Winter Soldier's Endgame

by WintersSunrise

After FATWS, Bucky is in serious legal trouble and gets an idea in his head about how he can finally make amends. He decides to go back in time and try to save Tony Stark. Things don't go according to plan. Standalone sequel to my previous story: Winter Soldier Resurrection. You don't have to read that one to understand this one, though it provides a tiny bit of extra context.

7. Chapter 7

'Well, crap,' Clint grunted as he tried unsuccessfully to lift Barnes over his shoulder. The man was heavy! He pulled his cell phone out of his pantleg pocket and texted Rogers and Sam, hoping one of them had their cell phone nearby and on.

'Will someone come help me carry Barnes' passed out supersoldier ass inside and upstairs? Southside of the building."

About thirty seconds later, Rogers responded. 'Heading down.'

A minute later, Clint saw Rogers trot around the corner and break into a full run toward them. He stopped in front of Clint, his gaze on Bucky's unconscious form. The half empty bottle of vodka was on the ground a couple of feet away, where Clint had placed it earlier.

"He managed to get drunk, I take it?" Steve asked.

Clint nodded. "I've never seen anyone pound down that kind of vodka like he did. I'm not sure how long he'll be out."

Steve knelt beside his friend and put a couple of fingers on the side of his neck. "Pulse is steady."

"Come on, let's get him upstairs." Clint reached down and grabbed Bucky's vibranium arm while Steve grabbed the other one. Together, they lifted him up, carrying him between them, his head hanging forward.

Bucky stirred only briefly as they carried-dragged him into the building, giving a soft moan, and his head lulled from side to side as he muttered something unintelligible. Together, they got him upstairs and into Steve's room, plopping him face up on the bed. Steve then rolled Bucky onto his left side and bent the man's right knee to stabilize him. Then, he grabbed the pillow and jammed it behind Bucky's back to prevent him from rolling backward.

Bucky muttered a few words during the gentle manhandling, and his eyelids fluttered open briefly.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Steve gave Clint a tiny smile and grabbed the chair from the corner of the room, bringing it up to the bed. "Thank you for watching out for him."

Clint shrugged. "Like I said, his name is in my ledger. I'm heading off soon."

"Say 'hello' to your family for me. I can't thank you enough for delaying your reunion to help out."

"Steve?" Bucky muttered softly.

Steve looked down at his friend and Clint followed his gaze. Bucky's eyelids were at half-mast, revealing slivers of blue. His eyes rolled in an unfocused fashion until they found Steve's face.

"Yeah, buddy?" Steve dropped into the seat and leaned closer to Bucky.

Bucky blinked at him, then his eyes closed once again. "Don't go." The soft plea was barely audible.

"I won't. My butt's staying in this chair for a while."

Clint watched the exchange. The letter future Sam had written painted a vivid picture. "I don't think he's talking about right now."

When Steve looked up, Clint saw the realization flash on Steve's face, then give way to pain.

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky." Steve took in a deep breath. "He doesn't even have me." He shook his head. "From the two letters I've read, it sounds like I made a decision to leave. Sam said I found a happy little corner of time and Bucky's letter mentioned that I found my 'happily ever after' with Peggy."

"You returned the stones and stayed in the past." Clint figured that was the only explanation.

Knowing what he did about Rogers, Clint wasn't surprised. The only thing that did surprise him about that was Barnes. After all Steve had gone through and sacrificed to get Barnes back—after all they had sacrificed—why would Rogers leave just when the other man got his mind back?

The answer came to Clint almost instantly. That would have been Steve's only chance. It was then or never, and he took it.

"I'm not going to make that same decision," Steve dropped his gaze back to Buck. The man's mouth was slightly open, his eyes closed, and for the first time in a while, he looked genuinely peaceful.

"You've already thought about it, though, haven't you?"

Steve nodded solemnly. "When I was back there, I saw her, and…it was like I'd never left. She was so close. She had a photo of me in her office…of before I took the serum. She loved me, not for who I became after the serum, but just plain, ordinary Steve Rogers. I promised her a dance, and I… I wish I'd been able to keep that promise."

"That's a tough choice to make—the love of your life or the best friend you've known your entire life." Clint didn't envy the man. "Ultimately, though, you have to do what you have to do. You can't stay here if you'll be miserable. I'm pretty sure he," Clint jerked his chin to Bucky, "wouldn't want that. But…on the other hand, messing with the timeline. According to Banner, that's bad. She married and had two children, right?"

Steve sucked in a lungful. "Yeah." He looked up at Clint. "You're saying the other me wiped two people out of existence by staying with her?"

"More…if they had children. That's in this timeline, though. Who knows, maybe they exist in that other timeline, in some way? I'm still trying to figure out how all this works."

Steve shook his head and closed his eyes. "I've thought about what it would be like to go back and just stay there with her, but I wasn't planning on it. I don't know at what point that would've changed for…the other me." He opened his eyes and stared once again at Barnes. "I can't believe I would've abandoned him and left him to deal with the fallout of…everything. Losing his family and everything he knew. The legal stuff. Figuring out how to exist in this world. None of that would be easy for anyone, and I'm the only other person on the planet who knows a little something of what that's like." He sighed heavily. "I've known Bucky my whole life. When I first thought he'd died, back when I found out it was the 107th that had been almost entirely wiped out, I…I felt like everything I had left was gone. When I lost my mom, he was the closest thing to family I had. He was all I had, and he stuck by me one hundred percent, until he got drafted…and then when I showed up on the front lines, he was right back with me in the thick some of the hairiest battles fought during the war."

"He was drafted?" Clint hadn't known that. The Barnes memorial plaque in the museum mentioned he'd enlisted. That information certainly added another layer of tragedy to the man's already bleak story.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. He knew he was going to be. The Nazi's needed to be stopped, but I think he also knew I had no one else in the world left, and he wanted to keep an eye out on me for as long as he could." Steve gave Clint a tiny smile. "And, of course, he knew his going would break his mother's heart. But, we were all aware it was just a matter of time. All of us had to register for the draft. I was pretty much the only eligible bachelor left in New York, as he reminded me."

"So, he's your family. Make a different decision this time."

"I am, but…" Steve paused a moment and rubbed his eyes, "…I don't know how to help him. I can't sit here and think about him spending the rest of his life in a prison cell, alone…in some other timeline."

Clint sympathized. He'd had only a couple of experiences with Barnes—back in Berlin and then with Thanos—and even he had a hard time with that visual. After being privy to some of the memories Barnes had rattling around in his skull, he wanted nothing more than for the man currently passed out on the bed to be able to lead some version of a normal life.

Clint still had no idea what Barnes had done in the future, but whatever it was, the battle-worn supersoldier obviously felt as though he deserved to pay the price for it.

"We've got some smart people here," Clint offered. "We'll figure it out." He glanced outside. The sun was fading. "I have to head off now. Call me if you need me…for anything."

Steve nodded up at him and managed a smile. "Thank you. Go be with your family, and tell them we're all happy they're back."

Clint nodded and, with one final look at Bucky's unconscious form sprawled on the bed, left the room.

-0- -0- -0-

Buck sat on the couch and tried to appear as casual as possible in the room full of Avengers. He hadn't gotten to know any of them very well. Sam was the closest thing he could call a friend among the group, and even that was tenuous at best. T'Challa, Ayo, and Shuri had left a little while ago, but he knew they'd remain close by until things were wrapped up as well as they could be.

At various times, he'd tried to kill some of the people in the room. Despite that, many of them had sacrificed their own freedoms to help save his life. Then, just a couple of hours ago, they'd watched him—from the future—go batshit psycho again and try to kill Steve. That little fiasco had promptly been followed by a grim tour of his scrambled mind, which made him feel more exposed and broken than he had in the last two years.

Now, as he sat there alone, trying not to stare at any of them, he felt painfully awkward.

"Okay," Tony Stark's sudden drop into the adjacent armchair startled him. Tony leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then said, "You and I have to talk before I head off to the lab to figure out the time gizmo."

Buck wasn't sure what this conversation was going to be about, but he desperately hoped it had nothing to do with that…girl. Seeing her holographic form hovering in mid-air, strapped to that chair, had felt like a punch straight into his chest.

"I get that you're a man of few words, so I'll do the talking," Tony continued. "I told this to future you, but I haven't actually gotten a chance to say it to you."

Buck stared at the man, bracing himself for whatever words were going to come out of his mouth next.

