Chapter 13: Transformation

Two weeks passed. Bucky spent that time catching up on the new century and stalking his relatives on various social media platforms. He discovered that Becca had named her first-born son after him, and that filled him with a warmth that made his eyes sting. His namesake was an old man now with two children. It was the daughter's social media page that gave him the most information—it was filled with family photos and videos. He got glimpses into their vacations, holidays, and birthdays.

Neither of them had touched the sex basket, and it ended up in the closet, its items as pristine as the day Bucky had unwrapped the basket, except for the lube. That was quite useful.

Steve spent a lot of time talking to the media and meeting with politicians, and the two weeks passed in a blue. Bucky thought he had time, so when Doctor Banner gave him the news, he wasn't expecting it.

The procedure sounded complicated. The machine Erskine and Stark had used on Steve was state-of-the-art for its time and sucked up almost an entire city grid's worth of power. Those machines weren't just lying around. They had to be built. Surely, that would take months.

It took 15 days. Tomorrow was the big day. There was a possibility he might not survive the procedure, even though the other version of himself had. Bruce explained it all. They couldn't completely replicate Hydra's procedure because the notes were so old and mostly handwritten that some were illegible and others had gotten lost during the decades.

After breakfast in the lounge with Steve, Bucky washed his dishes and turned to Steve, who was still at the table, reading something on his phone. "I want to go see them."

"Huh?" Steve looked up.

There must have been something obvious on his face because Steve's attention lasered in on him. He pocketed the phone. "Oh…Today?"

"Yeah."

"I have a meeting at four, but I can make that work."

"You don't have to come with me. I just need to know where they're buried."

Steve was on his feet, dish and coffee mug in hand. "I want to be there with you." He rinsed them out and put them in the dishwasher. "Unless, of course, you'd rather be alone. I can hang back, but I'd still like to come."

"I'd like that." He couldn't show up empty-handed. "I need flowers."

"We can stop along the way."

-0- -0- -0-

It was late September, and the weather didn't know whether to be summer or fall. It was muggy, but an occasional cool breeze took the edge off. Steve led the way. He'd visited these graves years ago, before he joined the Avengers.

There, in the center of the graveyard near a silver maple tree, were the two graves of George and Winnifred Barnes. Maggie and Ruth were buried in another graveyard, and they'd save that visit for another day.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I brought a visitor." Steve set the bouquet of yellow daylilies in front of Winnie's headstone.

Bucky moved next to him and stared down at the two graves, two bouquets of daffodils in his hands. "Hey, Mom…Dad."

The inscriptions were simple, weathered by time and a lack of visitors.

Winnifred Barnes
February 23, 1896
November 29, 1963
Mother and Grandma, with George now.

George Barnes
April 2, 1890
February 1, 1950
Veteran, Husband, Grandad

"Five years." If not for the hitch in Bucky's breath, Steve wouldn't have reacted in time to grab Bucky's arm when his knees gave way.

The flowers dropped to the grass on his mother's grave, and Bucky rocked forward, forehead on the ground, his shoulders heaving with sobs that were almost silent.

Becoming an orphan hurt at any age.

Steve sat silently beside him, hand on his shoulder, until Bucky grew still and finally straightened, scrubbing at his face.

"My dad died five years after…I did. Was mom alone? Did one of my sisters take her in?"

"She lived alone for a while, but Maggie stayed in New York and convinced her to live with her later. Ruth moved to New Jersey and visited a lot. Becca moved to Indiana."

With a rush of breath, Bucky asked, "What happened to my dad?"

He hesitated with the answer. He knew exactly where Bucky's mind would go. Grief was hard on the body in so many ways, and the grief of losing his only son took a toll. George was a healthy man who died too young.

"Heart attack." Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder. "Five years is a long time, Buck. I don't think it had anything to do with that."

"My grandparents lived into their eighties. He should've, too." Bucky placed one bouquet on his mother's grave and the other on his father's. "And mom?"

"Car accident."

"How? Did she suffer?"

"I don't know." He'd never found out exactly what happened. "I hope not."

"Can I get a minute?"

"I'll be over there." He pointed to a broad oak tree and gave Bucky his space.

The tree provided massive shade, and he sank to the ground, resting against the trunk as he watched Bucky grieve, shoulders shuddering. He was talking to them, probably apologizing for not being there and for hurting them by "dying."

When Steve's mother died, Bucky refused to let him grieve alone. The Barnes' family took him in, and then Bucky moved in with him, paying half the rent—and sometimes more, when Steve came up short—just so Steve wouldn't end up without a roof over his head.

