A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.

As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.

Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.

Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems

Winter Soldier

And You Will Know Me Still

Chapter9

It was almost dark and sitting in the living room watching baseball with Dum Dum and Robbie, James tried to remember if he liked the game. He glanced at the clock when the commercial came on and got to his feet. "Does the offer of a bed still stand?"

Dum Dum muted the sound, peering at him through the dim light cast by the lamp. "'Course it does, Barnes. Robbie'll make up the sofa and we can go watch in the bedroom, if you're sleepy."

James hesitated for a moment, then pushed through the reluctance and feeling that what he was about to do was not the best idea he'd ever had. A scene from his childhood flashed briefly in his memory, and was gone. "I'm going out."

Opening the little drawer in the end table, Dum Dum withdrew a key and tossed it to him. "I'll probably be asleep when you come back, so let yourself in."

The boy got to his feet as well. "I gotta go too. 'Night, Gramps." Robbie dropped a kiss on Dum Dum's forehead and left, slanting a glare at James, the meaning clear. I know where you're going. Mess with Tracie and you mess with me. James hoped the boy understood that hurting Tracie was not his intention. Tonight was an attempt to ease back into a world that had left him behind long ago. Testing the waters.

He slipped out the back door so he wouldn't be seen by the Dugan family. As he jogged down the alley to the corner, his mind automatically recalled the map showing him how to get to the Vudu Tavern. She mentioned that her friend's band, The Vengeful Dogs, would be playing there tonight. From the name, he didn't think he'd enjoy the music, but again, this night wasn't about finding common interests.

The journey didn't take long, and though he'd run the entire way, he wasn't even a little winded. It led him back to previous questions still unanswered. What had been done to him in the years he couldn't remember?

He looked down at his left hand, turning it over and flexing the fingers. That he'd had surgery was obvious. But what else? Experiments? Drugs? Brainwashing? Something about the words gave him a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Though he hesitated to call it fear, it was the only word that seemed to fit the instinct to run and hide. Dread? Alarm? Apprehension? Anxiety? An amalgam of all of them?

Up ahead, a blue-white neon sign read The Vudu Tavern. The music that spilled out of the doorway when people entered wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. Catching his image in the glass, he turned side to side, still undecided about the new look. His reflection smiled back at him at picturing Steve's face when he saw the changes in his long lost friend. And naturally, that brought up when they met as children. Closing his eyes, James breathed deeply trying to bring the circumstances of their first meeting to mind. He chased some stray images, but they led him in circles. Reining in his errant thoughts and emotions, James tried out several different smiles. One of which he hoped would say, "I'm enjoying your company."

He grabbed the door as a group of five came out, a cloud of smoke hitting him in the face. Many from his generation smoked because they liked it and because all the kids were doing it. James had never given in to peer pressure or been swayed by advertisements, except for the pleas from his country for able-bodied men to fight in the war.

As the door closed behind him, the click told him it was too late to back out. Especially when Tracie waved from a booth off to the left, not too near the stage and dance floor. An act that he silently thanked her for. Standing next to the table, he watched the other men near his presumed age interacting with the people around them, copying their laid-back attitudes as much as possible.

Tracie smiled, surprised that he'd actually shown. Earlier, before the game had come on, Robbie had been kind enough to lend him a computer, which he used to research current social conventions. As in his previous life, the rules were fluid, some even made up on the spot or alterations of previous rules to the point where they were unrecognizable.

"Hey! You made it. Have a seat."

Tracie appeared glad to see him. He waited for her to sit down again then shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it in the empty seat, and slid in across from her. "Am I late?"

She shook her head. "Just enough to be fashionable, but that's no big. I came in early to help Jase and the band set up."

Resting his right hand on the table in front of him and placing the left in his lap, James scanned the mental list of current slang he'd gotten from the computer. Strange, but no matter what era or decade, one word always meant the same thing. He used it now. "Cool. Would you like a drink?"

Tracie got to her feet while he stayed seated as was expected. "Let me. The manager's giving the band freebies all night." Again, that smile. "Just one of the many perks of being an unpaid roadie."

The clothes she'd changed into since she left Dum Dum's resembled the others in the same way a rose resembled an orchid. Revealing top, white with flowers, denim pants, sneakers instead of heels, hair pinned on top of her head with a short scarf tied around it, the ends reaching her ear lobes.

Same thing only different. The male voice in his head sounded as if they were sitting side by side. He felt the nudge of an elbow and the deep rumble of a throaty chuckle against his side. The scent of sea water mingled with the sound of waves slapping against wood. Somehow he knew the man was his father, and it frustrated James that he couldn't see his face.

