Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers are property of Marvel. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


Day 180

Bucky ran a comb nervously through his hair, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was dressed in a suit and tie that Steve had brought in for him the night before, and he had even thrown in a pair of dress gloves for good measure. Bucky was loathe to admit it, but he felt a little bit better going in front of the judge without his metal arm exposed. Today was the day. By the end of the day, he would know his fate. Deciding he looked presentable enough, he paced out of his room and went to wait at the nurses station. The deputies would be arriving to pick him up and take him to court at 6:30. He should probably eat some breakfast before he went, but he found that he had no appetite. He watched the minute hand on the clock slowly move to the six, then past it. He exhaled his nerves and began pacing the unit, taking his usual route but at twice the speed he usually traveled. He noted the day shift staff beginning to arrive. They slowly filtered out onto the floor, and Bucky looked at the clock again in irritation. 7:15. They were forty-five minutes late.

"Hey, Bucky, look at you," Tammy commented as she came out onto the unit, rounds board in hand. "You sure cleaned up nice. Waiting for court?" Bucky nodded grimly, with another glance at the time.

"If they ever come get me," he grunted. "They're fifty minutes late." Tammy nodded.

"As if court wasn't stressful enough already," she commented sympathetically. Bucky grimaced. "Don't worry, they won't start without you." Her tone was meant to be reassuring, but he was too keyed up to find the words comforting.

"I just want to get it over with," he half-growled, and resumed his pacing.

"Bucky, they're on the way down to get you," the unit secretary called out, hanging up the phone. He did an about face and strode back to the desk to wait. The clock's mocking hands informed him they were an hour and fifteen minutes late. He tried not to glare at the deputies as they came through the door. He recognized them from when they had transported him here six months ago. Larry stepped towards him, brandishing the modified handcuffs they had brought him in.

"Do we need to put these on you, or are you going to cooperate?" he asked pointedly. Bucky shook his head.

"I don't need those. I didn't need them the first time," he informed the deputy. Larry raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Bucky to take the lead, then fell into step behind him.


The drive to the courthouse seemed to take forever but was over before he knew it. Bucky found himself seated at a table in a courtroom. The judge presiding over the hearing loomed over him, gavel at ready to seal his fate. He looked down at his hands, both skin and metal concealed by fabric. Beside him sat the same public defender that had represented him at his initial hearing – a middle-aged man who somehow managed to look terrified of Bucky and bored at the same time. His name was something as forgettable as he was. Johnson, or Smith. Aside from a few procedural things, he didn't seem to be doing much talking.

The murmur of voices from those seated in the audience behind him were growing louder. Despite himself, he half- turned and glanced to see Steve walking carefully into a row of seats. Behind him, Natasha, Wanda, Sam Wilson and a mild-looking man with curly dark hair filed in and sat down. Bucky turned back around to face forward, torn between feeling grateful for their support and ashamed at what they might hear.

"Dr. Greenmyer, you were the treating psychiatrist for Mr. Barnes, correct?" The state had mustered a much more charismatic attorney to argue to keep him locked up than they had to defend his freedom.

"That is correct." The doctor's voice was familiar, but Bucky still stared fixedly at his hands on the table, not wanting to look up and see the expression on the man's face.

"Dr. Greenmyer, in your report you stated that you felt the court's previous assessment of Mr. Barnes was in error. Can you elaborate on that?"

"Certainly. I disagree with several of the previous diagnoses. Mr. Barnes has never displayed any unwarranted paranoia." The opposing attorney paused in front of Bucky's table and clucked his tongue.

"Unwarranted paranoia, Doctor?"

"Indeed. I have treated many individuals with erroneous beliefs that they are being pursued by the FBI or CIA. But it isn't truly paranoia when they're really out to get you, now is it? And we have conclusive evidence that HYDRA was after him. Additionally, neither my own interviews nor the testing he cooperated with revealed any sign of sociopathy or volatility."

"But he was violent, was he not?" Bucky flinched at the line of questioning, still staring fixedly at his folded, gloved hands. He was surprised to hear Greenmyer chuckle in response.

"He was not violent without provocation, no. In fact, I think if you review the records more closely, you'll find that what you refer to as his violent episodes were in response to violence already occurring on the unit. That is to say, it was in defense of others, not to harm them. I believe it is also significant that, in the six months he was confined to our hospital, there were no fatalities." The other attorney snorted derisively.

"You expect me to give this man brownie points for not killing anyone for six months?" he asked incredulously.

