AN: Alright! Here we go again! Sorry for the delay in posting this one. Life got really busy. Anyway, this story picks up right where Avengers: Alternate Reality (Part 2) left off.

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TWs: This fic contains depictions of PTSD and panic attacks. Please err on the side of caution if this is potentially harmful to you.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers or any of the related characters. Those rights belong to Marvel Entertainment. This story is a work of fanfiction and is for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story.


Prologue


First off, I don't really want to write this.

Secondly, I'm only doing it because my psychologist says it'll help. I'm not sure I believe her. Apparently that doesn't matter.

I was born on March 10, 1917, joined the United States Army in 1942, and died in the winter of 1945.

Or so everyone thought.

My name is James Buchanan Barnes.

You can call me Bucky.

This is the incomplete account of a few events in my messed up life. I could, and probably should, start at the beginning, but I'm not going to.

I'm going to start with the night I met my dead best friend in a coffee shop.