It was 11:50 p.m. when Bucky made his move and took out the surveillance undetected. He started with the devices at the edge of the field. With only two guards, each switching off sleep shifts, it had been ridiculously easy. Happy was the only guard visible, sitting on the steps of the front porch. The other guard, Bucky surmised, was inside asleep.
All Bucky had to do was distract Happy momentarily and call his attention elsewhere to disable the cameras on the porch. It took him less than 30 seconds.
At 11:58 p.m., Happy was back on the porch. His cell phone chirped and he held the phone to his ears. "What do you mean all of them are out? No, it's quiet here."
At 11:59, a jolt of electricity enveloped Happy, and he grunted, falling to the porch. At exactly midnight, the front door of the cabin opened, and the second guard received a similar jolt and crumpled to the ground.
Sam landed on the ground in front of the porch, the shield on his back and a brown satchel slung across his chest. He raised the goggles to his forehead and gave a regretful sigh as he looked down at the two unconscious men.
Bucky trotted up alongside of him. "Nice. Is that like the thing Natasha carried?"
Sam shook his head. "I think it's a bit less painful according to the information Shuri provided."
Bucky eyed him. "You haven't tested it before?"
Sam cocked his head. "Nope, first time."
"You tested it on Happy?"
"Shuri knows her stuff, man." He gave Bucky a slap on the arm. "Come on, we better move."
Bucky nodded. He knew with the cameras out and Happy's phone call cut short, someone at Stark was alerted, so that meant they were short on time.
"What's the plan from this point?"
"What did you find out about the cabin?" Bucky asked.
He hoped for some luck. If the cabin had been vacant on that day, he could make the jump now. Transporting the device to New York would be a lot easier in 2023 when he wasn't an international fugitive.
Sam gestured toward the cabin. "During the blip, there were a lot of abandoned and vacant properties, but records were kind of iffy. I couldn't find any record of this being rented, but the original owner was dusted. It transferred to someone else with the same last name. Satellite images show it mostly in disarray. Vegetation overgrown, etc. I'm guessing it's so remote it wasn't really used much."
"Thanks. That's good enough, I guess." Bucky eyed Happy's unconscious form on the porch. "Apologize to him for me, will you?"
"I think it'll take more than an apology. I'll have to find out if he has a favorite team and get him tickets and maybe one hell of a gift basket. The other guy, too."
Bucky smiled. "I better get going before he wakes up. The tablet?"
Sam slipped the brown pack over his head, reached in and pulled out a flash drive. "This has relevant information on the battle, everything I could remember, download, and gather, along with some other information you might need." Sam's voice faltered, and he took a breath. He slipped the drive into the front pocket of the pack, then reached into the main compartment and pulled out a small tablet. "Tony made the interface pretty damn user friendly. The drive's encrypted, and the code to access the file is 'thanoscanfuckhimself23' all lowercase, no spaces."
Bucky shook his head as he swung the pack over his right shoulder. He didn't appreciate Sam quite enough. "That's the password?"
Sam tilted his head. "It's easy to remember, but not so easy to guess. There's some cash in there for you, along with energy bars, and a few other things. I also put a burner phone in there, even though it won't be activated in 2023. I'm not sure what your plan is or if you'll end up needing it here."
Bucky swallowed hard as he took in the concern on his friend's face. It was difficult to believe just a couple of months ago, Sam barely tolerated him. "Thank you, man. This is already too much."
Sam gave a nonchalant tilt of his head, looking all business. "So, what is your plan?"
Bucky sighed. He hadn't had quite enough time to craft his plan as carefully as he'd like. The battle with Thanos took place in New York, at the Avenger's complex, over a thousand miles from Louisiana. He'd have to make his way there, but it would be easier to travel in 2023 when he wasn't a wanted man.
"I'm going to jump now, arrive a few days before the fight, and make my way to New York. With fewer people during the blip and no one looking for me, it should be easy. I'll figure out a way to take the platform with me. The actual device can fit in my pack, and I'll make sure it's safe. I'll set up shop someplace close to the Avenger's complex but out of sight." Bucky slapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. He regretted dragging him into this madness. "Be careful. They'll probably be pulling your cell phone and computer records… Sorry, man, and thank you."