"That was the danger we were supposed to be evaluating, was it not?" Dr. Greenmyer returned. "I do not think that it is insignificant. This man, besides being trained by our own military, was held captive for decades and only allowed to live when they wanted him to kill. He was told that was his only purpose, his sole objective. That he was, first, foremost and always, a killer. He has the skill and ability to kill, whether using precision weapons, makeshift weapons, or even his bare hands. Yet when the choice was left to him, he did not kill. This, despite at least three attempts on his life, when one could certainly justify using lethal force."

"So, if I understand your argument, sir, you believe that he will not kill, simply because he has not?"

"Past and current behavior are often a reliable predictor of future behavior."

"Past behavior such as the twenty-seven confirmed kills?" The reply came. Bucky closed his eyes briefly, faces of his victims flashing before his eyes. They may have confirmed twenty-seven of his kills, but he knew that the actual number was much higher.

"I can only speak for behavior that I observed, not what might have occurred prior to his hospitalization," Dr. Greenmyer noted.

"Thank you, Doctor. We have no more questions for you today."


"…elaborate for the court what you meant by the dissociative disorder referenced in your report?"

"Dissociative identity disorder is a rare condition, but it is generally triggered by a traumatic experience, or a series of traumatic events. In this case, it appears the... the ones who held him captive deliberately induced trauma in an effort to create this dissociation, in order to create a fragment of a personality that they could control." Deborah shifted on the stand. She did not appear to be comfortable discussing details of their therapy sessions in such a public setting.

"So what would that mean in the context of Mr. Barnes living in society, among civilians and other potentially vulnerable people?"

"That is an interesting word choice, Mr. MacEntire. Mr. Barnes has been living among the most vulnerable members of our society for the past six months. He has not been a danger to them. On the contrary, he has proven to be a defender, protecting them from those who might have otherwise taken advantage."

"Did you observe this same behavior from the personality fragment that you referenced?"

"I was not able to observe any dissociative episodes that I was aware of. The… alternate personality, based on Mr. Barnes' description, was specifically designed to only emerge when triggered by some specific code words."

"So you didn't have any opportunity to actually witness this alleged alternate personality."

"Not personally, no. But his description is consistent with what has been clinically observed in other cases, with the exception of specific words to trigger the switch to the alternate personality. Most people don't have that."

"Playing the devil's advocate, and assuming his account to you was completely truthful, what would the outcome be if someone did use these trigger words?" Bucky closed his eyes again, visions of blood and death dancing before his eyes.

"That would depend on the person commanding him. Depending on what their objective was, they could order him to carry it out. The alternate personality is lethal, but does not have objectives of his own." Bucky resisted the urge to correct her. As it turned out, the Winter Soldier had had a very strong sense of self-preservation. "However, the core personality – that would be Mr. Barnes – would have little influence, and most of the time, little awareness of anything done by the alternate personality when that was in control."

"So you cannot say with certainty that this… alternate personality… would be as benign as Mr. Barnes' core personality."

"Again, that would depend on the intentions of the person who triggered him. He was designed that way. Although, in our last session, Mr. Barnes did relate to me that he believed this alternate personality had been stripped from him. He seemed confident in his belief that he would no longer be subject to the whims of someone seeking to control him." A low murmur rippled through the courtroom. MacEntire snorted in disbelief.

"Doctor, if I might clarify exactly what you have told the court… You believe Mr. Barnes has this… alternate personality that was harnessed by HYDRA to commit murder for them, because he told you so, but you've never personally witnessed this transformation, and now you expect us all to believe that this alternate personality is gone, also because – just for clarity, remember - because he told you so?"

"Because it's the truth!" Natasha's scornful protest cut through the silence in the courtroom. The low murmur of conversation crescendoed into a cacophony, growing louder and more difficult to ignore. The judge banged the gavel, calling for order.


"Can you identify, for the record, what your relationship is to Mr. Barnes?"

"Um, I'm his primary nurse." Hannah's voice was timid. She didn't seem to be well-acquainted with court proceedings, but her tone was earnest.

"So you worked with him on the unit on a daily basis." MacEntire's tone was still suave and soothing, no doubt setting the trap he would later spring.

"That's correct."

"Was there ever a time when you felt less safe on the unit because of his presence there?" Bucky tensed at the loaded question, thinking of all the ways he had brought more danger to everyone around him.

"I would say no. If anything, we generally felt safer with him on the unit." Her answer caught him off guard. Startled, Bucky looked up for the first time since the court proceedings had begun. Hannah glanced over at him, and shot him a quick, encouraging smile. MacEntire scoffed at her.

