It's in no time at all that it all goes to hell.
Bucky reacts, faster than he can think, picking up the shield and blocking Steve. He feels the train wall split apart and the rushing of the wind. He feels the shriek of the ice cold air and the crushing pressure of the next blast as it slams him backwards and out the gaping hole.
He's barely clinging on, his adrenaline doing all of the work, fear filling his mind.
Then Steve's face is looking down at him, fear mirrored in his eyes, an absolutely terrified look that Bucky hates.
Steve's arm is outstretched and he reaches forward. He has to get that look off Steve's face. He wants it off his own.
The metal rips free and he feels weightlessness over take him. Freefalling.
But only for a split second.
He'll only be able to process later that Steve throws himself from the train, snatching his hand and using whatever momentum and inhuman strength the serum enabled him to yank on Bucky's arm, reverse the direction that he is falling and throw Bucky back up towards the train.
And in doing so, propelling himself faster into the gorge below.
But there's one second. One second as Bucky is flying upwards, and Steve is sinking downwards, that their eyes meet. And the terror on Steve's face is gone. Bucky watches as relief and a ghost of a smile crosses Steve's face as he disappears from view. Bucky hits the train floor and it continues at top speed, ignorant of the man it has just left behind.
—-
Bucky doesn't remember anything other than the fight for the next couple days. Not the planning sessions, not the strategies, not the looks from the other commandos, not the redness in Peggy's eyes.
His every thought is killing Schmidt. Of finding whatever cell Zola is and strangling the life out of the bastard. After guards pull him off Zola the first time, Phillips moves his location at random. Changing his cell and keeping a guard close to Bucky's side.
He dreams of the ice cold air and the look of relief on Steve's face.
Relief of what? He doesn't know and he'll never know and he hates it. He hates sleeping, he hates dreaming. So he does it as little as possible.
Morita talks to him first.
Dugan tries next.
Jones and Monty try together.
Denier doesn't speak. Just sits next to him and cries. And he hates that that's more effective than any of the talking.
He cries too and he throws anything breakable against the wall of his room in that stupid underground bunker in London.
—-
Peggy stops by. The first time she's chosen to be alone with him since—-
"You look like shit."
"Go away."
"No."
"Then get it over with."
"Get what, exactly?"
"The yelling."
"Why would I do that?"
"It's my fault."
"In what way?"
"You heard me give my report."
"Yes."
"Then you know how it's my fault."
"You mean Steve was his usual self-sacrificing—" her voice cracks and he doesn't see it but he hears her stomp her foot. Angry. "He chose to save you. In doing so it cost him his life. That's not your fault. That was his choice."
"Yeah, but you're angry about it."
"Yes," she admits, "but not at you. You're telling me you wouldn't have done the same?" He just grits his teeth. "Exactly. You're both bloody idiots and now I only have you who really knew Steve. Before he was bloody Captain America. So don't you go leaving me too, pretending no one else cares as much as you that he's gone." Her voice is angry, and brittle and watery and he hates it. Hates that it sounds like that. Hates that his would too.
He looks up at her, her eyes red-rimmed again. "I'm going to do whatever it takes to take Schmidt down."
"You think I won't?"
"No, I'm counting on the fact that you'll help me. Like you helped him."
Her face is filled with a righteous fury that reminds him so much of Steve he has to look away.
"Let's go find that red faced bastard." She says, her voice stronger than a minute ago.
"You read my mind."
—-
"Schmidt's dead!" He shouts into the coms, "hello, is anyone there!?"
"Barnes?" He hears Morita's voice, "Barnes is that at you?!"
"Morita! It's me! Schmidt's dead! The power source burned through the plane hull and fell into the ocean, can you find it? Track the plane?"
There's silence on the other end.
It's a silence that he hates as much as the ice cold air that shrieks past him again. He hates the cold. He hates cold air. He hates the godforsaken land in front of him that's just ice and ice water. He hates not knowing how to fly a plane.
Steve hated the cold too. Never could keep warm during those frigid winters in Brooklyn when he didn't have enough meat on his bones. So Bucky's glad he's not here. He chooses not to remember that Steve fell into a snowy gorge.
"Barnes?"
He hates the tone of that voice.
"Carter?"
"Yes, it's me."
"There's no tracker is there?"
Her voice is desperately sad, "not that we can find."
He scans the display in front of him.
"The auto-pilot is smashed. If I don't put her to the ground, she'll hit New York with her payload."
"Can you land it?"
He looks at the controls, half smashed to death, some sparking, and others smoking. He doesn't know how to fly a normal plane let alone this broken monstrosity. Bucky's eyes land on the shield. It had been left on the train by Steve and the commandos had insisted he carry it to slam it into Schmidt's face. Which he'd done happily. Now it lays against his knee. "I could try. Would you guys be able to find me?"
"We are sending Howard and his planes immediately." He hears shouting and scuffling and movement. "We know the general direction."
"Okay. I'll try to land her then." He doesn't know why he's pretending he can do that.
"You better." Peggy growls, "we don't know if the impact will set off the bombs, be careful. Jump if necessary."
He looks at the ice far, far below him. "I don't think that's an option."
"Barnes, I swear to high heavens if you die I will be furious at you."
Something starts to blink. He looks down, and the bomb set for Raleigh, North Carolina is flashing. He hears hydraulics engage and he realizes that the bomb is going to drop from the plane and head to its target.
"Peggy?" His voice is scared and angry and determined. "I don't think I got all the pilots. One's trying to fly one of the bombs. I have to put her in the water now. Before it disengages. I have to angle the plane so it can't get out."
He slams the controls forward, putting the plane into a steep dive that makes his stomach flip.
"Barnes? Wait, please, we can figure something out!"
"If I don't keep that bomb from disengaging, a lot of innocent people are going to die."
Her voice is cracked, "you promised. You promised you wouldn't leave. Not you too."
The tears are freezing on his cheeks before they can even fall off his face.
"I'm sorry." He says, the ice rising up to greet him. "I hate breaking promises. But…" something heavy and calm settles into his chest. "How bout this. I'll tell Steve you said hello. And that you loved him. I don't think you ever got the chance. Just think how he'll blush when—"
Bucky doesn't remember what else he was going to say, as his body slams against the controls and the world goes dark.
—
Soft noises from what sounds like a radio greet Bucky as he blinks into consciousness.
He sits up, his adrenaline spiking and he's off the bed, in a defensive crouch.