Following the lead of those around him, James munched a pretzel from the bowl. Several couples got up to dance when the song changed to something slow and romantic. Apparently, slow dancing hadn't changed much since the forties. It did, however, spark another thought. Did Tracie expect him to ask her to dance? What would she think of his metal arm if they did?

"Here we are. Two cold ones straight from the tap." Tracie said as she returned to the table. She set a glass in front of him and took her seat. James watched her take a long sip and he did the same. Silence joined them, but not for long. "Time for the getting-to-know-you portion of the night. Nothing too personal though, just like I promised. You go first."

Eyes on the table where the drops of condensation made their slow trek down the curved glass, James went with a safe subject. "How long have you known the Dugan family?"

"Since always. Lived next door until the summer I turned twelve when we moved because my dad was transferred." She raised the glass, taking a smaller sip before continuing. "How long were you in the military?"

Wondering how she knew, James shrugged one shoulder. "Seems like forever."

"Dad was Army. He was killed five years ago in Iraq." Pointing at her eyes with two fingers, she grabbed a pretzel with the other. "I recognize the look, Jamie. Subject change. Where are you from?"

And so it went for over an hour, never delving deeper than that. Nearly everything he'd told her was half-truths. If she could tell, she didn't call him on it.

~~O~~

Former SHIELD agent and HYDRA mole Mayes Moreno stared transfixed. If he hadn't looked in the window of the Vudu Tavern when a super-hot girl came out with her not-hot friends, he'd never have seen it. Edging around the corner into the mouth of the alley, he made a call. "I found him… Who do you think? The Asset… I'm looking right at him… It's him, and you won't believe this, but he's in a bar with a woman… I'm keeping an eye on him, but I'll need back-up to bring him in… You want me to take him out? Alone? Got it… Hail HYDRA."

Moreno took out a pack of gum and shoved a piece in his mouth, settling in to wait for the right moment to carry out his orders. His chance came sooner than he thought. Pulling the cap low to hide his face, Moreno followed the Asset and his companion from a safe distance. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If he brought in the Asset or took him, if it came to that, he could write his own ticket.

The pair stopped beside a white sedan, the woman leaning against the passenger door and the Asset standing well away while she talked. Knowing what he did about the Asset, Moreno couldn't ascertain what purpose the encounter served for someone who'd only interacted with the public as an assassin for the last seventy years.

The Asset wasn't conducting himself in the way a normal man on a date with a woman would. His actions more closely resembled applied behavior analysis, as if he were conducting an empirical psychosocial experiment to determine the world's current stage of inter-social development and make a decision on how to proceed from there. Trust, autonomy, initiative, competence, identity versus role confusion, intimacy versus isolation. Or he could be working his way through the stages of moral development. Whatever.

Snorting, Moreno reminded himself that the Asset's ultimate objective was irrelevant, or would be in the next hour or so. His right hand caressed the butt of the silenced weapon, warm from his body where it nestled under his left arm. The left felt for the tranq injectors in his pocket.

He needed to make a spectacle. An event that his superiors wouldn't be able to ignore. Moreno scanned the area looking for inspiration, and saw it. Just the thing to dispose of the Asset and get him the recognition he craved and felt he deserved.

~~O~~

Abruptly, Tracie stood with her jacket in hand. "I'm ready to go. Walk me home?"

Other than being smoky inside, the air outside wasn't remarkably different. However, James agreed because, despite his research to the contrary, in his day, a man always walked his date home. In that way, today wasn't much different than… He remembered spending time with women in pursuit of fun, yet he didn't. And with every non-memory, his frustration grew.

Tracie handed him her jacket and he helped her into it. Then, he put on his own jacket as they left the bar. Walking on her left so she wouldn't accidentally make contact with his metal arm, he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. They passed couples holding hands, a woman lightly gripping the man's elbow, and arms around waists. Even more weren't touching at all.

Rather than worry over a non-issue, he paid attention to what Tracie was saying, nodding as if he were interested. Not that he didn't care about her life story. It just didn't impact his life, nor would it in the future. They wouldn't be seeing each other after tonight.

"…then Mom remarried and moved to Denver with my step-father. I was enrolled in cosmetology school. Rather than pulling up stakes and moving across the country with only a few months left to graduate, my aunt gave me a place to stay."

"Still there?"