Sam shook his head and slipped the tablet into a large pocket on his pantleg. "Half of that stuff is top secret, so it'll take way more red tape than a warrant." He grew silent for a moment and stared at Bucky. His dark eyes glistened, and he reached out with sudden ferocity and pulled Bucky into a hug. "You don't need to do this, man. It's not too late to change your mind."
Bucky hadn't expected that reaction, and he found himself squeezed against Sam, his chin on the Captain's shoulder. It took him a moment to overcome his surprise, but when he did, he returned the embrace and gave his friend a firm hold, being mindful not to use too much force. Suddenly, his eyes clouded, and he blinked, then cleared his throat and pulled back to look at Sam. Although he and Sam had started to become genuine friends, he hadn't realized Sam cared so much about him, and suddenly he felt even more like an asshole.
"I…" Bucky cleared his throat. "Thank you for being there for me when no one else was. I know it wasn't what you signed up for, and I know I didn't make it easy."
Sam held his gaze. "You're worth it, you know." He sighed. "I haven't changed your mind, have I?"
Bucky offered a reassuring smile. "No, but it's okay. I need to do this. I want to do this."
"If Steve were around," Sam began, "he'd never forgive me for letting you do this."
"Steve got his happily ever after." Bucky gave Sam's shoulder an appreciative squeeze. "He doesn't get a say in how either of our stories end. Now, fire up that thing." He pointed to the tablet tucked into Sam's pantleg pocket.
Sam withdrew the tablet, turned it on, and held the screen toward Bucky. "Password to access the tablet is ACDC, all caps." He typed it in, and a screen with four icons appeared. "This is the program," he pointed to the icon of an analog clock.
"Cute," Bucky shook his head. Stark had a sense of humor, for sure.
Sam tapped the icon and the program loaded instantly. A password box popped up. Sam typed in the word 'Thunderstruck.'
Bucky shook his head. Tony was nothing if not consistent.
"You use this to punch in your date." Sam explained, then pointed to a square box. "This selects the time." He tapped a downward arrow icon, and a drop-down menu appeared. "Stark said it's not exact, but close enough. You might arrive within an hour of the selected time, so if it's important, choose earlier rather than later." Sam selected a time and date four days before Thanos' attacked.
Buck nodded.
"Now, here's the thing you have to remember." Sam pointed to the bottom right corner of the screen, then placed his thumb over the area. "There's a box here that's not visible. It's pressure sensitive. Once you select the date, put your thumb on this invisible box, right here at the corner, press down and keep the pressure on."
An 'activate' button appeared in the lower left corner of the screen. The rectangular box on the platform suddenly glowed.
"There you go." Sam held the tablet out to him.
Bucky took the tablet, eyed the date and time and determined four days was plenty for him to get to New York and prepare. He hopped up on the tablet. He heard a groan from the porch. Happy was waking up. Sam glanced behind him, then back at Bucky.
"Time's up." Bucky's finger hovered over the 'activate' button. "Get out of here, Sam, before someone sees you."
The sound of a distant thruster broke the night silence. Someone from Stark Enterprises was on their way. Bucky took a moment to stare at his friend. Sam's eyes were wet but steady. Bucky regretted dragging him in this far. Hopefully, even if someone from Stark saw him, they'd keep it on the downlow. Sam could explain it to Pepper and stay out of the legal fray. The last thing Bucky wanted was for Sam to pay the price for any of this. He'd never know for sure what kind of hell Sam would catch for helping him…again…and that realization sent a sharp pang of regret through his chest.
Sam gave Bucky a salute, slid the goggles over his eyes, and blasted into the sky. Bucky took only a second to watch him leave, then hit the activation button on the tablet. The platform erupted into a stunning electric light show.
The world turned to a kaleidoscope of darkness and light. He felt himself falling, and his right elbow slammed into something hard. He swallowed a touch of bile at the back of his throat as he blinked through the disorientation.
