AN: I did a crap-ton of research for this chapter but as I am not a scientist, alas, I'm sure I got some of it wrong. So...disclaimer apology for my pseudo-science I guess?


"You're sure?"

Nat nods, fiddling with a few dials overhead. It's a testament to how deeply well they know each other that Steve instantly recognizes the gesture is a deflection, born of nerves.

"I don't recognize these coordinates at all," Tony insists. He's got one hand on overhead handles for support, like the rest of them, and the other holding a mapping hologram. "By all topography reports, this is the middle of nowhere, Romanov."

"Barnes sent them at least three separate times," she says while adjusting her co-pilot's head set. The five of them brace against yet another round of turbulence. The snow storm is only getting worse. Dread slithers in Steve's belly, leaving a slimy trail. "He knows what he's doing, Tony. Besides…they were in Russian Cyrillic. I don't think that's an accident or a memory slip."

Even fancy quinjet stabilizer engines don't help with the massive storm clouds they have to pass through. Clint's gaze is focused, rarely blinking, while he flies them through obsidian shapes in the night.

The snow reminds Steve of another night he lost Bucky. A train screaming through the Alps.

Bruce takes off his glasses. Being shorter than the rest of them, his arm stretches higher to reach the handles. "You want the other guy on this one?"

"No." Steve swallows. "Much as I don't like it, they're both going to need medical. You're our first responder on that."

Bruce nods and the team falls into that roiling quiet.

Steve's hearing isn't as good as Peter's, but it's still strong enough to detect someone's heart beat faster than the rest. He can't pinpoint who it belongs to.

Steve frowns at a reflection in the front glass pane.

He walks forward, hand tracking overhead handles, monkey bars style, and bends to place a hand on Clint's shoulder. "You alright?"

Clint gives a curt nod. "A-okay, Captain."

Steve sighs. "Clint."

The archer exchanges a quick look with Natasha. Steve senses they've had this conversation already.

"It's not your fault," says Nat softly.

Clint takes a deliberate, measured breath. "I didn't get to see him…I didn't get to hold my boy, Steve."

Of course. Steve wants to slap himself. Clint was the only one who didn't reunite with Peter. I'd feel the same way.

Clint's tone aches and it hits Steve harder than a bullet. "You haven't seen Peter in almost a week, counting your time at the farm."

After a long beat, Clint nods.

The heartbeat speeds up. Clint eyes someone in his reflection and Steve tracks it over his shoulder.

The heartbeat is Bruce's. The physicist bites his lower lip. "If you hadn't followed me…"

Clint's face hardens. "Stop it. I left to secure the perimeter anyway. Saw you leaving, Bruce. And I'd do it again in a second, because I trust you all with Peter."

It's not meant to be an accusation but Steve still feels like he's been condemned.

Steve steps back.

You can't be trusted with him. Some things are going to change after this, have to change. We're breaking international laws as we speak.

A metallic weight settles on Steve's shoulder. He looks at Tony, who's somehow moved closer without Steve noticing.

"What did we say about guilt?"

Steve breathes out a smile. "My poison of choice."

"Mhmm. It's why I want to punch you sometimes. We're all the poster children for poor mental health."

"Peter's going to shine brighter than us someday," says Steve. "He already does."

"That's the plan. For the last time, Zemo kidnapping Peter was not your fault. Peter made the choice to stay on the helicopter, to protect Barnes." Tony's eyes are bright for a moment. "I'm respecting that choice."

Steve is so tired, running for so long without sleep or proper food, that he doesn't understand what these words even mean right away. He rubs at the itchy stitches on his forehead with a grimace.

Choice…choice…

The one word Bucky hasn't known in almost seventy years.

Bucky.

Steve whips around to fully meet Tony's eyes. Tony doesn't back down at the waves of surprise washing off Steve.

"I handled it wrong in the warehouse," Tony murmurs, trying to keep this conversation private. "Bucky is a victim here just as much as Peter. Peter saw that before any of us did."

Steve inhales, unsteady and stuttering and not very leader-like at all. "You…you're not going to…?"

Tony shifts his head back and forth in a subtle gesture, warmed by the affection on his face. "No. I'm protecting Barnes too. He's not going into custody, no matter what Everett and the UN want. Barnes can come with us or escape into the wind. It's his choice, Steve."

"I thought you saw him as a criminal."

Tony's eyes shutter, impossibly sad for reasons Steve doesn't understand. "I did. Then this bushy haired, elfin teenager with too big a heart gave me some perspective. Bucky's been used, mind raped. He's a free man as far as I'm concerned."

Steve grins, like the very thought of Peter is a bonfire inside his soul. Maybe he can have both after all.

Suddenly his face falls.

Tony's eyes widen in concern. "Steve? What's wrong?"

"Tony…there's something you deserve to know. You need to before we take a step further."

Tony squints. "You can tell me anything."

But he can't.

Steve has known this conversation would come someday. He's imagined it. Fantasized the worst and best case scenarios. Has been eaten from the inside out carrying it around. It never mattered before, not with Bucky lost.