"Safer?" he repeated. "Were there, or were there not, multiple altercations involving Mr. Barnes that required you call security or even the police?"

"Yes, there were," she confirmed. "But not ones that he started. They were always when he came to our defense."

"Always?" MacEntire repeated. He set a piece of paper in front of her. "Even during this incident, on May 23rd?" Hannah scanned the paper, her mouth set in a thin line. She sighed as she realized what he was referencing.

"This was the… one exception. But it shouldn't have happened. The other patient should never have been allowed to enter his room. We weren't paying close enough attention," she admitted.

"But you say he's completely safe, so why would there be any issue with another patient going into his room?" MacEntire challenged. Hannah's eyes flashed.

"How do you imagine you would react, Mr. MacEntire, if you spent years of your life trying to escape from people who went to great lengths to enslave you, were sent to a strange place where you weren't sure if anyone actually had your best interests at heart, and then you were awakened out of a nightmare with no warning?" MacEntire took a step back, looking nonplussed.

"I can't say for certain, but certainly not assaulting someone," he replied.

"In any case, he was not the initial aggressor in that situation, either," Hannah concluded.

"So, your testimony is that he was, in every case, defending either himself or others, and never the instigator?" MacEntire's inflection emphasized his skepticism. Hannah nodded slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"According to the records, Mr. Barnes was involved in no less than ten altercations while on your unit. Does that seem right to you?" he inquired. Hannah's eyebrows rose.

"It seems low, by my estimate, but if you have the records, I would say it must be correct," she replied. MacEntire raised an eyebrow at her.

"That doesn't seem excessive to you?" he inquired. Hannah scoffed.

"Mr. MacEntire, have you ever worked in a psychiatric facility?" she asked. MacEntire shook his head.

"No, Ms. Dahl. I have not."

"While it is true that not all persons with mental illness diagnoses are violent, the majority of the patients at our facility are there because they are a danger to themselves or others. This means that a higher percentage of them are likely to be violent. Which means that fights between patients or assaults on staff are fairly common. So no, Mr. MacEntire, I don't think that ten incidents over six months is excessive, especially when most of those were him coming to our aid." She shifted in her seat, her expression earnest. "I walk into my job every day and wonder if that day is a day I will be assaulted or have a career ending injury. I have not always made it through every shift unscathed. You never really know what kind of day you're going to have, or what you're walking into. But when he was there, we knew he was watching. We knew he wouldn't let us get hurt. So yes, we felt safer with him on the unit."

"Even after attacks from Tony Stark and a HYDRA mole that was hired as a security guard?" MacEntire asked skeptically. Hannah folded her arms over her chest.

"All those incidents prove is that he never should have been in our hospital to begin with," she declared with certainty. Bucky was glad he didn't have to speak with her in that moment, for he found himself speechless.


They recessed for lunch, which for Bucky meant the deputies escorted him back to the holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. He sat down on the bench to wait for them to bring him back. He wasn't certain what to think after listening to the morning's testimonies. Hearing others' perspective on who he was and what kind of person he was filled him with both gratitude and confusion. He definitely hoped it would help his case. His stomach rumbled. They hadn't given him anything to eat for lunch, but he wasn't certain he could stomach food right now, anyway. The suspense of not knowing what his fate would be was agonizing, and he found himself wishing he could fast forward to the part where they told him what would happen to him. Whether the answer was that he was free to go, confined to the hospital for even longer, or to be transferred to another place…. Any of those options were better than this legal limbo. He stared down at his gloved hands while the clock on the far wall ticked minutes away. He looked up as he heard voices off to his left, by the entrance to the holding area. It sounded like Steve's voice, and he sounded upset. After arguing for a few minutes, the voices subsided, and he heard footsteps. One of the guards approached his cell and tossed a bag through the bars. Bucky caught it, and it squished slightly in his hands.

"Guess you have friends that don't want you to go hungry," the guard commented, before going back to sit at his desk. Bucky opened the bag to find a submarine sandwich. His stomach rumbled again, and he decided maybe he could eat, after all.


"This court will come to order." The judge's gavel banged loudly, and the murmur of conversation behind Bucky grew quieter, then disappeared. She turned her piercing gaze to Bucky. "Mr. Barnes. Do you feel your time at the hospital has been helpful to you?" Bucky was surprised at both the unexpected attention and the question. He stood up to answer her question.

