Chapter 10: The Reveal
Dinner was in 40 minutes, and Bucky wasn't sure how to dress. Nothing fancy according to Steve—jeans and a decent shirt. Bucky didn't know what qualified as decent by today's standards. He ended up selecting a long-sleeved button-down blue shirt and a pair of charcoal jeans, then padded into the bathroom where he was safe from surveillance—except for the A.I.
He took a quick shower and dried off in record time. Showering was a lot faster without his hair. He saw his reflection in the mirror over the sink, and it stopped him. He took a moment to really study himself—the shaved head, the chrome arm with the red star, and the prominent map of scars where the metal met flesh.
He looked like a monster. They'd turned him into Frankenstein's monster with a bionic arm. You could dress a monster in nice clothes, but he'd still be a monster.
Dinner in a blue button-down shirt wouldn't change what he was. The arm, the scars, and the shit Hydra had put inside him would still be there, no matter what clothes he chose to cover it all. The metal arm shot out before he even realized what he was doing, and the mirror shattered.
He took a breath and studied the mess, then slowly and carefully went about cleaning it up. As he worked, he wondered what Steve saw when he looked at him. His old friend? Or something in between that and what Hydra had made him?
Steve was trying, he knew, but Steve couldn't understand. He was Mr. Perfect. America's sweetheart. Poster boy for righteousness. He hadn't killed a mother and child. He hadn't been turned into some half-human drone with a machine for an arm and implants in his brain and body.
Bucky wondered why the hell he had agreed to go to dinner.
-0- -0- -0-
The large lounge area was plush and elegant, with a sitting area on one end and a dining table on the other. There was a modest but elegant kitchen. The furniture was new, the space immaculate.
Bucky sat at the long table next to Steve and across from Romanoff. The table was covered with platters of food—kebab, falafel, hummus, flat bread, rice, and chicken. Glasses of water and empty wine glasses sat next to each plate and bottles of red and white wine lined the center of the table between the platters.
The other Avengers were around the table—Wilson sat across from Steve. Maximoff was next to him. Stark was at one end of the table, and Vision was in chair at the end, to Stark's left. Bucky wondered how or why an android would eat.
Even Drs. Cho and Abramson were present at the other end of the table. It was all incredibly awkward. Was he supposed to spill his guts to the headshrinker and then sit down at a dinner table with the guy and talk about the weather or some other bullshit?
"So," Vision began, "did you enjoy the tour of the grounds, Sergeant Barnes? The weather was quite lovely for a stroll."
Jesus Christ. The android actually brought up the weather.
"It was great." He flashed what he hoped was a convincing smile. "And it's just Bucky, or Barnes, if you want."
Vision tilted his head deferentially. "Of course, Bucky."
"Dig in folks," Tony waved a hand over the table, "Barnes, how do you like the cell phone?" He reached over and started filling his plate with rice and meat, then poured one of the reds into his glass.
"It's great." Bucky winced inwardly. If he said the word 'great' one more time, today…
Tony waved at the table. "You should take a photo of the food. It's a thing people do. Don't ask me why."
"I don't have it on me."
Tony tilted his head. "You don't have it on you?"
By the tone of the question, Bucky wondered whether he'd just committed a cardinal sin. "Anyone who might want to call me is right here."
Was a phone like a baby, or something, that you weren't supposed to leave unsupervised?
Natasha smiled across the table at him as she filled her plate. "He's just teasing you. Don't worry, soon enough you'll be like the rest of us and feel incomplete without it. You'll start patting your pockets when you leave to make sure it's on you."
"Why would I need it on me here?" Bucky asked.
She cocked her head. "Games, music, photos, videos, Google, news."
He frowned. "Isn't it rude to do that at the dinner table?"
"Absolutely, very rude." Tony said.
Bucky glanced over in time to see Tony slide his cell phone into his back pocket. He hadn't even seen the man retrieve it.
"Well, I lived the past 98 years without it," Bucky replied. "I'm pretty sure I can manage a while longer." He glanced at Steve, who was filling the plate in front of him with kebab, chicken, and rice. "Thank you for it, though."
"You have me to thank, actually." Stark raised his hand. "And you're welcome. I pay for everything, design everything, make us all look cool. Your buddy just calls the shots and reprimands people for their language."
Bucky caught the flicker of embarrassment on Steve's face. "You're still on that kick?" He asked his friend. It was nice to know Steve was still Steve in many ways. Seeing the chagrin on his friend's face, he couldn't resist some ribbing. "What the hell, man?"
Steve gave a dismayed bow of his head and elbowed him. "You're not helping me, here."
"Ah, okay, I got your back." Bucky looked up at Tony. "You can't blame him. His mother once actually washed his mouth out with soap after he said—" he glanced at Steve and lowered his voice, "—the 'D' word."
