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

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

Year From Hell: Season 2, in progress. Please stand by…

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

Chapter 60

Christine took great satisfaction in watching Sonja's displays of cowardice overriding the arrogant bravado. It was so unlike her, with or without the Nazi propaganda she'd been force-fed since the day she was born and apparently believed.

Using her good hand and both feet, Sonja scooted backward with every step Christine took. She shouldn't be enjoying the other woman's pain and fear, but couldn't find it in her to feel ashamed. This groveling, gutless creature deserved no more or less than vigilante justice, but she wasn't that kind of person. She'd settle for scaring the piss out of her.

"As I was saying, a boy who'd done nothing except live his life, an innocent child, is dying because of you." Standing straight and tall, Christine hit her with don't-****-with-me glare. "Thanks to all the data that downloaded into my brain," she tapped the side of her head, "and taking a run through some old memories, I now have a cure." To rub the other woman's failure in her nose, she crouched next to her, speaking in a conversational tone. "I could kill you now, slowly and painfully, the way you've been doing to my son, and I would not miss a moment's sleep. But because HYDRA doesn't take prisoners, watching you rot in prison for the rest of your miserable, worthless life is so much more poetic. Does your board of director girlfriend spout that HYDRA shit too?"

At the mention of her girlfriend, Sonja's eyes darkened with the first real emotion Christine had ever seen. "She is the one thing I cherish above my allegiance to HYDRA simply because she has no dealings whatsoever with them."

Using her thumb, Christine powered down the wand and reached up to lay it next to the computer. Her phone buzzed, and Sonja took advantage by drawing a foot back and kicking her in the stomach. "Bliatz!"

She followed up the kick with another aimed at Christine's ribs. Christine grabbed her ankle with both hands and twisted, knocking her off balance long enough for her to stand. Sonja was hampered by the injuries she'd already received, the broken hand useless in a fight. "O-oh! Testy tonight, aren't we?" Christine taunted.

Faster than Christine thought possible, Sonja was on her feet and coming after her, growling like a rabid animal. "You will pay for your deceit, Chris. I will mete out my own justice, the sort that you are too weak to dispense yourself."

The women circled each other. Christine didn't want to hurt Sonja anymore than she'd already done, but it didn't look like she had a choice. Sonja was HYDRA. With a few notable exceptions, they didn't give up.

Christine kept her fisted hands up and elbows in to protect her face and upper body. She'd never taken as much as a self-defense class. The skills she learned in kickboxing class would have to do. Using the fake-out approach, she stalked Sonja around the room, watching the panic build.

Then, without warning, Sonja grabbed a random piece of equipment and swung it at her head. Christine danced out of the way. Sonja gritted her teeth, swinging over and over until Christine made a grievous error in her mental calculations, otherwise known as a guess, as to what her opponent would do next. Sonja threw the device at Christine's head. "Ow!"

She felt a warm trickle of blood make its way down past her ear. Sonja smirked in triumph as Christine lost her balance and fell.

In seconds, she had a gun in her hand. "HYDRA will prevail, as we have throughout history. When the subject is finished with you, your own family won't be able to identify the body. The police will come and will believe that it was you who instigated the attack, not I. My wounds will be tended, and your children and husband will mourn your death. I, however, will not."

Sonja had been so caught up in vomiting her bombastic rhetoric that she hadn't given a thought to the third occupant of the room until the subject wrenched the gun out of her hand, wordlessly aiming it at her heart.

Suddenly afraid that he would shoot despite having no orders to do so, Christine ran to the computer to enable the translation program and called out, "Stop!" The subject turned his head in her direction, his gun hand slowly lowering to his side. To her relief, his finger came off the trigger. "Put her in the chair." He set the gun on a table and did so, quietly, and with practiced efficiency, locking the wrist and ankle shackles in place with a series of clicks. "Go to the cryo room and stay there until I come for you. And take the gun."

Unlike the past, the subject immediately obeyed her order and was soon gone, the door closing behind him with a pneumatic whoosh. The other unusual thing was that he made eye contact, where he hadn't before.

