Steve sat patiently in a plush chair inside the small waiting room. He wore his Captain America uniform, and the shield rested near his right leg, leaning against the chair. Three large armed security guards hovered around, their postures stiff and their eyes straight ahead… most of the time. Occasionally, he'd catch one of them glancing at him.
The room was comfortable but focused more on function than elegance. It held three armchairs situated around a small coffee table. A tiny sink and refrigerator were against one wall, and a small television screen and camera were mounted on the opposite wall.
The door to the room opened, and the Chancellor walked in. Her eyes locked on him immediately. The holodrive Tony had provided rested on the small table. The guards had searched him thoroughly and discovered it, as he'd known they would.
"Captain Rogers," she walked into the room, and another man followed her, closing the door behind them.
Steve rose slowly and nodded his head. "Thank you for seeing me on short notice."
She tilted her head at him, doubt on her face. "The rumors are that you died."
"Well, it's a complicated story, but obviously I am very much alive."
"What brings you to Germany?" she asked him.
"I think you know." He pointed to the holodrive on the table. "I have something you should see."
She nodded at him.
He leaned forward and flicked his finger over the drive. He'd organized and pre-loaded the information during the flight, deleting the most sensitive parts that he knew Bucky wanted no one to see. He hated having to violate his friend's privacy in any way, but in this case, he felt it was the only way to help the Chancellor understand James Buchanan Barnes.
An image of Bucky on a table, surrounded by Nazi officers sprang to life. Dr. Zola hovered directly over Bucky. He pulled a syringe away from Bucky and set it on a metal tray. A machine hung over Bucky's head.
Zola backed up a step and gave a command in German to a nearby technician. The technician moved the machine in position so that its arms surrounded Bucky's head. One of the uniformed Nazi guards hit a button on a control panel, and the machine sparked to life.
Bucky's chest arched. Straps held him to the table as his screams ripped through the room.
"What is this?" The Chancellor asked, her eyes angry and her tone clipped.
Steve let the footage progress another few seconds, even though the sound of Bucky's screams made him feel like his insides were on fire, then he tapped the device, and the holovideo paused. "This," he told her, "is one of the first torture sessions Bucky experienced at the hands of his Nazi captors. They'd call it conditioning. There's about 20 more minutes of this type of footage, but that's only a tiny fraction of what the Nazi's did to James Barnes. This footage was recovered from a bunker in Siberia by Tony Stark."
Steve tapped the display and the footage continued. Bucky remained on the table, screaming, and after several minutes, the electric current, and his screams, died. His head lolled to the side, and then, after a moment, he began softly repeating his name, rank, and serial number.
Zola leaned over Bucky. "You are to be the new fist of Hydra. Say it."
Bucky continued repeating his name, rank, and serial number. Zola straightened, took a step away, and nodded at the Nazi guard. The machine flared to life again, and Bucky arched, the straps holding him down, his screams filling the room.
"Stop this," the Chancellor ordered.
Steve tapped the device. "This is the last thing I wanted to do, but I know Bucky's lawyers have tried to convince you to withdraw your request for extradition and drop all charges. I understand why you are reluctant to do so. I thought you should at least understand Bucky and what he's been through so you can better understand why it was so important to him, and a lot of other people, that the supersoldier serum be found and kept out of the hands of the wrong type of people."
"I know his story. I watch the news. I've even visited the Smithsonian and saw your display."
Steve nodded at her. "Knowing and seeing are two different things. I fought in the World War II against the Nazi's and Hydra. I was there. So was he." Steve jerked his chin at Bucky's image, hovering paused in the air, his back arched, his mouth open and his eyes closed. "This is what he got for his service. They imprisoned him, made him work, then experimented on him…tortured him. I found him like that, strapped to the table, reciting his name, rank, and serial number."
The Chancellor sat in one of the empty armchairs, and Steve sank into the one he'd occupied moments before.
She looked at him. "I feel for your friend, but none of this excuses his actions."
Steve eyed the display. He had to tread a careful line. He didn't want to lie to the woman, but he didn't want to confess on Bucky's behalf, either.
"I wasn't here," he told her. "I know what Zemo did to him and many others. I know Bucky has no love for Zemo. I also know that an army of supersoldiers could potentially result in thousands if not millions of deaths. An army like that could take over nations, especially in this delicate world. Things are unstable, chaotic. I've seen regimes rise. I've seen power hungry dictators seize control. No one really thinks it can happen until it does. Bucky has seen it, too. We have a different perspective because we've lived the history you only learn about in books."
"I can only imagine what you and your friend went through during that war." She tilted her head at him. "Can you imagine what Leon Klein's family has gone through?"
Steve took a breath. He could, at least a little. He understood loss. He'd suffered enough of it. "Zemo is the man directly responsible for that."
"Do you remember how many people died in Berlin back when your friend escaped the detention center?"