"Shut up!" Steve smiled and elbowed him harder.
Bucky grinned and realized he was starting to enjoy himself. Some of the earlier tension drained away. "Keep elbowing me, Pal. Now that I have my memory back, I got loads of killer diller material on you I can dispense." He waggled his eyebrows.
"I would pay to hear some," Sam said, throwing a mock-apologetic smile Steve's way.
"Oh, so that's how I'll earn my keep, huh?" Bucky scooped some chicken and rice onto his plate. "Shell out the dope on the great Captain America back in the day?" He tilted his head. "Maybe I'll write a book."
"The dope?" Sam asked.
"The info, the gossip," Steve clarified.
"Is that a word we're not supposed to say?" Bucky asked, glancing at Dr. Abodon. "I'm still catching up." He shifted in his seat. "I'm supposed to get a list."
"It's fine," Natasha said, pouring herself some wine.
"And I'm working on the list," Dr. Abodon said. "Believe it or not, I'm not quite old enough for the 40s. I'm researching. I meant to ask you, Captain Rogers, for help."
Steve smiled and nodded. "I'd be happy to help."
"What are some of the words?" Natasha asked.
Bucky took a sip of his water. "I was told not to say them around you, in particular."
She raised an eyebrow, giving only the briefest glance toward Abodon. "Oh? Let me guess. Dollface? Broad? Dame?"
"Well, now I know two more." Bucky poured some wine into his glass. He wasn't even sure why. After going on the run, he figured out quickly that alcohol had no effect on him.
Natasha tilted her head and gave Bucky an ominous look. "Ne bespokoysya ob etom, khromirovannyy kupol."
"Ouch." Bucky ran a quick hand over his shaved head in response to her bald joke. "That was a bit harsh."
She smiled sweetly at him and took a sip of her wine.
"Play nice, kids," Tony interjected.
Steve chuckled. "I called Peggy a dame once. The look she gave me…I tripped all over my words."
Bucky chuckled and grabbed his fork, poking around at the chicken on his plate. "You never could talk to women. Have you gotten any better?"
"No, he hasn't," Natasha replied with a wink at Steve.
"What ever happened to her?" Bucky wondered aloud.
Steve stuck a fork into a piece of chicken on his plate. "She's still alive in a care home."
"No shit?" He dropped his fork. "Have you seen her?"
Steve glanced up sadly at him and nodded. "Yeah. Her mind comes and goes."
"Oh." The genuine grief on Steve's face made Bucky instantly regret asking. "Sorry."
"She helped found SHIELD." Steve gave a tiny smile. "She lived a full life."
Bucky leaned into Steve. "She was quite the woman." He smiled, remembering the time he asked her to dance. "That night she walked into the bar in that red dress….wow. I didn't know you two were sweet on one another, and I asked her to dance. I was invisible. She never even looked at me. I mean, not even a glance. She only had eyes for you, and that had never happened before."
Steve chuckled. "Well, we weren't officially more than colleagues at that point. Besides, you pretty much had your pick before then, but you never settled down."
"Yeah, well…" Bucky didn't bother pointing out that it was a good thing he hadn't. Fewer people to leave behind… "Is anyone else we knew back then still alive, that you know of?"
Steve cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncertain and uncomfortable. Bucky again regretted asking, especially in front of the group. He was about to tell Steve to forget he asked, when a name he didn't expect came from the other man's lips.
"Becca."
Bucky froze. His breath caught in his lungs.
Becca? His little sister. Jesus, she was alive? He saw her face suddenly. Blue eyes like his own. Brown hair. A round face and thick eyebrows.
Bucky swallowed and took a sip of his water to clear the lump from his throat. "She'd be about ninety?" It came out more as a croak. He suddenly had a hard time pulling air into his lungs.
He thought all his family—everyone he knew other than Steve—was dead. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the information that his sister was still alive. He couldn't see her. The world didn't officially know he was alive. She must still think he was dead—that he'd died a hero. How would he explain the past 70 years to her?
"Yeah." Steve confirmed. "Buck, are you okay?"
Bucky was aware of the others staring at him, quiet but suffocating in their silence. He looked at Steve. His eyebrows were pulled together in that familiar look of concern he'd seen so many times when they were younger.
Bucky pulled in a breath so he could speak without choking. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"It never really came up, and Dr. Cho—the fake one, crap—" Steve cast a regretful look at the real Dr. Cho at the other end of the table. "—recommended I not bring up things from your past. In hindsight, there were signs that she wasn't legit. She wanted to see what we had on you, kept insisting on looking at your journals." He glanced down at his plate. "So much has been going on, getting you back, then Hydra…" Steve glanced down at his plate. "Do you want to see her?"
