Chapter 29: Going Home

Steve, Bucky, and Wanda carried their bags as they descended the jet ramp into the hangar. The air was humid, even with the vented ceiling fans. Tony, Pepper, Sam, and Natasha approached.

"Welcome home." Natasha greeted them with a warm smile and gave Steve a hug. "It's good to have you all back."

"It's good to be back." Steve replied, sucking in a slow, appreciative breath.

Bucky grinned at Steve, knowing the other man couldn't wait to get back to his exercise routine. Being confined to a room or lab for the past couple of months had given them both a serious case of cabin fever.

Stark looked at Bucky. "So, Pinocchio, I hear you're a real boy now."

Pepper slapped Tony on the arm, but Bucky seemed undisturbed by the comment.

"More like an old man." Bucky replied lightly.

"Well, old man, hope you can stay awake through dinner," Tony replied, spinning and leading the way to the main building.

"Congratulations, man." Sam moved alongside Bucky as they followed Tony. "You made it through. That brain's all yours now. Sure, it's got some years on it, and probably stalls a bit now and again, but you kicked Hydra off the title, so that's gotta feel good."

Bucky tried unsuccessfully to intimidate Sam with one of his infamous glares. "Couldn't make it as a standup comedian, huh? So, you took a government job."

Sam gave a half roll of his eyes. "Hey, so did you, man."

"I was drafted," Bucky stated matter-of-factly.

"Okay, man," Sam chuckled and gave Bucky a quick slap on the arm. "I'm just messing with you."

With an exasperated shake of his head, Bucky glanced back at Steve, who walked with a bounce in his step and a glint in his eye. Bucky couldn't help but smile. Finally, things were looking up. He felt real hope for the first time in…a long time.

They rode the elevator up and Tony led the way once the doors opened. "Heard you're okay with moving, so I took liberties." He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he walked and talked. "Your new room's ready."

"I could've moved my things," Bucky said, "but thank you."

"You took just about everything in that pack, Barnes," Tony said. "There's a guy who lives under the Manhattan Bridge with more stuff than you…Home, sweet home." Tony pushed open the door and gestured inside.

The first thing Bucky noticed as he followed Tony inside was the upper half of the exterior wall—It was a single glass panel about 20 feet long with a view of the trees. The second thing he noticed was the walls and carpet were dark gray, the bedspread black, and a large painting of a snowy black-and-white landscape hung over the bed's headboard.

Two small armchairs sat across from a modest flat screen television on one wall. A laptop sat on a simple, black desk. A white box was next to it.

"Oh good," Bucky said, giving Steve an amused glance, "and here I was worried it'd end up all colorful like your room."

Pepper walked in with a smile on her face. "You can change the décor to whatever you like, Bucky." She gave Tony a quick side eye. "This was all his doing. I'm not taking the blame for this."

"Dinner's in two hours," Tony said, clasping Bucky on the shoulder. "Sort of a welcome home, glad you're no longer a sleeper Hydra assassin celebration."

Pepper gave Bucky an apologetic glance. Finally, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda peeked their heads inside.

Sam grinned. "Tony nailed it, I'd say."

Natasha winked at Bucky. "We'll see you at dinner."

"But you should open the box before we leave," Tony pointed toward the desk.

"Okay?" With a skeptical tilt of his head, Bucky dropped his pack on the floor and lifted the lid on the white box. Inside was a square black jewelry box. A card sat on top.

"What is this?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone in the room as he picked up the card.

"Open it and find out." Tony bounced on the balls of his feet.

Bucky read the handwriting inside the card. 'Bucky, I've kept these since Mom passed away. I've cherished them. They made me feel close to you, and so proud of what you did for our country and the world. But they belong to you now, big brother. I love you. Your favorite sister, Becca."

He smiled at the 'favorite sister' remark. The three girls used to tease each other about who was who when it came to favorite siblings. He kept out of that fray.

Bucky set the card down and opened the black box. His jaw went slack. Inside were three medals—a purple heart with a bronze oak leaf cluster, a World War II Victory Medal, and a Distinguished Service Cross.

Steve draped an arm across Bucky's shoulder. "Welcome home, Buddy."

Bucky didn't trust his voice. He closed the lid, flashing a self-conscious smile at Steve, and set the box on the desk.

"If you two are going to get weepy, I'm leaving," Tony said. "Don't be late for dinner."

When others left, Bucky turned to Steve and said, "Your friends are really quite….terrible."

Steve's laugh filled the room. "Hey, you like some of them."

"Yes, the ones that are our friends."

"So, who are my friends?"

"Tony and Sam," Bucky replied, with a smirk.

Steve laughed again and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. They're growing on you."

"Like an itchy mole that needs to be removed, maybe." Bucky raised his arms. "Though Stark has his redeeming qualities."

"What about Sam? Come on, I know you two hit it off in the future."

Bucky bit down on a budding smile. He did like Sam, and he understood why Steve had taken to him so quickly, but he'd never admit that to the Falcon. "He's not afraid of me, and he doesn't walk on eggshells worrying about my feelings. He treats me like a normal guy. That feels good. I suppose he's okay. Smiles way too damn much for no reason, though."

Steve. "So did you."

Bucky sighed. "Yeah. A long time ago."

"Sam's a lot like you in many ways."

"Bite your damn tongue."

"Nope. Not taking it back. I just realized why I was drawn to him so quickly." Steve shook his head. "Let's see…loyal, outgoing, happy, confident yet humble, and willing to risk his life for a friend…sound like anyone I might have hung out with when I was younger?"

Bucky knew the words were meant as compliment, but they cut like a knife. "That guy you used to know…a lot happened to him. He might not be as much fun to hang out with, anymore."

"Doesn't matter." Steve gripped his friend's shoulder. "We're brothers, right? Nothing's ever gonna change that."

Bucky looked up with a shy smile. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Steve patted Bucky's chest. "And you're still you, at your core. You're still James Buchanan Barnes. Hydra tried to get rid of that guy, but they never could. He's a helluva lot stronger than them."