"I'm sorry for trying to murder you." Tony's knee bounced a few times with nervous energy. "I'm sorry for the arm, though you got a better one, so at least that worked out. Thank you for Mom and Dad. They get to see their granddaughter grow up a bit. Thanks for Rhodes. That one has really been eating at me, and you set it right."

Buck swallowed. He hadn't been expecting that. He wasn't used to anyone thanking him, but truth be told, Stark's gratitude was misplaced. "That wasn't me."

Tony leaned back in the chair. "Technicality. I don't care. It would have been you, had you not changed the timeline, so it was you…will be you. Whatever." He waved a hand in the air. "What I'm trying to say here is, thank you. Just accept it."

Buck raised his eyebrows. "You're…welcome," he replied, not particularly liking how hesitant he sounded.

"The other thing you need to know is I've got your back." Tony flung an arm out to indicate the room, then added, "We've got your back. You need help, and you've got heavy hitters in your corner. Legal help. Trauma recovery. Whatever. I'm already on it. The other you didn't have that. Seems like the Avengers in his time have been gutted. I'm gone. Steve's gone. Natasha's gone. Vision. But in this timeline, we're all here." His voice cut out for a moment. "Most of us, anyway. It's not going to be a do-over of the Accords. We're on the same team, and we just drafted you." Something that looked like regret flashed instantly on Tony's face. "I mean, if you want. Your choice, of course. Understand?"

Buck didn't quite know what to say to that, so he just gave a quick nod. Stark was sitting inches in front of him, looking him in the eyes and offering, not just forgiveness, but gratitude. Buck felt a warm sting against the back of his eyeballs and a tightness in his chest, but he breathed through both sensations. If he let the lid up even a little, it would all boil over.

"Great chat." Tony slapped him lightly on the knee, then rose suddenly. He went to the counter, grabbed the tablet and time device, and walked up to Shuri, then asked, "You ready to crack this nut?"

She gave Buck a sympathetic glance, then nodded at Stark, who turned with Shuri and headed toward the doorway.

"One more thing," Tony said, stopping just before the doorway and turning back around, "the other you wrote in his letter that he made a list of amends with names of people he'd helped and hurt as the Winter Soldier." Tony walked a few steps closer. "I don't know if he had anyone to tell him this, but I'm telling you. You don't have anything to make amends for. You had no choice. You were a victim." Tony's voice caught on that last word. "I know that from those bits of footage I saw. It's one thing to know in some abstract way and a whole different thing to see it. We don't expect victims to go make amends for what was done to them. We help them recover from what was done to them. I wish I'd realized that a whole lot earlier. Things would've gone down differently."

Tony took a breath and gazed at Buck for a few seconds, then he glanced at Shuri. She gave him an understanding tilt of her head, and the two of them disappeared through the doorway.

Bucky swallowed hard, feeling his tenuous control on his emotions slip. The last thing he wanted to do was to lose it in front of the people in this room. They'd already seen him lose control once. They didn't need any more of a reason to consider him a basket case…but Tony's words played in his head, giving him absolution he didn't know how desperately he needed until it came from a Stark.

Sam sat down in the chair Tony had just vacated. His dark eyes bored into Buck for a couple of very long seconds that felt like a mini eternity.

Finally, Sam asked, "Are you okay?"

Buck nodded. He wasn't sure that he was, but he thought maybe, just maybe, in this timeline, he might be.

"Have you eaten yet?" Sam tilted his head toward the kitchen.

He'd had a muffin and some nuts earlier, thanks to his future self's grocery run, but that wasn't enough to keep his metabolism satisfied. "I had something for breakfast in the tent."

"Okay, let's round you up some leftovers from this morning," Sam offered, getting up and moving the kitchen, "if they survived the devastation. Then, we should probably order more food."

"Yeah," Banner moved from where he was leaned against the far wall and sat down on the other end of the couch. "Future you fed everyone this morning. Least we can do is return the favor."

Buck felt the couch give a little in that direction under the massive Avenger's weight. It really felt weird to have the people in this room being so nice to him. In Wakanda, he'd gotten used to their generosity and gentle kindness, but none of them had ever known him as the Winter Soldier—not even T'Challa.

T'Challa had felt such a burden about having tried to kill him that the king had gone above and beyond trying to make up for that, despite Buck's best efforts to relieve him of that guilt. T'Challa had just lost his father. Zemo had made it so the world thought the Winter Soldier was the culprit. Few people in T'Challa's position, having just watched their father killed, would have felt any differently.

But the Avengers were different. They'd been fighting Hydra for years, and he'd been part of Hydra—its pet assassin. He'd shot Natasha twice and even stared into her face as he'd choked her. He'd almost killed Sam twice. He'd murdered Stark's parents and almost killed Tony in Berlin. If it hadn't been for the man's Iron glove, he'd be dead.

Buck thought back to that moment. Even now, he wasn't really sure what had happened. One minute, he was squeezing the trigger at point blank range and the next minute, he slammed Tony backward in the chest.

Gently.

He could've easily killed him. He could've crushed Natasha's throat. For some reason, he didn't. Thinking back to the holographic display, he wondered if he'd managed to retain something of the internal mantra he'd focused on in the cage.

It made no sense to him, and though he remembered most of what had happened, there were still gaps in his memory. He remembered Steve coming out onto the roof and a brief, fleeting feeling of relief at seeing him alive. Then, moments later, he remembered the mission priority taking over. Escape at all costs. Zemo's directive. He'd jerked the chopper control and sent the aircraft diving toward Steve, almost killing him right there.

As Buck studied the large green man in front of him, he thought back to what Banner had told his future self—about knowing what it was like to have some other guy inside of you that hurts people. Buck didn't know much about Banner's story, but he'd gotten bits of information here and there. He figured Banner had an idea what it was like to have something inside of you do things you couldn't control.

"Dr. Banner?" Buck began cautiously. He wasn't sure how comfortable the other man would feel talking about his situation.

"Yeah?" Bruce adjusted his glasses.

"Can I ask you something about what you said earlier?"

"Sure."

"You used to be different, right? You were…smaller." Buck couldn't help the hint of a smile on his lips as he thought back to Steve and his 'I thought you were smaller,' comment.

"Yes," Banner smiled. "A lot smaller, most of the time."

"You had this other guy inside of you? He'd…do things that you couldn't control?"

Banner's smile faded, and Buck saw the realization on the other man's face. Bruce obviously knew where Buck was heading with his questions.

"Yeah," Banner gave a big sigh. His eyes suddenly looked sad.

"How did you get control over it?" He raised his hand to gesture to Banner in his new form.

Banner took a breath before answering. "The big guy and I had a chat, but that came at the end of a very long process, and a lot of…bad stuff." He smiled. "Natasha actually helped. She could always calm the big guy, and I think she ended up being the anchor for both of us that allowed some of me to break through even when the big guy was doing his thing. Then, well, after the big guy demolished a few city blocks and hurt a lot of people, both of us had a hard time. When Thanos came to Wakanda, I tried to get the Hulk to come out, but he wouldn't. After that, we had the chat. Half the universe was destroyed, at least in part, because we couldn't get control together. We came to an understanding of sorts."

"You talk about him like he's another person."

"He was. I thought of him that way."

Buck nodded. Sometimes he thought of the Winter Soldier as some other entity that lived inside of him, but other times, he felt the soldier was part of him—an integral section of his psyche that Hydra had twisted and exaggerated into a dominant monster. He wasn't certain he could just have a chat with that monster and resolve everything.

At least Buck had control. He had his mind back. And now all that remained of the Winter Soldier—he hoped—were the memories. Then again, with how easily Wanda had brought the monster out in his future self, he couldn't be so sure about that.

"When you were the Hulk, before you came to your…agreement," Buck began, "did you remember things the Hulk did?"

"Just fragments. Images."

That was where they were truly different. Buck remembered most of his time as the Winter Soldier. He remembered the people he'd killed, the terrible, terrible things he'd done—which meant it was him doing those things. His brain. His mind. Just…twisted. Broken. Weak. He couldn't blame it on some other thing that took over. He'd succumbed to Hydra, turned over the wheel and let them drive.

"Thanks." Buck's voice was suddenly shaky, and he swallowed hard before continuing, hoping to push the lid down tighter on the bubbling emotions. "You've been a big help, and thank you for…back there. With future me."

Banner must have seen something on his face, or heard it in his voice, because his expression shifted to something that looked almost like pain. "Hey, just because you remember things, it doesn't mean anything. You didn't have any control. We all know that."

"I know." He took a breath, remembering what he'd told Steve back in the plane on the way to Siberia. 'But I still did it.' "It was still me doing it all." He swallowed hard. "I really wish you'd been around to stop me from killing Fury and almost all of Steve's air support on the helicarriers."