Still posturing, Sonja struggled against her bonds. "I must admit you had me fooled. The subject only appeared to be restrained. HYDRA's agents are everywhere. We have moles within the ranks of all agencies, federal, local, and international. It's unlikely that I will spend more than a handful of days in jail, and I will never see the inside of a prison."

A laugh forced its way out. And once started, Christine couldn't stop. With an effort, she got herself under control, wiping her streaming eyes with the tail of her shirt. "I didn't call the feds, Sonja." Pausing for dramatic effect, like she was taught all those years ago, Christine waited for the right moment to drop the punchline. And there it was, the whirring of the lift coming down and the doors opening. The security scanner at the door beeped moments later, letting her know their company had arrived and right on schedule. As the inner door opened, Christine got to her feet. Limping to the chair in front of the computer, she ignored the bumps and bruises from the fight to greet her guests.

Two men and one woman, all wearing eerily identical dark expressions, came to a stop. Their eyes took in the mess, Christine's injuries, as well as Sonja's, and came to the same conclusion: that Sonja was the aggressor and Christine the victim.

"I'm sure you recognize Hezekiah Whitley, senior VP, and Kenneth Meyer, chief of security. They're here because you've committed a long list of crimes of which the federal government takes a very dim view. They'll perform an investigation, and when they find the proof of your misdeeds, they will be calling the feds. Oh, and you remember Vivian Adkins, head of human resources. She's here because someone," Christine preened, "reported your intimate personal relationship with a member of the board. That's a big no-no because it's considered a conflict of interest when it comes to allocating funds to the various departments. Can't have the board members playing favorites, can we?"

Meyer released Sonja from the chair, gripping her upper arm to lead her away. She held her injured hand against her stomach with the other. When they reached the door, Sonja looked over her shoulder. "It was supposed to be your husband."

Taken aback, Christine blinked. "What?"

"Oliver was to be given the retrovirus, not Eli." Lips turned up in a smirk, Sonja continued digging herself deeper. "You are a strong-willed woman, Christine, and would have persevered even without your husband. With him gone, you had nothing keeping you in your previous position. However, if one of your children were to become ill, it would shake the foundations of your world. It was by chance that Eli was the one. The right time in the right place, as they say."

Christine saw red as she stalked across the room. Whitley stepped into her path and she pulled up short. He'd obviously been listening along with the others. His eyes darted from Sonja to Christine and back. In an offhand tone, he said to his companions, "Why don't we step outside so they can talk?"

Meyer let go of Sonja's arm and the HR director opened the door. Before they could leave, Sonja shouted, "You-you can't leave me here!"

The three senior officers shared a look. The VP shrugged. "Sure we can."

She clutched at Whitley's jacket sleeve, eyes wide and desperate. "No! She'll kill me!"

To push Sonja's terror up a few levels, Christine's mouth turned up in a wicked grin. "You're not scared, are you? I just want to…" one eyebrow went up, "…talk."

To Christine's surprise, and that of the others, Sonja's eyes teared up. She turned to the security chief. "I-I'll tell you everything. Just please, don't let her near me."

~~O~~

Exhausted from working for more than twenty-four hours straight and the fight with Sonja, Christine wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa in her office, pull the blanket over her head, and sleep until it all went away. However, she still had work to do that couldn't wait.

She retrieved her badge from where it had fallen during the fight, looped it around her neck, and limped down to the cryo room. In there, she found the subject sitting in his cryo pod with the tube open, holding the gun, though not in a threatening manner. Still, she approached him with caution.

The moment she moved into his line of vision, he showed interest in her and his surroundings. She held out her hand and he laid the gun in it. Christine offered up a sad smile. "I'm sorry for all you've had to endure… Um, I don't know what to call you." She moved closer. Since the download of the program designed to release him from the hold on his mind, he hadn't said a word. Not an unusual turn of events as that was how he'd been programmed. "I know you had a life before. Not sure you'll ever remember any of it. Sonja did quite a number on your brain, my friend. If you're agreeable, my family and I could give you a place to stay for now. I have to talk to my husband first."

Not expecting a response, Christine nearly fainted when he looked her in the eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "I didn't see that coming."