"That wasn't his fault," Steve countered. "Zemo found the words to control Bucky's mind. Again, that was all on Zemo. He forced Bucky to do those things. And that Winter Soldier programming…you can blame that on German and Russian Hydra cells. They made Bucky into the Winter Soldier." He leaned forward and met her gaze. "What Bucky became…what he did…is what Nazi's and Russians did to him. They tortured him, wiped his memory, turned him into a human drone." Steve rose to his feet and pointed at the display. "If you want to go over past sins, I've got a whole lot right up here," he tapped his head, "of what Germans did back in 1944…What was done to my friend there." He took a deep breath as he tried to avoid staring at the image of his friend's agony hovering in mid-air. "For you, this was all before your time, and I know you're not to blame. The U.S. has its fair share of egregious sins, too. But what I'd like you to consider is that, for Bucky and me, this," he pointed to the display, "feels like yesterday. It may have physically been 80 years, but we were both on ice for most of that time. For us, it really was only a few years ago, and James Barnes is still recovering from what was done to him."
She looked at him sympathetically, and her gaze darted to Bucky's image. Steve could tell he was getting through to her. Then, she shook her head, and his hope sunk.
"I sympathize with you and your friend, and I will make sure that, if he ends up in our custody, all of this information is taken into consideration. Germany's extradition request will stand."
"Based on what hard evidence?" he countered, hoping he could appeal to her practical side.
She tilted her head. "That is up to us to present, of course."
Steve took another deep breath. He'd hoped that bit of footage would be sufficient and that he wouldn't have to go further, but he'd prepared to do whatever he could to open her eyes. He kept all the footage Stark had found, except for that girl in the hospital gown. That was a line he wouldn't cross. He knew Bucky probably wouldn't forgive him for that if he did.
Leaning forward, he met her gaze. "All I ask is that you watch the rest of what I have on this drive. I'll leave at the end of it, and that will be the last you'll hear from me, no matter what decision you make. Some of it may be difficult to watch, but with such an important decision, I hope you'll spare a few more minutes to consider the information Stark discovered in that Bunker. It's relevant to your decision."
She nodded solemnly at him. "You helped save the world. I will consider any information you wish to present today."
"Before I continue, may I ask that we have as few people here as possible to watch this. This is quite personal and sensitive, and I'd like it to stay in this room."
She glanced at two of the guards, and they left, leaving her aide and one guard. Steve nodded, then tapped the holoprojector. The video progressed.
When it was over, his own stomach felt queasy, and he'd had to watch the footage once before. He knew what to expect. He felt sympathy for her as she rose, her face pale, and hurried out of the room. Her aide rushed out behind her.
Steve glanced at the one guard remaining in the room and pocketed the holodrive. "I guess that means I'm done here now."
-0- -0- -0-
Sam took one final look at the five members of the Global Repatriation Council on his laptop screen and began to feel like, maybe, just maybe, there was hope for Bucky. Ayla Perez's held sympathy in her eyes. The other four members' faces displayed a range of emotions, but the five people before him all owed their lives to him and Bucky. They had been targeted by the supersoldiers. Ayla had been the one in the chopper that Sam had worked with. The other four had been among those in the armored van that Karli had set on fire. Bucky had spared those four from a particularly gruesome death.
GRC member Thomas spoke. "He saved my life, Captain. I shook his hand and thanked him. If not for him, my wife would be a widow and I wouldn't have gotten to meet my new grandchild. I know what you were both facing. You've got my support. I've already got my assistant working on a public statement."
Sam met the man's steady gaze. "Thank you." He met each of the councilmember's gazes one by one. "Thank you all."
-0- -0- -0-
The Governor of New York wished Bucky Barnes had turned himself in somewhere else. New Jersey. Pennsylvania. Louisiana even. Why did he have to pick New York?
He looked at the New York Attorney General and figured she probably wasn't too thrilled with the situation, either. This was a no-win situation. The press was all over him. Barnes' attorneys were all over him. Stark Enterprises was suddenly playing hard ball on some of their critical contracts, and even though they hadn't mentioned Barnes as a factor in their sudden lack of flexibility, he'd nevertheless gotten the message.
They'd even threatened to pull out of a critical contract negotiation that would upgrade prison security across the state and most of the eastern United States for a fraction of the cost of other bidders. Thanks to their A.I. technology, they were eons ahead of the competition. They had the advantage, and they knew it. The problem was, international extradition was managed at the federal level. He was just caught in the middle of one giant mess.
The AG held a tablet on her lap and stared at him across the desk of his plush office. "The Wakandans are putting up quite the fuss."
He rubbed his forehead. "How the hell can they even ask for extradition?"
"The Germans have the stronger claim, of course, but the Wakandans are flexing their muscle…and that muscle is substantial," she said.
He sighed. "Fuck it. I don't care. Just, handle it." He waved a hand in the air. "It's not our problem, really. It's the feds. I wish they'd figure out something soon and get this problem off my lap. If he escapes, it's on me. If he's mistreated, it'll be on me. I'm getting calls from one side who want his head and others see him as some kind of misunderstood hero. Hell, I even have members of the GRC breathing down my neck."