Bright sunlight. Green trees. Tall grass. The smell of dirt, vegetation, flowers, and feces. He rolled to his rear, sitting on the edge of the platform, and took a moment to let the dizziness pass as he surveyed his surroundings. The small cabin sat a short distance away. Tall grass and shrubs grew around the porch. Spider webs adorned the corners beneath the overhang. The door was closed, the windows revealing only dark curtains.
Sam had selected noon on the tablet, and given the position of the sun in the sky, Bucky was pretty sure that was on point.
The world seemed more solid and his head steadier. He hopped off the platform, spotting the tablet discarded near the edge. He grabbed it, swung the pack off his right shoulder, and tucked the tablet safely into the main compartment. He took the opportunity to look inside the pack to see what else Sam had left him.
He inventoried five energy bars, a charging cord, a hunting knife, a small first aid kit, a bottle of water, the burner phone, a pen, a small notebook slightly bigger than the one Steve had given him, an envelope with cash sticking out, and a folded piece of paper.
He pulled out the paper and unfolded it. It was a standard 8.5 x 11 sheet with Sam's handwriting. Bucky sat back down on the edge of the platform, placed the pack next to him, and read the note.
Bucky,
I've started and trashed this letter about a dozen times. I'm struggling to find the right words, but I can't, so forgive me if this comes out a jumbled mess. I understand why you feel the need to do this, just like I understood why Steve left. Just like with Steve, though, I really wish you'd made a different decision, and I really, really wish Steve were here to stop you from doing this. I know he's the only one who could. If I thought I could have, I would've, but I saw it in your face…in your eyes… I've seen it for a long time. I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner.
You're a good man, Buck. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be Captain America. You pushed me to do the right thing. You got me that suit, and I know it couldn't have been easy to ask the Wakandans for it after everything that happened. In the short time I've known you, I understand why Steve refused to give up on you. I know you don't see yourself the way I see you or Steve saw you, and I know that's why you feel like your life doesn't matter as much as some others – like Tony Stark. But it does.
This next part, I should have said sooner. I'm sorry I didn't realize how much the shield meant to you. I spent some time trying to imagine what it must have been like for Steve waking up in a strange world – and for you, too, getting your memories back and realizing everyone you knew was gone…except for Steve, and then losing him, too. I should have talked to you about the shield before I retired it, at least given you a heads up, or offered it to you. I'm sorry. Thank you for caring enough to put it back in my hands and help me carry on its legacy.
I hope I can return the favor. So here it goes: this is my final plea, and my last chance to push you in a different direction, just like you did for me. Steve said we don't trade lives. Don't trade yours, Bucky. I swear I'll fight with everything I have to keep them from sending you to the Raft with Zemo…from locking you up anywhere. You've done your time, and then some—more than any human ever has. Hell, they didn't even lock up Walker, and he straight up murdered that man. If you come back, we'll fight this, but I know that's a lot easier for me to say. It's not my risk, so I'll understand if you don't return. But, even if you don't come back here, do what Steve did. Just take the device and find some happy little corner of time to spend your life. You've earned it, man.
Your 'coworker' and friend,
Sam
Bucky sat staring at Sam's handwriting for several minutes, going over the words again until the hot sting of tears blurred them. He closed his eyes, feeling a couple of tears fall and hearing them plop on the page. The silence around him gradually faded as birds returned, their soft chirps and squawks resuming after the temporal disturbance.
Sam's words stirred a distant feeling inside him, one he thought he'd never find again—a sense of belonging. Damnit, Sam. Why'd you have to make this hard for me?
Bucky swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat and opened his eyes. He felt himself faltering, considering Sam's plea, but the thought of returning was short-lived. He had a mission, and he'd already come too far to turn back. The thought of going back in time to some place simple and safe was tempting, but he had too much to make amends for. This was his chance to make amends in a way he never could otherwise…to do enough good to outweigh the harm he'd caused over the past century. It was his chance to finally cross off the most notable name that he'd never written in his book—Stark.