Shit! Fury. Had his other self even thought to bring Fury back?

If the Hulk had been in the mix back then, he'd have been able to stop the Winter Soldier easily, before he'd killed so many people and put Steve in the hospital.

"I understand," Banner responded, "believe me, probably better than anyone else besides the other you . Back before Hulk and I came to our agreement, I worked with Stark on a failsafe called Veronica. He activated it in Johannesburg to stop me from rampaging and killing a lot of people. It didn't work out as well as we'd hoped."

Buck nodded sympathetically. "Well, you made an effective Veronica for the Winter Soldier a few hours ago. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Banner replied.

From the kitchen, the microwave dinged, and Bucky glanced over to see Sam remove a plate from the appliance.

Natasha approached, and her sudden, quiet movements caught Buck's attention. She'd been a fly on the wall, so far.

She cocked her head at him. "Barnes, you didn't kill Fury."

"What?" Her words made no sense to him.

"You didn't kill Fury. He's alive."

Buck thought back to that night. Fury had already been injured, and he'd unloaded quite the volley of bullets into him. He was nothing if not a good shot, and he knew three bullets had found their mark.

"I don't understand." Buck scratched at his beard. "I know I shot him three times. There's no way he survived that."

"He almost didn't." Natasha stood over him. "Turns out, he's harder to kill than most people. He let everyone think he was dead for a while, but since you went on the run around that time, I guess you never found out that he survived."

A warm tide of relief rose in Buck's chest. He hadn't even known Fury, but he was glad that the Winter Soldier had failed yet another mission. He felt a smile touching his lips and looked at Natasha.

"That's good to know," Bucky told her. "Hydra saw him as one of their greatest threats. They had him pretty much at the top of their list." He took a breath. "I'm glad I failed that mission."

Sam approached, carrying a plate piled with bacon and eggs in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Here. Leftovers." He looked awkwardly around for a moment, apparently realizing there was no coffee table to set them on.

Bucky rose and grabbed the offerings. "Thanks."

The smell of the freshly heated protein awakened his stomach, and he moved to the kitchen counter, sliding onto a bar stool. He grabbed the fork Sam had thoughtfully placed on top of the eggs and dug in. Within less than two minutes, the plate was empty and the glass drained. He hadn't realized it until just a moment ago, but he'd had nothing to eat or drink all day after the small breakfast.

Buck felt the eyes on the back of his head and wasn't sure whether it was his imagination. He risked a quick glance back and realized from their hasty head turns that it wasn't. He didn't quite know how to act around them, and now that they'd born witness to some of the dark parts of his memory and gotten a hint at some of the even darker stuff he didn't dare vocalize, he felt exposed around them.

Sam walked up and grabbed the empty plate and glass, putting it in the dishwasher.

Buck found that odd. He was being waited on, taken care of. He wasn't quite sure what that was all about. He wondered if that was why they were all being so kind to him now. Did they feel sorry for him? Or did they believe they had to walk on eggshells lest they trip some kind of mental booby trap and set off that other guy?

"About what Tony said," Sam began, pulling up the barstool next to Buck and propping himself on it. "He's right. We're all in your corner. I know this must be a lot for you."

Buck studied the Falcon's face, then nodded. "You could say that."

He still wasn't sure quite what to make of the other man. Sam had really put everything on the line for him back in Berlin, even though he obviously hadn't been too happy about it. Buck's future self's memories were all over the map with Sam—wanting to protect him while, at the same time, dealing with that obvious animosity.

And then there was the letter Sam had written that spoke of genuine friendship. Maybe in this timeline, the two of them would become real friends.

Sam glanced at the other two Avengers in the room. Natasha and Bruce were chatting on the sofa, giving them an illusion of privacy.

When Sam spoke, his voice was low. "I don't want to open up any wounds you're not willing to deal with yet, but in reading between the lines back there when you were talking to T'Challa…."

Buck went cold inside.

"…and, well, just some of what we saw during Shuri's session…." Sam continued. "What I'm trying to say is, there are people who might be able to help you. The Wakandans, of course, but there are other people. People who are experts in trauma recovery…in helping victims who have been violated-"

"Thank you." Buck kept his voice flat. "I'll take that under consideration."

He knew, though, that there wasn't a single person on the planet who was an expert in his particular situation. How could there be? As far as he knew, there weren't any other one-hundred-plus-year-old brainwashed former psycho assassin super soldiers in the world.

Sam obviously read his tone, because he leaned back and studied Buck silently for a few seconds. Buck held his gaze because, if he looked away, he knew it would be all the confirmation the other man needed, and he wasn't ready to give that to anyone.

"Message received, man." Sam slid off the stool.

Buck watched Sam take a few steps toward Natasha and Bruce. The words of his counterpart in the letter came back to him. Shutting down hadn't served that version of him very well, but he knew he wasn't ready yet to open up. Still, Sam seemed genuine, and if Buck wanted to have any kind of a life, he had to start trying to meet people halfway.

"Sam…"

The other man turned toward him.

Buck tilted his head. "Thank you. Really."

"You're welcome." Sam reached into his back pocket and retrieved his phone, then plopped himself into the armchair.

Buck rose from the stool and went to the refrigerator. He eyed the twisted, dented door. He wondered how long the food inside would stay good without a seal. He was still a bit hungry and decided to see what might be salvageable. He grabbed the appliance's bent handle with his vibranium hand and felt a slight resistance due to the warped plastic and metal.

He pulled. The door flew off as if it had been blown off and rocketed across the room. It sailed past the startled Avengers, missing them by a few feet, and crashed through one of the large glass panes.

"Shit!" Buck had no idea what just happened, but he ran to the window to look down, hoping the door hadn't injured anyone below. He saw it on the ground, well away from the nearest tent, and, mercifully, there had been no one in the vicinity.

"Buck?" Sam was suddenly next to him peering down.

Buck looked over at him and shook his head. "I…I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to do that." He raised his vibranium arm and looked down at the black and gold hand, then flexed his fingers experimentally. He made a fist, opening and closing it a few times. "It just…I wasn't expecting that much force."

"What the hell just happened?" The screen in the wall near the kitchen sprang to life with Tony's face. He was in his lab with Shuri behind him.

Buck walked up to the screen and took a breath. "I'm sorry. I just opened the refrigerator door and it…. I used too much force."

"Does any of that deep-seated trauma in your past make you hate refrigerators?" Tony asked, then waved his hand. "Nevermind. Another one's already been on order. What's the damage otherwise?"

"One window pane," Buck answered. Between the refrigerator, the gym wall, the punching bags, and now a window, he and his counterpart were really doing a number on the Avenger's complex.

"Friday, get a new window here ASAP."

"Acknowledged," came the artificial Irish voice.

On the display, Shuri leaned forward. "Your arm is properly calibrated, but your brain still needs a little time to acclimate to the new limb. I will finish up the task I am doing, and then I will be up there to assist you."

Sam walked up to him as the screen went blank, then sighed. "Well, we might as well finish off everything in the refrigerator before it goes bad."

-0- -0- -0-

Steve was almost to the kitchen when he heard Buck's explanation for the loud crash that rumbled through the building. He slowed his steps and, when he made it to the doorway, stopped to survey the scene. The window pane on the far wall was completely shattered. A few jagged pieces jutted from the frame. The outside breeze whipped gently through the room.

A platter of leftover eggs and bacon were on the kitchen island, as were a couple of muffins. There were also three beers, an assortment of fruit, and a package of string cheese.

Buck, Sam, Natasha, and Banner were clustered around the island, chatting and picking at the food. Buck, Sam, and Natasha each had a beer. Banner held a fork that looked miniscule in his large hand; he used it to stab a pile of eggs, then popped them into his mouth.

"So, what was Steve like before the serum?" Natasha asked Buck.

Her back was to Steve, so he figured she hadn't quite sensed his presence. Buck had noticed, him, however, which was evident by his quick glance and tiny smile.

"A real pain in the ass, actually," Buck said, the beer in his right hand. "Stubborn. Determined. Kind. Irritating. Did I mention stubborn?"

"You did." Steve walked into the room, and all heads turned to him.

Natasha flashed a quick smile at him. "How's the other Bucky?"

"Out for now." Steve leaned forward on the counter and grabbed a piece of bacon, downing it in two quick bites. "He managed to get drunk."

"So, mission accomplished," Buck raised his beer and took a sip. "Well, now we know what it takes. More than this watered down stuff, that's for sure." He set the bottle down on the counter.