"Yes…but no." He glanced around the table, and everyone suddenly seemed very interested in their meals. He sighed and pushed some rice around his plate. "How the hell would I explain any of this to her? I imagine she still thinks I died a hero."
Steve shifted to face him. "You were—are—a hero."
Howard and Maria Stark would disagree. Bucky's gaze went to Tony. The man he'd turned into an orphan prematurely held his gaze for a moment, then gave a subtle nod Bucky wasn't sure how to interpret.
Bucky looked down at his plate. The faces of victims played in his mind—the little girl; her mother, shielding the child from him, begging him to spare her baby.
"If you wait too long," Dr. Abodon interjected softly, pulling Bucky away from his grim thoughts, "you might not get a chance. Think about it."
Bucky suddenly didn't feel like eating. He hadn't taken a bite of his food. It would be rude to excuse himself, but he didn't have it in him to spend the next hour or so trying to make conversation while not stepping on landmines.
He pushed the chair away from the table and rose to his feet. "I'm not all that hungry. I'm going to turn in."
"It's only seven-thirty," Steve said. "Come on, Buck—"
"Goodnight, Steve." He looked up at Tony at the end of the table. "Thanks for the phone and the dinner invite." He turned and walked out of the room as fast as he could while still trying for an air of casualness.
He was pretty sure he failed miserably.
-0- -0- -0-
As Steve rose from his chair, Dr. Abodon's voice stopped him. "It might be best to give him some space for now."
Steve eyed the doctor, debating. He wanted to make sure Bucky was okay, and after the fiasco of the Cho imposter, he felt inclined to follow his own gut.
"He's right, Steve," Nat said. "Sit down, finish dinner. Barnes has had a lot thrown at him over the past few weeks."
Steve sank back into his chair, eyeing Bucky's untouched plate next to his. "Maybe it was a mistake doing this so soon."
"When Ms. Maximoff freed me from Ultron's control," Dr. Cho began, casting the young Sokovian woman an appreciative glance, "I was horrified by what I almost helped Ultron achieve." She looked at Steve. "I was only under his control for a short time. Your friend had his will overridden for over 70 years. Every assassination committed by the Winter Soldier had two victims—the person killed and James Barnes. He's going to need time to learn how to accept that he had no control and is not to blame for the Winter Soldier's crimes."
"Thank you, Dr. Cho. You have a unique insight, I'm sorry to say." Dr. Abodon looked at Steve. "He's also having to process the loss of everything and everyone he knew and loved, excluding you. You remember how that felt, I imagine, Captain?"
Steve did. It was like someone punched him in the gut then drove a knife into his heart. He nodded.
"You came back a hero," Dr. Abodon said. "Your friend's situation is quite the opposite. As the Winter Soldier, he tried to kill many of the people in this room, yourself included. Sitting down and having dinner with his victims took a great deal of strength and courage. Don't be surprised or disappointed if he decides some things are too much. He'll get there. Don't push."
"We know he'll get there." Natasha gave Steve a firm look. "Be patient, Rogers."
He knew she was referring to the future version of Bucky.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky stopped by his room only long enough to grab a pair of shorts and a towel, then he asked FRIDAY where the lap pool was that he'd heard about. She directed him to an upper floor with a view.
Inside was a long, pristine pool about three swim lanes wide. The last time he'd gone for a recreational swim was in the 40s. He set his clothes and towel on the tile around the pool. The shorts he'd found in his dresser fit well. They weren't meant for swimming, but they'd do the job. No one was around, but he was pretty sure the place had cameras, and he wasn't about to give anyone a show.
After the dinner fiasco, he didn't want to hole up inside the four walls he'd been staring at for the past week. Even though he was free to roam the facility, the room was beginning to feel like a prison.
He dove into the water. The warmth of it washed over him. He kept his earpieces in and hoped they survived the swim without falling out, but he didn't dare risk taking them out. Even though he knew the complex's security measures had been upgraded, he didn't trust them. Hydra always seemed to find a way, and all that stood between him and the Winter Soldier were ten words.
He dared not let his guard down even for a moment.
He sliced through the water. It felt good to be doing something simple and physical for once that didn't involve a fight. The arm was a weight pulling him down. It wasn't designed for swimming but was waterproof. Both his metal arm and increased muscle mass made keeping himself afloat difficult, but the additional challenges also provided him more of a workout.
Fortunately, his powerful legs had allowed him to pull Steve quickly out of the river. He may not float as well as a normal human, but he made up for that by being fast and strong enough to propel himself through the water.
He swam ten laps, and on the eleventh, he spotted a dark figure above the surface of the water. The shock of red hair and form-fitting clothes gave her away instantly. He ignored her and swam a few more laps.
She sank to the tile and crossed her legs in front of her, watching him silently.