George, Winnie, and the girls felt like his second family, and he'd grieved the first time he visited their graves, but he had time to process the overwhelming loss of everything and everyone he knew. For Bucky, he was still in the beginning of it.

A pang in his chest stole his breath for a moment as he watched Bucky dust off their headstones with his hands then slowly, gently, kiss the top of each one. He turned and looked at Steve, then headed toward him.

Steve met him halfway, opening his arms. He knew there were no words, so he didn't try. Bucky fell into him, clutching, sobbing. Steve held on until Bucky was ready to move, and then they made their way silently back to the car.

It wasn't until they were halfway to the hotel that Bucky spoke. "I want to get drunk."

It was probably a now or never thing. Bucky's tolerance to alcohol had obviously increased after Zola, but they hadn't had the opportunity to put it to the test. "Okay," Steve replied. "It's worth a try."

He stopped at a liquor store along the way and bought the best stuff they had, and a lot of it. Bruce probably wouldn't approve, but so what if they had to delay the procedure another day?

-0- -0- -0-

As it turned out, Bucky could get drunk, and it only took two-and-a-half bottles of whiskey. Steve was two bottles in himself and managed to feel a light buzz for about ten seconds. Bucky, on the other hand, was currently 100% shit-faced on the bed next to him, loudly stalking the social media postings of his great nieces and nephews.

They'd powered through two large pizzas and a box of mini donuts. The empty boxes and bottles were piled in the corner of Steve's rooms, and the place smelled like what he imagined a dorm might after a frat party. He made sure the small trash bin by the bed was empty with a bag cinched tightly around the lip, just in case.

"Whu'the hell izzup with all the food?" Bucky pointed to the laptop screen as he finished off the third bottle of whiskey. "Why arrre they taking photos aaaallll the time of it?"

Steve admired the mountain of nachos in the photo and shrugged. "Beats me."

"Sheee's wearin' tights. Isshe a dancer?" Bucky pointed to what was probably his great-grand niece in a pair of blue yoga pants.

"Those aren't tights. They're exercise pants."

"Imma gonna ask her. How dyouuu message?"

Steve batted Bucky's hand away and closed the laptop. "Nope!"

"Hey!" Bucky made a grab for the laptop, but Steve swiveled away.

"Trust me, Buck, you'll thank me in the morning."

Bucky drunk-yelled at him for five minutes about it until he ran out of steam and was barely coherent. His anger melted, and suddenly he was apologizing until he was ugly-crying into Steve's shirt.

"I shoulda wrote them more…I was a terrrrible son. I shoulda been there. They needed me. All I did was get captured. I didn't make a damn bit of difference in the war, but I coulda to them."

"You did make a difference." Steve held Bucky on the edge of the bed. "You saved my life."

Bucky sniffled against him. "Yeah. That's right. I did." He pulled back and stared at Steve with puffy, wet eyes. "I love you, you know."

He did. "I love you, too, Buck."

"I'm a mess. Sorry."

"It's okay. You have a right to be."

"You're a good—" Bucky's eyes went wide, and Steve acted fast, grabbing the trashcan just in time to shove it in front of Bucky.

-0- -0- -0-

A tiny drummer seemed to be beating inside his skull, and his mouth felt like gummy sandpaper. Still, as far as hangovers went, he'd had worse.

"Science says all these are good for a hangover."

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve standing over him, setting a tray on the nightstand. There was a mug of steaming coffee, a glass of water, and two pieces of toast. He forced a smile, sat up, and reached for the water.

"Thanks." He set the empty glass back on the tray and surveyed the room. There was no sign of yesterday's indulgence. "You cleaned?"

"Yep."

"Wait…did you miss your meeting yesterday?"

"It wasn't that important."

"Thanks for letting me be an ass yesterday." He vaguely recalled fighting over a laptop and then throwing up. Normally, he'd still be drunk the morning after ingesting that much whiskey, but he was sober, just a little rough around the edges. "Wait, today is supposed to be—"

"Bruce rescheduled it for tomorrow."

"Oh." He grabbed the mug and sipped the hot coffee, then devoured one slice of toast.

He had one more day as a relatively normal guy with a high metabolism.

-0- -0- -0-

The next morning, he was standing shirtless in the lab and wearing stretchy sweatpants…just in case.

The machine looked like a metal coffin, and he was supposed to lie down in it and let them irradiate the hell out of his body. If all went well, the radiation wouldn't kill him, and when it was all over, he'd be strong like Steve and not green, red, or any other color besides pasty beige…if all went well.

Tony, Steve, and Bruce were present, both scientists standing at control panels. Sam had finally made it to New Orleans, and Wanda…well, she wasn't doing too well lately. She'd lost a lot, more than most.