Good-Night Pub

Washington, D.C.

"Before I fully commit to this plan of yours, I'll need details. Everything," the tall, distinguished, white-haired man told his companion.

They were sitting in a dimly lit corner of a quiet bar. People came here to engage in discourse, not watch the game, dance, or get rowdy. Voices were seldom raised in joy or anger. It was a place to just be, where everyone minded their own business instead of everyone else's, and the reason it was chosen for this meeting.

The other man chuckled lightly as he replaced his glass on the cardboard coaster with the bar's logo. He was shorter and much younger, but no less ruthless in his dealings with the people in power in whatever country he chose to do business. "Your approval is not necessary for my plan to commence. It will do so at a time of my choosing. You have no say in the matter."

His voice and tone didn't set well with the other man. "I'm providing information you wouldn't have access to otherwise. I'd think that would give a voice in this partnership."

"The assistance you have provided has brought me closer to my goal much sooner than expected, and for that, I am grateful. Do not take that to mean you have an equal say in the proceedings."

He shifted in his seat, obviously not used to being told no. "I'm willing to defer the majority of control, as long as you follow through with the location of the individual we discussed."

"Do not worry. I have some expertise in procuring information from those who are reluctant to part with it."

The taller man finished off his drink and stood. "Keep in mind that I don't need friends in high places." He looked down at the other man. "Do not default on your end of this transitory alliance, or you will force my hand."

"That sound suspiciously like a threat, my friend."

Light glinted off the watch on his left wrist as he picked through the bowl of nuts between, choosing a pecan. "No, not a threat. A promise that I will make your life a living hell, if you don't live up to our bargain."

He ate the pecan, stood, and was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. The man who remained picked up his glass, holding it up to watch the light filter through the amber liquid. "It already is, Mr. Secretary." He finished the drink, weak by his standards, and signaled for another. "It already is."

Avengers Headquarters

Upstate New York

The Next Morning

Thumbs stuck in his belt, Steve watched Selvig, several members of his staff, and Maria striding purposefully through the common area, headed for one of the skywalks that took them to the R&D wing of the facility.

The slight smile on his face turned into a frown. He'd called Maria once a day the first week of their disagreement. She neither answered, nor returned the calls, emails, or texts, unless they were business related. Natasha called it the cold shoulder routine, and wasn't wrong. Every time he saw her a lump of ice settled in his chest.

He turned away, staring off into space. There were so many things he had to do, but couldn't get motivated. No. That's was a lie. He had motivation. She'd just passed him by in the company of a bunch of fast-talking scientists without as much as a glance.

Taking a deep breath, he put his mind to work on how to make things right with Maria. Should he call her father, have Bob talk some sense into her? He mentally shook his head. Not a good idea. They were talking, though their relationship still needed work. She would view it as going behind her back, and one more reason for her to be angry, extending the time for them to return to their previous loving partnership.

"You want to keep staring at the wall? It's not that interesting." Steve turned to look at Natasha. She had a phone in one hand and a tablet in the other as she came to a stop near him. "Let's go, Steve. We have trainees to torture."

Putting on a smile, he joined her, and together, they strode down the hallway toward the training area. She passed him the tablet and pushed the phone into a convenient pocket. "How do we look?"

Using a thumb, Steve scrolled through the list Natasha had compiled. The names were all known to him, but he liked seeing it on paper, so to speak. Shaking his head, he exhaled a short sigh. "Well, they're not the '27 Yankees."

She reclaimed the tablet, twitching one shoulder in a shrug. "We've got some hitters."

"They're good, but they're not a team."

"Yet." A wide grin turned up her full mouth, nodding at the door in front of them. "So, let's beat 'em into shape."

Steve straightened his spine and pulled his shoulders back as he opened the door and stepped to the railing with a smile of welcome, hands gripping the belt on either side of the buckle.

Below them, Wanda wore her new and improved superhero suit, similar to what she'd worn to defeat Ultron.

Vision lightly touched down not far from Wanda, and Sam came in for a landing behind them, the wings quickly folding into the pack on his back.