The door opens and a woman walks through. But something about her is wrong. She looks wrong. Why does she look wrong?
"Where am I?" He hisses, eyeing the window that looks wrong.
"You're in a recovery room in Brooklyn."
He narrows his eyes at her. "Then why is your heart beating like you're lying?"
He almost feels smug at the shock on her face. Nazi bastards and thier lies.
"Let me go." He commands.
"Sergeant Barnes." The woman says, surprising him with the use of his title. "Please, you have to trust us, there's a lot to explain."
"I've already been a prisoner once." He growls, "I'm not doing it again. Especially not with these mind games." He gestures to the room around him.
Suddenly a man, dark skinned and dressed like the Red Skull appears. Bucky lurches forward, slamming his fist into his face and shoving back off of him. The man stumbles backwards and Bucky uses the distraction to shove through them. He bounds out into a space, huge and industrial and he can see the wooden boards that were his fake room. His prison. He doesn't hesitate, he bolts and blasts through security guards and people who are dressed wrong, all wrong. He ignores the blaring alarm sounds and shouts around him. He crashes through a glass window, ignoring the cuts they leave. They'll heal.
Something about the street he bursts onto screams home and alien all at once. He's across the street, racing down a sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and street vendors, as he races past them.
It isn't until he stops dead, the street name catching his eye that he feels true panic over take him. Flashing lights, colors, things he doesn't understand, people who are wrong and clothes that are foreign to him. He spins around, ready for an attack and feeling lost all at once.
"Sergeant Barnes."
He whips back and the man, the dark skinned one is standing behind him. Bucky notices the eye-patch and he raises his fist, ready to fight.
"No need, soldier. We're not here to fight you. We're just trying to help."
"Help how?" Bucky snarls.
"Help you get acquainted with a new century."
This makes Bucky pause, his ears ringing with the sounds of honking and music and screaming and talking and laughing and life all around him.
His stance straightens and he looks around. Really looks. It's New York. It's Times Square. But it's not his Times Square.
"Where am I?" He asks, his voice a bit raspy.
"You know where you are."
"Not possible."
"Maybe not in 1944. But in 2011? Yes."
Bucky chokes, his brain stuttering.
"You've been asleep, Sergeant, for almost 70 years."
"Where?"
"The ice. You and the Valkyrie were lost to us until just two weeks ago. Hell, I hate global warming but I think it led us to finding you."
His brain is mush, "global warming?"
"That's neither here nor there." The man says crisply, "we only put that little charade on to help ease you into the new world."
"Help how?"
"Waking up almost 70 years in the future can be trying." Bucky glares at the man and the smirk he's giving him.
"Are you trying to joke with me right now?"
The man chuckles, "the name is Nick Fury. I'm the director of Shield. Founded by Colonel Phillips, Agent Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark. Those names ring a bell?"
He's frozen, staring at the man, "are they here?"
Fury chuckles, "Carter's in London, Phillips passed in the 70's and Stark died in the 90's."
"So." Bucky says firmly. "What am I supposed to do now?"
There's a touch of something in Fury's eye that makes Bucky feel infinitely more alone. Like the man is looking at him in pity.
"How about we get you a hot meal, and a shower to start."
—-
It's on the drive back that the questions he never wanted to be asked, get asked.
"So, how did you survive the ice? We started thawing you out to prep your body for burial and you scared the hell out of the mortician by starting to breathe. You got an explanation for that?"
"Probably."
"You wanna share it?"
"Not particularly."
"I'm going to need a bit more than that."
"Why?"
"Because a man who we thought died almost 70 years ago is now alive and well. There have only been two documented receptions of a serum that were successful, if you can call the Red Skull successful, and now here you are. Strong and fast and alive after spending time submerged in ice for the better part of a century."
Bucky can't decide if he wants to lie or just make something up. But he looks out at the street as it passes outside of his car window and realizes that he's going to be completely lost if he doesn't have someone to trust.
"Zola." He rasps out. "After my initial capture at Azzano. I was taken and experimented on. That's where Steve found me."
"Steve Rogers knew you were experimented on?"
"No, I didn't tell him. Maybe he guessed. We didn't talk about it."
"Why?"
"Kind of distracted by fighting a war against a monster. That's why."
Fury doesn't believe it. Bucky can tell. But he doesn't press, and Bucky doesn't offer.
—
Shield tells him that they'll wait to announce his return to the world for when he's ready.
He doesn't foresee that day coming anytime soon.
—
The next week, Bucky's at the shooting range, getting familiar with the new advancements in rifles when he hears a throat clearing.
"What."
"How are you doing, sergeant?"
"I think the KIA on my form releases you from having to address me that way." He says flatly.
"Actually, the KIA has been turned into MIA and now adjusted for your return to active service, should you so decide. Back pay and everything."
He turns to glare at Fury. "'Should I so decide?'"
Fury doesn't blink. "There's a situation we could use your help with, if you're willing."
"What is it?"
"You know that fancy blue energy source the Red Skull used to power his weapons?"
"You dress like him, you know." Bucky blurts out.
Fury's eyebrow raises, "like who?"
"Like Red Skull. All black, mostly leather."
The narrowing of Fury's one eye is worth it.
"As I was saying." Fury continues. "The Tesseract as it's known by those not of this earth," Bucky's head snaps up, and he's annoyed to see Fury smirk. "Yep, aliens, Barnes. One particularly nasty one has come looking for it."
"Well good luck to him finding it at the bottom of the arctic."
The minimal crinkling of Fury's eye is all Bucky needs to go rigid. "What."
"Howard Stark found it in 1945 when he was looking for you."
"And once he found it?"
"He kept it under lock and key at Shield. Trying to figure it out."
"Idiot."
"Agree to kind of disagree."
"So that's why I wasn't found? After he found the tesseract he stopped searching?"
Something like annoyance creeps into Fury's voice. "Howard Stark has funded a search expedition for the Valkyrie every year since 1945 trying to recover your body. Even posthumously. He's just unlucky that a random boat found you first."
"How can I tell them to stop searching for me?"
"You want the world to know you're back?"
"Well, seeing as he's dead and still wasting money searching for me, I might as well show my face so they can stop those expeditions."
Fury nods, "I'll put out the call, but until then, will you help us with the Tesseract problem?"
Bucky's brow furrows, "us?"
Fury smirks.