Crossing her arms, Tracie shook her head. "Moved into my own place last week. It's not much, but it's mine. Well, mine and my cat's. I can walk to work and most places, so that saves on gas and car maintenance." Their steps slow and easy, they let the city sounds wash over them for a while. Then Tracie stopped and faced him. "I just realized that I've been doing most of the talking."

James shrugged without comment.

"Because you've been kind enough to let me, I'm not going to ask the buttload of extremely personal questions I'd planned on asking." She looked down at her feet and he did as well, watching her toes wiggle. "Okay. I lied. Mind if I ask a couple teeny, tiny personal questions?"

Not sure what she had in mind, he nodded for her to continue.

"You aren't Robbie's cousin and you weren't really in jail, were you? Cause you look nothing like them and don't act like an ex-con." Tracie immediately regretted asking. "Don't answer that. Let me ask this instead. When you got out of the military, how long did it take you to readjust? To stop being on alert all the time, jumping at every little sound?"

Shifting his feet, James looked for a way to answer that wouldn't give too much away. He fully expected that his individual odyssey of rediscovery would take the rest of his life, however long that was. For Tracie's sake, he felt it important that he came as close to the truth as possible. Giving the subject careful thought, he said, "Fighting and killing, no matter the reason, changes a person. Every day is a struggle to keep from acting on instinct in ordinary situations. When you first get home, you look at strangers and see them as the enemy until proven otherwise. You want to be yourself, who you were before the war, but truthfully, I'm not certain I'll ever be that man again."

From the look on her face, he'd given her a lot to talk about, and silence fell between them again. Tracie started walking again, and he fell in beside her.

True to her word, there had been no "funny business". Not once did she try to hold his hand or attempt to make a pass.

Up ahead, James saw a couple locked in a passionate embrace. The man had his hands up under the back of the woman's top, and hers were digging into his back, pulling at the material of his shirt. He looked away, embarrassed by the public display of intimacy that should be done in private. If Tracie noticed either the couple or his reaction, once again, she was kind enough not to mention it. Soon, she turned to face him. "This is me."

A combination buzzer and mailbox was attached to the wall, but there were no names. Tracie didn't offer her apartment number and he didn't ask. Not knowing how to end the night, James waited for her to suggestion.

"Can I ask another personal question? Last one, Jamie. Promise." She took a step closser, stopping just at the edge of what might be considered personal space. "How long has it been since you've kissed a woman? Just curious."

James looked within for the answer, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing came to mind. The closest he'd been to a woman in recent memory, aside from Tracie, was the woman with the red hair when they fought. Killing someone, the way he'd been programmed, could be an intimate act or one done anonymously from a distance. On some missions, his captors had wanted each person to know who had done the deed, meaning he would have to get close enough to be seen just before they were executed.

Now Tracie was looking at him oddly, and he realized he'd taken too long to answer. He shrugged, hoping it looked casual. "A while."

She thought over his non-answer, suddenly shy. "What if I kiss you? Just a friendly, platonic-type kiss."

He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, but before he could speak, Tracie raised up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. And it was just a kiss. No hands or other body parts involved. She retreated just as quickly, waiting for his reaction. Not certain what to say or even how to react, James said nothing, though it didn't seem to bother Tracie.

Her lips twisted in an expression he didn't understand. "Worth a try, right?" She snorted a small laugh. "Guess we both need practice."

Brooklyn, New York

Clint stopped the car at the corner, glancing one way then the other. Steve and Clint had argued-loudly-over who would drive from the restaurant, and Steve had given in just because Clint knew where they were going and wouldn't give up the address. Both Sam and Natasha had done their best to arrange it so Steve would be in the back with Maria, however, he resisted all attempts to displace him from shotgun. Pleads and outright demands were ignored.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he glanced left and right. In the rear view mirror, Sam saw a frown of confusion creasing his forehead and could almost hear the wheels spinning in the archer's head as he talked to himself.

Thankfully, Steve intervened. "At this rate, it'll be morning by the time we get there. Where're we headed?"

Giving in with a huff, Clint gave the address of the brownstone he'd rented for their little group of rebels. "1957 Selah Court. Sydney said there's a small grocery store at the end of the block."

"Go straight for five blocks, turn right then right again when you get to Selah. It's a one-way street. Or was." He stuck out his hand. "Let me see the lease."

"No lease. It's month-to-month and half the original asking price. In the interest of full disclosure, the reason it's been empty is because there was a triple homicide there about six months after the invasion. Drug deal gone bad. And we got it for a song. That reminds me…" Grinning, Clint tuned the radio to a classic rock station and turned it up loud when The Who came on. Sam knew for a fact that he'd done it to tweak Steve, though, amazingly, he wasn't as annoyed as Sam thought.