Letting humor he didn't feel show in his eyes and manner, Steve raised his voice to be heard above the work being done at the other end of the hangar. "Avengers…" he flashed a mischievous grin and wink at Natasha, then to the group, "…assemble!"

Vandemere Park

Joliet, Illinois

That Evening

Christine parked the car and shut off the engine, casting a glance at her passenger. On the way, she'd stopped at a thrift store to get him some clothes. Blue jeans, t-shirts, underclothes, sneakers, and a jacket. Two sets. They could get him more later.

All during the drive from the lab to the store and to the park, he'd stared out the window, seldom speaking unless spoken to. And each time he did speak, it spooked her all over again, especially now, waiting in the dark not far from home for her husband to arrive.

Before she let the subject near their children, Oliver would have to agree. If he said no, she had no idea what to do with him. He certainly couldn't be alone out in the world. That would be nearly as cruel as what Sonja had done to him. Somehow, she had to make a convincing argument.

Headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. Oliver's SUV pulled into the next space and the engine shut off.

"Wait here," Christine ordered, and mentally cringed. The subject wasn't under her or anyone else's control. He was his own man, even if he didn't know who that was. "Sorry. I mean please wait here."

The subject nodded; she got out and joined Oliver at the closest picnic table. He reached up to touch the bruise on her cheek and she flinched. "Sorry, honey. It's still tender."

"Good thing Sonja's in jail where I can't get to her," he told her. His chin pointed at her car. "What's his name?"

She sat down and he joined her. "That's a long story. I'll hit all the high points and break it down later."

Reluctantly, Oliver nodded. He turned sideways, resting his elbow on the table, not saying a word as she recounted the subject's recent history, as well as what she'd read of his life prior to arriving at the lab.

~~O~~

"…He has nowhere else to go until he remembers who he is. I talked to my psychology professor friend at Columbia. She said not to rush him or he could have a psychotic break," Christine concluded.

Oliver crossed his arms, staring at the toes of his shoes-his thinking pose. He got up and paced in front of her while rubbing the back of his head. "What if his memories don't come back?"

"Let's give it a few months before we start pushing. That work for you?"

Oliver paced a few steps in each direction. "What if he never gets his memory back?"

Sitting heavily on the picnic bench, Christine let out a long sigh. "Then I'll tell him what I know. Maybe contact the interested parties for assistance first."

"This is your show, honey. That leaves us with what to call him."

"We could toss out a couple names. See which one he likes best," was her breathless suggestion at what sounded like a yes.

Her husband shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "I'd like to meet him."

"Absolutely." Christine led the way to passenger side of her car and tapped on the window. The subject glanced from one to the other. To put him at ease, she smiled and opened the door. Without being told, he stepped out, showing that he was just a couple inches shorter than her husband, with a more muscular physique. "This is my husband, Oliver."

Oliver cleared his throat to cover his unease and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, son."

The subject looked at the hand and hesitantly took the offering. "And I you." His eyes slanted at Christine as if asking permission to continue, and she smiled encouragement. "Christine has said that I should choose a name by which to be addressed until my memories return."

Oliver's eyes widened at the subject's unusual accent, quickly recovering his composure. "It'll make communicating easier."

In his blue eyes, Christine could see the wheels turning with his thoughts. "I would like to be called Dylan. It is the name of a singer I heard on the radio during our ride."

"Bob Dylan, of course. Which song?"

"Blowin' in the Wind."

Christine shrugged sheepishly. Then, for the first time since she'd become aware of his existence at the lab and that he was alive, he smiled, startling both of them.

~~O~~

The young man now going by the name Dylan looked from one to the other, seeking their approval. No, not approval. That would mean he didn't truly have free will as Christine had repeatedly told him. Nothing he'd seen in the time since stopping the dark-haired woman from killing Christine seemed familiar. When she and her husband spoke, it was with a very different accent than he possessed, meaning he would stand out more than he preferred.

"Dylan it is then."

The smile Christine bestowed on him caused an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. A brief moment of familiarity tickled deep inside, bringing to mind a very different face. It was gone just a quickly.

Then Oliver smiled as well. "We're telling the kids that you're a foster who was found with a traumatic head injury to explain the amnesia."