—-
The next thing he knows, he's being flown in a plane with a man who won't stop talking about Steve and it's all he can do not to tell the man to shut the hell up.
Apparently he and Steve and the Commandos all have trading cards. It's annoying and also kind of cool but mostly heartbreaking.
He meets a timid guy named Bruce. Guy tried to replicate the serum. Grass ain't greener.
Then he's meeting Tony, Howard's son, and punching him in the face.
"Shit!" Tony shouts, holding his hand over his jaw and glaring at Bucky who stands there, fist raised.
"What'd you say, Stark?" A red-head says, appearing behind the man.
"Why do you assume it was something I said!" The man grouses, glaring at the red-head.
"It's always your fault." She monotones back. She turns to Bucky, "hello, I'm Natasha Romanov, pleasure to meet you."
"Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you too."
"What did Stark say?"
Tony huffs and Bucky feels the anger right at the surface.
"I just said," Tony drawls, "and I meant this as a compliment, that I was glad it was Barnes and not Rogers on the plane." Natasha looks on in annoyed shock as Tony gets whinier, "What!? My dad never shut up about Captain America, I wouldn't want to meet him."
"Tony!" Natasha hisses, glaring at the man, "maybe have a little bit of common decency?"
"What!" Tony groans, "It was a compliment!"
"My best friend sacrificed his life to save mine." Bucky growls, "and I'm supposed to feel complimented that you're glad he's the one who's dead?"
The air is tense.
"Rogers saved your life?" He turns to find Bruce, staring at him in confusion.
Bucky looks at him, "yes, on the train, he jumped to save me." They're staring at him, uncertainty on their faces. He glances around at them. "What?"
"I've just never heard that before." Bruce says slowly, "I don't remember that part in the history books."
Bucky tenses. "What the hell does the history book say?"
"Captain America died when he got hit by a blast and was thrown from the train. Reports came later that some sympathetic villagers found his body and buried it before Nazi's or Hydra could take it. No one knows exactly where they buried it."
The world tilts. Bucky feels his chest constrict. He's leaning and someone is grabbing him. "They found his body?" He wheezes out.
"Uh.. yeah? I mean.. None of us were there. That's just what the history books say."
He's sitting, something cold and metal beneath him. He hates planes. Why the hell was he on a plane again.
"He—" he looks up at their worried faces, "he saved me. I was falling, hanging onto the metal, it ripped free and I was in free fall. He jumped, yanked my arm, throwing me back into the train, then he fell." Their faces look horrible, shock and disbelief and sadness, "He died saving my life and no one knows it?!"
They glance at each other.
"Captain America died and no one knows the real story?!"
They stay silent.
"What about my report?" He says desperately, absolute terror that his best friend's sacrifice is unknown, "I gave my report, what happened to that? The truth is there!"
Tony is shrugging, "Most of the reports and newsreels on Captain America's missions were lost in a fire before the war was even over. It was thought to be arson by a Nazi sympathizer. Whatever reports were recovered, or rewritten based on eye-witness accounts, weren't public til the 80's. All they say is that he was a bond salesman in the USO and then a souped' up soldier that led the commandos. In the history books it's you who are the big news, going down in the plane that saved the world."
He stands up, flinging himself away from them and only making it part of the way down a hallway before he's vomiting onto the metal floor. It burns and it feels like ice water all at the same time.
—-
He doesn't ask about Steve or what the 'wrong as hell' history books have to say again. He doesn't have time because he's back in Germany. And he's capturing Loki and it's too easy.
The big blonde guy appears and Loki's family expands. Bucky gets a reference about flying monkeys. Thor doesn't.
There's a scepter and a fight, and the plane starts to go down and for the love of all things he hates planes.
The man with the trading cards dies.
Bucky mourns his death because at least this man knew of and loved Steve.
—
Banner's off the deep end.
Bucky meets Barton, and something about him tells Bucky that despite his hand in the attack on the helicarrier, the man can be trusted. Steve would have trusted him, given him a second chance. So he does. Besides, he can't fly a plane. Barton can.
They get to New York and Tony gives him a new uniform. It looks like his old commando one but uglier. He thanks him anyway.
He sees the shield in his room and he throws up again. He should have known they would have recovered it in the plane. He refuses to touch it.
He watches as the Chitauri, aliens, destroy his home city, and he fights to stop it. Sniping them, one after the other, beating them with his fists when necessary. The team is a mess. There's no real leader and they keep looking at each other for someone to take charge and Bucky hates that there's a moment where his brain is so battle-addled that he turns to look for Steve to get his next instruction.
But Steve's not there.
Steve's buried in the ice cold gorge.
Steve would have been a great leader to this team of misfits. He uses that rage to fuel his adrenaline to kill another 50 aliens.
He and Barton end up back to back, shooting any projectile within hand's grasp.
Something happens with Stark up in the tower. Natasha's shouting on the comms and a nuke is involved. He watches as Tony tumbles out of the black hole with only a second to spare. Hulk catches him and brings him down to ground level.
He's not dead. Bucky doesn't really care either way.
They eat some type of food. Bucky hates it.
—
He visits Peggy.
She reacts poorly to his arrival. Screaming about ghosts and broken promises. He's asked to leave.
He tries again the next day. She cries happy tears that he's home and safe. "Where's Steve?" She asks, her eyes alight with hope, "Did you tell him?"
He doesn't get to ask her why no one knows what happened to Steve. She doesn't even know he's dead.
He cries and cries and cries on the flight home.
—
Shield offers him a home in D.C. Natasha's going. He likes her. He finds himself saying yes.
—
It's been over two years since Bucky woke up. He looks down at the red hair that lays next to him, his fingertips resting on her waist as she sleeps.
He kisses the back of her shoulder, and feels her sigh. He smiles and moves to get up.
"We have a mission today." She mumbles sleepily, "don't forget."
"I won't." He slips on his shorts and tennis shoes. "I'll be right back."
He walks to the coffee shop below his apartment, saying hello to Mrs. Hudson, the owner and ordering a couple coffees to go.
"Morning, Barnes." A voice behind him says.
"Hey, Wilson. How ya doin?"
"Good. Better once I've had coffee."
"You can say that again," Bucky agrees, grabbing his two cups off the ordering counter. "See you around."
"You ever want to come running with me," Wilson offers again, stopping him, "I run the mall almost every morning. Offer always stands."
Bucky tenses, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I wasn't the runner of the group."
"Oh yeah?" Wilson says curiously, "who was?"