Leaning forward as much as the seatbelt would allow, Sam tapped Steve on the shoulder. "You're just gonna let him change the music? I thought you didn't like rock."

Steve rolled his eyes in a way that said the answer should be obvious. "Doesn't matter what I like or don't like. Driver picks the music. It's an unwritten rule."

Soon, Clint turned into a weed-infested cracked driveway. Taking the remote from his pocket, he opened the garage and pulled inside. The second vehicle joined them in the two-car garage. The door slid closed as they got out.

As soon as he opened the door, Sam smelled dried oil, the mustiness of disuse and fertilizer. If anyone had cleaned recently, they hadn't bothered with the garage. Along the walls were shelves filled with unlabeled boxes, an old workbench that sported a few rusted tools, a push lawnmower, hedge clippers, a weed whacker that had seen better days, and sacks of fertilizer, one of which had a hole at the bottom where some of the contents had spilled out.

Steve beat everyone to the trunk, popping it open and handing the bags to their owners while the other half of their group unloaded the SUV. They left his shield and the other weapons until they scoped out the situation. Clint tried to pocket the keys, reluctantly passing them over when Steve held out his hand. "Guys, Sydney showed me pics of the interior. Attic, patio in front, basement, spacious living room and kitchen, laundry room, a library/den, and lots of bedrooms, all spread out over three floors, including the attic."

Sam held out Clint's backpack. "How many bedrooms?"

"We each get our own room, if you count the den and the attic," Clint looked straight at Steve and Maria standing next to each other, "unless some of us want to share."

For his suggestion, Clint received a dual glare from Steve and Maria, which he ignored as per protocol. "What about beds? I'm not sleeping on the floor."

"Relax, Hill. It's completely furnished. A crew was in just yesterday, so the place is mother-in-law clean. They even gave the rats a bath." Clint winked at Maria's scathing glare, unlocked the garage door and reached in to turn on the light, leading his companions into the kitchen. "Welcome to our new nest, boys and girls."

Kiba moved past to let the others join them, nodding her approval. "What's the online situation?"

Clint opened the refrigerator, drawers and cabinets, finding them all empty aside from dishes, utensils and glassware. "It has Wi-Fi, to which we can add additional security. I guess you could call it the inter-nest."

"Hilarious, Clint," Natasha deadpanned as she walked into the blackness of the other room, her footsteps thumping on the wooden flooring, echoing off the cathedral ceilings. "Dibs on the last room on the left, second floor."

The rest of the group followed Natasha up the stairs, Clint advising, "You can't call dibs until we've seen all of it, Nat."

"Funny thing about that, Clint. I just did."

"Fine. We can work it all out tomorrow when we've had a good night's sleep. For now, just pick a room and get some rest. I'll take the first watch," their leader announced wearily as he turned back to the stairs.

At Steve's yawn, Sam was about to volunteer in his place, but Clint beat him to it. "Hit the sack, Rogers. I got first watch." Their leader looked ready to argue. "That's an order, Cap."

Steve gave in without even a token protest. "It's almost 2300 now. I'll sleep in the den and relieve you at 0300."

The super-soldier ran down the stairs, closing the door behind him without the usual good-night, not even for Maria. For himself, Sam took a room facing the street. He paid the furnishing no mind as he removed his shoes, socks, pants and shirt, leaving on the white t-shirt and boxers. There was a slight chill in the air. He tossed the bedspread aside, lay down, pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck, closed his eyes and went immediately to sleep.

So deep was his sleep that he didn't even hear when Clint peeked in to check on him and the others after setting the alarm system.

~~O~~

Sitting on the parapet, one knee up and the other leg dangling over the edge, Clint slowly scanned the street from left to right and back again. It was after 0100 and he had already made two internal checks and three tours of the perimeter and the block, ending the last one where he started: on the roof overlooking the front yard. His new friend was patiently waiting for his return.

"So where were we? Oh, yeah. You asked about my first sexual experience. Asia Rodriguez. She had short dark brown hair and huge black eyes, like the sky at night when there's been a blackout across the entire Eastern seaboard. And when she smiled, she had the cutest little gap between her front teeth. She had dimples and was a little weird, but the good kind." He smacked his new confidant on the shoulder and winked. "You know what I'm talkin' about.

"One day, she slipped a note under my pillow telling me to meet her in the woods behind the football field… No. This was at the orphanage before I joined the circus. Try to keep the timeline straight, pal.