He wished he could let Sam know how much the words meant to him, but even if he wrote a letter, it would only go to whatever version of Sam would inhabit this timeline's future – the timeline Bucky hoped to change. He sucked in a breath and looked up at the cabin. Nothing had changed. No curtains had been pulled back, and there were no signs of occupants. No cars were visible in the area. He was pretty sure it was vacant.
He folded up the letter and tucked it in his pack, then closed the satchel and slung it over his chest.
Slowly, he walked to the cabin. If no one had stirred after the disturbance caused by the platform, no one would likely hear his footsteps. Still, he took care to approach silently. He made his way up the stairs, testing each step to see if the wood creaked. When he got to the door, he tried the knob. It was locked.
He knocked, then waited, but no one answered. He knocked again. Still, no one answered. He listened, but heard no signs of anyone inside. His hand wrapped once again around the knob and, with a quick turn, he forced it open and pushed the door inward.
It was dark inside. The layout was much like it would be in 2024, except everything was dirtier and the furniture, though similar, was older and covered with dirt and webs. The refrigerator door was open, the appliance dark and empty. A thick layer of dust coated almost everything.
He exhaled a relieved sigh. He had the place to himself, which meant he could spend some time getting his bearings, planning his next steps, and figuring out how to transport himself and the device—with the platform—to New York.
He knew Tony had constructed the platform to fold in half. It was only about three feet in diameter, so folded, it would only be one and a half feet wide and three feet long. He'd need a vehicle that could accommodate those dimensions, but it shouldn't be too hard to find. He'd have to hoof it for a bit, being so far out, but he was sure he could find something.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky made it to New York in less than two days. He'd been dusted with half the universe, so he never really knew what life during the blip was like until spending time on the road in the midst of it. Finding a car hadn't been a problem when half the population suddenly vanished, leaving behind all their possessions—including vehicles. The real issue had been finding something that was functional and abandoned.
He'd lucked out after a few trials and errors and found a good Samaritan to give an old Chrysler sedan a jump. The vehicle didn't seem like it had been sitting for too long, but it was too far from any homes or businesses to likely belong to someone, and Bucky saw no signs of hikers or recent occupancy. The dead battery told him it had probably been sitting for a while. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over for driving a stolen vehicle, so he hoped no one would miss the car for at least a day or two.
To his surprise, the gas hadn't gone bad, and the engine roared to life. Thankfully, the folded platform fit in the back seat. He'd thanked the Good Samaritan – an older Persian gentleman who'd been driving by –and slipped him a twenty dollar bill. The glowing box became inactive when detached and fit nicely in the glove compartment. There was little traffic on the road, and his drive to New York was easy.
He stopped twice for gas, supplies, and the restroom and once for food and sleep. The car didn't make the most comfortable bed, but he'd slept in far worse places. He picked up new clothes and changed in the car, grateful to be out of the filthy, marsh-soiled clothes that had dried stiff and scratchy. He'd certainly gotten some looks from the cashier, but at least now he appeared more presentable. He was sure he still reeked, however.
He checked into a lonely motel a few miles away from the Avenger's complex, paying in cash. He'd passed too many that had gone out of business and began to wonder whether he'd have to find an abandoned house. He needed electricity and wi-fi, however. The motel had both.
Once settled into the small room, he peeled out of his clothes and headed for the bathroom. He reached for the dog tags around his neck to pull them over his head, but his hand hit only bare skin, and he remembered they'd been taken during the booking process. The cool metal that was his only remaining connection to home was gone. They carried his name and the name of his sister – the person to notify in the event of his death during the war– and served as an ever-present reminder that he was James B. Barnes. If he ever lost his memory again, he had a silly notion that he could look down and the tags would tell him a little piece of his story.
A pang of new loss caused him to sigh. He knew they weren't important to the mission, and he was just being sentimental, but he suddenly regretted that they wouldn't be with him, nestled against his breastbone, when he took his last breath. Unfortunately, they were irretrievably gone.
He needed to focus on the mission and keep his head in the game, not let himself think too hard about dying and all the things he never got a chance to experience thanks to Hydra stealing his mind and a lifetime from him. He knew how to do this – put one foot in front of the other and focus on what needed to be done next. At the moment, that was taking a shower.