"And the President's, too," she reminded him. "He did kind of help save the world, and he does have a few heavy hitters in his corner."
"Let them breathe down the President's neck all they want. How long is Barnes going to be on New York soil? Can't we get him transferred to DC?"
She shook his head. "Too much of a risk to transport him. Feds are insisting he stay put for the time being. The facility he's in right now is the most secure one in the region."
"Thanks to Stark Enterprises."
"Ironic, I know." She smiled at him.
"I don't like having the world's most wanted man in a cell governed by Stark Technology – when it's Stark paying the legal fees."
"Well, we don't know that for sure," she said.
"It's a pretty good guess."
The law firm representing Barnes presented some serious muscle. They had offices in New York, Los Angeles, London, Berlin, and Paris. They knew how to make themselves a real pain in the ass. At the moment, they were his pain in the ass.
The door opened, and his aide popped her head in. "Um, sir, you might want to check out CNN."
He closed his eyes. "Crap." Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
-0- -0- -0-
"Hello, everyone. Surprised to see me? I hear I kind of died saving the universe over there." Tony Stark's image played from the screen. Sam sat back in the chair at his small dining table and watched the broadcast from his laptop.
"You're welcome for all that, on behalf of the other version of myself who didn't make it. But you know, I got lucky, because some guy who it turns out I once tried to kill, came back in time and saved the universe. He saved my life, and he died doing it. Spoiler alert! We brought him back. But while he was dying, he didn't just save me and the universe. He brought back a lot of people who shouldn't have died—I'm not talking about the people gone in the blip. I'm talking about people like my parents. Like some kid named RJ. Oh, he also reversed climate change and cleaned up the planet. Here," Tony raised a hand, "let me show you."
The image switched to another broadcast about the sudden reduction in greenhouse gases and the long-term impacts on climate change. It was a news cast that had never happened in the current timeline. Sam wondered how many people watching would believe this was a hoax.
"Anyway," the broadcast cut back to Tony Stark, "that guy's name is James Buchanan Barnes. I understand that things over there post blip are difficult. Someone got ahold of supersoldier serum and tried to make themselves their own little army to wreak havoc on the world. Well, the world's had enough havoc for a while. I'm gone. Your Steve Rogers is gone. A lot of the Avengers are gone. You know who that leaves over there to fight the big bad guys like the enhanced individuals? The aliens? Your governments are left, that's who. Or… your new Captain America, a couple of enhanced stragglers—maybe—and one slightly refurbished supersoldier who, by the way, in his day, was fighting Nazis. Yeah, real ones. You know, like from World War II. The big bad Adolf. Hydra. Those guys. Yep. He got captured. They experimented on him. He paid the price defending our freedom. If he's a little wonky in the head, well, you can't really blame him. I did, and I was wrong about that. You see, back when he was the Winter Soldier, what he really was was a victim. He had no control over anything they made him do. I'm sure you can read all about it on the Internet, if you haven't already. While he was the Winter Soldier, Hydra sent him to murder my parents and steal some supersoldier serum. It took me some time to get over that. I'm over it now, and not just because he managed to bring my parents back to life and reverse a lot of the harm Hydra made him do, but because, even if he hadn't been able to do that, he's not to blame. Can you imagine having someone take control of your mind and force you to kill people? No, I don't think you can. I can't. Despite all the crap the world has thrown at him, he helped save it—your world and mine. Maybe you can cut him some slack. Who knows, your world might need him again. Mine did."
The broadcast cut to show the familiar face of GRC member Thomas. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties stood next to him. She had light brown hair and wore a dark green blazer. Two other younger woman were next to him. One cradled an infant in her arms.
"I'm GRC councilmember Thomas," the man spoke to the camera. "A few weeks ago, members from the group known as the Flag Smashers kidnapped me and other members of the council. They locked us in an armored van and set it on fire. We all thought we were going to die. Then, we heard pounding on the door. Over and over again. Someone was trying to save us. When the doors finally opened, we saw James Barnes standing there. I'm not sure how many recognized him. I did. I turned and thanked him. If he hadn't been there that day to stop those supersoldiers, I wouldn't be with my family right now. This little girl," he placed a hand on his grandchild's arm, "was born two weeks ago. Because of James Barnes, I got to meet her, and hopefully, I'll get to watch her grow up." His eyes started to glisten with tears, as did those of the other women around him. "I don't know what happened in Berlin. I don't want to diminish the harm that was caused. But I know that, if not for the actions of James Barnes, I wouldn't be alive today, and, frankly, there are a lot of other people who wouldn't be, as well."
The broadcast cut back to the anchorwoman. "This video was personally delivered by none other than Captain Steve Rogers. We've had it analyzed by an independent expert who believes the video to be authentic and can find no sign of falsification, deep faking, or tampering. We have Captain Rogers here in our studio, and he had agreed to a five-minute interview with our own Jason Bartley. Jason, it's all yours."