On the sixteenth lap, he propelled himself out of the water and landed a few feet away from her. "Romanoff." He nodded at her. "You're not dressed for a swim."
She offered a lopsided smile. "Aren't you the observant one?"
He grabbed the towel and dried off. It was nice not to have wet hair in his face, but he couldn't wait for the day when he had enough hair to cover his scalp.
"Come to make more bald jokes?" he asked her.
She winced. "Okay, I'm sorry about that. I didn't know you were so sensitive."
He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but his mother wouldn't have approved of him saying that to a woman—even if that woman was a former Russian assassin with impressive combat skills.
Instead he opted for directness. "What do you want, Romanoff?"
"You can call me Natasha, you know." She took off her shoes, rolled up her pantlegs, and stuck her feet and ankles in the water.
Shit. He realized she intended to hang around for a bit. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?"
"I finished and excused myself. Steve wanted to come after you, but we convinced him you needed space."
"Thanks for respecting my space," he responded with a sarcastic tilt of his head.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're not the only one whose done terrible things they regret. You're not the only one who's ever felt like a monster."
He studied her for a moment. He knew a bit of her history, mostly from Russian files and research he'd done after going on the run. A lot of her past was now on the Internet. What he'd learned made trusting her difficult.
She hadn't been programmed and had her memory wiped when she worked for the Russians, but—he reminded himself—she'd only been a child when they got their claws into her. She really hadn't stood a chance. He just hoped she was legitimate and not a long-term sleeper agent.
Considering how hard she'd fought him on the bridge, he was inclined to believe her change of heart was genuine. She'd saved Steve's life that day. The dumbfounded knucklehead had just stared at him while Bucky pulled out his gun and aimed.
He sighed and sat down next to her, dropping his legs into the water near hers. "Thanks for aiming that grenade launcher my way. I had a dead aim on Steve, and he was too blindsided to react."
"Anytime. A gal can never have too many high-end firearms. I was glad to take it off your hands."
He smiled at that. "So, why are here, Natasha?"
"I haven't been exactly in your shoes," she began, kicking her feet gently in the water. "I'm pretty sure no one has, but I understand a little of what you're going through. There was a time when I wanted out but thought it was impossible, that I'd die before I ever tasted freedom. After SHIELD took me in, I had to live with the things I'd done. I still do. After the helicarriers, I went back to Russia to try to find my parents. I ended up finding their gravestones."
Her words twisted something inside him, reminding him of the tombstones he'd found for his parents after he'd visited the Smithsonian. He wondered where she'd been at the time he was staring at his parents graves. He found a certain strangeness in the fact that they'd both been searching for family around the same time and ended up staring at graves on opposite ends of the world.
"After the helicarriers," Bucky said, "I read a brief bio of myself in a book I picked up in the Smithsonian gift shop. I found out my parents' names. It was all jumbled, but familiar. I visited their graves shortly before I fled the country."
"We have what we have when we have it." Natasha said softly. "Right now, you still have a sister, you have Steve, and you have us."
He looked over at her. "You don't even really know me."
She gave him a sad smile. "I know you a little better than you think."
-0- -0- -0-
When Natasha made her way back to the lounge area, most of the group was still there, mingling and sitting on the sofa, armchairs, or floor. Natasha caught Steve's eye and jerked her head toward the kitchen, away from the group.
He got up and followed her. She leaned against the island and eyed Tony, who kept glancing their way. She knew in a few seconds his curiosity would get the better of him and-
Yep, he was on his feet, heading their way, being nosey.
"Am I interrupting?" He asked.
He knew he was. She raised an eyebrow at him. "When has that ever stopped you?"
"Never," he agreed, "but I sense this might be about our mutual friend."
She nodded, lowering her voice. "I think we should tell him about our time travel adventure. It'll be hard to believe, I realize, but we've got some proof—video, and all three of us vouching for it. If he knows that there's a version of him without the programming in his head, living a relatively normal life."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
"Okay, well, at least a life outside of Hydra and SHIELD," she conceded. "Anyway, I think that would give him hope. It's one thing to think something might be possible. It's an entirely different thing to know it is."
"Sure, fine, why not?" Tony agreed. "The other version of him tried to keep us in the dark but screw it. We've got knowledge, let's use it. This timeline has already changed, so let's keep it changing for the better." He slid on one of the barstools. "And, along those lines, there's something I've been meaning to tell you both."
Natasha didn't like the tone in Stark's voice. From the expression on Steve's face, neither did he.
"I was able to gather a bit more information about what happened in the other guy's timeline—about how we died," Tony whispered, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I completely missed the whole Ultron thing. I was too focused on spending the little Internet time I had away from his eagle eye finding out where Barnes had gone off to during his little hiatus and what happened to us."