In ten minutes, he felt human again, drying off as he headed into the main room. The accommodations were sparse – a single double bed, a tiny bathroom, and old furniture. A small fridge housed the food and beverages he'd bought at the gas station earlier. The rug had several stains he didn't want to think too hard about. He'd watched reports about the hardships caused by the blip – too much infrastructure and too few people. Labor shortages. Surpluses elsewhere. Abandoned properties. Decay. Endangered species that were on the brink of extinction being effectively wiped out.
But there had been a few positives – cleaner air and water, less traffic, a housing surplus. Even the night sky seemed brighter. It reminded him a bit of being back in the 40s. Then, the world's population had been about two-and-half billion – but of course the housing, infrastructure, and job market had matched the smaller size. The night sky, however, had been brighter back then, too. He'd loved looking up into the myriad stars. Even in Brooklyn, back in the 40s, he could look up and admire the cosmos.
Modern day Brooklyn, however, drowned out most of the celestial view.
Bucky sat in the small chair across from the bed, pulled out the tablet and flash drive, and slipped the drive into the port on the side of the device.
He entered the passwords, smiling and thinking of Sam as he typed in the Thanos-related profanity.
He spent the next few hours going over the data of the battle—reviewing notes from the debriefings, Sam's notes, and writing his own recollections in the notebook to track the location of the gauntlet. He briefly considered using the platform to actually go back and observe—perhaps even secretly film the battle for later review in a reconnaissance trip—but realized on the second trip back he'd likely just run into himself filming and then there might be two or three Bucky's in one timeline. He wasn't sure what the hell that would do to the fabric of reality, so he nixed the idea quickly.
Fortunately, they had battlefield footage from the Stark suits- so he had quite a bit of video to review. Unfortunately, even with those recordings, there were blind spots on the battlefield. Bucky knew the gauntlet with the stones had taken quite the journey from the destroyed complex, passing at various points from Clint to T'Challa, Peter Parker, Danvers, Thanos…and, of course, Tony. Bucky just had to figure out the perfect moment – when the gauntlet was unguarded, vulnerable, and accessible – to make his move.
The motel had a small TV, and a few hours into his review, he took a break and flipped on the screen. He set the tablet on the tiny table next to the chair and plugged it in to charge, then rose to his feet, grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap, and returned to his chair.
He mindlessly watched television for a few minutes, rubbing his eyes and shoulders. It had been a long, long, long couple of weeks between Siberia, time traveling to 2014, then back to 2024, the road trip, getting arrested, traversing miles of terrain on foot, staking out the cabin, and now this.
He hadn't had a moment to catch his breath.
He recognized the actors on the screen. It was a Star Trek episode—one from the 90s, he was pretty sure. He'd discovered Star Trek recently thanks to Steve's book. Apparently, there were lots of Star Treks. He had no idea which version this was, but he recognized the yellow android and the man with the beard…except in this episode the bearded commander had a twin dressed in a yellow uniform.
Bucky grabbed the pen and notebook from the satchel next to his chair and began jotting down the basics of a plan he'd formulated during the road trip. The TV played in the background as he scribbled thoughts, ideas, and amends. He didn't know how much time he'd have to use the stones, so he made a list of priorities.
The first item on the list was the easiest—destroy Thanos and his entire army. After that, he just started writing, then numbering and renumbering, using up page after page in the notebook. Adding names, then scratching them off, trying to decide how far back to go, whose lives to touch, and in what order.
Natasha was a name he kept adding and scratching off. He knew Banner had tried unsuccessfully to bring her back. If Banner couldn't do it when he had the gauntlet, then what the guardian of the soul stone had told Clint must have been true. There was no way to bring her back. If Bucky spent futile time trying to resurrect her, he'd end up sacrificing something else on his list. He knew he'd only have a few seconds to use the stones before they killed him. He couldn't waste a single, precious second.
The TV played in the background. He occasionally glanced up at it, half-listening to talk of transporters and dual energy beams as he worked and re-worked his list. At some point, his eyes grew heavy, and he felt himself drifting. The notebook rested on his lap, and the pen clattered to the floor as he surrendered to sleep.