The image cut to a male reporter with graying hair wearing a dark blue suit. He sat in an armchair across from Steve, who was fully decked out in all his Captain America glory. Sam found himself smiling and remembered Steve saying, when you had to fight a battle, you needed to wear a uniform. He was fighting one hell of a battle now, but this time on the front lines of politics and media. Sam knew that was a battlefield Steve hated. Turns out, he was pretty damn good at it, though.
"Captain Rogers," Bartley asked, "let me just start with the question everyone is wondering. Where have you been?"
"Well, I'm not from your timeline. I'm from an alternate timeline—the one where Tony Stark recorded that message. I can't really speak to where your Steve Rogers is."
"Alternate timelines?" Bartley shook his head. "This is all a bit hard to believe."
"No harder than aliens invading New York, half the population vanishing and then suddenly reappearing five years later, and enhanced individuals like the Hulk."
"I'll give you that," the reporter responded. "So, time travel. Okay. How did you get to our timeline?"
"You can thank Tony Stark, Princess Shuri from Wakanda, and Bruce Banner for that. They all worked very hard on stuff that is well above my pay grade to figure out how to get Bucky Barnes and myself back to this timeline."
"Why did you two come back?"
"That was all Barnes. He escaped that prison in Louisiana for one reason. He wanted to try to make things right. He knew it wouldn't help him or this timeline, but he knew it would make a difference to us. And it did. He expected to die doing that. I couldn't let him. We used one of the infinity stones to bring him back. After that, he insisted that we try to help him return to this timeline so he could face the charges against him. I asked him to stay with us. Tony Stark asked him to stay with us. We all did our best to dissuade him from returning because we believe that he has a lot to offer the world, and he can't do that in a cage. He doesn't belong in one. I was there in 1944. I found him strapped to a table in a Nazi-Hydra lab. I pulled him out of there. He and the other Howling Commandos helped the Allied forces win the war. And then there was that one mission where he grabbed the shield and threw himself in the line of fire to save my life. It cost him his. I thought he'd died, but he hadn't. He'd been captured by Russian Hydra forces. They continued whatever experiment Dr. Zola had started on him, and they turned him, against his will, into their Winter Soldier. He's paid a hefty price for helping the world defeat Hydra and the Nazis. For him, and for me, it wasn't that long ago. He's come a long way. He's fought to get his mind back, but it's a process. That process was interrupted when he was arrested and forced into mandatory therapy here in New York. The real people who should have been allowed to help him with his recovery are in Wakanda. And they are still ready, willing, and able to help him. We owe him that. As a society, all of us owe him a debt."
"What do you say to the critics who believe he helped the convicted murderer Zemo escape and that it was that escape that led to the death of Leon Klein?"
Steve nodded solemnly, meeting the reporters gaze. "I extend my deepest condolences to Klein's family. I know what it's like to lose people…to miss them. To think about what might have been. Bucky didn't kill Klein. That's on Zemo."
"Did Barnes help Zemo escape?"
"I'm not the man who can give you that answer."
"Fair enough," the reporter said.
"What I will say," Steve continued, "is that I hope people remember Sargeant Barnes is a World War II veteran. He sacrificed his life to save mine, and he paid a terrible price for that. He was captured, and what they did to him…" Steve paused, talking a deep breath, "it hasn't been done to another human being in the history of our planet, that we know of. I volunteered for the army, and I volunteered to take the serum. James Barnes didn't volunteer to have the serum injected into him or to be turned into a Winter Soldier. His life, his family, his identity were all stolen from him. He's got his mind back, and he's been trying to find his way in this new, strange world. He'd barely gotten free of Hydra, and he joined us in the fight to help save the universe from Thanos. He put his life on the line again. For anyone who has ever had a loved one in the military, fighting for our freedoms, ask yourself how you would want your loved one treated if they went through what Sargeant Barnes has. He's going to take some time to recovery, and he'll make mistakes along the way. He's been a prisoner for three quarters of a century. He deserves some compassion, and a chance at a life."
The reporter remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded. "It's obvious you care deeply for your friend. What would you say to—"
Steve leaned forward and glanced at the camera. "I promised five minutes. Thank you for giving me those five minutes. I have somewhere else I need to be now." He stood.
"Can I get you to answer just a couple more questions?" Bartley asked.
"Not at the moment. Thank you for this opportunity. And good luck in your world." Steve walked off camera.
The reporter looked at the camera. "Well, there you have it. The first interview with Captain Steve Rogers since the blip ended. Make of that story what you will. I know my head is spinning."
The screen cut again back to the anchorwoman. "We have another portion of exclusive footage. We opted to save this until the end of this segment because some viewers may find the content disturbing. If you have children watching, we warn you that the following material is not appropriate for young or sensitive viewers." The anchorwoman paused for a few seconds, and then continued. "The following footage is alleged to have occurred in the alternate timeline. It is footage purported to be captured by Tony Stark's Iron Man suit during the final moments of the battle at the Avengers compound in New York."