"How long do you think he'll be out?" Sam asked.

"Well, my metabolism is four times that of a normal human's," Steve answered. "If his is the same, I'm guessing maybe another hour or two. I supposed we'll just have to see." Steve jerked his chin at Buck's vibranium arm. "So, it's giving you problems?"

Buck glanced at the doorless, smashed refrigerator. "Apparently my brain has to get used to the arm. It wasn't much of a problem during the battle, but then again, I was mainly just firing a weapon with my right one." He gave a quick chuckle of a gasp. "It's a good thing I didn't squish the raccoon."

Shuri and Tony walked through the doorway. Shuri carried a small bag in her right hand about the size of a clutch, but it had a hard case and a silver outline. Tony held the time device in his hand and set it on the counter next to the battered fridge, then he grabbed the last piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth.

He eyed the refrigerator, then the broken window, and finally, Buck. "The refrigerator had a crap ice maker, anyway, and this place could use some fresh air."

Steve smiled. It was actually kind of cute the way Buck could suddenly do no wrong in Tony's eyes.

Shuri walked up to Bucky. She reached into her bag and pulled out a disc that looked very much like one of the two she'd used earlier on Bucky. "James, do you have a moment now?"

Buck gave her a disbelieving look. "My schedule's wide open."

She grinned and walked to the couch. He followed her. Steve moved closer to keep an eye out. Shuri knew what she was doing, of course, and Buck didn't seem at all concerned. In fact, he turned around and lifted his hair. He'd obviously done this at least one time before.

Shuri placed the disc at the base of Buck's skull. He lowered his hair and turned to face her as she reached into her bag and withdrew a small tablet and a gray ball.

Buck held his out his vibranium hand and Shuri placed the ball in his palm. She tapped on the tablet screen a few times.

"Squeeze the ball as lightly as you can," she instructed.

His hand wrapped around the ball, and it sprang to life with a subtle, blue glow.

"I want you to increase pressure as slowly as you can." Shuri kept her gaze on the screen in her hand. She nodded as the ball's blue light show intensified. "Good. 100 kilograms. Keep going." The blue light got stronger still. "Five hundred…Okay, stop now." She glanced up briefly at him. "Relax your grip."

He complied, his fingers loosening around the ball.

"Now, I want you to squeeze it as hard as you can. Try to crush it. You won't be able to, I'm sure you remember. It's solid vibranium almost all the way through."

Buck nodded and squeezed. The blue flared brilliantly on the pressure ball.

Shuri tapped her screen. "Well done, James."

She took the ball from him and placed it back in her pack. "Now, we'll need to help your cerebellum with coordinating push and pull force." She pointed to the dining table. "Pull one of the chairs out from beneath the table."

Buck hesitated, glancing at the broken window. "Is that a good idea? I've already done enough damage to this place."

Steve saw his chance to be useful and moved forward. "Can I help?"

Shuri eyed him for a moment, then nodded. "That will work."

Steve extended his left arm and smiled at his friend. "You're not gonna be able to throw me out a window."

Buck grinned. "Oh, cocky, are we?" After a brief hesitation, he grasped Steve's forearm with his vibranium hand.

"Okay, James, pull very lightly," Shuri instructed.

Steve felt the light tug. So far, so good. He was happy to finally be able to be of some use to Shuri and Buck, even though it wasn't much. He'd only been able to visit Buck once during his two years in Wakanda, and that had been when they'd removed Buck from the cryo chamber. Being on the run had been hard. He'd gotten his friend back, only to have to vanish and leave him with strangers.

"This is all showing very nicely. Now, try to replicate the amount of force you used to open the refrigerator door."

Buck tilted his head at Steve. "Are you ready?"

Steve grinned. "Oh, I'm more than ready."

Buck took a breath. "Okay."

Steve felt the tug, then a quick jerk, but it was nothing compared to what must have happened to the appliance door.

Shuri's quick fingers flew over the tablet screen. Buck scratched at the back of his neck.

"Hand down," she berated.

With a sigh, he complied, bringing his right arm back to his side.

"Is it painful?" she asked, looking up at him.

"No," he shrugged a shoulder, "it just feels weird. Almost like something's crawling inside."

"The disc acts like a biofeedback mechanism for your cerebellum. It helps your cerebellum learn how to interpret and control the arm. Now, I want you to pull on Steve's arm with as much force as you can."

Buck looked uncertainly at Steve. "I don't want you take this the wrong way, but maybe we ought to use Bruce for this one."

Steve shook his head. "No way. I've got this."

"I mean it, man. I don't know how this arm is going to function right now."

Steve tightened his grip on the vibranium arm. "Twenty bucks says you can't move me."

Buck smiled. "I don't have twenty bucks, man. Have you forgotten I'm unemployed?"

"Well, we'll have to work on that." And this time, I'll be there with you every step of the way. Steve jerked his chin at Buck, then prodded, "Come on. Let's see what this arm of yours is made of."

"Vibranium." Buck shook his head with a doubtful smile. "Okay, brace yourself."

Steve adjusted his stance and bent his knees slightly. "I'm ready."

Buck's grip on his forearm tightened until it was almost painful.

"On three," Buck said. "One…two…three."

Steve pulled backward as Buck yanked him forward. He'd anticipated the supersoldier-sized force, but the vibranium arm added a whole new element. Despite his best efforts to plant his feet, he found himself instead being dragged forward, his feet sliding against the hard floor, and then he was stumbling into Buck chest first.

Buck caught him and clapped him on the back with his right hand, then teased, "Looks like I'm twenty buck richer."

Steve chuckled. It felt good to mess around with Buck like this after all that had happened. "I want a rematch." He pulled away from Buck and gave him an affectionate tap on his shoulder.

Shuri lowered the tablet and looked at them. "You males and your testosterone. It's really quite primitive."

"Yes, it is." Natasha walked up to them. "But it has a certain charm sometimes." She flashed a grin at Steve, then Buck, and looked back at Shuri. "So, what's the verdict? Are the rest of our appliances safe?"

Shuri nodded "The more James uses the arm, the more his cerebellum and nervous system will adapt to it." She looked over at her patient. "There may be some minor incidents during this process, but the exercises we just completed have already helped your system acclimate to the artificial limb's function and strength. Had we had more time back in Wakanda prior to the war, we could have done a more thorough process with your neural-motor therapy, but actual use of the arm will get you there shortly."

Buck turned to her. "Thank you, Shuri." He raised the arm. "For everything."

She nodded, and Steve understood the message his friend relayed to the young woman. They were good. Whatever issues future Bucky might have with the Wakandans didn't apply to him.

Steve glanced at the dwindling sunlight outside. He had another friend that needed a check-in. "I have to go make sure the other you is still breathing and hasn't thrown up all over my bed."

Buck's face scrunched. "Gross. Good luck with that."

-0- -0- -0-

Steve opened the door to his bedroom and peeked inside. He held a large glass of ice water in his hand. Bucky was still on his side, snoring slightly, his mouth open. A small pool of drool was on Steve's pillow. There were only two other times he could remember seeing Bucky completely drunk, and one was after Steve's mother had died. Bucky had convinced him to spend the night at his place, and they'd worked their way through a bottle of whiskey. Steve had been much more of a lightweight—literally and figuratively back then—so he hadn't lasted nearly as long as Bucky.

But he remembered feeling the room spin, and Bucky's arm sliding around his shoulder, pulling him close. That had been the final straw to the wall he'd erected in front of his grief. He had no family left…no one except Bucky. He remembered sobbing against Bucky, then at some point passing out and waking up the next morning feeling embarrassed. Bucky had said he couldn't remember much of anything after the fourth shot, but Steve could tell he was lying.

The other time he'd seen Bucky drunk was after he'd escaped with Steve from the German base and gotten back to camp. After a medical exam and a particularly grueling debriefing with Allied intelligence officers, they'd gone out for some R&R with a few of the guys, and Bucky had downed quite a few shots that night. Steve hadn't been sure whether Bucky had been celebrating or trying to forget.

Steve closed the door and set the glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed. He sank onto the floor and leaned against the wall next to the head of the bed. The chair had been starting to get uncomfortable. He pulled his cellphone out of his denim pocket and scrolled through the day's news.

It was all about the "Blip," as it was being called now. Happy reunions. An article on the long-term impact of the reduction of greenhouse gases. A video on the awkward situation around property rights and compensation after homeowners returned to find their houses had been sold.