"You found out how we died?" Steve whispered, eyeing the group across the room.
"I found out how I died." He cocked his head. "Saving the entire Universe. That's right. I died a hero. Made the ultimate sacrifice. You're welcome. You might want to be nicer to me from now on."
"Are you sure you're not just making that up, Tony?" Natasha eyed him skeptically. The man was a certified narcissist.
"You wound me, Romanoff." His expression turned serious suddenly, and the tenor of his voice became somber. "But, while I couldn't find out what happened—exactly—to either of you, I did find out that aliens are going to invade the planet again in a little under three years. Half of all life in the universe will be destroyed. Somehow, we find a way to reverse that. In the process, I die. I think you die, too, Natasha, but I couldn't find out how. Steve, you vanish. No record of what happens to you, either. I do know that you survived the final battle." He leaned forward. "So," his voice remained a whisper, "I was right. There is a threat, and we need to be ready for it. Ultron was a mistake, but that doesn't mean we throw in the towel. We have advanced warning, now, and a timeframe. We need to get ready, and three years isn't a lot of time."
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Steve asked him, a hard edge to his voice. "You keep holding vital information back."
"I'm telling you now, Captain Holier-Than-Thou," Stark shot back. "I wanted to have time to go over the bit of information I'd managed to gather and try to piece things together. Also… I told you so."
Natasha realized the conversation was about to take an unproductive turn. Stark was being a pompous ass. He may be right about the aliens, but his solution ended up being a kill-the-patient-to-cure-the-disease kind of thing.
"Ultron almost made the alien invasion a moot point," she told him. "A lot of people are dead. Maybe it's time you started playing with the team a little better."
"I know." Something like genuine regret flashed across his face. "That's what I'm doing now. Sharing. Playing ball. Let's plan this thing together. With something as big as this, we're going to need all hands on deck. That means smart people like Cho and fighters like your buddy. Let's tell him and get him onboard."
Steve sighed. "He's tired of fighting. He's fought enough over the past 70 years."
"Once we get through the end of the world, he can rest all he wants," Tony said. "Hell, I'll lend him an island to relax on. But, first, we have to make sure he and everyone else is around to enjoy retirement."
"Well, then," Natasha said, "I guess we'd better get word to Fury so he can gather whatever resources he has left."
"And the Wakandans," Stark said. "I'm not exactly sure how they fit into this, but I do know they somehow helped Barnes and they happen to be sitting on the world's largest stash of vibranium. We're going to need a lot of vibranium to defend against an alien invasion."
"Is that why you're so eager to upgrade Bucky's arm?" Steve asked. "You want to make him battle ready?"
"Part of it," Tony admitted, but there was venom in his voice. "The other part, Stevie old boy, is because I happened to get to know him a bit during our little adventure. If we're messing with this timeline, the least we can do is make sure we do the Barnes in this timeline justice. Don't you want him to have a better arm than the one that's currently causing him pain around the clock?"
"Of course, it's just—"
"Enough you two," Natasha slapped the counter loud enough to draw attention from the group across the room. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Your head-butting didn't help matters when Loki was around, it certainly didn't help matters with Ultron, and if we're going to stand a shot at saving the whole damn universe, it's time the both of you grow up and put the mission ahead of your testosterone." She turned to Steve. "It doesn't matter what Tony's motivation is for the arm. Barnes wants a new one, and it's the right thing to do. End of discussion." Then she looked at Tony. "And you need to learn what full disclosure means and start sharing from the get-go. Secrets breed distrust, and right now, we really need to trust one another."
She felt a modicum of satisfaction when both men had the good graces to look slightly remorseful.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky was seated at the kitchen island. He had just finished the plate of eggs he made after his swim and was on his phone using Google to look up information on Becca when FRIDAY announced three visitors. He sighed, turned the phone face down on the kitchen island, put the dish in the sink, and told the computer to let them in.
The door opened and Tony, Steve, and Natasha walked in. He knew instantly this would not be good news. The three of them wouldn't be visiting him at—he eyed the clock on the microwave—nine p.m. just to shoot the breeze.
He swiveled on the barstool to track them as they walked in. He honed in on Steve's expression. It was serious—a mixture of apprehension and regret.
Shit.
Either there was a fight coming, or someone was already knocking at the door to arrest him. Maybe both.
"Cut to the chase," he told them. He didn't have it in him for a soft, beat-around-the-bush delivery.
Tony and Natasha moved to the other side of the island.
Steve slid onto the stool next to him. "There's something we haven't told you."
Not a promising start to the conversation, Bucky mused darkly.
"There's no way to say this that won't sound crazy," Steve began, "so I'll just dive in. We know the Winter Soldier programming can be removed from your head because we met a version of you from a little under 10 years in the future."