The video cut again to a familiar figure, but Sam had never seen this footage. It was not part of any of the battle footage he'd provided Bucky, and he knew instantly why. He was watching how the alternate events played out.
There, on his screen, was Bucky Barnes, the gauntlet on his vibranium arm. He fell against a pile of scorched earth and debris. The perspective shifted. Tony Stark was moving toward Bucky, leaning over him. Bucky's lips were moving ever so slightly, even as the energy coursing up his vibranium arm snaked into his neck, up his jaw, over the side of his face.
A figure moved in the periphery of the image, and Stark shifted. Steve was there, dirty and bloody, disbelief on his face, anguish in his blue eyes. Steve looked at the man on the ground in front of him and then yanked the glove off Bucky's hand and set it to rest between himself and Tony.
"Bucky," Steve whispered.
Bucky's eyelids fluttered open, the eyes drifted until they settled on Steve's face. Bucky's lips moved. His chest trembled, then a choke escaped him. Steve yanked off his mask, then grabbed his friend's hand, encasing it in both of his.
Bucky whispered, his voice low and hoarse. "My pocket."
Steve sprang into action, patting down Bucky's pockets until he found something in the jacket. He pulled out two envelopes.
"For my folks," Bucky's voice croaked.
"God, Buck…" Steve croaked.
From the video, it looked like Bucky was already gone. Sam felt his own tears falling. He hadn't expected this…. He hadn't expected to watch his friend's death. Even though he knew Dr. Strange would resurrect Bucky, it still hurt to watch Bucky take his last breath. It hurt even worse knowing that Bucky did this because some part of him really believed he had no place in the world.
It especially hurt watching Steve on the screen lean forward and rest the top of his head against Bucky's still chest.
"The other one's addressed to you," Tony's voice sounded.
Sam watched as Steve carefully picked up the letters. He set one on Bucky's leg, then turned the other one over and opened it. He pulled out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it. After a moment, Steve began to read the words softly out loud.
"I know you must be confused. I hope I didn't screw this up. If I did, then I'm sorry won't cut it. You won't be around to read this. So, if you are reading this, then I hope that means Thanos is dead and Tony is alive.
You've probably figured out that I'm from the future—a little less than a year, actually. I know we're not supposed to mess with timelines, but we already have. You found your happily ever after with Peggy. I know that hasn't happened for you yet, but I also know the idea is already in your head. You're a man of your word, and you made her a promise. You both deserve happiness. I'm glad you lived a wonderful life. You deserve it—perhaps more than anyone ever has."
Steve's voice broke, and he sobbed. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing Steve cry. He ached for both of his friends.
Sam watched as Tony gently pulled the letter from Steve's hand and say, "I got this, Cap."
Another figure appeared on the other side of Steve—the dirty, bloodied, and bearded face of their Bucky.
Tony cleared his throat, then looked down at the letter and began reading.
"In the original version of this battle, Tony saved the universe."
Stark's voice caught, and he paused for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. "I don't want to take that away from him. He forced the stones from the gauntlet and used them to defeat Thanos' army. It cost him his life. He left behind a little girl who needs him, and a wife who loves him. He's the real hero here, not me. Make sure the world knows that."
Tony took a hitched breath, then continued.
"I made a list of amends after you left—bad people I had helped as the Winter Soldier, good people I hurt. I never put Tony Stark's name on that list because there was no way I could make amends for killing his parents. There was no way I could be of service to him. He died saving us.
Then something happened back in my time—months from now, and this idea came to me. I can't bring back the Tony of my time, but I hope I can create a timeline where Morgan gets to grow up with her father and Pepper gets to grow old with him. That assumes he keeps himself out of trouble, of course.
I'm sorry for the rift that I caused between you two, and between the Avengers. I hope you don't see my death as throwing away those sacrifices. This is the only thing I could do for you—at least some version of you. The world gets to trade up from a 106-year-old headcase to Tony Stark.
I leave behind no one except Sam, and he'll be okay, I hope. He doesn't deserve to be burdened with my brand of craziness. Hell, up until a few weeks ago, he barely tolerated me. I don't blame him. He sacrificed a lot for me, and I tried to kill him twice. I know he only did it for you, though. He's loyal, and a very good man. Tell him I appreciate everything he gave up to help me. He risked never seeing Sarah or his nephews again. That's a lot…too much. He's not the only one who made that kind of sacrifice. Clint. Wanda. Scott. Natasha. That's bad math. "
Sam blinked and the tears spilled down his cheeks as he listened to Tony reading Bucky's final words. Jesus, Bucky, you're not a burden, man.