The low audio from the mobile newscast must have broken through Bucky's alcohol-and- fatigue-induced slumber, because the other man groaned. Steve watched Bucky's eyelids open slowly, then blink as his confused blue eyes took in his surroundings. Finally, his gaze spotted Steve, and his brow furrowed for a moment. He closed his mouth and swallowed hard, his expression twisting to revulsion.

"Where am I?" He croaked, looking around again.

"In my room." Steve grabbed the glass from the nightstand and held it out to Bucky. "How's the hangover?"

Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced at the glass and took it with a grateful smile, downing the water quickly and leaving nothing but ice.

Bucky set the glass back on the stand, rested his forehead in his hands, and gave a long sigh. "Not great, but not as bad as I remember them feeling. Frankly, I don't think I'm entirely sober yet."

"So, are you still mad at me?"

"Yes."

Steve sighed heavily. "We're still friends, though, right?"

Bucky looked up at him incredulously and muttered, "Don't be a dumbass." A weak smile touched his lips. "Nothing'll ever change that on my end…short of getting my memory wiped…or having a telepath mess with my head."

"She was trying to help. Even the younger you thought it might be worth a try. It ended up being a bad idea in hindsight. I'm sorry."

Bucky dropped his head back into his hands. "I know. How is she?"

"She's been holed up in her room ever since. Nat spoke with her, but she's pretty devastated. With Vision, it's been a lot for her, and this was another blow."

"I should probably go talk to her. She's just a kid, I know."

"Not quite, but she's close enough, especially compared to us."

Bucky lifted his head and gave a smile at that. "Compared to us, everyone is."

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky tapped on the door lightly, listening for movement inside. He heard the rustle of fabric, then a soft, "Who is it?"

"Bucky." He hoped his tone sounded amicable enough.

"Come in," came the hesitant reply.

Bucky opened the door to see Wanda sitting on her bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, as was the tip of her nose. She held a tissue in her hand and wiped quickly at her nose, then scooted over toward the far edge of the bed.

Bucky entered and closed the door behind him. The room was nice, with muted gray walls and colorful poofs scattered along the floor. A guitar rested against the far wall.

He sat on the opposite side of the mattress and pointed to the guitar. "Do you play?"

She shook her head. "Not well. My brother liked to mess around on the guitar, though."

Right. Bucky had learned enough about Wanda over the past couple of years. He remembered hearing that she'd had a brother who'd sacrificed himself to save Clint and a child. Crap. She'd known almost nothing but loss. He knew what that felt like.

He wasn't sure how to start the conversation, so he just dove in. "I know you only meant to help. The way I reacted, well…"

She shook her head and dropped it forward. "You don't have to explain." Her voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. It's okay. Really." He ducked his head to get a better look at her face. "No harm done, other than to my pride." He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She raised her head and met his gaze. "You're…okay?"

He nodded and tapped his forehead with one finger. "Yeah. Just no more messing around up here. It's all held together with duct tape and string."

She managed a weak chuckle at that. "I won't. I promise."

-0- -0- -0-

When Bucky made his way back to the kitchen, he saw the group clustered around the sofa and armchairs. He only caught the tail end of the conversation from Tony, who was slouched in the armchair and mentioning something about a quantum signature to Shuri, who sat elegantly in the opposite armchair. Bruce and Natasha were on the couch, and Steve was leaned back in one of the dining chairs next to Buck and Sam.

The conversation died the moment he walked into the room. Bucky gave them a two-finger wave, trying not to appear as self-conscious as he felt. He spotted the empty platters on the kitchen counter and stopped in his tracks when he saw the refrigerator. One door was completely missing.

He pointed to it. "The coffee table couldn't have done that. What happened?"

His younger self spoke up. "The vibranium arm. There was a…hiccup."

Bucky nodded. He had almost forgotten about that. Shortly after the battle with Thanos ended, he'd had a couple of similar hiccups. "Yeah, I remember that." He raised the arm. "It's all good now."

Wanda entered, and Bucky felt slightly guilty for the relief he felt that all eyes were suddenly on her instead of him. She gave a tiny smile to the group, then hurried to the dining table and dropped into one of the empty chairs.

"How are you feeling, White Wolf?" Shuri asked.

"Hungry." He eyed the empty platters.

"So, what? No hangover?" Tony asked. "I'm jealous."

"Just a small headache," Bucky offered. "Super serum recovery." He tried for a smile but thought it might have ended up looking more like a grimace. "Where's Clint?"

"Back home with the family," Steve said.

"How is your arm?" Shuri asked. "I can disable the geolocation feature for you, if you like."

He nodded at her. "I'd like." Then he turned, eyeing the time device resting on the counter briefly before inspecting the empty refrigerator. "You seriously didn't leave me anything?"

"You snooze, you lose," Natasha quipped.

"Quit your belly-aching," Sam said. "We've got food on the way, if they can manage to get past the reporters and aren't too put off by the Wakandans. We promised a big tip."

Bucky leaned forward against the counter and rubbed at his right temple. He hadn't had a headache since..well…Hydra. But that had been a whole different kind of headache. It was oddly nice to just have a normal, garden variety, alcohol-induced one.

Tony stood up and walked up to him. "So, we read the letter Sam wrote you."

Come on, man. Bucky dropped his head forward. Couldn't they give him a break? "You all really need to learn boundaries."

"Probably," Tony slapped the countertop, "but we can work on that later. Now, we're talking about the whole, you going to the Raft thing. What gives?"

Bucky lifted his head, suddenly feeling every one hundred and six of his years, and realized that at least three of the people in the room would not let this go. He could either lie, but Steve would pick up on that, or tell the truth, and well…he really didn't want to have to explain that whole mess.

How could he ever get anyone to understand that he'd helped Zemo escape from prison?

Zemo.

T'Challa and Shuri certainly wouldn't understand. Neither would Stark. He already knew how Sam would react.

And he'd have to tell him about the lives that decision had affected. On the practical side, he knew that, right now, Nagel was blipped back into existence. The Power Broker would find the doctor, and the Flag Smashers would start doing their thing. He could stop all of that before it even began by telling the Avengers everything.

As he met Stark's dark gaze, he decided the entire conversation would go a lot easier if he didn't have to watch their reactions. He'd probably get through it a lot faster, too. He moved to the window and leaned against the pane, feeling the breeze from the broken one brush against his face and neck.

The cool air felt wonderful. He gazed out over the cluster of tents against the twilight landscape. If he didn't know any better, he could almost imagine he was back in base camp, in 1943.

"Bucky?" Steve prodded. "Come on, man."

They definitely weren't going to let this go.

Bucky figured he might as well get it over with. "After the Blip, things got difficult for some people. There's a group that cropped up called the Flag Smashers. They wanted to keep things the way they were during the Blip rather than have people be resettled to where they originally came from. Sam was tracking them. They were stealing things, escalating their tactics. They were strong. Turns out, they got their hands on more supersoldier serum. A lot of it. At first, we didn't know how much. We encountered eight supersoldiers. We didn't know where they were getting the serum or how many more of them there were. If they were creating an army…" he took a breath, imagining all the damage he had done over the past 80 years, "…it would be bad." He looked over at Steve briefly. "You know how much damage just one of me did. Can you imagine hundreds of me?"

Steve bowed his head sympathetically, a silent urge to continue.

Bucky looked back over the tents. "I thought Hydra had something to do with it. I didn't know for sure, but they were a good guess, and they don't play nice. Were they doing to others what they did to me? How much serum did they have? What were their plans? The world is in a delicate place. Where there's chaos and sudden change, there's opportunity for de-stabilization. For conquest." He took a deep breath before moving to the next part of the story. "I thought Zemo would have information. I knew what I needed to do to get that information. Nothing much mattered to me except finding out how many supersoldiers there were and where that serum was coming from. That was the mission, and the mission at all costs, right? If there were some casualties, those would be acceptable losses. So many more lives would be lost if the wrong person created an army of supersoldiers. The math was undeniable. That's what I thought, so….I helped Zemo break out of jail. He killed one guard, and I got another guard injured in the prison fight I caused to create a diversion." His throat closed for a moment, and he stopped to swallow, forcing a slow, deep breath into his lungs. The room was silent, and he didn't dare look at any of their faces. "It turns out that Hydra had nothing to do with the new supersoldiers. It was someone called the Power Broker who was trying to create them to sell to the highest bidder.

"We had to go to Madripoor to find that out. I played the part of the Winter Soldier… pretended that Zemo controlled me." The last word caught in his throat.

God….Saying it all out loud sounded terrible.