Of all the words he thought would come out of Steve's mouth, those could never have crossed his mind. If not for the somber expression on Steve's face and the fact that Natasha and Tony looked like Steve did when he'd gotten off the Cyclone, Bucky would've thought this was a terrible prank.
Tony sat his phone on the counter. "I know it's hard to believe, so we've brought evidence." He tapped the screen, and a holographic image sprang to life above the phone.
Sam Wilson's face hovered in the air, but Bucky recognized the voice in the video as his own.
"I liked the flip phone better. It had buttons."
Children in the background jumped around. "Are you recording? Ready?" one of them yelled.
"It's recording…I think," his own voice said again.
Sam shook his head. "You're like a 90-year-old grandma."
"A hundred and six, actually," Bucky's voice replied.
A woman came into view, a plate in her hand. "How many do you guys want?"
"Two, please, thank you, Sarah," Bucky answered again, off camera.
She smiled a bit shyly at the camera.
Sam glared at the videographer. The moment the woman left, he said, "Stop flirting with my sister."
"I'm not flirting with your sister." Then, lower. "She's flirting with me."
Sam shook his head. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be, huh?" He looked around. "Carlos!"
Bucky chuckled, and the footage shook. The kids in the background embarked on a jumping contest, marking the dock with a piece of chalk where each one landed.
"Did you get it? I won!" One of the boys yelled gleefully.
"I'm recording!" Bucky replied. "But why am I recording this? What am I doing with it? Why aren't you recording this, Uncle Sam?"
Sam smiled. "Don't start with that. Just send it to me."
"You know, in my day, we didn't record everything. We saw the world through our eyes, not a screen. We didn't walk around with cameras."
"You sound a hundred and six."
"Yeah, well…"
The projection died.
Bucky wasn't sure what to say in response to the footage he'd just seen. The video showed nothing really. Obviously, he didn't remember anything like that happening, but it hardly proved time travel. Voices could be faked.
Tony tapped the screen again, and another holographic projection arose.
Bucky saw himself standing in front of a building, a motorcycle behind him.
"Hey!" He was looking straight at the camera, and his arms were held up at his sides, palms facing outward. The hunch of his shoulders and dark stain on the front of his white shirt made it evident that he was injured and in pain.
"I'm here to see Steve Rogers!" his canned voice filtered from the display. Then, his voice got low, almost imperceptible. "I really hope he's here, because if he's not here, this is not likely to go well."
A few moments later, the Avengers emerged—Steve, Natasha, Sam Wilson, and a man who for some reason carried a bow and arrow. All but Steve looked tense and ready to kill him.
"Steve." The voice of Bucky's alter-ego was hoarse.
"Buck." It was barely a whisper from Steve.
Bucky watched his other self stumble forward, then his legs gave way, and he ended up falling against Steve.
"It's good to see you, Buddy," his future self grunted, gripping Steve's shoulders.
Then, Bucky watched himself pass out in Steve's arms.
The holographic projection ended. Bucky waited a few seconds, but no other projections were forthcoming. He took a breath and looked at Steve. He had no idea what to make of the videos.
Time travel? Steve wouldn't lie to him about something like this, but…
It wasn't possible. The videos could be faked. Hell, the version of himself on the screen could be an imposter. The arm was different, too.
Bucky looked at Steve, gauging his expression as he asked. "What the hell is this?"
"That," Steve answered, absolute conviction in his eyes, "is actual footage. The first one was copied from the cell phone of your future counterpart. The second one was taken from the security camera at the previous Avenger's complex a few months ago."
"How do you know that guy in the video was actually me?" Bucky asked. He'd done some catching up. He'd read about someone named Loki who could take different forms.
"Because we traveled to the future," Stark said. "All three of us."
"That's also how Hydra was able to track you so well these past few months," Steve said, "They knew the countries the future version of yourself hit when he went on the run. Your counterpart stumbled across a Hydra time travel device. We know that one or more Hydra agents from the future have come back here, but we don't know how many. One of them was among the casualties back in the warehouse where they held you and Dr. Cho."
"And," Natasha added, "your counterpart was free of the Winter Soldier programming in the future. The code words had no effect on him. So, we know for a fact it's possible to get them out of your head."
Bucky tried to process the information, but he couldn't get past the idea of time travel—that a future version of himself at some point travelled back in time, then forward again. And that version of himself was free of Hydra's program.
He looked at Steve. "All this is true?"
Steve nodded. "Yes. I know it's hard to believe, but it is."
He could be free. It was not only possible, but it had happened. It sounded like the other version of himself wasn't in some high security prison or on the run. He was doing something, fighting Hydra…
"I wasn't locked up in the future?"
Steve shook his head. "No. You had an apartment in Brooklyn."