Bucky pictures the laps Steve would run around them. Whenever they would be on missions Steve would run off his excess energy so he could fall asleep. The stupid idiot would race next to the trucks if they were riding, or run in circles around them, checking the perimeter and just running because he could now. Asthma could go to hell.
"Not me." Bucky responds crisply, and Sam doesn't press. Just nods. This is why Bucky hasn't told Sam to step off a pier yet. Sam doesn't force anything. He knows who Bucky is. And Bucky knows that Sam is a counselor for vets, a vet himself.
They'd met at this exact coffee shop just a few days ago. Wilson recognizing him, and Bucky pointing out the pararescue insignia on his sweater.
"See ya around."' Bucky says, raising his coffee cup in farewell.
"See ya." Sam's eyes follow him, and he pretends not to notice.
—-
How he can go from kissing her this morning, to being absolutely furious with her that evening is beyond him. Except it isn't.
Her and Fury playing spy games with their little sergeant.
To hell with that.
"You're a soldier," Fury tries, "I thought you understood how to obey orders."
His shoulders go rigid. He can hear the ghost of Peggy whispering the story of how Steve defied Phillips' orders and went to rescue him.
"Not when the orders are shit."
Fury's glare is hard and Bucky feels the intensity down to his bones. But he stares back, unwilling to compromise. Steve would never have stood for how they just played this. So neither will he.
—-
Fury shows him Project Insight. He sees why Fury thinks it's necessary. He almost agrees.
But he argues against it.
Not freedom. Fear.
He can see Steve's skinny angular face staring down the grim glare of a bully twice his size. Not afraid. Not afraid of the fight. Not afraid of standing up for what's right and doing it the way it needs to be done. Not taking the easy way out.
It was never the freaking easy way with Steve. Stupid little moral compass.
"Bout time you got with the program, Sergeant." Fury says in annoyance.
"Not bloody likely." He grits out, copying one of Peggy's favorite phrases.
—
Natasha gives him space.
He walks to the Smithsonian. He's only been there once. Before it opened the section on him. He had tried to get the interviewer to understand the true nature of Steve's death, but the man had just looked at him in awe and smiled.
—-
Each commando has a small section. Their uniforms, donated by the families, are on display. Except Steve's. The plaque mentions that he was most likely buried in his uniform and that no replication exists.
Steve's section is small. Too small. Just some clips of him on the USO tour and a few fuzzy photos. One photo of Steve that he's never seen before, skinny and squinting into the sun has him feeling angry. Angry that that stupid kid from Brooklyn came overseas to save his stupid ass. Twice.
His eyes catch a plaque that reads:
Many valuable reports and newsreels were lost in a fire during the war. Many of these pertained to Captain America and his missions. Little is known about his battlefield efforts. However, the use of his visage and image to sell bonds was integral in supporting the war and eventually defeating the Axis powers.
His breathing is halted and angry and bitter.
Steve. The Dancing Monkey.
He doesn't even go to look at his own section. Only the words 'Living Legend' catch his eye and the minute he's out the door he's sprinting.
—
Fury's in his apartment when he gets back.
"Where's Natasha."
"Hopefully safe."
He's on alert immediately. "What the hell does that mean?" Bucky flips on the light, catching a bloodied Fury before the man flips them back off.
He's typing words on a phone that has Bucky seeing red. Then he's being shot. Blood splatters across him and Fury falls to the ground, "don't trust anyone", Fury rasps out, shoving something into Bucky's hands.
Natasha comes flying in, crashing through the doors and freezing at the sight of Fury on the ground, A walkie on her hip scrambles out sounds but Bucky's still staring at Fury in shock.
"Foxtrot is down" her voice hisses out. "Shot."
Eyes on shooter?
Bucky glances up. Only a blur of movement catches his eye. He's chasing after it.
—-
Whoever it is, is gone by the time Bucky reaches the roof. He curses and clenches the flash drive in his hand.
—-
Fury dies. Natasha cries and he holds her. Still unsure if he can trust her.
Maria Hill is there talking about how the bullets don't have rifling on them.
Rumlow, a guy Bucky can't stand, is basically hauling him to Pierce. Another guy Bucky can't stand.
Pierce knows Bucky is lying to him. Bucky knows Pierce knows.
—
Bucky's glad he has his gun on his hip when he starts to feel the elevator get full.
He rests his hand on it. Leaning easily on the glass panel of the wall. One of the men is sweating in the cold elevator and it's all he needs to know this is about to get ugly.
"10-1? Cowards." Is all Bucky says. But it's enough. They react, throwing punches he dodges and shocking him with a baton. But they're forgetting what he's been through. They're forgetting that he isn't just Bucky Barnes. He's Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, prisoner of war, sniper, and second in command of the Howling Commandos. He fought a red faced monster after watching his best friend fall to his death and there's no way in hell he's letting a few men with sparky sticks beat him.
His gun's already in his hand, safety off. He dodges a punch and shoots, expertly hitting each man in their dominant hand before using the pistol to knock them unconscious. Blood is pooling at his feet and he pries the doors open. More men are coming and he curses, closing the door. He picks up a few of the guns, reloading his own and slamming the button for the elevator to descend, it does. It jolts to a stop shortly after and he realizes whoever is controlling the elevator doesn't want him out.
He looks down and sees that he's only three floors from the ground. He shoots out the glass panel, jumping out and grasping at the wall, sliding and gripping to slow his descent as he descends. Glass shatters below him and he's running the second he hits the ground. He dives into the river surrounding the triskelion and sinks to the bottom, holding his breath.
Even from below the surface he can hear the quinjet roaring above him. He swims fast, using his strength to cut through the water. He gasps up onto the shore and is running again.
—-
He finds Natasha at his hide-out. He didn't know she knew about it. He's instantly wary.
He glances around. "What are you doing here?"
She reaches into her little car and pulls out the circular case. He's ripping it out of her grasp and launching himself backwards away from her. She's surprised and caught off guard, hurt in her eyes.
"I'm bringing it to you," she snaps. "Doesn't that say something?"
"Could be a trap." He snaps back, His hands clenching the familiar leather case.
"It's still in there."
He plays dumb. "What is?"
"The drive."
"What drive?"
"Did Fury give it to you?"
He's silent.
"He did," she's incredulous, "why?"
He reaches inside and she's telling the truth, It's in there. "I don't know."
"I know who killed Fury."
"Who?"