"Just an undercover assignment, right?" Bucky forced himself to continue. "I've done worse. Again, the mission. That's all that mattered. Zemo sure knows how to push buttons, and he will push them as hard as he can. Anyway, my performance was captured on cell phone videos, so that got out. After my pardon, it didn't go over well. At the time, I didn't know about the guards in Berlin, though. I found out only recently.

"The leader of the Flag Smashers—she was just a girl really. Her name is Karli Morgentheu. She stole the serum and used it to create a small army of supersoldiers to force the world to bow to their demands. They stole medicines, killed people. They took hostages…members of the Global Repatriation Council. They were going to kill them. They almost succeeded. We stopped them. Barely. There was a lot more to it. A lot more going on with the new Captain America and the shield and Sam, and I just…" he shook his head. "Ayo wasn't happy with me. She tried to take Zemo into custody, but then Walker, the new Captain America, wasn't having it. He wanted Zemo. They fought. I intervened. I didn't think she was going to kill him, but she…I don't know, she looked like she might seriously injure him. We fought. I was just trying to get her talk about it, but she wasn't in the mood. That's when I found out that she could take the arm off. Anyway, I'm not exactly welcome in Wakanda for the immediate future." He took another deep breath, imaging that look on Ayo's face when she'd said, 'Bast damn you, James!' and how, in that moment, he felt betrayed—that their friendship had been a lie. They'd never trusted him. They just saw him as a broken man that they had a duty to fix, and they made sure to include appropriate safeguards that they didn't bother to disclose to him.

The irony of it all was that they had been right to include those safeguards.

"I did turn Zemo in after it was all over, and he's in the Raft now." Bucky couldn't help the pained chuckle that escaped him. "And for my part in all of that—for getting a guard killed—Leon Klein is his name, that's where they're probably going to send me. Supersoldiers don't get regular prison cells. So, the poetic justice in all of this is that I will get to spend the rest of my life in the same prison as Zemo. I can only hope we're far enough away that I don't have to listen to him yammer on for the rest of my life. He's convinced the Winter Soldier is still inside me, and he'll spend every day trying to prove that."

Bucky paused to take a breath as he gazed at the orange sliver of sun still hovering above the torn horizon. "But when it comes down to it, I did it. I'm the reason Leon Klein was killed. I'm the reason that the guy making the serum is dead. He wasn't a saint, but we found him, and Zemo managed to find a gun and execute him. That wasn't the plan. Wilfred Nagel is his name, and right about now, he's one of the half who returned from the Blip. He worked for Hydra, then when Hydra fell, the CIA recruited him. Soon, the Power Broker will recruit him. I can't say whether he deserved to die, but I do know that guard in Berlin didn't. He was just doing his job, keeping bad guys behind bars…one really bad guy that I helped free, and in doing so, I got him killed and another guard seriously injured. So," Bucky shrugged, "there you have it. I can't blame any of that on the Winter Soldier or Hydra. That was all me."

Buck closed his eyes, pushing back the sting of tears. Since he was being honest, he might as well tell it all exactly the way it was. "They arrested me. I broke out, but escape wasn't my primary goal. I deserve to face the consequences. I figured I had nothing to lose and, well, this idea had come to me before. I just…" He shook his head. "That's a long story." He opened his eyes and focused on one of the tents in the distance, using it as an anchor. "Anyway, I haven't done a lot of good. The body count keeps piling up. I thought maybe I could help some other timeline. Make amends. Save Tony. Erase some of what the Winter Soldier did—Howard and Maria Stark, Yori's son, a few others. Bring back Natasha, Vision, make things…better. I knew it wouldn't affect my timeline, but at least it would make a difference somewhere else…to some other Morgan and some other Yori. I know we're not supposed to mess with timelines, but Steve already did. Frankly, so did the rest of you when getting the stones—there were hiccups. The universe was still ticking along. And, in the end, I'd still face the consequences for my decisions and Leon Klein's family would have the justice they deserved. They wouldn't know it, but they'd still have it. And, to be honest, I found that idea a whole lot preferable to spending my life in the Raft with Zemo." He paused for a moment, listening to the oppressive silence. "It was a perfect plan, too. I spent hours going over footage, notes, finding the right moment to grab the gauntlet. And it worked…until Steve and Dr. Strange decided to save me." His chest felt tight, and it became harder to breathe. "Now you know. I came here really for me, as a way out. I'm no hero, just a messed-up guy with serum in his veins, and that makes me a danger. Zemo was right about one thing. The serum corrupts. It amplifies. What it amplifies in me isn't good, and nothing can ever change that."

The room was still completely silent. He couldn't make himself look at anyone, so he decided to just keep talking. "If you can send me back, I'll go. I'll face the consequences for my actions. Sam gave me some help. I tried to keep him out of it as much as possible, but on the off chance he's getting any flack for this, I need to be there to make sure he doesn't pay the consequences for my decisions. I've ruined enough lives as it is." Heat stung his eyes, and the tent's image blurred. "So there you have it. This is the guy many of you sacrificed two years of your lives to save." He didn't dare blink, lest the tears spilled onto his cheeks.

He let the silence linger for several long seconds and then he sucked in a breath and forced himself to look over. He inwardly jumped when he realized Steve was a foot away, staring at him with eyes that radiated something that he thought looked like a mix of reproach and pity. Bucky hadn't even heard Steve move, much less approach.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve could practically feel the pain and self-loathing wafting from his friend as something physical in the air. Bucky's words painted a visual picture of a world in chaos and a very traumatized, imperfect man struggling to make his way in all of it. The thought of a mere five super soldiers in Siberia had spurred him and Bucky to do some desperate things back in Berlin. The thought of an army of super soldiers was incomprehensible.

And if Bucky thought any one of them had been an unwilling victim, like he had been…

Steve couldn't condone breaking out someone like Zemo, but he couldn't second guess Bucky's actions, either. He'd told Wanda not too long ago that sometimes we can't save everybody. Sometimes, people die in this job, and if we can't find a way to live with that, nobody gets saved.

He saw the unshed tears in Bucky's eyes as he stood there, inches away. Bucky hadn't even acknowledged his presence—he just stared out, leaning against the glass as though it were the only thing keeping him upright, and excoriating himself for all to see.

Finally, Bucky turned his head, and Steve saw the surprise in his eyes. It caused the tears to spill onto his cheeks, and his chin quivered. He quickly looked away, returning his gaze to a distant point outside. Steve couldn't find the right words, and saying the wrong thing would be devastating to both of them. Instead, he reached out to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

He felt the hint of tremors beneath his grip.

"Don't." Bucky's voice was low and strained. "Please."

It was the desperate "please" that caused Steve to drop his hand. He felt the plea in his gut. He wanted somehow to comfort Bucky, but he didn't know how, anymore. Back in their day, he could always reach out and put a hand around his friend or pull him into a hug. Bucky had been so much more affectionate then.

But Hydra had brutalized Bucky in so many ways and for so long, that the days of him being comfortable with that kind of vulnerable affection were long over…and that hurt just to think about. All Steve wanted to do was pull Bucky into one of those hugs and tell him he understood, it would all be okay, and they'd figure it out.

Because Bucky had spent so many decades having his body and mind violated and his consent deemed irrelevant, Steve dared not risk doing that to his friend. He looked over at the younger Buck who was leaning forward in the chair, his eyes focused on his future counterpart. Steve knew his friend well enough to recognize the self-doubt and fear behind that gaze. Buck had to deal with so many different things being thrown at him in a short period of time, with almost no time to process or even understand most of it. Listening to the whirlwind of self-loathing words from another version of himself had to be devastating to his own sense of recovery.

Buck's gaze shifted to Steve, and Steve hoped he'd find some guidance in those eyes. Buck simply shook his head tersely. Neither of them had any idea how to help the desolate man in front of them. Steve looked to Sam next. At least he had some experience dealing with traumatized soldiers.

Sam rose from the chair and slowly approached. He stopped a few feet away, giving both men space. "No one here can have any idea what you're experiencing or what you've been through. We aren't going to second guess decisions in what sounds like a pretty impossible situation. Every single one of us has made decisions that cost lives…decisions we rehash and regret every day, so we're not in any position to judge anything about what you did. None of that is relevant."

Bucky closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand quickly across his face, then leaned his head against the glass. Steve could still see the subtle tremors that coursed through his friend's body.

"I'm sorry," Sam continued. "We've pushed you to share things you weren't ready to share. We've invaded your privacy—myself included. We did it because we're trying to help you, but it wasn't right. You get to set the pace from now on. If you don't want to talk, you don't have to talk. If you just want to sit in a room and stare at the ceiling, go ahead. If you want to punch something, we'll get you something to punch. If or when you're ready to talk or cry or yell, we'll be here for you."