-0- -0- -0-
He was in a small, room, dimly lit by weak overhead lights. An empty, rusted chair was pushed against the far wall. His left arm was restrained against the steel wall by two thick metal vices. His right arm hung free. His ankles were shackled. Everything hurt, even his stomach. His mouth tasted like sand. His lips were cracked and bleeding. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed food, water, or sleep.
Two guards stood on either side of him, stiff and watchful. One held a gun, the other a modified electric prod about the size of a child's baseball bat.
The sound of a woman's scream rose from somewhere outside the room, faint but unmistakable, then gradually became louder, closer.
The door opened, and the screams caused him to wince. His gut twisted. Three men entered. Two carried a struggling, screaming woman. The third man he recognized as the Commander. The woman looked young, but with her face contorted and her thrashing, her age was hard to guess. Her blonde hair flung wildly around her face as she fought her captors.
The two men pushed the woman into the chair and bound her arms behind her, then shackled her legs to rings sunk into the cement floor. She wore only a blue hospital-style gown with short sleeves. Her feet were dirty and bare.
She looked at him, her chest heaving. A large gash near her left eye oozed blood. Her bottom lip was split and bleeding.
The commander approached him and held out a pistol. "Kill her." The man's Russian accent was thick, his voice hard.
He suddenly couldn't breathe. He shook his head. The commander returned the firearm to his side.
The electric prod jammed into his side so quicky he didn't have time to register it before the current seared through him. His screams filled the small room, ripping from his throat. His legs buckled. Everything went black and quiet.
A shock of ice cold brought him to awareness. He was wet. He looked up. He was hanging by his left arm. His legs refused to move. A ringing sound filled his skull.
The Commander stared at him. "Now watch what your refusal has done."
One of the guards near the woman calmly undressed himself below the waist, then walked up to the woman and yanked up her gown.
He closed his eyes.
"Watch or I will kill her slowly."
He took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open. The guard was on top of her. Her screams battered the air.
When it was finished, she sat, sobbing, as the guard calmly dressed himself. The commander retrieved the pistol from his side and held it out.
"Shoot her."
He sobbed and shook his head.
The prod found its mark again. He wasn't sure how long he was out. When he came to, his left shoulder ached. His gut was on fire.
"Now watch what your refusal has done," the Commander ordered again.
The other guard slipped a large knife from a sheath around his belt and brought the blade down with a quick, hard stroke, slicing through two of the woman's fingers. She howled.
"Please…" He struggled against the clamp holding his arm, but he felt as weak as a newborn. His legs barely moved. The room spun.
The Commander held out the firearm. "Shoot her."
"I…I…can't…"
This time he didn't even feel the electricity. He just knew he lost time, and when he came to, the Commander was standing over him.
"Now watch what your refusal has done."
Bucky gasped awake, the sound of gunfire bringing him instantly alert, and he bolted out of his chair. It took his brain a second to process the unfamiliar surroundings. A small television sat atop a dark, worn cabinet. A car chase played on the screen, and a man hung out the side window of an old sedan, firing at a small red car ahead.
Bucky collapsed back into the chair, trembling with the residual horror of the nightmare…the memory from 75 years ago. His nightmares had slowly been getting less frequent, but they still plagued him. He hadn't dreamed of her in almost six months.
During his last time travel adventure, Tony had said that sometimes you travel through time, and sometimes time travels through you. Bucky wondered whether parts of his brain had reset to 2023 or whether the stress was simply getting to him, lowering his defenses. He did his best to push her image and the shame it evoked out of his mind.
Since he knew sleep wouldn't come again for some time, he grabbed the tablet and fired it up, then spent the next two hours reviewing battle footage from the Stark helmets. He tried to take solace in the fact that, after he completed his mission, he'd never again be plagued by the faces from his past.
-0- -0- -0
The next day, Bucky left the hotel room once to pick up food, then returned and got back to work. He sat in the chair, a spiral notebook in his lap and a discarded take-out bag and empty containers in the nearby trash can. His gaze drifted over the page with the final list. He recited it in his head over and over again. He mouthed the words. He went over the list so many times, that when he closed his eyes, he could see the words and the images they evoked almost as clearly as if he were looking at the page.