"Right," Christine agreed. "It's safer for them not to know the truth, if that's okay with you."

"It is." A wave of fatigue forced out a yawn. Immediately, Christine and Oliver looked concerned, causing a warm feeling that was somewhat familiar.

"You can use our last name for now," Oliver told him as he opened the car door. "Let's go meet your new family, Dylan."

Not knowing what else to say, he made another attempt at a smile. It must've worked because they both returned the gesture. Dylan, as he now thought of himself, got into the car and buckled the seatbelt. "What shall I call you?"

The couple shared another look that seemed to indicate that they hadn't thought of that. Christine shrugged a question at Oliver, who nodded. "Our first names will do fine." He chuckled, or that's what it sounded like to Dylan. "We don't expect to hear Mom and Dad, and calling us Dr. Bennett and Dr. Bennett would be confusing." A hand slapped the top of the car. "Ready to meet the kids?"

By that one simple question, the couple had put the next step firmly in his hands. If he said no, where would he go? A vision of a dark and cold rundown church flitted briefly through his mind and was gone. Resisting shaking his head, Dylan crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, and without thinking about it, he let humor into his voice. "I am. May I ask when we will eat?"

Ruse, Bulgaria

Danube Bridge

Border Crossing Station

From his hiding place, Bucky watched the border police stop and search random vehicles before letting them cross into Romania. He had the papers he'd forged himself, uncertain if they would stand up to intense scrutiny. But he didn't have much of a choice. Romania was just on the other side of the river. He thought about swimming across, but that would cause even more trouble if he was caught.

The money he'd made between Plovdiv and here wouldn't go far, if he had to pay someone to help him cross the border. Hiding in someone's vehicle or a truck hauling goods would only get the driver in trouble.

Bucky returned to the small hostel where he'd already paid for a week's stay. He did so in order to scope out the area, work up a strategy for getting to Bucharest. A man who'd paid him for three days work had connections in Romania's capital, he was sure would give him a helping hand, but he had to get there on his own.

His bed was the size of one of the bunks in the barracks where he and Steve had lived during their Howling Commando days. The bedding was changed every day, and guests were given a locker to store their personal belongings. Guests also had access to a common area where they could watch television or movies, read, talk, and play games.

Computers were available to borrow for a small fee. Usage wasn't monitored, unless someone complained to the staff. Bucky limited his use to the middle of the night when most everyone else was asleep. He'd spent that time learning Romanian, with the help of several young men and women who were on their way back to university. The results of these events gave him enough of an understanding of the language that he could make himself understood. If he was lucky, he'd run into someone who spoke one of the other languages in which he was fluent.

As always, his thoughts weren't far from Natasha. He tried to put her out of his mind and go to sleep, but even then, he knew she'd be there, as she was in his waking hours. Thinking about her mostly brought warm feelings of their time together. Playing games, hiking, watching movies, cooking together, sparring… making love.

A smile came to his lips as he remembered the incident with the skunk, and how she looked coming out of the stream, like a goddess. How the water cascaded from her body, sunlight turning the drops to liquid fire as if her skin was made from thousands of diamonds.

Though he appeared to have been embarrassed by their mutual nakedness, Bucky had watched, entranced at the graceful and elegant way her body moved, reminding him of the first time he'd attended the ballet. He never told Steve or any of his other friends to avoid the teasing that was sure to come.

Bucky rolled over onto his side, scrunched the pillow under his head, closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep.

The Bennett Home

Joliet, Illinois

That Evening

Oliver parked the SUV and got out, waiting for Christine and the young man who had been a prisoner at the lab. Even now, he could barely fathom that someone they'd been close to, who had attended barbeques, dinner parties, and birthday and holiday celebrations at their home, was a criminal. Christine and he had decided not to tell the kids about Sonja or the true story behind Dylan coming to stay with them.

His wife pulled into the driveway and shut the engine off. Both got out and came to stand with him. Without a word, they went to the door. Oliver let them in and closed the door. Dylan cast a nervous glance over his shoulder and returned his attention to the people in the living room, watching them curiously.