"When did you become such a mush?" Bucky scrunched his nose in mock disdain, then pulled Steve into a hug. His voice was husky and low when he spoke. "Thank you, man, for not giving up on me, even when I was pounding your face into a bloody mess."

"You'd do it for me."

-0- -0- -0-

The next day, it was back to business. Steve was in Tony's lab getting debriefed on the progress made toward defending the planet against another alien invasion.

"While you and the tinman were cooling your heels between tune-ups, Shuri and I were hard at work," Tony began. "We've come up with a preliminary idea. It's ambitious, but we can do it. Maybe."

Tony flicked his hands over a console, and a hologram of Earth sprang to life. "This is our planet—open, vulnerable." He swiped his fingers through it, and a network of satellites emerged. "This is Earth protected by a web of satellites capable of blanketing the planet in a force field like the one that currently protects Wakanda. Unfortunately, the only technology we know of that can generate such a force-field is vibranium-based."

The scale of that endeavor seemed impossible. Steve shook his head as he studied the display. "How many satellites? And does Wakanda have enough vibranium for that?"

"42,000." Stark dropped onto a nearby stool and spun absently. "That's the catch, we're not sure. The King's not willing to risk depleting Wakanda's vibranium resources."

"Well, that sounds like a problem."

"And people say you're not the brightest crayon in the box." Tony tilted his head. "Yeah, it's a problem, but luckily, there are some very smart people working on this. We've come up with a solution, in part thanks to technology Danvers says she can deliver that will help us stretch the range and enhance the responsiveness of these satellites. With only 10,000 satellites, we can likely hold off an alien ship long enough to deploy our countermeasure."

"What countermeasure?"

"We've been doing some digging, and it turns out SHIELD had a guy named Henry Pym." Tony spoke quickly, as though his tongue couldn't keep up with his brain. "Pym discovered subatomic particles, but kept their exact nature a secret, even from SHIELD. While you were gone, we had a visitor."

"I take it an unusual visitor?" Steve tried to remain patient, but he wanted to tell Stark to get to the point.

"A tiny visitor," Stark said. "He ran up against Wilson and stole a signal decoy that had been sitting in a box for decades. Sam doesn't want you to know about that, so you didn't hear it from me. We tracked who was behind the theft and figured anyone with such fantastic abilities might come in handy."

Steve was out of patience. "Tony, please get to the point. I'm 97 years old and not getting any younger."

"Jeez, you know how to ruin a good story," Tony huffed, but despite his almost manic demeanor, there was a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "Fine. Long story short, it's possible to shrink matter and send it into the quantum realm, so if an alien spaceship shows up, all we have to do is keep them knocking on the door long enough to shrink them, or possibly even send them to the quantum realm forever."

That's what I get for telling him to get to the point. Steve tried to look like he understood whatever the hell Tony had just said, but all he came away with was some hair-brained scheme to shrink an alien spaceship.

"Oh, for crying out loud." Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, Cap, look, there's this place no one really understands. It's not even really a place. It's sort of a universe that exists in the tiny spaces between the parts of atoms. In our universe, all matter is made of atoms. An atom is made of subatomic particles like electrons, protons, and neutrons. The quantum realm exists on the subatomic level—think things much smaller than those particles. Henry Pym figured out a way to shrink things small enough to send them to this realm. We don't even have to go that far. All we have to do is shrink the alien armada to a manageable size and then—" he clapped his hands, "—smoosh! I've reached out to Pym, but he's rather…difficult to deal with. Sam tracked down his associate, though. Guy named Scott Lang. Fury's working things on his end, and I'm sure Henry Pym will come around. Fury can be very persuasive. He recruited me, after all. Speaking of recruits, where are we at on Barnes?"

"He's already said he'll help us fight the aliens."

"I mean before that. We're down a Hulk. Thor's off somewhere, and we have no way to contact him. Clint's flirting with retirement."

"On the other hand, we've now got Vision and Wanda," Steve countered, "not to mention Danvers."

"Danvers," Tony shrugged. "Yeah, if she holds up her end, but she's not going to be with us for the day-to-day stuff. She's gonna be how we deploy the Pym particles. She's also our backup plan—pure muscle if the Pym thing goes wrong."

"Bucky's not ready. It's got to be his choice. No pressure. He's not even officially alive, yet."

"We could figure out a suitable disguise. Make him a mask or helmet."

"He's still working through issues."

Tony took a deep breath, and his face grew serious. "We've all got issues we're working through."

Steve met Tony's gaze. "Bucky more than most. He was the Winter Soldier for 70 years. He's worried if he's put in the field around civilians, he'll…hurt the wrong person."

"The code is out of his head."

"The combat conditioning and 70 years of muscle memory aren't."

And post-traumatic stress, as Shuri had reminded them. Steve worried that pressuring Bucky into a combat role would pile more trauma onto old wounds that hadn't had a chance to heal.

"So, we give him some training wheels, start him off slow and easy."

"Drop it, Tony. I'll talk to him about training, but joining the Avengers has to be his choice. Hydra took all his choices. They used him to further their agenda, and they didn't care what they did to him in the process."

Stark grimaced. "Message received."

-0- -0- -0-

Training. No pressure. Just sparring.

That was the proposition Steve and Tony presented—friendly war games to test and develop his ability to exercise restraint in the heat of battle.

Bucky stood in the center of the large training room, surrounded by the Avengers. Stark was fully suited up. Natasha wore her usual black leather. Sam was in his Falcon getup. Vision was….Vision. Wanda was observing from a window high above—part of her training.

And Steve was in his red-white-and-blues, shield at ready.

Bucky flashed to when Hydra stuck him in a cage with five supersoldiers. He was outnumbered and under scrutiny. Even though he was surrounded by friends, a weight settled into his gut and an uncomfortable heat snaked from the base of his skull into his cheeks. Hydra tested him like this—surrounding him with opponents, timing his responses, giving him an almost impossible goal, using whips or stun batons as distractions, punishing him for any slip in focus.