Once satisfied that the list was so ingrained that his dying brain would be able to work through as much of it as effortless as possible, he turned the page and focused on the other list he'd created-the four options he'd scribbled down.
The hours of watching and re-watching video footage and re-reading debriefing notes had paid off. There were four moments during the battle with Thanos when the gauntlet glove had the infinity stones and was not in the hands of someone else.
The first was after Thanos destroyed the Avenger's complex. Clint had found the glove in the rubble. Since the gauntlet would be almost impossible for him to get to, he'd already scratched that option off the list.
The second moment was when T'Challa took a hit from Thanos and dropped the glove, but he determined that moment was too risky. Thanos' telekinetic henchman had been on it almost immediately.
The third was when Peter Parker took an almost direct hit from Thanos' ship, but there was too much firepower blowing everything to hell. Getting to the glove without being hit himself would be almost impossible. In fact, he had almost been blown to hell – he'd taken a near direct hit himself, which had knocked him unconscious for a few minutes. When he'd come to, Thanos' ship had been destroyed by Danvers.
The fourth moment came shortly after Thanos had blown up the van. Bucky focused on that one. If he could manage to be out of sight, at that exact place, at just the right moment, he'd be able to grab the gauntlet. He'd only have a window of a few seconds, but it was very doable.
With his plan solidified, he turned the page in the notebook to reveal a clean sheet of paper. There'd be no time to explain anything to Steve or the others once he used the infinity stones. The blank paper in front of him would be the vessel for his final words. He knew he needed to write something, but staring at the empty canvas overwhelmed him. There was too much he wanted – needed—to say, but explaining himself eloquently in words was never a skill he developed. He'd always felt more comfortable letting his actions speak for his heart. He hoped, this last time, his actions would fill the gap left by the words he knew would fall short. He wasn't sure the right words even existed in any of the languages he knew.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky looked at the cheap digital wristwatch he'd purchased as he skidded to a halt near the destroyed Avenger's complex. He still had some time to wait. He crouched down behind a cluster of destroyed trees about 300 yards beyond the thick of the battle. He was dressed in black and kept low to the ground. He knew Thanos' ship would start to reign fire soon, and things would go to hell. He picked his initial position to stay out of the line of fire. If he got blown up, his mission would end prematurely, Tony would die, and 2024 Sam would've put himself on the line for nothing.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky Barnes once again found himself in the middle of a fight. Just moments ago, he'd felt lightheaded and watched as his new vibranium arm disintegrated. He'd barely had time to call out Steve's name when everything went dark. When he came to, he was in the same spot, alone. He found T'Challa and the others a few minutes later. They all seemed just as disoriented, and that feeling only intensified when a portal opened and a man he'd never met told him five years had passed, and the battle was now thousands of miles across the globe in New York. The Avengers needed their help.
So, here he was at Steve's side again, trying his best to fight for something greater than himself.
"No, no. Gimme that. You have the little one," Bucky heard Thor tell Steve, but his focus was on the familiar Iron Man suit yards away.
Whatever those things were, they were overwhelming Stark. A few more minutes, and they'd kill him. Fortunately, his Wakandan-modified machine gun was proving highly effective against the aliens. Bucky held the weapon—looking down the barrel, his breathing steady, and his focus unyielding as he fired. Tony was in the fray, buried by Thanos' warriors. Bucky's shots were careful and deliberate.
The weapon did its job, clearing enough of them to give Stark his avenue of escape. Tony flew upward, hovering just a moment, his helmet swiveling in Bucky's direction. The Iron Man gave him a quick nod of approval, then landed a few yards away, back in the fight.
-0- -0- -0-
Shortly after Thano's ship crashed to Earth, time-traveling Bucky moved into his new position among the smoldering rubble a few feet away from where the gauntlet would land. He snaked himself beneath one of the piles of twisted metal, slithering into the dust and dirt, letting it cloak his presence The ground was littered with rocks and debris—hills forged by destruction—and he chose the higher elevation to maintain visibility of the battlefield from his temporary shelter.