"He goes by many different names. Blind Reaper, Commander, The Scythe."
"You're making those up."
Her glare is unamused as she lifts up the hem of her shirt. "You've seen this scar before, right?"
He has. He's kissed it.
"I told you it was on a mission with Barton."
He doesn't like the phrase I told you. He's tired of being told whatever people think he should hear.
"And you're telling me it was by some freak named the Blind Reaper."
She doesn't react to his vehemence. "I was in Odessa. Protecting some diplomat. Someone ran us off the road and I pulled my guy out of the car to protect him. A man, dressed in all black, and a black cloth covering his eyes and top of his head appeared. Shot him through me. When I fell, the man came forward and snapped the neck of my informant for good measure. The man looked in my direction, and when I tried to shoot him, he snapped my wrist and spoke to me in Russian." Her eyes glaze over and she speaks, her natural Russian accent popping out:
Вы думаете, что вы в безопасности, потому что я вас не вижу? Я мог бы найти тебя где угодно в этом мире по звуку твоего сердца и по зловонию твоего страха. Расскажи обо мне, и я появлюсь.
You think you are safe because I cannot see you? I could find you anywhere in this world by the sound of your heart and the stench of your fear. Speak of me and I shall appear.
She shudders, "then he left. Walking away as if nothing had happened."
"Why didn't you tell me the truth?"
"I haven't told anyone the truth about that mission. Only Fury knows—knew."
"Why?"
It's the first time he's ever seen real fear in her eyes. "You weren't there. He was a monster. He could have killed me and he didn't. For weeks after I thought he was going to appear and kill me because I told Fury the truth. I tried searching for him through my old Russian channels and contacts. I learned his names but that's it. No one was willing to speak about him." Something about how vulnerable and scared she is recounting the story makes him pause. She's afraid of so little. "I knew it was him when Hill talked about the bullets. Same type they pulled out of my diplomat."
"What do we do now?" He asks, his fingers grazing the metal of the shield, wishing Steve were there to strategize a plan.
"We need to figure out what's on that drive. Why Fury put it in your hands. He obviously thinks you can do something about the shitstorm that's starting."
"How do we do that?"
She smiles.
—-
One change of clothes, one uncomfortable encounter with an Apple Store employee, one kiss, and a stolen Jeep later, they're driving to Jersey.
He already thought his life was a hell hole. Now he's heading to Jersey.
—
Staring at Peggy's picture, and Howard's and Phillip's is gut wrenching.
"She and Captain America really had a thing?" Natasha asks, staring at the photo. "I notice you don't talk about her."
Bucky stares at the photo, the red lips prominent even though the color isn't present.
"Steve loved her. She loved him. They never had the chance to say it to each other." He grits his teeth. "There's nothing more to say."
He walks away and she follows.
—
Sergeant James Barnes, Born 1917
The voice makes Bucky instantly queasy.
Zola.
Natalia Romanova, Born 1984
"What the hell is this?" She asks, eyeing the screen, "some type of recording?"
I am not a recording fraulein.
The green image of the bastard taunts Bucky. The man who tortured and vivisected him and stabbed him with needle after needle mocks him. Lived a full life.
"Shield would have stopped you." Natasha says desperately after Zola has explained how Hydra still exists.
Hydra still exists.
He died for nothing.
Which means Steve died for nothing.
Steve died for him. He died for nothing. Zero sum.
He punches the screen.
Zola still talks.
Accidents happen.
Howard's picture flashes and Natasha looks at him in shock at the implication that they were murdered instead of dying in a boating accident like the news reported.
Project Insight requires insight.
—
They get blown to hell and his opinion of Jersey falls even further.
—
Sam is home.
Sam has food.
Sam is willing.
Sam offers his help.
Maybe he will run with Sam.
If they make it out of this alive.
—-
Jasper Sitwell gets thrown into oncoming traffic and he doesn't have time to process the horrific nature of this before Natasha's yanking his head forward.
A thump crushes the top of the car and Sam is cursing as the steering wheel is ripped out of his hands. They slam on the brakes and a figure goes flying forward.
The three stare as a man slides on his feet, his gloved hand gripping the asphalt, before he straightens up.
Bucky's eyes widen at the huge man standing on the causeway. Huge. Hulking. Monstrous. Black combat gear covers his torso and arms. Leather gloves and black boots. Everything's black except the blood red Hydra symbol on the chest.
Stupid Hydra and their stupid fascination with black leather.
But Natasha's description is correct. A black bandana covers the man's eyes and hair, just barely covering the tops of his ears before being tied at the nape of his neck and the excess hanging down. A thick and full beard covers the bottom of his face.
"You're kidding." He hears Sam hiss out, as the man begins sprinting towards them.
Sam slams on the gas, propelling them towards the man. They slam into him, the car halting as if it has hit a brick wall. Airbags deploy and they feel the crush of them. Bucky's not thinking. Just moving. He yanks Natasha out, throwing her with forces behind another car. OUt of the way. Safe. She needs to be safe.
He's yanking Sam free when a bullet whizzes past his ear. Only saved by the split second of notice his enhanced hearing has given him. He's running with Sam. Bullets are flying and something explodes.
Natasha's propelling herself off the causeway, running and warning citizens. Sam does the same, using Natasha's line to slide down. Bucky's about to when he remembers the shield. Steve's shield. It's in the car.
He curses and sprints back, throwing himself behind cars and buses and anything to hide from the spray of bullets coming from what seems like every direction. He makes it and the leather cover is crushed between the back seat and the front seat. He tries to tug it, but it won't budge. He hears the crunch of glass as the stupid black leather wearing idiots from Hydra get closer. He uses his strength to rip the leather and slide the shield out. He hasn't seen the thing uncovered since he found it in his room. Even now. Even here in the middle of a fight on a DC causeway it hurts to look at.
But Steve was right. It sure as hell is handy.
He dodges bullets, hearing them ping off the shield. He directs the shield to ricochet the bullets back towards the shooters like he remembers Steve doing.
The sound of them dying that way brings him joy. For Steve, you bastards.
He's running and fighting and sees Sam somewhere and is grateful he hasn't been killed.
Then he sees Natasha. She's bleeding and being thrown from the man's shoulders. He doesn't hesitate to get in the man's way, blocking the blow meant for Natasha with the shield.
The man's fist connects with the shield and a crunch is heard. A growl rips through the air and the man yanks his hand back. The fingers askew and knuckles bloody.