The people around him now weren't Hydra, he reminded himself. They didn't have stun batons. They were trying to help, not hurt him. He had to move forward and leave the past behind. He wouldn't let Hydra continue to control him.

Bucky cleared his throat and managed a nervous grimace. "Is this training or payback?"

Steve smiled. "Now, would I let them do that?"

'Let' wasn't the right word, Bucky mused, glancing at the imposing Iron Man suit facing him.

No one ever let Stark do anything. He just did it. He was annoying that way, and even though Stark seemed to hold no ill will over his parents' murder, Bucky wouldn't put it past him to seek a little revenge.

Tony's helmet retracted, revealing red-rimmed eyes and an irritated scowl. "Look, Vision's your target. You can't hurt him. We'll try to stop you. Get through us and do so with minimum necessary force. No one's going to get hurt, even if your Mr. Hyde comes out. This is your chance to practice restraint."

"Fine." Bucky was sporting a small arsenal, four guns, three knives, and two grenades.

The Skorpion machine pistol was nestled between his shoulders. The Sig Saur was at his hip. The rest of the weapons were secured in various pockets. Except for the mask and hair, it felt too much like the Winter Soldier for comfort.

At least the knives were dulled, and the guns were modified to shoot lasers instead of bullets.

"Sink or swim, buddy." Tony's helmet snapped back into place, and he fired his flight thrusters.

Bucky twisted away from Iron Man and grabbed a metal leg, swinging Stark into the floor and launching himself onto the suit's back. He wrapped his legs around the waist and his hands around the helmet, using all his might trying to detach it.

Stark flew backward, slamming Bucky into the wall. The room dimmed for a moment, and he saw shadowy figures rushing toward him. The primal part of his mind screamed danger. Instinct and training took over.

Bucky deployed a grenade, sending it into the center of the group. They scattered a moment before it detonated. He saw his target and grabbed the machine pistol. He fired two shots before a muscular arm wrapped around his neck and another one crushed the barrel of his gun.

Failure was not an option. He was being measured, observed, tested. Failure meant pain, reconditioning.

Bucky reached back, grabbed the thick material of the man's uniform, and sent the blue-clad attacker sailing up and over. More assailants surrounded him, and like every combat evaluation before, instinct and conditioning took over. The blows that landed caused pain, but he was conditioned to ignore such distractions to avoid greater pain.

His metal fist struck metal, sending the red-and-gold machine into a wall. A shoe scraped softly on the floor behind him. He retrieved the smaller sig and fired over his shoulder.

"Romanoff eliminated," FRIDAY'S cheerful voice announced.

The interruption brought him back to himself. He stared at the gun in his hand. Grabbing it had been automatic. He fired without even checking to see who he'd be killing. If he'd been in the field, his victim could have been a civilian. A mother. A father.

A child.

Iron Man slammed into him, pinning him against the wall. Bucky went limp, his feet dangling.

"Giving up already because of one hiccup, Barnes?" Tony's voice asked.

"Let me go, please."

Tony's helmet slipped away, revealing dark, angry eyes. "The clock's ticking. Two and a half years. That's how much time we have before they come. Either you're fighting with us, or hiding in a room, but I thought you'd want a chance to save more lives than you've taken."

The words stung. Life wasn't a commodity to be bartered. Lives were unique, irreplaceable universes contained within a fragile shell.

He could save a million lives, but it would never make up for the ones he'd ended.

Bucky brought his arms inside Tony's and swung outward, breaking the mechanical hold. He dropped the short distance to the floor, but Tony grabbed him, his hold firmer this time.

"Tony, let him go," Steve commanded.

"Fuck off, Cap." Tony kept his eyes on Bucky. "I saw the alien ship up close and personal. I lived a vision of what could happen…what's going to happen unless we stop it."

There was something wild in Tony's eyes that Bucky recognized—a kaleidoscope of fear, desperation, and horror that comes from knowing more than the mind can bear.

And exhaustion.

Bucky really looked at Tony. He saw the lines of fatigue in the man's face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. How hard had Tony been pushing himself during the past months, knowing what was coming, and that, in the other timeline, he hadn't survived?

Steve slammed into Tony, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Enough, Tony!" Steve slipped his cap off, his legs braced for battle.

"I said fuck off." Tony raised his hand, his palm glowed.

"Okay!" Bucky leapt between the two men and faced Stark. "Okay," he said again gently, his hands in the air. "We'll stop them. I've seen you and Shuri work miracles and Steve beat insurmountable odds. I owe a debt—to you and your parents."

Tony's eyes shimmered, and he lowered his hand.

Bucky took a step closer to Tony, his gaze steady. He needed Stark to know he meant every word. "You just tell us what we need to do and where to be. No matter what happens this time around, one thing will be different—me. I intend to repay my debt to Howard and Maria by making sure their son survives the end of the world."

Tony scrubbed a trembling hand over his face. "Goddamnit, Barnes…"

"When's the last time you slept, Tony?" Steve asked.

"Sometime earlier this week." Stark's metal-clad fingers rubbed at his temples. "Maybe I've burned the candle a bit."

"Go home, wherever the hell that is," Bucky said. "Get some sleep."

"Don't show your face around here for at least two days," Steve added. "Or I'll call Pepper personally."

Tony sighed and managed a smile. "Ganging up on me?"

Steve walked up to Tony and placed a hand on the metal shoulder. "Go home, Tony. When Thanos comes, we'll face him together. Until then, we watch out for each other and take care of ourselves. That means you sleep, eat, and take a couple of days off occasionally."

"I'm glad you're finally listening," Natasha said, glancing at Steve. "I've been trying to get him to take it easy for weeks."

Tony glared at her. "You're dead, and dead people don't talk." Then he sighed and nodded. "Okay. I'll go rest. I'm not sure sleep is in the cards, though."

"Dr. Abodon is available to see you now," FRIDAY announced.

Stark gave an exasperated glance at the ceiling. "Great, even my AI is a pest. I can scrap you and start over any day!"