He held his position until he saw the unmistakable form of Danvers barreling through Thanos' forces, a blazing wake of light and energy marking her path. He slithered out of his hiding spot, keeping low. He watched the glove land a few feet away from Stark. Tony pushed a body off, spotted the gauntlet, and moved toward it. Thanos was on him, and Tony adjusted his position, barreling into the alien. Thanos swept an arm out, flinging Stark hard into the ground and knocking him unconscious.
Bucky crawled forward. With his dark clothes and the dirt covering him, he knew he'd be hard to spot. Thor landed, the blue glow from his ax bright against the dark landscape. Thor reached for the glove, but Thanos grabbed him. Thor swung the blade around, but when Thanos caught it in one hand, Thor used his free hand to call for the hammer.
Bucky knew Steve would arrive soon. He inched forward, watching closely as Thanos and Thor struggled. Thor's eyes glowed. Steve leapt through the air, landing on Thanos' back.
Bucky launched himself toward the glove. His right hand curled around the cool metal, and he slipped it onto his vibranium arm. The glove was large, but his metal hand made contact, and he felt the instant tremor within the vibranium itself. The arm was directly connected to his nervous system, and he hoped the vibranium interface would give him a few more precious seconds.
He knew in less than a second that it was working. A shock of cold exploded from his shoulder socket, into his chest, stealing his breath. The cold turned to fire, and he choked back a scream. Energy carved a path of agony through his collarbone, into his neck, down into his stomach, to his groin.
He saw Thanos slam a massive fist into Steve's head, rendering him instantly unconscious, and fought every urge he had to defend his friend. This had already happened once. Steve would live.
Bucky closed his eyes, blocking out Steve and the war still raging around him, and thought about the list. The words hung clear in his mind. He didn't snap his fingers. He focused instantly as the power surged through him, shredding his insides, tearing through his brain. The pain was intense. His throat and lungs froze.
He pictured Thanos and all his ships and forces disintegrating. The energy twisted and surged inside him, destroying his organs, killing the cells of his body.
He remembered the faces of Howard and Maria Stark and pictured them standing a few feet away.
Natasha, the soul stone. Her body falling. A millisecond before she hit, he copied her pattern—every atom in the very position and orientation it existed at that moment—and willed that pattern into the present. He could almost feel the neurons of his brain firing, forming new connections even as others scorched into nothingness.
He felt himself falling. He hit something hard. Even as part of his cerebral cortex shut down, the surviving neurons continued the list. The words he'd written down morphed to instant images. His desires took shape, briefly interrupted by unbidden faces that flowed through his mind like wild rapids in a river, bringing regret and shame. He tried to push them aside to continue the list.
He saw a blurry face in front of him and a kaleidoscope of red and gold. It looked familiar. He blinked. Recognition was fuzzy, but it came. Tony Stark. His fading brain barely made out the sounds of voices and the moans of the injured and dying. Another familiar face came into his dwindling view, this time bringing a cloudy hallow of blue and a cluster of collapsing memories. Austria. The long trek to Italy. The exhaustion. The injured and dying men. The ones they hadn't saved. The blessed relief of arriving in camp, of having a softer landing spot after surviving the horrors of war.
He thought he felt the glove yanked from his hand, and the power surging through him faded, leaving him a scorched, mutilated, dying mess.
No. The word registered more as a sentiment than language, but he knew, somewhere in the little pieces of him still clutching to life, that he hadn't finished the list.
He felt himself slipping away.
"Bucky?"
Steve. The name didn't quite make it to his lips. His eyes strained to focus. He wasn't sure they even still really worked, but he could almost make out the blue, tearful eyes of his friend and hear the confusion in that painfully familiar voice. He hoped he managed a smile. He tried to swallow, but the attempt choked him. He closed his eyes and struggled to focus even as his brain continued to shut down. He felt a warm pressure on the flesh of his right hand, and he willed a breath until he took in just enough air to manage a whisper.
"My pocket."
He felt more than saw Steve's hands on him until they found the envelopes inside his black jacket.