He thought back to all the quips and cracks he'd made at Bucky. He'd thought, for the most part, Bucky knew he was just messing around, trying to ease the tension. Sure, sometimes, if he had to be honest with himself, he felt a little out of his league with Bucky. Back in Vienna and then Berlin, he wasn't so sure Steve had been doing the right thing, but he trusted Steve, and he backed him. He hadn't been happy about it, for sure. Bucky had tried to kill him repeatedly, after all.
But he knew the man now, and he knew why Steve sacrificed so much to save him. He swore to himself, as he watched the scene unfold on the screen, that if Bucky got out of this, Sam would make sure he knew that he considered Bucky a friend, not a burden.
Tony continued the letter. "Remember Mrs. Doyle used to say math doesn't lie? She was right. I know what you're going to say. I passed that class only because you coerced me into studying for the final instead of hanging out with Becky Russo. You're right. In the grand scheme of things, though, passing that class didn't really help me in my future endeavors. Bad joke, I know."
Tony stopped to take a breath, then continued, "Don't worry, Steve. I'm okay with this. I should have died a long time ago. I don't belong here. The world doesn't know what to do with me, and I don't know what to do with myself. The only reason I made it this far is I didn't want to let you down or dishonor the sacrifices of your friends.
But, the truth is, I'm broken, and not even Shuri and a court-appointed therapist can fix me. I've made some terrible calls—and I can't blame Hydra or the Winter Soldier. The recent ones were on me—James Buchanan Barnes. Looking back over the past century, I've been the cause of so much death and destruction. I know I couldn't help most of it, but the body count is undeniable. The world would have been a better place had I never been born.
I hope, in your timeline, I can change that. That's selfish of me, I realize. I'm not sure whether I'm doing the right thing. I hope I am. It's all I ever tried to do…when I had a choice.
Don't worry about the other me, the one in your timeline. You deserve to live your life and stop sacrificing yourself for me. Yes, he's a mess. I was—am—a mess. But I hope what I've done makes things a little easier for him. The only advice I can give him is to not shut down. I did. I pushed people away—Sam, in particular. There's so much that's been broken and pieced back together inside me that I was afraid if I opened up and let any of the crap inside me out, I wouldn't be able to hold it together, and I'd crumble. I never risked finding out. He has to risk it if he hopes to make it through.
There's one last thing I hope you know. You're a little brother to me. You always have been. I'm finally going to be okay. I've gone from one fight to the next for almost 90 years. All I ever wanted after remembering who I am—who I used to be—was peace. Twice, I tried to fight for things bigger than myself, and twice I failed. I hope this third time's the charm. Don't grieve for me. Just give me an awesome eulogy and remember me for who I once was—that kid from Brooklyn who tried to keep your punk ass out of trouble.
Goodbye, Steve.
Your friend and brother in spirit,
James Bucky Barnes
P.S. I guess I should let you know there's a time travel machine in my motel room. Parker inn off Saratoga Blvd. Room 4. Someone should probably go retrieve that and keep it safe. Also, there's about $100 bucks left of the cash Sam slipped me. Give it back to him—your Sam, anyway. Tell him, 'Thank you' for me.
Finally, I've made a list of amends for after I get the infinity stones. I'm not sure how successful I'll be at working through that list before the stones do me in, but—heads up—there may be some people who need help having things explained to them and getting to where they're supposed to be. If so, I know you and the others will make sure that happens."
Sam watched, heartbroken, as Steve fell forward and grabbed the still, hard shoulders of Bucky's body and sobbed. After several long, agonizing seconds, Steve straightened and opened his eyes. He picked up the gauntlet.
"Cap?" Tony's cautiously inquired.
Steve picked up a broken piece of his shield and pushed the stones out of the gauntlet one by one, letting each one fall gently to the ground until only the time stone remained. Then, he lifted his hand and slipped the glove over it.
"Stop!" Dr. Strange's voice sounded just off camera, then Tony shifted to reveal the man kneeling nearby. "You don't know how to use that," Dr. Strange continued. "You could cause an endless time loop."
Steve shook his head. "I can't let him die."
Dr. Strange held out his hand. "I do know how to use that. You have my word. I'll try to bring him back."
Steve nodded as Strange took the glove from him, slipped it over his hand, then held out his arm. A green circle appeared, and Strange placed his fingers on it, pointed it at Bucky's motionless body, then dialed it slowly counterclockwise.
What Sam watched next blew his mind. Events unwound, but only with Bucky. Everything else remained as it was. His body shifted, changed. His vibranium arm glowed, then it didn't. The energy flared and then snaked down his arm, and damaged tissue became healthy. He took in a deep, shuddering breath, then his eyes opened.
Bucky looked around, confused, then panic set on his face. "Thanos!"
"Thanos is gone." Steve said. "You destroyed his forces."
Bucky looked at Steve in silence for several seconds, confusion evident in his face. "What happened?" Bucky asked. "How am I alive? Am I alive?"