"Tony," Steve cocked his head and gave a warning look.

Stark held up his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm going." He shuffled past them, giving Bucky a quick slap on the arm as he passed, then left.

"Hey, man." Sam walked up to Bucky, nodding approvingly. "What you said was surprisingly insightful."

"Yeah, insight," Bucky nodded. "Thanks." He understood what helplessness felt like—to know horrible things were coming, and there was nothing you could do stop it. To have images in your head you couldn't forget, even in your sleep.

-0- -0- -0-

A month went by, and Bucky settled into a routine that involved reading, cooking, sessions with Dr. Abodon, movie nights, Avengers training exercises, and workouts with Steve in the gym.

The activation sequence was plucked from his head, but decades of combat conditioning were still there. The training exercises helped. He was becoming more comfortable in his skin, learning to take on multiple assailants in unpredictable environments and keep the Soldier in check. When the battle with Thanos came, he'd be ready.

That was two and a half years in the future, and he still had no idea what he was supposed to do in the meantime. He couldn't stand the idea of hanging around useless, but he didn't have a legal identity. The only people that knew he was alive were the Avengers and associates, the Wakandans, the Proctor family, and whatever remained of Hydra.

He sat at his desk staring at photos James had emailed—family photos of a Fourth of July barbecue, fireworks, sparklers, and Becca surrounded by her children and grandchildren.

James also extended an invitation for Thanksgiving. Now that Bucky was free of the Winter Soldier code, the only thing keeping Bucky from spending time with his sister and getting to know her family was the fact that he was still legally a dead man.

Bucky responded that he wasn't sure he'd be able to make it, but he hoped things worked out so he could. He never learned how to type well. The only time he had to use a typewriter was in the army, and then only occasionally. Most of the army forms were designed to be filled in by hand.

He was hunting and pecking at the keyboard when a knock on his door pulled his attention to the clock in the bottom right of the screen. The hours had gotten away from him. It was time for movie and pizza in the lounge.

"Come in." Bucky saved the email, shut down the computer, and stood, stretching the kinks out of his shoulders as the door opened.

"Hey, Buck, the pizza's here." Steve leaned against the doorjamb.

"Good, I'm starving."

They walked in silence until Steve said, "Something's on your mind."

It wasn't phrased as a question and Bucky didn't bother evading. It was time to talk about it. "What am I supposed with my time?"

"What do you want to do?" Steve asked.

He sighed. That was the question. "I can't get a job, not a legal one, anyway. I don't exist on paper. I can't hang out here for two years being kept by Stark—fed, watered, the whole thing. I had 70 years of that, though Hydra was a lot less nice about it. Frankly, I need my own money, man. I need a purpose. I gotta figure this thing out, either get a new identity so I can try to make a life or get mine back and hopefully not end up spending the rest of my life in prison."

Steve stopped and turned toward him. "I understand how you feel, but we're gonna have the fight of our lives in a couple of years. There's more than enough space here for you. Rooms are still sitting empty. You're not a burden on anyone, Buck. You're a member of the team. After we save the world, we can figure things out. One thing at a time, though. Let's focus on Thanos."

Bucky sighed. He needed to make Steve understand. "I'm not an Avenger. All I've been doing for 80 years is fighting. I'd like to spend time with my sister before the next fight gets here. She might not have two years. I'll be with you all the way when Thanos comes. I just…" He realized he was rambling and paused, struggling to find the right words. "I feel useless, like there's no place in the world for me other than in a fight."

"Hey," Steve's warm palm wrapped around the back of his neck., "I've known you your entire life, Buck. You've never been useless, and you're not now. I'll talk to Stark. There's gotta be something we can figure out."

He took a quick breath. "Okay."

Options were limited, Bucky knew, but he couldn't remain a non-person forever. Hydra had stolen precious decades from him. He had a sliver of time left with Becca, and he wanted to get to know the woman she'd become before that chance was stolen from him, too.

They were the last to reach the lounge. The day was fading, the room was dim, and the television was already paused on the opening credits of the night's movie. It was Stark's turn, and he chose a 1962 movie called the Manchurian Candidate about a guy captured during the Korean War and brainwashed by the Chinese.

Stark was being an asshole.

Six large pizza boxes were scattered around the counters of the kitchen. Bucky and Steve grabbed their food and beers and found open spots in the seating area.

The movie was passable. The opening scene was disturbing, and when the soldier calmly strangled his friend as part of a demonstration, it took a monumental effort for Bucky not to glance at Steve. The few fight scenes were laughable. The assassinations of presidential candidates hit too close to home, but Bucky refused to give Stark the satisfaction of a reaction.

He wasn't sure why Stark was being a jerk. Maybe he didn't like being called out for his sleep deprived tantrum, or maybe this was hazing meant to bring him into the fold. Whatever the case, Bucky figured he could indulge the man's antics for a while.

The movie ended, it was still early, so the group picked another one—a World War II movie called Dunkirk, as if he wanted reminders of World War II. Bucky supposed it might be interesting to see how modern filmmakers portrayed that era, but he was fading, despite the early hour. The pizza and beer sat heavy in his gut, and nightmares still interrupted his sleep. Mercifully, though, the sleep hallucinations had vanished along with the program in his head.

He slipped into a light sleep, vaguely aware of the sounds of the movie, reality bleeding into dream. His twilight mind distantly registered the beer being pulled gently from his loose grip and Steve's low voice.

Heavy fire and explosions catapulted him to action. His body slammed into something that gave way with a crunch and a snap before the floor stopped his descent. For a dizzying moment, he had no idea where he was—base camp or a battlefield, and he opened his eyes to search for Steve and the Howlies.

He saw feet, a smooth dark floor. Broken glass. Fizzing liquid. The smell of beer. The gunshots and explosions stopped suddenly.

"Hey Sarge, if you didn't like the table, you could've just said something."

It took his brain a second to identify the voice. Stark.

Shit. Realization came with a flush of heat in his face.

"Tony…" Steve's voice, a berating tone. "Hey, Bucky, sorry about that. Maybe not the best movie choice."