Bucky stands in front of Natasha, blocking her, ready for a fight.
The man, cloth still covering his eyes, pulls out a gun, resting it against his thigh.
He speaks. A low rumble of Russian.
Я знаю тебя
I know you
"What?" Bucky asks angrily. He doesn't speak Russian.
"Yeah, you know me." Natasha rasps, filling in the language gaps, her fingers clutching at Bucky's arm, hauling herself up. "We've met before. You shot me."
Я позволю тебе жить
I let you live
"That's one way of putting it."
Я знаю тебя
I know you
"Yeah, we've established that." She hisses, her voice pained. Bucky can see the blood seeping out between her fingers.
Не ты, малышка. Ты.
Not you, little one. You.
The man's face turns towards Bucky, face still hidden. Bucky stiffens. Natasha gapes at him.
"What?" he asks, "what did he say?"
"That he knows you." She says hoarsely.
"How!?" He asks, surprised that the gun is still not pointing at them, "How do you know me?"
Я знаю твой запах
I know your scent
"How!" Natasha asks, her one hand gripping Bucky's, her other reaching into his pocket to try to get his cellphone. She's pale.
"What did he say?"
"He knows your scent."
Bucky doesn't even know how to respond to that.
The man points the gun at them and the conversation ends.
—-
They fight. Blow after blow, dodging, feinting, and slamming into each other. He can't even think to ask why the man is so strong. Why was he strong? Hydra. Zola. There. There's the answer to his question. Who else has Hydra experimented on?
The man slams a knee into Bucky's chest, crushing the air out of him. He brings up the shield, and the man hears the sound of the metal and recoils, backing up a few steps.
"Yeah," Bucky shouts, spitting out blood. "Didn't feel so good on your hand last time, did it?"
The man growls and his head jerks. Bucky notices something in his ear. A hearing aid? So he's blind and deaf? The hell?
He can't think about that because the man is advancing on him again.
—
It isn't until the man knocks the shield out of Bucky's grasp that something turns sour in his stomach. The man's head cocks sideways, hearing the sound of metal on asphalt and leaning down to pick it up.
"Don't you dare touch that!" Bucky snarls, bounding forward. The man blocks his shot with the shield and then slings it in Bucky's direction. Bucky dodges the shield, knowing the damage it would do if it hit him. He'll grab it from where it falls.
But he slides to a stop in shock as the shield rebounds against a light pole and an overturned bus to glide back into the man's hands.
The way the man in black slides the leather straps over his arm, so effortlessly, without thought, natural, done a million times, practiced, perfected, has Bucky's mind seizing.
Something he's seen done a thousand times.
He's not the only one freaking out. The man in front of him is frozen in place, his hand that is holding the shield in front of him is stiff, while the other hand hovers over the rim of the shield, shaking.
"GIVE IT BACK." Bucky shouts, advancing, throwing any thought of why the man's motions felt familiar. He tries to yank the shield away but the man steps lightly back, dodging Bucky's hands and bullets.
—
Their fight is a dance. Feet moving in a rhythm more practiced and perfected than a ballet. They fall into a step. A pre-choreographed sequence that leaves Bucky feeling like he's somehow falling off the train and sinking into the asphalt all at once. The only comfort is that the man he's dancing with seems equally on unsure footing.
They're barely trading blows. More like waiting to see if what the other does will match with what they choose to do. Bucky jabs, the man dodges. The man spins and kicks, Bucky ducks, bringing his fist into an uppercut that the man is already raising his jaw to avoid.
The man still has the shield. And he's using it as if he'd been born with it on his arm.
Or if he'd watched Steve use it in battle.
Or if he'd practiced with it.
Or.
—-
Bucky only has one goal.
Well, make that two.
One, don't die.
Two, take off the mask.
—-
It's when he's least expecting the opportunity that it arises. Sam flies overhead, causing the dance to cease momentarily as the man looks up, and Bucky, standing close, doesn't hesitate. His hand snakes forward, snatching the back of the cloth, ripping it off the man's face, stepping backwards to create space between them.
The man doesn't react. Just looks back down and stares at where Bucky is.
Bloodied blue eyes stare in his direction.
Bucky feels the world tilt on its axis.
He's not breathing.
His heart rate is skyrocketing.
His legs are faltering.
The man looks in his direction curiously. Tilting his head in question.
Почему твое сердце так бьется?
Why does your heart beat so?
But Bucky doesn't know what he's asking.
Bucky stares into the face of his oldest friend and feels like he's 4 again. Staring at a scrawny kid on the playground who wouldn't back down from a fight. That's when he decided he wanted to be Steve's friend.
"Steve?" His voice is brittle, but the man hears him. His shoulders tensing and Bucky hears a loud shriek. The man clasps at his ears and Bucky does the same. The shriek loud enough to cause them both pain.
Bucky straightens and watches as Steve looks at him with unseeing eyes.
"Я знаю тебя."
I know you
Bucky's heard this phrase enough to guess it's meaning. "Yes," he croaks, "you do. You know me. I'm Bucky."
"Баки?"
Bucky?
The man's eyebrows draw together as he says that word. His word. His name.
He hears his name and steps forward. But the shriek sounds again and they both groan at the pain it stabs into their sensitive eardrums.
Black SUVs' start appearing at the side of his vision and he glances around to see Sam guarding Natasha.
He looks back and Steve is gone. The shield still circling where it was dropped on the asphalt.
—-
Rumlow. Vans. Hill. Escape. Fury.
He's numb and silent as the events of what has happened crowd around him.
Natasha is equally in shock at the revelation. "Shot by Captain America." She whispers out at one point, her pointer finger gently tracing her scar.
Fury.
"I didn't know about Rogers." Fury admits.
And even though Bucky hates it. He knows it's true. Fury may be a bastard, but he's not a 'lie about knowing Captain America is a Hydra Operative' bastard.
"How could they blind him?" Sam asks, "isn't the serum supposed to heal all things?"
"It was fresh." Bucky chokes out. The truth of it hitting him, "The puncture wounds to his eyes were fresh. They'd only recently blinded him."
"But he was blind when he shot me." Natasha says, still not understanding.
Bucky shoves up from the table, voice angry and biting, "don't you get it? They're continually, and repeatedly blinding him. Over and over and over." He snaps. Then he stabs a finger at Fury, "and shield, with its science and diplomacy and in all its shitfaced idiocy let Arnim Zola, the very man who ripped me to shreds and glued me back together with his bastardized serum, into this country and into this company, while he tortured Steve. While he turned him into an assassin for the very thing he fought against."