Dr. Strange answered. "Your friend Captain Rogers here was about to make a cosmically foolish decision and unsuccessfully attempt to use the time stone to rewind your physical essence to an earlier state. I intervened and did it for him—successfully, of course."
Bucky stared at the sorcerer. "You used the time stone to bring me back?"
Strange nodded.
Bucky leaned his head back and sighed. "You're a real pain in the ass, Steve."
Sam laughed at that. The man wasn't lying. His laughter faded to a grin as he watched Steve pull Bucky into what appeared to be a crushing hug.
The video faded for a moment, then resumed. Sam heard a man's voice off-screen.
"What the hell is happening? Where are we?"
The video turned toward the voice. There was an older man with the gray hair wearing a slightly vintage business suit. Sam recognized Howard Stark immediately. He was pretty sure the blonde woman standing next to him his Tony's mother.
The video jolted and shifted suddenly, then Tony's voice came through as a stunned gasp. "Mom? Dad?"
Maria Stark tilted her head and looked at her son, her brow creased. Tears filled her eyes. "Tony?"
In the background of the video, Sam saw other people milling around, looking confused, and his eyes focused on one figure in the distance. He wasn't sure…she was too far away, but it almost looked like Natasha.
Before he could get a solid look, however, the screen went blank, then returned to the anchorwoman behind the desk. "As mentioned previously, we have had the video independently examined by an expert. There is no indication that the footage is a deep fake or has otherwise been tampered with. It appears to be authentic, but we have turned the source video provided over to authorities for further investigation." She took a breath, as if steadying herself, then promptly moved into the next story about repatriation efforts.
Sam clicked off the video and closed the laptop lid. He took a moment to just sit there in silence and process what he'd just watched—his friend's suicide mission, thwarted by Steve and Dr. Strange. Instantly, he also felt a deep regret. If only someone had thought about that those many months ago, when Tony had taken his last breath.
But, then again, Dr. Strange had been busy trying to keep flood waters at bay and wasn't available to save Tony the first time around. It appeared that, in Bucky's version of events, he'd taken care of that threat, too…all while he was dying. Sam had to hand it to Bucky…when he put his mind to a mission, he really followed through, even to his last breath.
"Shit, Bucky." He leaned back in his chair. "Well done, man. Well done."
-0- -0- -0-
Clint Barton stood mesmerized in the middle of the living room as he watched the scene unfold on the television screen. This was an entirely different version of events…a version where Tony Stark survived and…
His breath caught in his throat when he saw the familiar red head in the distance. He knew her walk, anywhere. Suddenly, he was back on the side of the cliff, trying to hold on to her, then watching her fall.
"Oh my god, is that Natasha?" Laura's voice brought him out of his dark thoughts.
He felt her arm wrap around his waist.
"Yeah," he croaked.
Son of a bitch. Barnes had somehow managed to bring her back.
-0- -0- -0-
The Chancellor stared at the handwritten letter sitting on her desk. She'd read it twice. The handwriting was neat and meticulous. The words had obviously been written with care.
When her Aide had delivered it, she wasn't sure what she expected when she found out it was from Leon Klein's grandmother… one of a dwindling number of living holocaust victims. The Chancellor was still recovering from the images she'd seen during her meeting with Captain Rogers. She knew he had meant to shock her…to make her feel sympathy for his friend.
He had succeeded.
The letter from Eva Klein was just one more surprise. It did, however, make her decision clearer. Easier.
-0- -0- -0-
Sam's phone rang, and he slipped it out of his pocket and answered it. "Yeah?
"Sam. Pepper. Good news."
He smiled. "Words I love to hear. Thank you again, by the way, for everything."
"No need to thank me, Sam. It's just nice to know there's some version of events out there where Morgan gets to grow up with Tony in her life….Anyway, the good news is that Germany has dropped its extradition request."
Sam breathed a sigh of relief, leaning forward on the table and rubbing his fingers over his eyes. "Thank, God. I heard he met with the Chancellor. Sounds like he was as persuasive as usual?"
"Yes, but there was another factor in her decision, I'm told. After the news broadcast, Leon Klein's grandmother wrote the Chancellor and asked for clemency for Barnes. She was a victim of the Nazi's. Both of her parents were killed in Buchenwald. There was a segment on a German news station about it. She said she thought long and hard about what would be right, and she remembered what it was like back then. If not for people like Barnes fighting the Nazis, she might not have made it out alive, and her grandson would never have been born. She said she has decided to forgive whatever Barnes did that led to Zemo killing her grandson, because she would not allow the legacy of the Nazi's to continue to destroy lives."
"Damn." Sam took a moment to process the news. "I…I don't even know what to say to that." He tried to imagine how difficult that must have been for the grandmother. He couldn't.
Unfortunately, even with the Germans backing off, Sam knew they weren't out of the woods yet. There was still the matter of the jailbreak. "What does that mean for Bucky?"
"The only charges left are those related to his escape from the jail in Louisiana. Happy and Benson got your gift baskets by the way. Happy's slightly less upset with you."