"Well, Your Honor, I did learn a few things," he admitted. Not all of what he had learned had been part of their curriculum or groups. He had learned that he was not beyond the reach of human compassion, that others found him worthy of their time and attention, that he was good for many things other than killing. The judge smiled thinly and did not ask him to elaborate.

"If it were up to you, would you want to remain at the hospital? Would you continue to find it helpful?" she asked.

"No, Your Honor," he stated firmly. It wasn't just that he was itching to have his freedom back. Until he had a chance to deal with the threat from HYDRA, his presence there put everyone in the hospital in danger.

"I see. And have you made arrangements for after you leave the hospital? A place to stay, follow-up appointments?" came the next question. Bucky nodded.

"Yes, Your Honor." He glanced over his shoulder. Steve was sitting in his seat, shoulders forward, eyebrows knitted together. He looked just as anxious to hear the judge's decision as Bucky felt. He looked back up at the woman in the black robes who held his fate in her hands.

"Do you feel that you would be able to refrain from killing anyone, were you to live free in the community?" she inquired. There was a slightly derisive note in her voice, but he got the sense it was directed more at the opposing lawyer than at him.

"Yes, Your Honor," he said firmly. "I don't do that anymore." Thanks to Chloe, he could be certain of that. She nodded thoughtfully, watching him speculatively for a long moment. His pulse rushed in his ears. She gave a decisive nod.

"Mr. Barnes, the court has come to a decision based on the testimony heard here today. It is clear that you are able to not only safely reside in the community, but also take care of others less capable than you. It is the opinion of this court that it is both unnecessary, and wildly inappropriate to send you back to the psychiatric institute. Instead, this court orders that you be released from the hospital on your own recognizance. The court further orders that Kings County will continue to provide you with a case manager for a period of one year, to provide assistance and support, and to monitor your re-integration into the community. This court does not wish to hear of any tales of death and destruction." She gave Bucky a significant look as she brought the gavel down, and for a moment, he thought she had winked at him. He didn't have time to dwell on that, however. The back of the courtroom erupted in cheers. He sat back down in his chair, feeling so much lighter he thought he might drift away in a cloud of relief.


The next couple hours were a blur as he was taken back to the facility to gather his belongings and finalize a few follow-up appointments. Bucky felt like his head was still spinning as he walked up the stairs to the main entrance with Steve at his side. He was surprised at the twinge of sadness he felt at leaving this place that had been his home for the past six months. It was quickly eclipsed by excitement and relief as he followed Steve to the car and tossed his bags in. They said the air tasted sweeter when you were free. He had to agree with them, whoever they were. He sat down in the passenger's seat and settled in as Steve pulled out of the parking lot.

"So, where to first, Buck?" Steve asked.

"Home," Bucky breathed, the word both strange and sweet in his mouth. Steve smiled. Bucky settled back and watched the buildings and scenery roll by. The knowledge that HYDRA was still out there, still after him, was a black cloud that marred an otherwise perfect afternoon. He pondered what his options were. A thought occurred to him, and he looked over at Steve. "On second thought, I have an idea."


"Newsome, you have a visitor." Bryce frowned in confusion as he got up from his bunk. On the other side of the bars, the guard eyed him doubtfully. "Are you gonna try to escape again if I take you?" Bryce shook his head silently. His ribs were still sore from his last escape attempt. Part of him was glad that he was being kept with no bail. Since he had failed in his mission, there would be no rescue from HYDRA for him. The prison would hopefully provide a buffer against any attempts on his life. He half-expected to see his old boss sitting by the plexiglass as the guard led him to one of the booths. He definitely wasn't expecting his mission to come back to haunt him.

As he sat down, he was startled to see the Winter Soldier staring through the clear plexiglass at him. The prized HYDRA Asset already had a phone receiver pressed against his ear. He gave Bryce a significant look. The HYDRA agent hesitantly picked up the other phone.

"Say it," the Winter Soldier commanded. "Say the words." Bryce frowned in confusion. Had someone else triggered the Soldier and sent him here? Was HYDRA going to attempt a rescue after all? He could use the Asset and break out of this awful place… Clearing his throat, he recited the words that would bring the Soldier under his influence and his command. The Asset stared at him through the transparent plastic, unflinching. He reached the end of the words he had memorized and looked expectantly at the Winter Soldier.

"Soldat?" he prompted, anticipating the Russian acknowledgement, "Ready to comply." But the Asset did not respond. Instead, pale blue eyes bored into his.