"But the villagers—" Hills says, her voice confused, "the history books."
"Well." Fury says. He looks up at Barnes, completely open. He holds up a second flash drive. "Before I found out about Pierce, I found out that my name and clearance was being messed with internally on the servers. I sent out a virus that Stark had worked up for me back when. I used it to unearth Zola's files. I didn't know it was Zola then. And I don't know what's on it now. I haven't had the chance to look at it, being dead and all. Might help you."
Barnes grabs the files and disappears.
Natasha finds him as he scans through the documents. Sam is behind her.
"What have you found?"
Bucky ignores the looks they give him as they notice the wet tracks on his face.
"Zola stored everything. He recorded and stored everything."
Bucky looks at Natasha as he clicks on a file he's already watched.
Steve's guttural roar as stakes are shoved through his major muscle groups to nail him to a table makes her wince. He clicks it off.
"There's years more footage of that. And two decades of written reports before they started recording."
"I'm still lost from how he died on the train, to being alive." Sam says, looking at the screen.
"According to Zola—" Bucky's voice is flat as he recounts what he's found from the files. "Some villagers did find Steve's body. But his uniform was so recognizable that Hydra soon found out. They came to collect and the villagers gave up the body on threat of death. But they then paid the village to say that the body had been found and buried." His voice turns murderous, "do you know why?"
Natasha's face is pinched as she speaks quietly, "no reason to go searching for a body that's already buried."
He seethes, "they planted that story so people would stop looking for him!" He stands up again, hands clenched through his hair, "The bastards invented a tale about kind helpful villagers who saved his body from desecration only to find out—" he chokes to a stop. "He's been alive this whole time. Stuck under their thumb."
"Do they have records of what he's done?" Sam asks cautiously. "Who he's killed?"
"Yes." Bucky says flatly. "It's a long list. But it doesn't start until 1979."
"Why?"
Bucky grimaces, tears showing up unwillingly, "because it took that many years of them torturing him and trying to brainwash him to realize that he wouldn't break."
Natasha and Sam look at him, confused. "But…" Natasha waves vaguely. Pointing at her stomach.
Bucky sighs, turning back to the screen and clicking on a file. "During our fight, I noticed devices in his ears. At first, before I knew it was Steve, I thought the guy was also deaf as well as blind. But he's not."
He pulls up an image, then medical scans. "The devices block Steve's hearing, relaying the sounds to someone else, and then it gets fed back to Steve. Probably sounding completely different. You told me he said he knew you by your smell." Natasha nods, "He'd probably recognize you by your voice if he could hear it. Mine too."
"Okay…" Sam starts, still confused, "what does that have to do with him trying to kill us today?"
Bucky points at the next scans. "They've implanted a device at the top of his spinal cord, connecting to his brain. If these documents are legitimate, then it says it has a myriad of functions." He clicks through the documents, his voice getting more brittle with each one. "When he's out of cryo, it can cut off memories, decision making, emotions, impulses, desires, needs. He's their puppet. Unable to make decisions for himself." Bukcy''s hands are shaking. "When we were fighting, I think something happened, something about me or our fight or his shield, something triggered his brain. That's why they used the devices in his ears to send out that loud shriek and incapacitate us."
He clicks onto another page. The words December 16th, 1991 - Mission Failed pop up on the screen.
"Do you want to know what's worse?"
They don't. But they don't say that. So he continues.
"They didn't start blinding him, or blocking his hearing until 1991. You want to know why?" It's a bitter question asked in pure anger.
They don't. But they don't say anything to the contrary as he points to the screen. They watch the footage as a car rounds a bend and gets it's tires shot out.
Steve appears, head uncovered, walking towards the car as it smashes into a tree.
Steve rips off the driver's side door and pulls out the driver. It's fuzzy, but Bucky still can recognize the face from here. Howard.
Steve looks at the person he's holding by the neck.
He looks.
And he looks.
And the person is speaking to him. Calmly and with a look of awe on his face.
Steve stares at the man. Not moving. Frozen.
It's minutes. Agonizing minutes of Steve staring and Howard's lips moving. He's saying something. The video can't hear it. But it's obvious that Steve can.
The man is still speaking when Steve drops him, jolting backwards and clutching at his head. He lashes towards Howard who flinches back, terrified, then Steve is stumbling and bolting from the scene. Howard drags himself to the car. The footage ends.
Bucky turns towards the two. "Even with a device planted into his brain, Steve couldn't kill Howard. Someone he knew. Someone that a subconscious part of his brain recognized. His face, his voice. He left them alive and Hydra began blinding him so he couldn't see his targets, and blocking his hearing, so he couldn't hear them."
"Why not use the device in his brain to block his sight?" Natasha asks, her eyes round and sad.
Bucky doesn't have to look back to the screen to answer her question. He already knows the answer. He read it. He watched it.
"Because they like seeing Captain America upset."
Natasha's face is stricken and Sam looks sick as he explains that Steve knew every time he was about to be blinded, that he was going to lose control and do something for Hydra. He would fight and resist, but in the end they would activate the device for his compliance, secure him to the table, and blind him with short spikes driven into his pupils. In every video, when Steve is released from the table, he sits in his cell, waiting for the mission, tears running bloody out of his eyes. Hours of footage of that.
The looks of pity are back.
He kind of pities himself right now.
But he feels a deep seated ball of rage in his gut. It ignited when he saw Steve on the street, it's now an unbearable roar.
Steve saved his life.
Steve was found and tortured and beaten and had his brain stolen.
Used as a weapon.
A Dancing Monkey.
Bucky looks at the file labeled: Eyesight Healing Timetable - Tests #25-49
He slams his fist down on the desk, startling the two. "The second those Insight Carriers are offline, I'm going after him."
He glares at them and they just stare back.
—
The plan is set in motion.
And it's all going relatively well until he's in the last carrier.
And they send Steve after him.
If he wasn't already furious at hydra, he'd be freaking supersonic with rage right now.
Steve stands in front of him, wearing a replication of his Captain America uniform. Except it's all black. The hydra logo where the star should be. His hair has been cut and styled into his classic 1940's look and his beard is gone. Whoever did this— he pictures choking whatever scumbag sent Steve to him this way. What a shitty mind game to play.
Effective.