"A crappy apartment," Tony added. "You had one chair and a television. At least here you have an actual bed and a sofa, along with several chairs."
"Sam and I become friends?" He'd barely interacted with Wilson—and after almost killing him twice, Bucky doubted the man would ever want to hang out with him at a family get together.
"Close friends, apparently," Steve replied. "Sam's a good guy." He looked over at Tony. "And we need to rope him in on this, as well. Brief him about the aliens."
Wait. What? "Aliens?" Bucky took a breath. He had a sinking feeling this was going to involve a fight.
"Yes," Steve turned back to him. "That's the second part of this. During our trip to the future, Tony discovered some information about what's coming. New York survived an alien attack, but another one is coming in a little under three years. A big one. The stakes are high—half of all life in the universe."
"It's all hands on deck," Tony said.
War. It always came down to war. This time with…aliens?
"Aliens…from another planet?" Bucky clarified.
"You didn't hear about New York?" Natasha asked.
"When did this happen?"
"2012," Natasha said.
Bucky shook his head. "I was on ice then. I saw something about aliens on TV." He jerked his head toward the large screen, "I thought it was a movie promo, or I don't know…"
Aliens attacked New York?
"I know this is a lot, Buck," Steve sighed, "and you've been forced to fight for over 70 years. You don't have to—"
"Whatever you need," he told Steve. It had always been like that, and it always would. "It's the end of the world, right?" He could barely believe it. He just found his freedom, but he might not get to enjoy it for very long.
"In the other timeline," Stark said, "we lose at first, then we somehow win. I couldn't get all the details. I know the name of the Big Shot alien is Thanos. He succeeds in wiping out half the universe. Five years later, we reverse all that—bring everyone back. I die a hero, saving everyone. Remember that the next time you think I'm a selfish prick. This time around, I'm hoping to skip the whole death thing—at least for the next few decades."
"You die?" Bucky looked at Stark. Who else dies in the battle? He looked to Natasha, then Steve, wondering if he was going to lose him in a few years.
"Yeah, but we're in a new timeline now," Stark said. "Everything's up for grabs." He slid around the counter and slapped Bucky on the shoulder. "I'm going to use the bathroom."
Then he left to do his business.
Bucky eyed Steve. "Do you die, too?"
"I don't know." Steve shrugged a shoulder. "Tony says I survive the battle, but then I vanish. Natasha's gone, too. We're not sure how."
Nat leaned forward over the counter and eyed Bucky. "Thanks for asking about me too, by the way."
He couldn't help a tiny smile at her sass. "I was getting to that."
Tony strolled out of the bathroom. "What the hell happened to the mirror?"
Oh, hell. That was something he didn't want to talk about, and certainly not with Stark and Romanoff. "It broke."
"Thanks for the play-by-play," Tony replied, sarcasm in his voice.
Steve looked at Tony and Natasha. "Would you two like to go break the news to Sam?"
Bucky understood the message beneath that request. Whatever he wanted to say next, he preferred to say in private. Natasha nodded, tapped Tony on the shoulder, and they both left. Bucky was grateful Steve's interjection saved him from having to explain the mirror to Stark.
Steve turned back to him. "You don't have to join this fight. Everyone would understand if you sat this one out."
Bucky met his friend's gaze. Steve knew him better than that. The fight was almost three years away. Maybe, by that time, he'd actually be semi-stable. Maybe he'd even get to do some living before they faced the end of the world.
Bucky put his right hand on Steve's shoulder. He missed doing that. He didn't even realize how much until just now. "I promised you I'd be with you 'til the end of the line. I meant it. I may be a little messed up and heavily refurbished, but if you'll have me, I'll still follow you into the jaws of death."
Steve's hand gripped Bucky's bicep. "There's no one else I'd rather fight alongside."
The gentle warmth of Steve's palm stirred something in Bucky's brain, reminding him of a time before Hydra when the touch of a human hand brought comfort rather than pain.
"There's something else I want you to know," Steve said, giving Bucky's arm a gentle squeeze. "When we were in the future, I spent some time with that other version of you. I know some of the nightmares that plague you…one in particular."
Bucky stiffened, dropping his arm away and breaking the physical contact between them. There were so many nightmares, too many. They kept coming to him in the night, even at random times during the day. Faces. Voices, pleading.
'Please. I…I d-didn't see anything. I didn't see anything. I didn't see anything.'
That room, the girl in the hospital gown.
The hands on him that, sometimes, in the night, he could still feel.
What had the other Bucky told Steve?
Steve was looking at him, stifling in his scrutiny, as if he could see right through his outer shell into the monster beneath the surface.
"I know about the woman and her three-year-old daughter," Steve said. "How it haunts you in a way you won't be able to shake for a long time."