"The Soldier is gone," he snarled. "You have no power over me anymore. Tell the others. I'm done with you all. Now leave me be. You took seventy years from me. You can't have any more." Hanging up the phone, he stalked away, leaving Bryce staring after him, dumbfounded.


Bucky jogged from the prison exit to where Steve was waiting in the car. He grinned at his friend as he buckled himself back into the passenger seat.

"How did that go?" Steve inquired.

"I got my message across," Bucky replied confidently. "Whether it will have the intended effect…." He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

"You know, I think the others are kind of planning a little celebration," Steve informed him, setting his cell phone down. Bucky took a deep breath.

"Would it be possible to do it another time?" he asked. He was already feeling drained from the emotional roller coaster the day had already been. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the evening with well-intentioned people that he didn't know particularly well. "I'd really prefer to just… have a quiet evening at home."

"Sure, Buck." Steve frowned as he picked his phone back up to send a text message. Bucky sat quietly, waiting while his friend struggled with the new technology. After a few half-vocalized words and grunts, Steve set the phone back down and shifted the car into drive. "You know, I've been kinda busy moving into the new place this past week. I don't really have anything to eat there. You want to pick up a pizza or something?" Bucky thought about it, then shook his head.

"No. Let's get some real food."


Steve drove them to a supermarket much larger than any in Bucky's memory. The building itself seemed to take up an entire city block. The doors swished open in front of them as they entered. Bucky gaped at the crowd inside, milling about more fresh produce than he remembered seeing in the entire city of New York the last time he and Steve had gone grocery shopping together. He walked over to a display of apples and began selecting a few that looked ripe.

"So, what's on the menu tonight, Buck?" Steve asked with a smirk. "Hoover Stew? Poor Man's Meal? Maybe some Shit on a Shingle?" Bucky chuckled, thinking nostalgically of the cheap, flavorless meals they had scraped together with a Depression-era budget and negligible cooking skills.

"Not quite," he replied. "I was planning on making cheese and apple-stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in bacon." Steve's eyebrows rose until they nearly disappeared into his hair.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," he accused. Bucky grinned and shrugged. He wasn't incorrect. Steve laughed softly and clapped him on the shoulder. "I can see who's going to be the designated cook." Bucky tossed him a wry grin.

"You might regret that," he warned his friend. "I've only got about a dozen recipes."

"Wait until I show you this thing they have now, called the Internet," Steve replied. "You can find any recipe you want."


By the time they had gathered everything on Bucky's list, he was starting to feel overwhelmed with the massive crowd and abundance of selectionss at the store. There were foods that he had never even heard of, multiple varieties of fruits and vegetables and meats, and more choices of even everyday pantry items than he had ever dreamed of.

"Maybe let's just grab some Coke and then check out," he suggested to Steve. Steve smirked at him.

"Do you want Coke Classic, Diet Coke, Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, Coke with Lime, Diet Coke with Lime, Diet Vanilla Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke…." Steve trailed off with a smirk as Bucky gave him a disbelieving look.

"You're just fucking with me," he accused. Steve shook his head and gestured down the aisle lined with skinny cartons labeled with different soda flavors. Bucky scanned through the brightly colored packaging. "Why don't you choose, and then we can get out of here?" Steve selected two of them to toss in the cart, and they turned around in search of the checkout.

They even had automated check-out stations now, but Bucky opted to steer into a line with a live person to check them out instead. She looked like she might still be in high school, with curly hair colored with streaks of green and blue.

"You bag, I'll pay," Steve suggested. Bucky shook his head.

"No, I can pay this time," he asserted. "You can buy next time." Steve went to the end to start bagging up the groceries. Bucky almost choked when the check-out girl announced the total. He and Steve would have been able to eat well for a month on what he had just spent on one night's dinner. He handed her his money, and she gave him a scant handful of coins as change. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" she chirped back at him. "Can I just say, you two make a really cute couple." Steve frowned at her from the end of the aisle, where he had finished bagging up their food.

"Couple?" he repeated. "We're not…"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, her face turning bright pink. "I just assumed…"

"We're BFFs," Bucky informed her solemnly, then slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Come on, Punk. Let's go home."


Thanks to Qweb, DarylDixon'sLover, karina001, Brendan Wolff, MewWinx96, Ari, CTpoetgirl63 and guest for your kind comments and for hanging in there this long. We did it! Bucky's free! I am planning an epilogue to bring some closure to a few loose ends, but otherwise this is essentially the end of the main story arc. Let me know what you think, and thank you all for joining me on this journey.