve says. "I know you don't."

"Steven Rogers." The Soldier aims his pistol with both hands, but the hand of flesh is trembling. "You have three seconds to comply."

Steve looks at him, searching for any small scrap of the man he knew, but winter has frozen the softness in the Soldier, turning his heart to ice. All that remains is a skeletal imitation of a boy, beaten and broken by the biting wind. He is a ghost and nothing more.

"Bucky," Steve says, his gaze steady. "You don't have to serve HYDRA."

The Soldier counts, "One."

"There's another way to live." Slowly, Steve begins to step closer. "You could have friends, not just masters. You could have hope, not just missions."

The Soldier counts, "Two."

"There's another way, Bucky." They are eye to eye now, close enough that if the Soldier were to take a single step closer, he could press the pistol's muzzle to Steve's forehead. "I can show you."

Natasha coughs, blood bubbling on her lips. "Steve," she gasps.

For the first time, the Soldier is distracted from his count as he looks to where she lies. He blinks; once, twice. Then, eyebrows drawn together, he asks, "What is that?"

In the Soldier's moment of distraction, Steve seizes hold of his metal wrist. "Drop the gun."

But the Soldier is still staring at the black and bloody thing that ought to be a woman. In a feverish voice, he repeats, "What is that?"

Steve twists the metal arm with all his might. The Soldier grunts in pain, his fingers springing open, the pistol clattering to the floor. He retaliates with a swift punch to Steve's jaw. Steve stumbles, his vision reeling. Desperate, he lunges for the pistol.

The Soldier steps down hard on his arm. "What is that?" he repeats, black fire in his eyes. "Tell me!"

Beneath the Soldier's boot, pain shoots through Steve's arm. He gasps.

The Soldier lifts the pistol with his hand of flesh. "Tell me, or I'll shoot you!"

Steve closes his eyes. If what Natasha said was true, then he is supposed to be taken alive, but nevertheless, there's a gun aimed at his head. He has no choice but to answer.

"That... is Natalia Romanova. I'm told you know each other."

The Soldier looks from Steve to the bloody thing. "No," he says, barely audible. "No, no, no —"

"She threw herself on top of your grenade," Steve says, teeth gritted. "To save me. To save you." He winces, his arm going numb. "We don't want to fight you. Put the gun down, Bucky."

"Stop calling me that!" the Soldier screams, and as he lifts his foot to step down again, Steve sweeps his legs out from under him.

The Soldier falls with a crash and all at once, Steve is on top of him, struggling to wrest the pistol from his hand of flesh. Natasha makes a noise that is not human (what Steve thinks fear must sound like, in its most primal of forms.) It is a tangle of fists and feet, metal and flesh — and when the two soldiers break apart, it is Steve who is holding the gun.

Steve wipes sweat from his brow. When he speaks, it is slow and deliberate. "I don't want to hurt you, Bucky."

The Soldier reaches for the second pistol at his side.

"Listen to me!" Steve says, aiming the pistol between the Soldier's eyes (eyes that barely blinked on the side of the train, eyes that never looked away as he tumbled down the mountain and into the snow.) "Natalia is severely burned and bleeding. She's dying, Buck. She'll die unless —"

"You did this," the Soldier says.

"No," Steve says. "Your grenade did."

A muscle twitches in the Soldier's jaw. "You did this," he howls, and in the blink of an eye, he raises the pistol and fires.

Steve drops to the ground and rolls forward, the bullets ricocheting off the floorboards behind him. He makes it to the closet and dives inside, slamming the door shut as he fumbles for his shield, his shield, his shield

So help me, God.

Bullets bounce off the closet door.

Abruptly, Steve's hand closes around the shield. Tossing the pistol aside, he shoves the closet open again. Bullets shatter against the vibranium.

From across the room, Natasha looks at him. Her whole body is shaking — she's going into shock — but her eyes are fierce, even now. They turn his blood to water.

"Bucky," Steve pants. "She's dying."

Another round of bullets pelts the shield. "You don't have the right to talk about her!" the Soldier says. He tries to shoot again, but the trigger clicks without results; the cartridge is empty. He tosses the pistol aside. "You don't even know her!"

"And you do?" Steve rushes forward, slamming the shield into the Soldier's chest. The Soldier staggers, winded. "HYDRA is taking everything you are." Steve brings the shield's edge down on the Soldier's spine. "I was your friend. I am your friend."

"You took her from me!" the Soldier shouts, shoving Steve's shoulder with his metal hand. He throws punches wildly, all predator. "You don't know her. You don't know anything about her!"

His heart racing, Steve struggles to counter. "I trust her," he says, bashing the shield into the Soldier's face, flinching at the crack of impact. "With my life."

The Soldier staggers. Scarlet stains his cheek, drips into his mouth. He spits blood, coughing.

"You have to stop this," Steve says, lowering his shield. "Natalia is dying."

"HYDRA can save her."

"HYDRA would turn her into a weapon, like you."

The Soldier's eyes shutter. He hand of flesh trembles, and he balls it into a fist. "She has always been a weapon."

Steve's heart thumps. "You're wrong," he says.

"She's not yours, Steven Rogers. She's never been yours."

"I love her."

At that, the Soldier looses an animal scream, lunging with his metal arm upraised. Steve blocks on instinct — his shield firm, but his arm nearly buckling beneath the blow.

"You weren't there," the Soldier says. "When she was bleeding —" He kicks Steve in the ribs, and Steve staggers. "When she was screaming —" Another kick to the chest, another, another. "When the Red Room made us into weapons —" And then he has Steve's throat in his metal fingers, his grip unshakable. He shoves Steve against the wall, his breath hot and thick in the super-soldier's face. "I walked through hell for her. Would you? How could you?"