The words slammed into him like an accusation. Steve knew he was a child killer. What else did he know?
Bucky almost fell off the stool, caught himself with his metal hand on the counter. He stared at the chrome hand. It had crushed throats, caved in skulls.
"Bucky, you don't have to deal with this on your own," Steve's voice was almost pleading. "The version of you I met was doing okay, but he wasn't thriving. For a long time, he didn't have anyone to really help him deal with everything. I'm hoping we can change that for you. You don't have to hide what you've done from me. I won't think any less of you. Everything you did under Hydra…you were as much a victim as the people they made you kill."
Bucky saw her the little girl's face. Couldn't get it out of his head. He didn't think he ever would. Brown eyes, dark curls, fair skin. Her mother's tear-streaked face, the terror in both of their eyes.
The little girl could still be alive today if not for him. She might have married, had children. He'd killed her and snuffed out whatever future she might have had. She never even got a real taste of life.
She hadn't been a threat to anyone, but she was a witness. Hydra didn't like witnesses.
"You don't know what it's like," he barked at Steve, turning away from those eyes.
He leaned forward against the kitchen counter, staring across it into the sink. Focusing on it, trying to drive her face from his mind. It wasn't working.
"I know I don't," Steve said, his voice close. Bucky could feel the warmth of his body inches away.
"I can't—" He couldn't get the words out. His throat was tight, his lungs didn't seem to want to work.
"Bucky…." Steve's hand was on his shoulder suddenly.
The touch was stifling instead of comforting this time. He batted it away, stopped himself from swinging. "Leave me alone."
"Maybe I should, I don't know." Steve backed away. "I don't know what the doc would say, but I know what you would do, if our situations were reversed."
Steve grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. It felt like an assault. Bucky swung this time, but Steve blocked it. Bucky's arms shot forward, pushing against Steve's chest, sending him flying backward ten feet. He watched in horror as Steve landed on his back, surprise on his face.
Steve looked okay. Uninjured. Bucky's anger slipped a bit with relief.
"You want to hit me, go ahead," Steve said, picking himself up off the floor.
Jesus. The fight drained from Bucky. Steve wasn't going away. His knees felt weak. He gripped the edge of the counter, scrubbed his hand over his face and shaved skull, and clenched his eyes against the memories he wished he could forget—even though he didn't deserve to forget them, and his victims deserved better than to be forgotten.
"I can't function," Bucky barely got the words out, "with this in my head. I don't know how." It felt like a weight was on his chest.
Being the Winter Soldier was easier. Having his memory erased was easier. Not feeling was easier. And the fact that he'd just thought that scared the hell out of him.
"You don't have to function right now," Steve said. "There's nothing you need to do."
Bucky's knees buckled. Hands caught him. He felt Steve's palm around the back of his neck, firm.
"You didn't leave me alone when I asked, after my mother died," Steve's voice was so gentle, it was almost too much for him. "You didn't leave me alone when I was sick and almost died. You didn't even leave me alone after that fight with Billy behind the diner, when he beat the crap out of me, and I could barely pick myself back up. I told you I didn't need your help, but you stayed with me."
Bucky remembered that. The blood in the snow. The fury in Steve's eyes, then the shame as he looked up at him.
Bucky leaned forward, resting the top of his head against Steve's shoulder. "You had blood all over your jacket."
"You gave me yours."
"You tried to throw it back at me, but you fell."
"I had a concussion. You got me home."
Bucky remembered half-carrying Steve, slipping on ice a couple of times. "You refused to go to the clinic."
"I couldn't afford it."
And, just like that, the little girl's face vanished into the shadows of his mind, and Bucky could breathe again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Steve said, giving the back of Bucky's neck a quick squeeze. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought any of this up."
"It's there regardless." He pulled back, leaned against the cabinet, and uncurled his knees, splaying his legs to the side of Steve.
"I just know that the version of you needed someone," Steve said, "and I wasn't there for him. Every day I searched for you after the helicarriers, I told myself if I could find you sooner, we could help you sooner. You wouldn't have to do this alone, but I hope we're not making things worse."
"You're not. Hydra would've found me. They knew where I was going." Bucky sucked in a deep breath. The last several months on the run had taken their toll. He'd had too many close calls with Hydra. At least now he knew why.
"I know you're going to have a long, hard road ahead of you." Steve dropped back on his rear. "I hope you know you don't have to walk it alone. If you need to fall apart, fall apart. We can pick up the pieces. I just wish another fight wasn't coming."
"It always does." Bucky hated the sound of resignation in his voice.
Steve shifted closer. "If the end of the world comes, at least we'll face it together."
Author Note:
Thanks for reading and commenting. I have enjoyed diving deep into these characters and adored hearing your reactions to the chapters.