Bucky looked up to see a cluster of faces around him—Steve, Sam, Tony, Natasha, Wanda, and Vision. He was on the floor, remnants of the shattered coffee table beneath and around him. His chin hurt.

Sam knelt in front of him, a gentle smile on his face, concern in his eyes. "Those are quite the reflexes you have."

Pushing himself over, Bucky sat up and leaned against the couch, bringing a hand to his chin. His fingers came away with blood.

"Coffee table fought back," Sam said.

Steve dropped next to him. "You okay?"

Okay? Sure. Shell shocked. That's what they called it in his day. Dr. Abodon and Shuri had given it a new name and told him all about it. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

It was funny. After seventy years of Hydra conditioning and two months being deprogrammed by Shuri, his World War II battlefield reflexes were still kicking. Even though he was shaking inside, he laughed.

"What's so damn funny about destroying my coffee table?" Stark asked.

With a deep breath and an act of will, Bucky managed to put a lid on what he figured came off as bat-shit crazy laughter. "It's nice to be just regular messed-up for a change."

"You mean like a garden-variety combat veteran?" Sam asked, holding his hand out.

Bucky took the offering and let Sam help him up. "Yeah, something like that."

Steve stood and pointed to the paused image of men on a beach amidst battle chaos on the screen. "World War II may have been 70 years ago for the world, but not for you and me. You don't hit the deck—awake or asleep—when taking fire, you're dead."

"Yeah, well," he wiped his bloodied fingers on his torn Henley and grimaced, "I think this shirt is beyond saving. I'm gonna get cleaned up and call it a night."

As he headed toward the doorway, Stark called after him. "Hey, Sergeant Decker, you're not gonna help clean up this mess?"

Bucky threw a V-sign in the air, which Stark could take either as a symbol of peace or a Fuck You.

-0- -0- -0-

The next morning, Bucky was cooking eggs and pancakes for Natasha, Steve, and Wanda when FRIDAY announced, in an unusually urgent tone, "Incoming message from Maria Hill."

A screen on the far wall sprang to life with Hill's stoic face. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but we have a situation. Three days ago, an unidentified group with Chitauri weapons broke into a lab in Karamay, China and stole several vials of an unknown biological hazard. The Chinese government isn't saying what it was, but three members of the criminal group have just been spotted in Philadelphia. We have information that they're targeting large metropolitan areas in the United States. They've been located at an abandoned building five miles away from the Belmont Water Treatment Plant. Further information is being sent via encrypted message to your cell phone, Cap. Stark has been notified and is enroute."

Steve shot out of his chair. "See if Wilson's available to meet us."

Bucky shut off the stove and turned around. Steve was eyeing him.

"Is Barnes part of the operation?" Hill asked.

"No time to debate this one, Bucky," Steve said. "Yes or no?"

He had made significant progress in re-learning combat techniques in a civilian-heavy environment, but a gym and the field were very different situations. He wasn't even legally alive, so he couldn't be seen in public, but he was used to having Steve's back.

If anything happened to Steve and he'd sat this one out, he'd never forgive himself. "I'm in…I'll offer support from the jet since I'm not supposed to be alive. I assume we're taking the Quinjet?"

He'd rather be in the field to keep an eye on Steve's back, but he knew the others were capable, and they'd been a team before he came into their dynamic. At least from the jet, he'd be able to listen in on the operation and render logistical assistance. If necessary, he'd be there to join the fight.

Steve nodded. "Time is of the essence."

Natasha was already heading to the door. "I'll grab a photostatic veil, just in case."

-0- -0- -0-

The abandoned building ended up being close to a residential area and a park. That made the operation trickier. They set the Quinjet down on an unoccupied soccer field, shielded from casual viewers by a cluster of trees.

It was early, so the park was sparsely populated. Vision carried Wanda and Natasha. Tony was scoping out the warehouse, reporting five heat signatures on the ground floor and indications of a subterranean level.

"No telling how many below," Stark's voice declared over the comm.

Sam picked up Rogers, and within minutes, the team was in position.

Bucky listened to their plan of action. Vision would go in first, as usual, using his ghost-like talents to move through walls and surprise the hell out of bad guys. Steve and the others would be the second wave, providing distraction while Stark located and retrieved the stolen biohazard materials.

"Topside secure," he heard Steve announce.

Bucky kept one ear on the action and his eyes on the park. A couple of civilians were in the distance—a man with an overly exuberant Bull Terrier and a woman pushing a stroller as she kept tabs on an energetic toddler.

"Lower level secure." Stark's voice. "No sign of the goodie bag, yet."

Bucky spotted a disturbance 100 feet away. A group of three men, dressed in casual clothes and baseball caps, emerged from a manhole in the middle of the street. One of them carried a black case. They looked around anxiously then headed for the park.

"Three possible targets heading my way," he told the group. "All male, baseball caps. Two wearing black shirts, third in gray. Gray guy is carrying a hard, black case."

"On our way," Steve said.

The three were already in the park. At the sound of Iron Man's thrusters, they broke into a run. The gray-clad man whipped out a gun, his eyes scanning the sky, and continued running, the case swinging wildly from his other hand.

"Oh, hell," Bucky muttered.

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asked.

"Civilians." The gunman was heading straight for the toddler.

The mother screamed as the man barreled over the child. He somersaulted onto the ground. The gun and case flew from his hands. He recovered quickly, grabbing the gun and pointing it wildly at the little girl when the mother slammed into him.

"Shit." Bucky was out of the jet, activating his photostatic shield. He heard Stark above, taking fire from the other two assailants.

Bucky closed the distance in seconds just as the guy punched the woman. She crumpled limply to the grass. The case lay open on the ground, revealing three vials of pink liquid were nestled in black Styrofoam. One empty slot remained.

He didn't have time to ponder the situation further when the gray-shirted guy raised his gun. Bucky's metal hand blocked the bullet. From the corner of his eye, he saw another man lunge for the toddler, hoping for an easy hostage.