Steve chokes and sputters, his shield arm pinned by the Soldier's arm of flesh.

Across the room, Natalia makes a sound. If it was meant to be a scream, her agony strangles it; it is a wounded, whimpering noise, and by the Soldier, it goes unheard.

"I loved her!" With a lurch of the metal arm, the Soldier shoves Steve to the floor. "And you don't even know her!"

Steve rises to one knee, his head spinning. Pain shoots through his ribs (some of them are probably broken, but adrenaline dulls their sting.) "Bucky," he says, tasting blood.

"That isn't my name."

"Bucky, please —"

"Shut up!" The Soldier lunges for him, like a beast and not a man.

Steve raises his shield to defend, and metal rings against vibranium, echoing through the night. "Bucky," he says again, like a desperate prayer.

The Soldier screams, swinging over and over with his fist of metal, but it's useless — every single blow is useless, useless, useless — and it only serves to inflame his rage.

"Bucky." Steve struggles to hold his ground. With every impact, he staggers back a step. "Bucky, don't do this —"

With a piercing shout, the Soldier throws his whole weight upon the shield. Steve collapses to one knee, his arm all but numb from the sheer shock of collision.

The Soldier looms over him, like an avenging spirit in the half-light. He raises his metal arm. "I'm not Bucky," he says.

Blood drips from a gash in Steve's lip. "Before the war..." He coughs; the motion sends a fresh stab of pain through his ribcage. "We were just two kids from Brooklyn. Like brothers." He looks up, his vision blurred. "Brothers, Bucky."

"I'm not him!" the Soldier says, bringing his fist of metal down upon the shield. At the impact, Steve falls forward, on his hands and knees.

The Soldier steps down on his spine.

Steve falls, gasping. His chest feels as though his ribs have been replaced with knives. Every muscle aches.

"I'm not him," the Soldier says. His hand of flesh tenses and releases, tenses and releases. He tightens the whole arm, breathing hard. "I'm not Bucky."

Steve chokes on a sigh. "Even if that's true," he says, "I'm still your friend."

Silence. It presses down upon them both, like gunsmoke after a battle.

The Soldier falls to one knee beside his target. "Drop the shield, Steven Rogers."

Steve does. It falls with a hollow clatter, the star pointing heavenward. Absently, he thinks it ironic that it matches the arm of metal.

"Put your hands behind your head," the Soldier says.

Steve looks at him, trying to speak with his eyes. "Don't do this."

"Hands behind your head."

Slowly, his eyes stinging (and maybe even super-soldiers can cry,) Steve raises his hands.

The Soldier reaches into his combat-vest, retrieving a set of handcuffs. They open with a dull click, and he reaches for Steve.

Barely audible, a trembling voice cuts through the dark. "James," Natasha says.

The Soldier freezes. The handcuffs are still open; he makes no move to close them. "What?"

Hope awakens in Steve's chest. There is a hole in the Soldier's programming, a name that even HYDRA could not erase.

"James," Natasha says, barely choking out his name before she cries out again, her back arching in her agony. She takes short, sharp breaths. Her whole body is seized with shaking. "Your name... is James... Buchanan... Barnes."

"James." The Soldier's hand of metal clenches. Stumbling over the words, he says, "My name... is James."

"Yes."

The Soldier stands, dropping the handcuffs beside Steve Rogers. Slowly, he walks to where the Black Widow lies, surrounded by her own blood. "How do you know my name?"

"James." Natasha gasps. "It's me."

Silence. Steve holds his breath.

The Soldier stares, blinking rapidly. "No," he breathes.

"It's me," Natasha says, blood trickling from her mouth. "It's me."

"Natalia..."

"It's me."

There is a moment of utter silence. Then the Soldier tips his head back to the sky, and when he screams it rattles the walls.

"James." Natasha stretches out a hand; it is a hideous mess of black and red. "James, it's okay. It's okay."

The Soldier's scream breaks off. He falls to his knees beside her, and he buries his head in his hands and sobs — awful, broken sobs that shake his whole body — tears streaking the sweat and blood on his cheeks.

Across the room, Steve stumbles to his feet, bracing his ribs with one hand. He staggers across the room. Heart pounding, he grabs the phone from his side table and dials.

"Natalia," the Soldier says, sobbing. "Steve." He screams again. "Natalia —"

The phone rings once, twice. Then, a click. "Hello?"

"Sharon?" Steve says.

"Steve? It's three in the morning. What are you —"

"Sharon." Steve fights to catch his breath. "I need your help."

~x~X~x~

A/N: Well, writing this was incredibly painful. A few quick notes here, though I'll attempt to avoid rambling.

One, I don't think anyone noticed, but I've been trying to characterize Bucky further via which arm I describe as doing an action. If his arm of metal is involved, the act is being performed solely by the HYDRA-controlled Winter Soldier; if his arm of flesh is involved, some of Bucky Barnes might be surfacing. Just thought I'd mention that .

Two, I might write a one-shot in the near future regarding what I think Natasha was thinking in "The Avengers" during the scene where the Hulk chases her through the helicarrier. I have a rather detailed headcanon surrounding that. That one-shot would most definitely be only a one-shot,not a multi-chapter fic, and would probably involve undertones of potential Clint/Natasha (because my shipper heart does not understand the meaning of shipping loyalty.) If you like this fic, that one-shot is something you might want to look out for.

Three, I think this story will have only one more chapter, but that depends on if it runs away from me (which happens all too often.)

Four, this story has officially hit the triple digits in reviews, favorites, and followers alike on fanfic. It's beyond anything I could have hoped for. Thank you – all of you.

Five, some of my reviews on the last chapter are among the best I have ever received. Reviewers, thanks for sharing your emotions with me. It really means the world when people react to these stories I have bouncing around in my head.