He understood how that felt. He hadn't watched anyone he loved die, but they were gone just the same. All of them except Steve and Becca, though he hadn't even seen her yet.

If that machine turned him into something like Schmidt or Bruce, he wouldn't ever see her. She'd never believe he was her brother, and even if she did, at her age, the shock would probably kill her.

"You ready?" Bruce asked.

Hell, no. How was anyone supposed to be ready for this? "Yeah, I just…better use the little soldier's room first."

He scurried to the bathroom. He didn't have to go. He should try to go, because the last thing he wanted to do was piss himself during the procedure. He'd already dealt with enough humiliation thanks to the fever and Bruce's makeshift urinal, Stark's gift, and the communal bath time experience.

So, he tried, and he managed to get something out, then he washed up and splashed cold water on his face. He studied his reflection. This might be the last time he saw the face staring back at him.

"You okay?"

Bucky looked over at Steve gliding through the doorway, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, eyebrows tilted upward, looking probably a lot like Bucky had back when Steve was sick and he played nursemaid.

How times had changed.

"Yeah. I mean, it's just a few seconds, then I get a new lease on life." How much did it hurt when they did it to you, Steve?

Back in Schmidt's camp, during their escape, Steve had said it hurt a little, but Steve had known more pain and sickness than almost anyone his age. He'd developed a skewed perspective, and he always downplayed things like that.

Steve seemed to look right through him. "I can see that you're scared."

"Then you need cheaters."

"That's how it's gonna be, huh?" Steve smiled and cocked his head. "You're not nervous?"

"Hell, yeah, I'm nervous. I'm about to let myself be irradiated in the hope I turn out like one of the three people this has already been done to and not the other two."

"My mistake. Okay, so you're nervous, not scared. What was I thinking?" Steve's eyebrows rose. "By the way, it's not just three people. There were five others in Siberia."

"Really? There are five other soldiers out there?"

"No, they're dead now…killed."

"Any of them come out…weird?"

"One grew a tail, but they cut it off. The other ended up without a penis."

Steve was messing with him. Wasn't he? Wasn't he?

A mischievous grin broke out on Steve's face. "I'm kidding, Buck. None of them grew a tail, and one was a woman."

Bucky's breath flew out of him. "A hundred and five years old and you're still a punk."

"Come here, man." Steve took three long strides and pulled him into a rough hug. "You're gonna be okay."

He lingered there in the space between Steve's arms for probably longer than he should have before pulling away. "You getting mushy on me?"

"It happens when you get to be my age."

"I wouldn't know about that." He tried for a grin. These moments were the last where he'd be himself, the way nature intended….mostly, though the serum was still doing something beneath his skin. Still, he felt like himself, and he looked like himself. In a few minutes, all that could change. He took a breath. "Let's get out of here before Tony and Bruce start to wonder what we're doing."

Steve followed him back into the lab. Bruce was at the machine, the top open. It even looked like a coffin inside, minus the plush padding. Stark was at a control panel against the wall, tinkering with some instrument and eyeing a holographic display that showed a bunch of numbers.

"Ready whenever you are." Bruce gestured to the metal coffin.

Bucky climbed inside and eased onto his back.

Steve peered down at him. "It's gonna be okay, Buck."

"Sure. Nothing ever goes wrong with radiation. Just ask Marie Curie."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You know, I didn't whine nearly this much when I had my procedure."

"That's because you never had any sense of self-preservation, so…." He jabbed a middle finger into the air.

Steve laughed and Tony muttered, "Fuck a duck. I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"Enough play time," Bruce said, handing Bucky a pair of dark glasses. "Put these on, and if you're ready, I'm going to lock you in there."

"Fine, let's get this over with." Bucky set the glasses on his face. They covered his eyes completely and blocked out all light. He took another deep breath as the lid slid into place with a metallic clank.

"Barnes, can you hear me?" Bruce's voice emanated from a speaker above Bucky's head.

"I can hear you. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Bruce answered. "Okay, Tony. Now."

A hum rose, but that was the only indication the procedure started. This isn't so bad. He shifted on the hard surface, wondering if the procedure was working at all when a faint glow penetrated the material of the glasses. It wasn't enough to hurt his eyes, but it let him know they had flooded the chamber with radiation.

His skin began to tingle. It was mildly unpleasant, like an itch all over that he didn't bother trying to scratch.

"How are you doing, Barnes?" Banner asked.

"Fine. This isn't bad at all."

"Yeah, uh…Okay, Tony, increase to sixty-five percent."