He intercepted, grabbing the child and clutching her against his chest with his right hand, keeping the metal one at ready.

Stark swooped down, taking out the two black-clad assailants. The third man fired three wild shots as Stark lunged for the case. Stark knocked him down with a repulsor blast.

The distant roar of helicopter blades rose in the air. Bucky scanned the sky, spotting a news helicopter a mile away. The girl clung to him, her right hand around his neck and the little fingers of her left hand grabbing his ear. Her mother lay on the ground, unmoving. The stroller was a few feet away, its occupant quiet.

Stark dropped to the ground and retracted his helmet. "EMTs are on the way." He knelt next to the mother. "Heartbeat and respiration stable."

Sam descended, depositing Steve. He walked up to them, retracting his wings, and gave the little girl a bright smile. She buried her face in the crook of Bucky's neck.

"Vision and the others are coordinating with the locals to process the others." Steve jerked his chin toward the girl. "Looks like you have a fan. How is she?"

"She's fine."

Steve looked down at the unconscious woman. "Her mother?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I assume. Stark says she'll be okay."

Sam was making cooing noises at the lifeform nestled inside the stroller. The only thing Bucky could make out was a thin blue blanket.

Tony packed up the case while Steve and Sam secured the three assailants with zip ties.

"There's an empty slot in the case. A vial might be missing," Bucky told him.

"I see that." Stark's helmet snapped back into place as he scanned the ground.

"Where's your veil?" Steve asked.

Shit. Bucky felt at his right ear, but the veil wasn't there. The little girl must have taken it off. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, and he turned his back to Steve. "Does she have it?"

"Nope."

"Must be in the grass." Bucky saw movement from the tree line. "We have a spectator." The jogger with the dog held his cellphone in front of him.

Perfect. He took an anxious breath. The man was fifty feet away, and Bucky wasn't sure how clear the image would be at that distance. He turned away from the camera.

"I'll go make nice," Sam said, eyeing the muscular dog skeptically. "Wish I had some dog biscuits." He casually walked toward the man and his butt-waggling canine.

"Watch out," Bucky teased. "Dogs like to chase birds."

"You're hilarious, man," Sam shot back.

Police and EMTs arrived, along with two news vans just as Stark held up a vial. "Found it!"

"Careful with that, Tony," Steve warned.

Bucky held the girl and eyed the distant Quinjet anxiously. He needed to get back to the craft and stay out of the way of police and news reporters.

"Steve," he whispered, hoping his comm piece picked up his voice. "I need to get out of here."

"Understood."

One of the EMTs walked up to him, eyeing his metal hand briefly, then reached out to take the little girl from his arms. The child held on to his neck with a strength he wouldn't have thought possible. As the woman pulled, the little girl screamed.

Steve trotted up, flashing a bright smile at the woman and drawing her attention. "We'll get the little girl to the ambulance. Can you assist her mother?"

She eyed the woman, who was already being attended to by two medics. "I'm not sure I'm needed."

"I think the little girl just needs some space," he added amicably.

The woman nodded. "Okay, I'll give you a couple of minutes."

At the ambulance, Bucky worked on slowly extricating the toddler from his neck without causing her too much trauma, but she was having none of it…not until her mother arrived, unsteady on her feet, her bottom lip split open. The little girl swung around and flung herself at her mother.

Bucky saw one of the EMTs pushing the stroller toward the ambulance. Since everything was wrapping up, he decided to make his exit as quickly and quietly as possible.

He glanced at Steve. "I'm out of here."

"Go on."

Chaos erupted in a blast of blue energy that took out two police cars. One of the beams hit Stark as he reached for the open lid of the case, but he managed to activate his helmet and twist out of the way, catching the edge of the blast. He launched into the air.

Bucky visually traced the source of the blast from the tree line, but Stark was already on it, flying in that direction.

"I see him," Stark's voice said. "Sam—could use an assist."

"On my way," Sam said.

Bucky ran for the case. A beam sliced through the air toward him. He dove to the right, falling on top of the case. His hands tingled as he grabbed at it. A glance inside showed four vials. Another blast rang out as he shut the lid and rolled, breaking into a run toward the Quinjet. Stark and Sam fired into the tree line.

"Got him," Stark announced. "One Chitauri-armed asshole down."

"Bucky?" Steve's voice was in his ear.

"I'm okay."

He made it a few more steps when his chest grew tight, his legs stopped working, and his vision dimmed.

-0- -0- -0-

An annoying beeping rang in his right ear. His right hand was on fire, sending streaks of agony up his arm to the elbow. His mouth was dry, tasting of metal and charcoal. His throat hurt.

And he was cold. So cold.

He opened his eyes to see panels of fluorescent lights. An IV bag hung to his right. Something was in his throat. He reached up with his aching right arm. His fingers grabbed a plastic tube, and he pulled it out. It left a trail of pain in its wake.

"Bucky, thank God you're awake." Steve's face slid into view, eyes heavy with fatigue. "Take it easy. You're in a hospital in Philadelphia."

Why was he so cold?

Steve tilted away, coming back with a white blanket in his hands. Its weight descended on Bucky, and blessedly warm hands tucked it around him.

"Your body isn't regulating temperature properly," Steve said. "Let me know if you get too warm."

Bucky's gaze darted around the room. White walls. An open door leading to a small bathroom. A machine with his vitals. The IV stand, a tube leading to his throbbing right hand.

Two nurses rushed in.

"We have an unplanned extubation," he heard one of them say, a male voice.

They were at the bed, crowding him, touching him, shining a light in his eye and sending shards of pain into his skull.

"Stop," he croaked. They were too close. His heart pounded. He was breathing heavily, quickly, as the room spun and reality blurred with harrowing memories.

The pain in his right hand was maddening. He grabbed the line and yanked it out. Pain flared briefly then faded to blessed relief.

"Mr. Barnes, please stop fighting us," a woman's voice. "You're in-"

"Back up, please." Steve's voice. "Give him space."

"Captain Rogers—"

"Now."