Steve felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Sam was there. This was Sam's true superpower. Steve turned his gaze back to Bucky, who was once again staring outside. The tears were running more freely now, silent in their escape, but that's all the indication Bucky gave that he heard a word Sam said.

Tony spoke up, leaning forward in the armchair. "You saved the world—our world. I don't care what you did in your timeline. You brought back my parents, Natasha, you gave Rhodes his legs back, and for crying out loud, you reversed global warming and cleaned up the planet. You know what I did when I had the stones? According to you, I destroyed Thanos' army. That's all. Nothing else. You know what Bruce did? He brought back half the population. You worked through a list. Because of you, this timeline we're all living in is kind of awesome. So, like I said, I don't give a rat's ass what you did in your time. I don't even care if you really came here to kill yourself and saving me and my parents was just the cherry on top. That doesn't change the fact that you did save me and you did bring back my parents, and you did all those other things while you were busy dying. You're here. We're here, and the only other thing I have to say is….Thank you." Tony sighed.

Tony's words hung in the air for a few moments.

Then Natasha cleared her throat and added, softly, "You're not the only one in this room who has done things they regret, who made a decision that hurt an innocent person."

The subtle quiver on that last word caused Steve to study her face. He saw something in her eyes that told him she was thinking of something specific and deeply painful.

"Yeah, none of us are judging," Bruce added. "I'm sure there's a way we can help you. It doesn't seem right you going back to your time to risk spending the rest of your life in a prison cell…especially not after all the good you've done here."

Shuri rose from the armchair and shifted so that she was facing Bucky. "White Wolf, why did you not return to Wakanda in your timeline after the fight with Thanos? We could have assisted with your continued recovery."

Bucky rubbed his eyes with his fingers and then glanced at her. "There was Tony's funeral, then Steve had to return the stones. Shortly after that, I was arrested…and there was, you know," he shrugged, "a high-tech jail cell, lawyers, therapists, courts. I was granted a conditional pardon, but it meant regular visits with a court-appointed therapist in New York. I managed to miss one of those while dealing with the supersoldiers, and they wasted no time issuing a warrant for my arrest."

Steve closed his eyes as he imagined all that, and it made him suddenly furious at his alternate self for leaving Bucky to deal with that fallout. Had that other Steve even thought about what might be next for Bucky, or had he just assumed his friend would be okay with Sam watching out for him? Instead, of having Steve in his corner, Bucky had ended up once again in a cage, a victim of a justice system that didn't truly understand what had been done to him and siphoned him into a conventional regime of forced therapy and check-ins with someone who, no matter how competent, couldn't possibly have been as much of a help to him as Shuri and the Wakandans.

"Screw that. Not gonna happen here," Tony said suddenly, looking at the younger Buck. "The lawyers are already working on it. You had no control over what you did, so there's no criminal intent. Factually innocent, which means no conditions because no crime, but we're already working on a full unconditional pardon prior to any charges being filed to short-circuit any legal proceedings." Tony paced back and forth a few steps. "As for Berlin and your resisting arrest thing, well, they had orders to shoot to kill onsite. Self-defense. And the airport? That's on me." He cocked his head. "Money buys the best legal representation, and that's something I can do for you this time around."

The younger Buck looked stunned but managed to give a grateful, shaky nod to Tony. Steve made a mental note to have words with Tony later. He needed to let him know how much his support meant to him and both Buckys.

Shuri also expressed her obvious gratitude to Tony with a smile, then turned back to Bucky and asked softly, "Do you remember back in my lab, after we freed you from the control words…the discussion you had with myself and Amwerri about Winter Soldier conditioning?"

Steve turned his attention back to Bucky, taking a couple steps back to give him space. He knew Bucky well enough to recognize the man's inner struggle to keep his composure. Bucky pulled away from the glass and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He shifted to look at Shuri. Somehow, his eyes looked bluer, more intense. Bucky always wore his emotions in his eyes…even as the Winter Soldier, and that's one of the reasons Steve had known back on the helicarrier that his friend was still somewhere inside the soldier Hydra had created.

Bucky nodded at her.

"We were able to remove the effect of the code words," Shuri continued, "but not even our technology can completely eliminate the affects of decades of intense psychological conditioning and trauma. To do so would be to destroy the person you are and leave someone else in your place. That would have been murder."

"We discussed that," the younger Buck interjected. "I remember."

Shuri glanced at Buck briefly and nodded, then returned her attention to Bucky and continued, "The conditioning you experienced to become the Winter Soldier involved more than just code words. It involved emotional repression, biddability, compliance, and mission imperative."

Bucky's eyes never left her face. When he spoke, his voice was shaky, strained. "I know that."

She tilted her head sympathetically. "I know that you do, and that is why you can defeat it, but such defeat will take time. You spoke of the mission frequently and that you felt that you needed to complete it. That is how you were conditioned. You were brought out of cryogenic stasis only when it was time for a mission, and each time, your mind was wiped and you were provided the details of the new mission. Once you completed the mission, you would provide a mission report, and when there was no longer a need for you, you were returned to cryogenic stasis. You therefore only ever existed when there was a mission, and the mission was always paramount."

Steve watched Bucky's expression shift in consideration of her words. The despair and self-loathing on his face morphed to something akin to realization, and then horror. He slid down the glass pane to sit on the floor, his knees bent and his arms draped over his legs, then looked up at Shuri.

"You're saying the code words may be gone, but the Winter Soldier isn't?" Bucky took a deep breath and dropped his head on arms. "You're right. I don't know how to exist outside of a mission. I just keep going from one mission to another. The fight with Thanos….working through my list of amends….stopping the supersoldiers and finding the serum….and finally, coming back here to get the Gauntlet. It's all just been one mission after another." He raised his head and gazed at Steve. "That's all I'm good for. I don't know how to do anything else. I've just been…" he swallowed and looked away, "existing. Going through the motions convincingly enough to satisfy the government that I can live like a normal human being in society, but…I can't. That isn't possible for someone like me."

Steve lowered himself to the floor near the armchair closest to Bucky and leaned his back against the chair. "That's not true, Bucky." The hopeless desperation in his friend's voice tore at him. "It is possible. You've been doing it. Look at everything you've done for the people in this room. Give yourself time to adjust, and to heal."

Shuri's tone was gentle when she spoke. "Captain Rogers is correct. I did not mean to imply that you are still the Winter Soldier or that you are incapable of existing outside of a mission. My hope is to help you understand that your brain has been conditioned a certain way for 80 years, and it will take more than the brief time you have been free of the Winter Soldier programming to counter that conditioning. You cannot defeat such conditioning, however, until you recognize that you are affected by it." She knelt in front of him. "Much progress has already been made. You are free of the code words. You've overcome the aversive conditioning associated with your name. You have your memory and identity back—and you did that part all on your own, White Wolf, even before you came to Wakanda. You are stronger than you think." She sighed heavily, sympathetically. "But I also know that you have been pushed, many times, to the limits of human endurance for longer than any other person who ever lived has, according to what we know. You must give yourself time and leniency. Know that you will experience great progress, but also great setbacks, and forgive yourself for those setbacks. They are an inevitable part of the recovery process."

Bucky stared quietly at her for several seconds, obviously considering her words. Steve wasn't sure what was going on in his friend's head until he saw the slight dip of his chin and the flash of guilt in those blue eyes.

"My setbacks," Bucky began, his voice low, "cost other people their lives." He straightened and took a breath. "Do you have a way to send me back to my timeline?"

Steve understood what Bucky wasn't saying, and it made him suddenly angry. "You don't belong locked up, Bucky. Stay here. There's a place for you here."

Bucky shook his head. "I'm not going to leave Sam to deal with whatever he might be dealing with. I'd be wondering the rest of my life if he paid a price for helping me. Besides," he pushed himself to his feet, "I should face the consequences for my actions. It's the right thing to do. I can't change what I did, but I can own up to it."

Steve stood up to face Bucky. He had to get through to him. He couldn't let the other man throw his life away. There were other means of making amends. Saving lives. Helping people. Bucky had so much potential, and he'd already paid more dearly than anyone ever should thanks to Hydra.

"Owning up doesn't mean giving up. You don't have to go back and turn yourself in."

Bucky smiled softly at him. "You would man. You did. Back in '44. When we got back to base camp. You walked right up and surrendered yourself."

"That's different." Steve shook his head. "And you're forgetting I didn't surrender myself this last time for violating the Accords. I was on the run for two years."