"Steve," he said into the darkness, "I think you were exaggerating when you said it hurt a little. This doesn't hurt at—"

The burning hit with such intensity, through every inch of his body, that the air rushed from his lungs and, for a few seconds, he couldn't catch his breath. His chest went tight, and he was sure he was suffocating. His arms shot up and hit metal.

Bruce's voice filled the dark void, but the words were indistinct chatter. The fire in his body turned to sharp, brutal pains, all over, in every muscle and every bone, driving a scream from his throat.

Fuck! God, Shit, Oh God!

He was in it now. He squeezed his eyes closed, and tried to breathe through the pain, but he couldn't, and there was no choice but to see it through.

"Bucky, just a few more seconds…." Steve's voice, urgent, pained.

It felt like every tendon in his body stretched, then snapped, and his bones were cracking

Suddenly, it was over, and he couldn't stop the sob of relief that bubbled from him as the hum died. His body ached from head to toe, and he felt like he'd just run 20 miles over muddy terrain with a backpack full of gear.

"Bucky, are you with us?" Steve's voice.

Did he pass out? He opened his eyes to see three faces peering at him. His eyes focused on Steve, brow furrowed, head tilted.

It took a few seconds to get enough air into his lungs to speak. "Just tell me I don't have a red skull." Or green skin.

He probed his face with his fingers. Everything felt normal. He raised his other hand. It was still pasty beige….and shaking. His limbs felt like overcooked spaghetti. He dropped his arms and tried to move.

Steve slipped an arm behind him and helped him sit up. "No red skull. You're stuck with the same mug you've had since puberty."

"You lied," Bucky panted, hanging over the side of the chamber and half-leaning against Steve's arm.

"About what?"

He looked up into Steve's confused face and said, "That hurt a lot."

"Well," Steve shrugged and grinned, "everyone's pain tolerance is different. Guess you're just a wimp."

"Dad said you screamed so loud they almost shut the whole thing down," Tony interjected.

"You're a liar and a punk," Bucky muttered. His breath was coming easier, so he decided to try standing.

He climbed out with Steve's steadying arm guiding him, then wrapping around his waist to keep him upright. He straightened and realized he was now eye-level with Steve.

"Shit, I'm taller."

"A few inches," Steve confirmed.

"Well, at least I didn't grow another foot like you did. I'd have a hell of a time finding pants that fit."

He looked down at himself. Holy shit, he had muscles…not quite like Steve, but his abs rippled and the sweatpants were tighter. He flexed his arms. Yep, he'd definitely gained muscle mass all over.

Was everything bigger? He tugged on the waistband of his sweats and looked down. Yep. Maybe.

"I bet Bruce you'd check." Tony held out his hand toward the doctor. "Pay up."

"Fine." Bruce stuck one big green hand into his denim pocket, pulled out a twenty, and slapped it into Tony's palm.

Bucky slid away from Steve, steady enough on his own two feet to make it to the bathroom. He needed to see for himself and went to the sink. His face stared back at him in the mirror…not a red skull, not green, just the same pair of blue eyes that he'd looked at every day for his entire life.

"It made me so much better looking, but I guess you weren't as lucky," Steve teased from inside the doorway.

"Well, it's hard to improve on perfection."

Steve chuffed. "So how do you feel?"

"Like I just ran a marathon, but…okay. Good."

His skin still lingered with the heat from the vita rays. He turned on the cold water, and the handle came off in his hand, leaving the water running freely.

"Shit, what the hell?" He tried to set the thing back, hoping he could reconnect it enough to at least turn the water off, but the moment he pressed down, the porcelain cracked.

"Take it easy." Steve took the mangled handle from him. "You're a lot stronger now. It'll take some time for you to figure out how to regulate your strength."

"Damn. Sorry." He opened the cabinet beneath the sink—carefully—and turned off the water.

"I'm not looking, but why are you guys always in the bathroom together?" Tony asked from the doorway, a hand over his eyes.

"You can look, Tony." Steve said

Tony dropped his hand and, after a moment, spotted the faucet. "What the hell happened to my sink?"

Bucky sighed. First he'd messed up Tony's microwave, now the sink. "I swear I'm not doing this stuff on purpose."

Tony waved a hand in the air. "As far as shit that's gotten broken during science experiments, that's low on the list. Whenever you two are finished in here, Banner wants to do another blood draw. Then we're doing tacos and shots in the lounge."

Tacos sounded good, but after the other day, the thought of shots turned his stomach.

Tony paused in the doorway. "Hey, so, are you two official now?"

Bucky caught Steve's eye and raised his eyebrows with a shrug. "I mean, everyone already knows, right?" Thanks to Tony's hard-to-miss gift basket. "I'm okay with it if you are."

Steve's smile was as bright as a summer day. "I'm more than okay with it."