Their neighbor, Patty, a retired nurse, had come to stay with the boys when Christine called to have him meet her at the park where they could talk without being overheard. At the moment, she and Sawyer were playing a video game from the Lego collection, and naturally, Sawyer was winning.

The game ended when Patty lost the last of her lives. She groaned while their youngest did a victory dance. He stopped upon seeing his parents and a stranger standing in the doorway. "Oh. Hi."

"Hi, kids." Oliver nodded to Patty and she took the hint. She gathered her keys and jacket and left, closing the front door softly. Eli used the remote to pause the game and both boys gave them their full attention. "Sawyer and Eli, this is Dylan."

Christine drew the young man forward. "We're fostering him for a while." To Dylan, she said, "Our daughter is spending the night with a friend. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Dylan smiled a greeting and nodded at the scene frozen on the screen. "The game looks interesting. How is it played?"

With that simple sentence, their new charge had made friends with both boys. Oliver would keep an eye on them for the first few days while Dylan settled in, just as a precaution.

While they were out, Patty had started the dinner Oliver had prepared this afternoon between clients, and the scent made his stomach growl. If he was hungry, Dylan had to be starving.

To give Dylan time to get to know the boys, he took his wife's hand and drew her into the kitchen.

~~O~~

With the boys in bed, and Dylan asleep on the sofa in the den, Christine could finally breathe easy, or rather easier. She thought about letting him sleep in her home office, but decided against it. If Dylan had nightmares, she wanted him close by.

Oliver stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth while Christine rubbed lotion on her legs and arms. "Sawyer offered to move back in with Eli so Dylan could have his room." She went to stand in the doorway. "The boys like him."

"I saw." Their eyes met in the mirror. "It's a little early to start thinking of Dylan's future with the family, but I can't help it. If the boys get attached and he up and leaves, they'll be heartbroken."

Christine rubbed his shoulders. "Then I guess he'll just have to stay, no matter what. He's too old to adopt, but family doesn't have to be blood. We have enough love for ten kids." She shook him a little. "And who knows, he could be like me."

Turning to face his wife, Oliver let humor color his voice as he snagged her around the waist. "Dangerous, but fun?"

"Exactly!"

Border Crossing Station

Giurgiu, Romania

Bucky handed his papers to the border guard, and soon, he stepped off the Danube Bridge into Romania. Still, he didn't breathe a sigh of relief until he was out of range of the guard's weapons.

His first order of business was food. Up ahead, he saw an open café. They had tables outside giving him many avenues of escape, just in case. One ordered at the counter inside and it was delivered to your table. He placed his order, picked up his hot coffee, and went out to the patio. The café sat on a corner, giving him full view in all directions.

Several Days Later

Sitting in the same café he'd stopped at his first day in town, Bucky kept a close eye on the comings and goings of the residents. That's how he saw the group of young men harassing a shopkeeper up the street.

The men pushed the old man, making him drop the packages he was carrying into the shop. When he stooped to pick them up, the ringleader used his foot to push him to the ground while his cronies laughed as if it were a live performance of the Three Stooges, but without the humor.

The counter girl brought his meal, glanced at the scene, and turned to go inside. Bucky grabbed her hand. "Police?"

She avoided looking up, jerking her hand free. "The police who patrol this area ignore them. Say they're just being boys. I don't walk home alone if I can help it since those 'boys' tried to assault me."

This time, Bucky touched her shoulder. "Everyone has the right to feel safe in their own neighborhood."

The girl scoffed. "Who's going to do something about it? You? You're a stranger. What can you do?"

Bucky didn't reply as she went back inside. The old man had picked up his packages, but when he went to open the door, the bullies increased the intensity of their harassment. The one in charge balled up his fist and hit the man on the side of the head.

Unwilling to allow these young men to continue terrorizing the hardworking people of the neighborhood, Bucky made the decision to take matters into his own hands. It was obvious that the girl, and by extension, the others in the area, had simply taken the gang's rudeness as a fact of life. Well, today, that would stop.

TBC

"Blowin' in the Wind" is a song written by Bob Dylan in 1962 and released as a single and on his album The Freewheelin' Bob Dylanin 1963.