The figures retreated. Bucky's head felt like a bag of cement as he lifted it, desperate to lock eyes with the source of the voice he knew better than his own.

Steve leaned over him, smiling weakly, his eyes rimmed with red. "You're okay. You gave us a scare."

Bucky eyed the two nurses who were now near the doorway. A white-clad figure appeared.

Steve held a hand up. "A moment, Doctor, please."

The doctor nodded, whispered something to the nurses, and then walked out of sight.

Bucky dropped his head back to the pillow and worked on calming his pounding heart. "Wh'happened?"

Steve filled a cup with water from a pitcher on a nearby cart and handed it to Bucky, then said, "One of the vials was cracked. It contained an experimental neurotoxin."

The cool water was like heaven to Bucky's parched mouth. It hurt to swallow, but it soothed his aching throat.

"You were exposed to four times the lethal dose...lethal for a normal human, anyway," Steve continued. "You've been unconscious for almost twelve hours, but you're going to be okay. The medical team needed to keep your lungs working and electrolytes in your system until your body metabolized the toxin."

A sickening realization settled in his gut, and he set the empty cup on the cart. "They called me Barnes."

Steve grimaced. "Uh, yeah. Don't worry about that right now. It's gonna be okay."

He should never have gone on the mission. "Who knows?"

"Don't worry about that," Steve repeated.

"Who knows?" he asked again, forcing strength into his voice and meeting Steve's anxious eyes.

Steve sighed. "Everyone. It's, uh, been on the news."

Bucky closed his eyes. He felt shaky inside, sick to his stomach.

He swallowed hard, willed his stomach into submission, and took a deep breath. "Does she know?"

The look on Steve's face made it clear he understood the question. Everything around them was different than the era that had forged them, but one thing remained the same—they knew each other, sometimes better than they knew themselves.

"Not…yet," Steve replied quietly.

Bucky closed his eyes. "I need to talk to Becca." He had to find a way to tell her about the Winter Soldier before she saw it on the news…

It was inevitable. The world would find out what he'd become.

"She's called once, actually, when she saw the news declaring you officially undead," Steve leaned forward and whispered, "She'll understand."

When he felt confident enough to speak without spewing the acid churning in his stomach, he asked, "What's gonna happen?"

"We're handling it, Bucky. You're a hero. You saved the woman and her child. The rest doesn't matter. Stark has the legal and PR teams on it."

"Where's my phone?"

"You want to call her right now?" Steve asked.

"I can't' risk her seeing something on the television. It's only a matter of time. You know—"

"Sergeant Barnes," a female voice interrupted, and Bucky looked in the doorway to see the remaining nurse eyeing him. "You pulled out your breathing tube and IV line. I really need to check on you."

"Come back in ten, please," Bucky told her.

She glanced at someone in the hallway, then looked at him and nodded. "I'll be back soon. Hit the call button if you need something before then."

Steve's phone beeped, and he retrieved it from his pocket, then looked at the screen. His face grew a shade paler, and when he looked up, Bucky knew instantly.

"It's too late, isn't it?"

Steve's eyes shimmered with apology. "Footage from the bridge incident, after your mask came off. One from a shaky cell phone, another from a security camera."

That was it then. Bucky knew it would come to this eventually. "Can I use your phone to call her?"

Steve nodded, clicking on her contact, then handing the phone to Bucky. He listened to it ring.

"Steve?" Becca inquired. "How's Bucky?"

"It's me, Becca. I'm using Steve's phone."

"Bucky, thank God. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Becca, I need to tell you something." He didn't know how to start the conversation. There was no way to soften the blow. He'd be lucky if she wanted to anything to do with him after she learned the truth.

"You can tell me anything, Bucky," she said.

"What have you seen on the news about me?"

"I saw that you saved the woman and her daughter in the park. The world knows you're alive now and that you're working with the Avengers. You're a hero. You can come and visit me anytime now, right? You don't have to hide."

He cleared his throat, meeting Steve's concerned gaze. "I need to tell you what happened to me. You're gonna find out. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to think of me that way."

"I know they did things to you, Bucky. You told me they made you do bad things."

He took a breath. He just had to come out and say it, but his throat was tight, and his mouth dry. He forced the words out.

"After I was captured, they…did things to me. Turned me into an assassin. They wiped my memory and took control of my mind. They made me kill a lot of people….good people. I almost killed Steve. I've done terrible things, Becca. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be arrested. I may not be able to see you again." He felt a hot sting in his eyes, and his vision blurred. "I'm sorry."

There was silence on the line for several seconds, then Becca's shaky voice, laced with tears, said, "Bucky…whatever you did….whatever they made you do, I know you. You're my brother. You're a good person, and I love you. I don't care what you've done. I can't lose you, not after I just got you back. Do you have a lawyer? Is there anything I can do?"

He didn't expect her reaction. He thought she'd want to know more. How many people had he killed? Why hadn't he told her earlier? Was he still a killer?

Instead, she gave him absolution and acceptance. It broke his tenuous control and a strangled sound tore from his throat. "Becca…" it came out incomprehensible. He handed the phone to Steve and scrubbed quickly at his face.

Steve put the phone to his ear. "Bucky's having a hard time right now, Becca. Can he call you back?"

Bucky heard her tiny voice filter from the phone's speaker. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be okay. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of that."

"I'll book a flight. I can be there tomorrow."

Bucky shook his head vigorously. There was no way he wanted her anywhere near whatever hellfire was about to rain down on him.

"That's not a good idea right now, Becca."

"What if they arrest him and I can't see him again?"

"I'm Captain America. I have some pull, Becca. Stark's got the best legal team on this. Whatever happens, I'll make sure you see him again."

Even through tears, Bucky could see the flicker of doubt on Steve's face. He hoped the words didn't end up being a lie.

Steve ended the call, but his thumbs flew over the screen. He was texting someone. After a few seconds, he looked up. "How are you feeling?"

"I can get mobile, if need be." He felt weak and shaky inside, but if he needed to get dressed and start moving, he'd do it. "Where are my clothes?"