Now it's critical.

"Tony, Bucky was a victim but he did some awful things."

Tony cants his head. "Hydra did some awful things."

"Well, yes, but Bucky carried them out."

"Don't lecture me, Cap. I've read those files too."

The air leaves Steve in a rush. "Not all of them."

Tony is silent for a long time. His eyes don't look exactly at Steve, more at a point just over his left shoulder. His brows dip, furrow, then smooth out.

"What is it, Steve?"

"Do you remember that Christmas you were in college? The one we talked about?"

Tony's eyes widen. "What are you—?"

"Boys?" Natasha swivels her chair around. She loads her gun in a quick snap. "We're here."


"Careful—"

"Ouch!" Electricity crackles up Peter's hand, making the hair follicles ache. He sucks on his fingers. "Sorry."

Bucky's eyebrow quirks. "I don't know why you're apologizing to me. I don't feel anything when this happens."

Point taken.

Peter's fingers are red after a few hours of this. They sit at a wooden spool, acting as the work table, and sit on overturned ammunition crates.

Bucky leans his left elbow on the table, arm splayed to allow Peter better access. His other hand has been working the laces off his boots whenever Zemo turns his back. A caged animal, Zemo paces at the other end of the room.

Zemo has been holding a phone to his ear, gun in the other hand, but hasn't spoken a word into it.

"I think he's listening to messages," Peter whispers. "I can hear a woman's voice on the other end."

"What's she saying?" Bucky's voice is a hum, almost inaudible. He finally gets one set of laces off. He hides them up his sleeve.

Peter frowns. "I can't make it out."

Bucky glances at Peter. "But your hearing is good enough to tell it's a woman from fifty feet away?"

Peter shrugs. He avoids looking at Bucky by picking up the screw driver again. The shoulder plates were the easy part. He's fixed all the way down to the man's wrist joint, tightening, soldering, and using tiny electromagnets in the kit to reactivate Bucky's arm.

Bucky's hand, however, is proving to be a nightmare.

"These joints are so tiny," Peter complains. "I wish I had a magnifying glass to work on them."

"This might help."

Despite their enhanced senses, both Bucky and Peter twitch in surprise when Zemo appears at their backs. His steps are completely silent.

Zemo holds out a small, rectangular chip.

Peter takes it with reluctance. It looks vaguely familiar yet homemade, like Zemo soldered the thing together himself. "What is it?"

"A reverse EMP chip. Insert it in the back of Sergeant Barnes' prosthetic hand and it will unify the electrodes."

Peter does as the man asks, hating that he can't get up and run even if he wanted to.

Zemo and Bucky watch closely.

"Do I have your permission?" Peter asks at the last minute, when he's got the chip in tweezers and the hand plates retracted. "I won't do this if you don't want me to, Bucky."

Zemo looks taken aback but says nothing, also waiting to hear Bucky's answer.

Bucky knuckles Peter's chin gently. "Of course, kid. I trust you. You're a genius, right?"

Peter's glad for something else to focus on, carefully connecting the chip to the correct nodes in Bucky's central plating. "Not really. I just go to this science school in Midtown."

"Mr. Parker is being modest," says Zemo. "I've seen his spider suit in action."

Peter reddens again but this time it is from anger.

Bucky eyes the boy. "Spiderman. Something tells me that's another long story."

Peter glares for a moment at Zemo and then sighs. "You have no idea."

"A story which we don't have time for." Zemo doesn't touch Peter, but he breathes down his neck, getting close behind Peter's space. Peter tries to lean away. Zemo catches his cheek and pats it. "It's almost show time, child."

Just when Bucky opens his mouth to get the attention away from Peter, Zemo steps away.

It bursts out of Peter without warning. "Why are you doing this? You're not a-a terrorist or a thief—you're a father!"

Zemo freezes. Bucky's holding his breath.

Zemo walks around so that he's facing Peter. He goes down into a crouch, gun resting casually on one knee. Even then, he's still at eye level with Peter.

Peter hasn't been so shaken since Derrick, even though this man has barely touched him.

"Why?" Peter demands in a whimper. Bucky fumbles for his hand. "They're coming. They're coming and you won't make it out of this facility alive. What was the point of it all?"

Zemo's eyes are wracked: in one instant furious, in the next so broken that Peter feels light headed. It doesn't make any sense, but Peter feels he's looking into Tony's eyes. They're so similar.

"Have you ever heard the story of Abraham and Isaac, Peter?"

Peter frowns. "I only went to Sunday school as a kid. Is that the one with the ram in it?"

Zemo's eyes are intent, pitying. He seems to enjoy just watching Peter rub at his tired eyes. Watch him be a kid. "You're correct, of course. God asks Abraham to sacrifice his only son, to prove his loyalty and test his heart."

Peter's unsteady fidgeting slows down. He stares, open mouthed, at Zemo. Bucky's face is a storm.

Zemo's voice swoops down into a hot whisper. "Mr. Parker…I was a father."

He doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to.

Bucky and Peter watch Zemo rise and stride away.