"Because of me," Bucky retorted. "Enough is enough, man. Focus on that guy," he jerked his chin toward his younger self, who straightened suddenly, then Bucky continued, "He maybe still has a shot." A flash or regret crossed Bucky's face as he met his counterpart's gaze and added, "I'm sorry man. When I had the stones, I could've fixed you. I didn't even think about it. I spent hours going over the list, adding things, scratching things off, and I never once thought about doing that."

Sam took a step closer to Bucky and said, "Maybe it's time you started thinking about yourself. Look, man, I don't know what happened in the future, but I saw that hologram. I know that you jumped out of a plane without a chute to help me…and I could tell that was the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it, anyway. You put yourself last, man. Start putting yourself first every once in a while. You are worth it. I don't know why you think you aren't. You have a room full of people here who went through a lot to help you because we believe you're worth it. And, frankly, you proved us right. If we hadn't helped you back then, things would have gone a lot differently with Thanos. A lot of people wouldn't be here."

Bucky walked up to Sam and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks man. That's why I need to head back to my timeline, if I can. You stuck your neck out for me. I'm not going to leave you hanging."

"I can take care of myself."

"Yes, you can, but you already gave up enough for me." Bucky smiled sadly. "You have Sarah and the boys to think about. They lost you once, and they need you in their lives. I'm going back because it's the right thing to do for everyone." He turned to Shuri and asked her, "So? Verdict on getting me back?"

She faced him with a slump of regret in her shoulders. "It is possible. On a quantum level, as we all progress through a timeline, there are subtle changes to the fundamental particles that make up our atoms. These changes can be used as a signature. Because you traveled here from your timeline, that signature is readily available…both from the time device and from your own subatomic configuration. It should be a relatively simple matter to create a device that stores and recognizes that signature."

Tony stood and strolled up to them. "Already in the works, and almost done. That tablet you provided was quite useful. It pretty much had everything we needed to understand that little device. I'm not thrilled about the idea of sending you back to your timeline, but it's your choice. Since the alternative is to make you stay here against your will, you get to call the shots. All we have to do is attach the device to you, send you backward before the timeline split, and then forward again. The device will route you back to your timeline, much like a railroad track switch directs the path of a train."

"How safe is it?" Steve asked. An idea was forming on a way he might be able to help future Bucky.

Tony shrugged. "In theory, it should work. Of course, it's never been tested, and it's not like there's a way to test it. It requires a time branch and quantum signature, so Barnes' trip back will be the test run."

Shuri nodded. "The science is, however, sound. It should work."

"Okay then." Steve walked up to the time device resting on the counter near the refrigerator and picked it up. "You go back, I go back."

"What?" Both Bucky's chimed simultaneously.

Steve looked at the younger one. "Don't worry, buddy. I'm coming back." He glanced at Tony and Shuri, then asked. "Can I do that? Can I go with him and then get back to this timeline?"

"No way," Bucky said, stepping closer to Steve, his shoulders square, challenging.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. We'll make you a quantum signature lock. All you have to do is come back again before the split, activate the signature lock, and go forward. It'll route you here."

"Not gonna happen." Bucky walked up to Steve, but Steve slid away, the time device held in his hand.

"Non-negotiable," Steve told his friend. "If you're going back, I'm going with you. I'm going to do my best to make sure they don't lock you up…even if I have to pound every door in Washington and Berlin. I'm betting a visit from an MIA Captain America will turn a few heads, don't you?"

Bucky bit his lower lip in obvious frustration. "This has never been tested. You're risking your life. I'm not gonna let you do that."

Steve glanced at Shuri. "How big is the risk?"

She sighed. "The theory is solid. I believe it will work flawlessly. However, there is no guarantee."

"What are the chances it goes wrong?" Steve asked.

Shuri looked at Tony, obviously pondering the question, then replied, "Slim. There is a chance during either trip that the quantum signature won't be properly read, and you'll travel to the other timeline…or potentially to another timeline with a similar quantum signature. However, that would be highly unlikely. If that did happen, you could attempt to travel back again before the split and then re-boot the signature lock. With a second attempt forward, the signature lock would likely direct you to the correct timeline."

Steve nodded. That was good enough for him. "That's an acceptable risk." He looked at Bucky, then added firmly. "I'm going with you."

"No," Bucky's voice was firm, "you're not." He held out his hand. "Give that to me."

Steve shook his head. "Nope."

"Steve…" Bucky warned, taking a breath. "Give it to me."

"Not gonna happen, buddy."

Bucky smiled incredulously and shook his head. "You really are a punk, man." When Bucky looked back, there was genuine affection in his eyes. "Okay. We'll do it your way."

Bucky walked up to him and reached out a hand as if to clasp him on the shoulder, but Steve knew the man. He'd always been pretty good at telling when Bucky was lying, so he was ready and evaded Bucky's attempt to redirect at the last minute and grab the device.

"Come on, damnit!" Bucky took a breath, eyed Steve firmly, then lunged forward.

Steve side stepped quickly, but Bucky anticipated the move and swept a leg out, taking Steve's out from under him. Bucky's vibranium hand made a play for the time device still clutched in Steve's hand, trying to save it from any impact, but Steve was way ahead of him, holding it up and twisting his upper body to avoid the grab.

"Steve, I swear…" Bucky grabbed Steve's waistband and hauled him backward.

Steve found himself in a wrestling match on the floor with Bucky, clutching the time device like a football as Bucky's hands attempted to wrestle it from his grip.

"You're gonna break it!" Bucky yelled angrily.

"You're gonna break it if you don't back off, and then you'll have no choice but to be stuck here." Steve hoped that thought would get through to his friend.

Steve felt an elbow jab hard in his right side, knocking the breath from him long enough for Bucky to wrap his vibranium arm around Steve's wrist and yank upward. Steve kept his hand firmly gripped around the device even as Bucky tried to use pressure on the wrist to get Steve to release.

"Let go of it," Bucky hissed, yanking Steve to his feet.

"You know I won't," Steve countered.

Steve watched the frustration play over Bucky's face, and finally his friend turned to look at his younger counterpart while still keeping a firm hold on Steve's wrist. "Are you going to help me out here," Bucky asked his younger self, "or just watch?"

Buck raised his hands and shook his head. "I'm staying out of this one."

Bucky's jaw clenched, and Steve saw the intense blue eyes snap back toward him. Determination lined his friend's face, and Steve knew he wasn't going to relent so easily. The vibranium hand clenched harder around his wrist. Steve felt his tendons squeezed. His radius ached. Still, he kept his grip on the device and his gaze locked with Bucky's.

He heard the younger Buck get to his feet suddenly, but Steve wasn't worried. He knew both Bucky's, and he knew how to play this one. He had no intention of giving in because that meant Bucky would likely spend the rest of his life in a cage.

"Damnit, Steve!" Bucky released his grip on Steve's wrist with an angry jerk backward. Then, he shoved himself forward, inches from Steve's face, and whispered, "You were gonna let me break your wrist, weren't you?"

Steve pulled the device closer to him and held Bucky's angry gaze. "You weren't going to break my wrist." He'd known that all along.

Bucky huffed with disbelief and stumbled backward a few steps. "You… he pointed angrily at Steve, "need to stop trusting me like that."

Steve set his shoulders back firmly. "I trust you with my life. Always have. Always will."

Bucky sank into the empty armchair closest to him, his shoulders slumped with defeat, and shook his head. "I literally tried to kill you a few hours ago, man."

Steve leaned against the arm of the couch. "That wasn't really you, and that wasn't your fault."

Bucky looked up at him. "Why are you doing this? You're risking your life for nothing. You can't help me. This isn't like Vienna. This time, I actually did what they've accused me of."

"This isn't up for discussion, anymore." Steve was tired of arguing in circles with Bucky. "I'm going back with you, and we're going to check all the boxes. We'll make sure Sam's in the clear. I'll do whatever I can to make sure you don't spend the rest of your life in a cell, and if it doesn't work out, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'll have as much time as I need, and when I come back here, I'll have only been gone a few minutes."

And, if need be, Steve added silently, you'll be coming back with me…and we'll figure it all out from there.

Bucky sighed. "Seems like I don't have much of a choice about it."

Steve hated the way Bucky phrased that, but he couldn't disagree. "Not about this."

"Great." Tony clapped his hands. "Give us a few…, or, uh, maybe a bit more than a few...hours and we'll have both quantum signature locks ready to go."

Sam walked up to Bucky—who looked completely dejected slouched in the armchair—and tapped him lightly on the arm. "Looks like you've got a few hours of guaranteed freedom. Anything you want to do?"