"Anyway, I found her in the clearing dancing and lip-syncing to Private Eyes." He drew back in shock at the confusion on his new friend's face. "Hall and Oates? Dude! Seriously?"

Private Eyes
They're watching you
They see your every move
Private Eyes
They're watching you
Private Eyes
They're watching you
Watching you
Watching you
Watching you

Resting his elbow on the other guy's shoulder, he leaned in close. "Look, buddy. I can't believe you've never heard of… Whatever.

"Anyway, when the song ended, she shut the radio off, took me by the hand and led me to this one spot where the bushes grew really tall and thick. I stood there just looking at her, waiting, and the next thing I knew, she'd taken off all her clothes! I was so ******* shocked, I dropped my skateboard. How old was I? Twelve."

"Barton?"

Swinging around and onto the roof, Clint's hand automatically unslung the bow with his right hand while the left reached for an arrow, staying his hand when one of the newcomers walked into the small pool of light from the street. "Newcomb. Aren't you supposed to be catching some Zs?"

The ex-Special Forces shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd have a look around." He came to stand next to Clint as they looked out over the New York skyline. "Who were you talkin' to just now?"

Clint patted the shoulder of his companion on his right. "My new pal here. Balthazar, meet Newcomb. Newcomb, Balthazar."

The Marine stared at Balthazar then at Clint. "You're talkin' to a statue? That's just weird."

The massive stone statue crouched directly over the brownstone's entrance, his teeth bared and claws extended, prepared to protect his charges from evil and harmful spirits. Annoyed that Newcomb wasn't going along with the joke, Clint played it up with a stage whisper, "He's not a statue. He's a gargoyle in suspended animation, and he can hear you."

Clint pushed off and started walking the inner boundary of the roof. Newcomb fell into step next to him while Clint pointed out the other gargoyles and introduced them by name. "Tobias, Percival, Lucius, Iago, Homer. The girl on Balthazar's left is Titania, and the little minx on his right is Jezebel." Newcomb's forehead pinched in an expression that said he thought Clint was off insane and he should get away from him in case it was catching. "They're great listeners, and love to hear a good story."

Flustered, Newcomb put distance between them. "I, uh, I'm gonna go get some shut-eye."

The roof door slammed behind Newcomb, and when Clint could no longer hear his boots on the stairs, he said to Balthazar, "He didn't even say good-bye. What's that? You wanna hear the rest of my story." Resuming his seat on the parapet, Clint scratched his chin. "Not much else to tell aside from the raging case of poison ivy in places no one should ever get poison ivy. And she stole my pants." He plucked the bottle of water from Balthazar's claw and drained it. The cap was replaced, and Clint looked at the gargoyle, holding up the empty bottle. "Oh, sorry. I can go grab you one from the cooler? You sure? Okay." He crushed the bottle and laid it on the pedestal. Then, leaned close and lowered his voice, "Don't turn around… I said don't! We're being watched… Across the street, chain link fence and the pick-up on blocks, third floor… You keep an eye on things here while I check it out."

~~O~~

Holding the binoculars with one hand, Danny Wong snagged a cookie with the other and shoved it in his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. He'd had eyes trained on the murder house, as he called it, since the lights came on around half past ten and went out a short time later. That was almost three hours ago. Not that he was nosy or anything. As a concerned citizen, he felt it his duty to keep an eye on the neighborhood. He set the binoculars on the dresser and ran down the hall to the kitchen for a bottle of water, annoyed that he could rent an apartment at the age of eighteen, but still had to be twenty-one to buy beer.

Danny held the binoculars to his eyes again, scanning the street and surrounding buildings before going back to the murder house. A little while ago, two men were walking the roof, then one left and it was just the guy with the bow and arrows. "Who does that? Weirdo."

He focused the lenses, frantically taking in as much of the street and buildings as he could, but the guy from the roof had disappeared. "I wasn't even gone thirty freakin' seconds. Where the hell did he go?"

The sound of throat clearing punctured the darkness along with Danny's bravado. He gulped and slowly lowered the binoculars as he turned around. The lights came on and the guy from the roof was standing in his bedroom doorway, the bow slung across his chest, quiver on his back, and both thumbs shoved into his belt. The guy was not happy. Not even a little.

"He's right here wanting to know why you're spying on him and his friends."

TBC

A/N: "Private Eyes" is a 1981 single by Hall & Oates and the title track from their album of that year.

Seriously? You don't know what Supernatural is? *Talk to the hand, cause the face ain't listenin'*