"Peter? You still with me, bud?"

Peter shakes his head.

"Talk to me, kid. If I'm unnerved you must be off the rails."

Peter finishes attaching the chip and closes Bucky's hand plate. Finally finished, at least as good as they can get it in this decrepit Soviet hole.

"Pete?"

Peter clumsily wipes his eyes. Bucky helps him, metal fingers now working in tandem. They're cool and refreshing on Peter's flushed skin.

"There was this man, named Derrick." Peter sniffles. "He…He did bad things…to me."

Bucky's eyes ignite, appalled, but he stays silent.

"That's how I ended up living with the team. They adopted me and-and this kind of feels like that." Peter slaps the table top. "I can't move. I have no control."

Even fixing Bucky's arm hasn't made him feel better, although the motions are so familiar. He thinks about Ned in the workshop at school.

He hiccups again without meaning to. "Sorry."

"You've had too much happen to you in so little time. I'm freaking out too you just can't see it."

Peter leans on the table to straighten. "Really?"

Bucky hums in his chest. He reaches across the space between them, slow enough that Peter can see him coming and pull back if he doesn't want the impending touch.

Peter relaxes. This man won't hurt him. He's bigger and more muscular than Derrick or Zemo but his body language broadcasts shelter.

Flesh fingers make it to Peter's cheek, knuckles rubbing a little. "I'm freaking out because you gave me something I haven't felt in over half a century, Peter."

Peter's eyes widen. What could he possibly offer someone as powerful as Barnes?

Bucky melts, smile grim but warm. "Homesickness, Peter. You remind me of a life—a brother—I once had. And it frustrates me that someone so innocent is in a situation so bleak, that I've been helpless to stop it. I haven't had…purpose in a long time."

Peter knows he must make a pathetic sight, but he tries to shuffle off his chair and towards Barnes for a hug.

"Easy, kid." Bucky pulls him close. "I've got you. And thank you for fixing my arm."

"You deserve better than what you've gotten," Peter breathes into Bucky's shoulder.

The man doesn't say anything, content plucking bloody tangles apart in Peter's hairline. It's soothing, a dash of normal in a hostage scenario Peter hasn't quite unpacked.

Bucky's hand pauses. "May I?"

Peter nods, not trusting his voice.

It's quick work for Bucky to peel back the Kerlix bandage spanning the buttons around Peter's tailbone.

"Oh, malysh, oh…"

Peter checks, but Bucky is fully in the present. Whatever he sees is just that bad.

"Infected?" Peter guesses, subdued.

Bucky's lips pinch. "It's started to sealed over, so I can't tell."

"Bucky?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it looks infected." Bucky does another full body physical. "The good news is that other than a few bruises and low body temperature, that's your only major injury. Though I imagine those knuckles hurt."

Peter shrugs again. "S'okay."

"It's really not, but I appreciate your optimism." Something in Bucky's face shifts, curious. "You know…I used to love science."

Peter tugs an errant curl out of his eyes. "We'll have to go to the Natural History Museum some time. I have a science fair at the end of the month too."

Bucky throws the bloody bandages under the table and tears off the bottom of his own shirt. He carefully tapes it in folds over Peter's spine. His hands, while icy, are tender.

"That sounds awesome, Pete. But I might not be around."

Peter opens his mouth to ask, Why not?

But just then a thunderous clang shakes the floor.

"Is that them?" Peter's dying to jump to his feet. His legs went full rag doll hours ago and never came back 'online.' "Are they here?"

He falters when Bucky scowls at the back of the room. The soldier scoops Peter up, bridal style, and marches past the row of tanks. Peter reels.

"This is your plan?" Bucky snaps. "Hide from the Avengers? You really think a ballistics door will stop their wrath?"

Peter finally sees it—Zemo at the tiny window of the bunker. The clang had been him sliding and locking the door.

"No," says Zemo.

Bucky looks astonished. He kneels down to place Peter a good distance away from the bunker, as though only now realizing he'd taken Peter with him.

"You good?" Bucky squeezes the nape of Peter's neck with his left hand. "I just want you out of the danger zone in case I have to shoot him."

Peter nods. "They'll be here soon enough."

"They're here now." Zemo's nose wrinkles into an inhuman expression of disgust and…disappointment? "I may not be able to stop them. But this will."

He holds up a small remote. All it takes is a flick of two green buttons and everything, Peter's hopes about getting out of this easy, going back to school on Monday, all of it goes to hell.

Bucky's metal fingers suddenly contract. Peter only gets out a fraction of a cry when Bucky's hand clamps around his throat.

The chip!

Bucky cries out himself, standing to get away on instinct. This only serves to draw Peter up with him, the boy's feet dangling a hair off the floor. Peter claws at the metal fingers. Bucky sets him down but it's no use when Peter can't use his legs.

"Why am I doing this, Mr. Parker?" Zemo snarls. "I am doing this because Stark needs to understand what it feels like to lose his child."

The fingers constrict.

"If I can't have mine, neither can the Avengers."

Bucky screams enough for the both of them.