Sam winced. "Yeah, well….I don't blame him for still being upset. You told him it was me and not Bucky that took him out?"
"Yeah, that's one reason he's not as upset with you as he could be. I think he's happier it was you."
Sam chuckled at that. "Ask him how that zap felt. He was the test subject."
"I don't think I'm going to tell him that. You should start thinking about a good Christmas present for him."
"I will. Thanks, Pepper."
"I'll be in touch, Sam, goodbye."
Sam ended the connection and dialed the Louisiana Governor's office. He hoped the man would take a call from Lousiana's home-grown Captain America. Then, he needed to see what Sarah could cook up on her end.
-0- -0- -0
His hands were behind his back, his metal arm de-activated, hanging limply, tethered to the wrist of his flesh arm. He was barefoot and bare-chested and the cold seeped into his bones. The collar around his neck was tight, its thick electrodes jutting painfully into the flesh of his neck, all around. The leash attached to it jerked him forward. He stumbled, following along. He felt the quick zap in his back from the prod, and his knees almost gave way, but he forced himself to remain upright to avoid another unpleasant jolt.
He was led through a doorway into a room. His eyes focused immediately on the chair. Three men stood around the chair, two in white lab coats and the third in a military uniform. Two more armed guards stood against the wall, staring at him.
The third man approached him.
His handler jerked him to a stop and reported to the uniformed man, "Aktiv nestabilen."
The asset is unstable, his brain translated.
He swallowed hard, his chest pounding. He knew that chair. Somehow. Everything in his head was so fuzzy. Whenever he tried to remember anything, blinding pain snaked behind his eyes, stealing his breath. He knew the chair, though. He knew it brought pain. He planted his feet, but the prod rammed hard into his lower spine, and this time, his knees gave way as the current shot through him.
He was yanked upward, the electrodes digging into his neck. The room spun. He was being jerked toward the chair. He was somebody. He knew. He had a name. It was just at the edge of his mind, like a dream. He knew the chair would push it out of reach. He didn't know how he knew, but he did…in his gut, his soul.
The commander's eyes were unyielding as he stared at the handler. "Udvoyte vremya seansa," Double the session time.
"No." He heard himself say, though he couldn't remember deciding to speak.
The commander's gaze shifted to him. "What did you say?"
He was trembling. He was afraid. He was angry. Some part of him preferred the peace of death to that chair. He clenched the fist of his flesh hand behind his back. Then he lunged forward, barreling into the commander, and he pulled with everything he had against the restraint. A scream erupted from his throat. His right arm was free.
He was on top of the commander. He raised his arm to deliver a blow. The collar seared into him, driving rational thought from his brain and bringing nothing but pain. He reached up, grabbing at it. More pain came—a sharp jab in his groin, followed by another surge of violent electricity. Agony snaked through every crevice of his body. He kicked, made contact with something, but he couldn't breathe. Hands were on him. The pain suddenly vanished, and he realized the collar was in his right hand, broken.
He heard yelling. Panic. He had a moment. This was it. He surged upward. The room spun. His legs barely obeyed. They shook, but he lunged forward into a man. His fingers wrapped around a gun. The prod hit him again. Then batons. Men were all over him. Something sharp jabbed into his neck. He yelled, defiant. He eyed the open doorway, throwing the men off him. He ordered his legs to move him. They did, but not far enough. The edges of his vision faded. More sharp jabs, two of them—in the back of his neck and the back of his thigh. A baton slammed into his skull.
He knew the chair would be next.
Bucky gasped, and the world went from a dim, cold Bunker to a sterile, softly lit room with three solid walls. His hands went to the collar, yanking on it, frantic. He couldn't breathe.
"Stand down!" A voice commanded.
He had to get away. He wouldn't let them put him in that chair again. His fingers wrapped around the unforgiving metal around his neck.
The collar beeped, then a jolt surged through him. He screamed, flinging himself into something hard. His metal arm came upward, grabbing the collar and ripping it off. The electrodes tore into his flesh as the collar gave way. Warm blood snaked down his collar.
A siren rang. Men shouted. He lunged forward toward the area he could see. A doorway. Freedom. He slammed hard into something invisible, transparent, unexpected. It jolted him into brutal awareness, and he found himself on the ground, staring up at a white ceiling and artificial lights. Realization came first with a wave of relief, and then a sickening twist in his gut as the siren blasted through his skull and the thud of footsteps rumbled in the floor. He wasn't in Siberia. He was in New York.
He took a moment to catch his breath as he rested there, staring up into the ceiling and the embedded circles. Security cameras. Sensors. Whatever else they were, they were focused on him. He lifted his head to see six armed men on the other side of the transparent partition, their rifles pointed at him. He looked around and spotted the broken collar on the ground next to him, then took a deep breath, laid his head back on the cool floor, and closed his eyes.
"Roll onto your stomach and put your hands behind your head," a shaky voice barked.
He complied.