But shitty.
Steve is standing in front of the machine that Bucky needs access to.
"Steve." He calls, "I have to do this. A lot of people are going to die."
No response.
"Steven Grant Rogers, you listen here you little shit. This is one fight you have to back down from. You saved my life, multiple times, don't kill me now."
There's not even a reaction, and desperation claws itself out of Bucky's throat. "Please, Stevie, please, don't make me do this. How can I fight you when all I want to do is save you from this nightmare?"
Steve blinks. Shifting his weight to the other foot.
"Damn." Bucky curses, leaping forward.
—-
Bucky somehow manages to get the chip into the appropriate slot, shutting down the insight program. "Fire the damn ships, Hill!" He barks into the comms. "NOW!"
He hears the explosion. He feels the rocking of the ship. He sees the confusion on Steve's face.
He's completed his mission.
But it costs him an arm.
Steve fights as if he's a man on fire. Fast and enraged, using speed and agility that are above Bucky's level. He may have the serum, but he doesn't have Steve's serum.
They fight, trading knife wounds to the shoulder, bullet wounds to the gut and as Bucky tumbles over the edge of the metal walkway, he feels Steve grab his wrist, yanking.
Just like on the train.
Except this time his body still falls, leaving his left arm dangling in Steve's grasp.
The pain is so mind numbing that Bucky doesn't notice the collapsing beam that crushes his body, pining it to the structure below. He does however see the beam that smashes into the back of Steve's head, sending him tumbling over the edge and close to where Bucky is laying.
It's an out of body experience as he watches his arm tumble out of the shattered glass into the Potomac below.
He's screaming. He knows he's screaming. He can't stop. The guttural roars, groans, and all out shrieks from shock and pain and blood loss alternate as he tries to push the beam up off of him.
Steve stirs, swiping wobbly at the back of his head. He shakes, groaning and stumbling over, catching himself on the beams as the ship lilts to the side. The beam shifts and Bucky hears himself screaming at the movement again.
Hands are on him. Feeling his face, Rough and bloody fingers are roaming over his features. He gags at the blood now covering him. His own he assumes, from his arm. The beam shifts again, this time away from him and he feels a foot shove against his chest. He slides with the momentum, out of the way and hears the beam slam back against the metal, shattering more glass.
He scrambles to his feet, using a scrap of his uniform to hold against the stump that is now his left arm.
Steve is standing, eyes still bloody and unseeing, but hands out to the sides for balance.
"Steve?" Bucky tries, and is surprised when Steve's head whips up instantly at the sound. "Steve, can you hear me?" He watches as Steve feels up into his ears and that's when Bucky notices, one of the ear devices is missing. He crashes to his knees as the ship falls into a steeper dive, throwing them off balance. "Steve!" He shouts, "It's me, it's Bucky! Please, please listen! We have to get out of here!"
Bucky scrambles on his hands and knees towards the man who is staring blankly at the sight around him, flinching at the noises and the roar of the engines.
Bucky grabs at his hand, Steve recoils, but he doesn't care. He grabs it again. He waits for the shriek, for the interjection of whatever psychopath is controlling his friend, but it doesn't come. Bucky's eyes catch the other two helicarriers in different states of decline. One already in the Potomac, the other smashing through the Triskelion. Maybe those psychopaths are a bit busy.
"Steve." He says firmly, "You're coming with me. We're jumping."
The man doesn't respond and Bucky yanks him towards the gaping hole in the glass.
Except they don't get the chance to jump and control their fall.
A jagged beam comes crashing behind them, shattering the glass they're standing on and sending them hurtling, freefalling, barreling towards the river below. Steve is off to his left, arms outstretched, trying to slow his descent, years of training. Bucky is falling uncontrolled, back to the river.
Bucky's eyes land on the flying machine above him, following his descent, just much more slowly.
He hates planes.
—-
He can't tell if smashing into the (what feels like) concrete surface of the Potomac river made his pain worse or distracted his mind from it.
—-
Warm hands haul him onto shore.
Warm hands feel his face.
Warm hands disappear.
Small, cool hands touch his face much, much later.
"Oh my—" a voice he recognizes, Sam's. "His arm."
"He'll be fine." Another voice says tightly, Natasha. "Is there a trail?"
"Yeah, for a while. Then it vanishes once it hits the mall."
"Go after him."
"What about—"
"I've got Barnes." Natasha growls protectively. "You go find him so that way when this idiot wakes up, he doesn't go after that idiot."
"I don't think you should be calling two war hero super soldiers idiots."
Natasha growls.
"Okay, okay," Sam concedes. "You got it. One blonde, brainwashed soldier, coming right up."
Bucky hears metal whooshing and then feels a gust of wind.
He hears Natasha speaking to him.
He hears the arrival of the ambulance.
He hears the sound of a shield being set against his hospital bed.
He hears the sound of Marvin Gaye playing in his room.
He feels the itching of his arm healing over.
He feels the knife wound, gunshot, and concussion heal.
He hears Stark saying something quippy at him and taking measurements of the arm he has left to 'give him guidelines' for the new one he's making.
He hears the silence of Natasha's constant presence.
—
It's late at night. He knows this because of the sounds the hallways make. When it's day time they're loud and busy with squeaky wheels and even squeakier people.
When it's nighttime, it's shuffling and whispers, and quietly creaking doors.
His door.
He still doesn't have the strength to open his eyes. But the hands that feel his face trace his features gently and then disappear just as quickly. He hears a scratching. A sound he would know anywhere from years of hearing it. Charcoal. Paper.
Drawing.
He tries to open his eyes. A groan emanating from his lips. A whoosh of air.
Natasha is at his side, sleep in her voice as she speaks to him. "Bucky? Bucky, are you okay? Is it the pain? Do you need more meds?"
"No—" he says groggily. "Steve."
"Steve what?"
"Here."
He can sense her looking around. "No, he's not here. You're dreaming. Go back to sleep. Rest so you can heal. Sam's looking for him."
—
The next night the hands reappear, quieter and softer and the scratching is softer too.
Natasha tries to convince him he's dreaming until she stops. Going silent.
"What?" He asks, his voice hoarse.
She looks at him. Uncertainty and disbelief. "The shield. It's gone."
And something about that settles into Bucky's chest. A smile on his face.
"It's home."
—-
*I'm trying to decide if there's anyone who would like to read this from Steve's perspective. Please let me know in the comments if that's something you're interested in!