"Not yet. We need the doctor to check you out."

"There's nothing more they can do for me that we can't manage on our own," Bucky said, then he was fiddling with the bed rail until he finally figured out how to get it down.

He swung his bare legs over the side, and for a moment, the room spun. He gripped the edge of the mattress. The hospital gown came to his knees, and his back felt drafty, causing him to shiver against the renewed chill. He felt something tug at his penis.

Great. There was another tube he needed to remove. He clenched his jaw and pulled it out, then breathed through gritted teeth. "My clothes?"

Steve winced in sympathy, then grabbed a duffel bag from the chair and retrieved a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

He dressed quickly, almost toppling when he tried to put on his jeans. Steve's hand on his shoulder steadied him. He sank onto the sole chair in the room to slip on his shoes and socks.

Steve grabbed the duffel bag and gave him an approving nod. "You ready to get the hell out of here?"

"The sooner the better."

Bucky pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt like cooked noodles. He swayed. Steve grabbed his arm and slung it over his shoulders.

"Nat's creating a diversion, but we still need to get past the nurse's station. I'll get you to the doorway. The stairwell is ten feet to the right down the hall. Vision will meet you on the roof. Can you make it while I distract the two at the nurse's station?"

"Get me there. I'll make it."

Once in the doorway, Bucky pushed away from Steve, giving him a curt nod. He watched as Steve walked to the nurse's station and, when their attention was diverted, he staggered against the wall until he made it to the stairwell door.

Inside he used the rail to pull himself up. He was out of breath after the second flight. The stairwell felt like a furnace, but despite how hot he felt, he wasn't sweating. He should be sweating. His clothes scratched like sandpaper against is skin. Whatever he ingested, it was powerful, and its effects were lingering. From what he'd learned, he was lucky to be alive.

Lucky. He almost laughed at the absurdity of that thought. He had the luck of a cursed man.

He reached the door to the roof and pushed, but it was locked. He braced himself against the side wall and punched with his left. The door gave, and heat of the August night slammed into him.

"Sergeant Barnes," the polite British voice greeted as Vision descended, his cape flowing behind him. "I'm your ride."

Bucky eyed him skeptically. "Look, if you're going to be carrying me bridal—"

He didn't get to finish. Vision wrapped a strong arm around him and lifted into the air at a dizzying speed. As the building careened away, he saw a throng of reporters and news vans in front of the hospital and wondered if he threw up, how many poor bastards would end up sprayed below—and that would ultimately draw attention to their escape. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours.

A few miles away, Vision dropped them in front of a Quinjet. The ramp was already open, and the android put a steadying hand on his arm to help him up. Natasha greeted them, instantly guiding him to the bench seat near the wall. The inside of the jet was cooler than the night air, giving him a few moments of relief, until it was suddenly too cold again, and he found himself shivering.

"Here." She placed a warm mug against his palm. "Soup. You need calories to fuel your super soldier healing."

He took a tentative sip of the soup. It was creamy, slightly tangy, and pleasantly warm. He downed it in seconds, feeling the soothing liquid snake down his esophagus into his empty stomach.

"Thanks." He set the mug down and leaned against the wall. "Where's Steve?"

"He made it past the reporters and is meeting up with Tony and the lawyers," Natasha told him. "I'm getting you to a safe place while the dust settles."

"Not the Avenger's compound, I take it?"

"No." She wrapped a blanket around him.

He eyed her. She looked tired. It had been a long day for everyone…except him. He spent most of it unconscious. "Am I a fugitive?"

She sat on the bench next to him. "No. No arrest warrant has been issued that we know of. That's why we're moving you while we legally can."

"Where to?"

She smiled. "A secret location. Off the books."

Three and a half hours and two soup refills later, they touched down. He felt stronger as he followed Natasha off the ramp, a duffel bag in his hand with all the essentials, according to Natasha. Calories and rest had done their job.

The jet sat in a grove of trees. It was dark. A half-moon and star-spangled sky gave them barely enough light to navigate the hillside.

An inviting home with a porch and a warm, yellow glow of windows lay ahead. As they walked up the steps, the door opened. Barton leaned against the door jam, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

"I promise we won't make this a habit," Natasha said as she stopped in front of Barton.

"You're always welcome, Nat." Clint looked over her and met Bucky's gaze, then straightened and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you in the flesh. That was quite the birthday party you threw for Steve."

"Thanks." Bucky shook Barton's hand.

"Come on in." Clint looked past them. "Is it just you two?"

"Vision's in the Quinjet," Natasha said, slipping into the house.

Bucky followed. The inside was comfortably lived in. The house was dark except for a soft light in a ceiling fan and another from a lamp near the front window.

"Everyone's asleep," Clint said in a low voice.

"Who's everyone?" Bucky asked.

"Three kids and my wife Laura," Clint replied. "If we wake up the baby, there'll be hell to pay."

"There are children here?" Bucky gave Natasha an incredulous look. "If this is where I'm supposed to lay low, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Code words are out of your head, right?" Natasha asked.

"But people are looking for me." He turned his attention to Barton. "Look, I appreciate your being willing to put me up, but I don't want to impose on your family. If the authorities show up here with guns, someone could end up in the crossfire."

"No one's showing up here," Barton said. "It's completely secret and off the books. Plus, Nat insists it's only for a couple of days."

"This is the best option right now," Natasha insisted. "I wouldn't put the kids in danger. I adore them. We hid here after Hulk tore up Johannesburg."

"Let's get you settled in the guest room," Clint said, then turned to Natasha. "You staying?"

"Just for the night."

"Great. The other spare room's currently storing a bunch of toys, but if you don't mind it slightly cluttered, the bed's still reachable."

She chuckled. "Perfect."

"Why don't I take the toy room?" Bucky offered.

Natasha shook her head. "I'll only be crashing for a few hours. You should get settled in the guest room."

He followed Clint to the spare bedroom, which was more spacious than he envisioned. It had a private bathroom, a sizeable bed, and a small armchair.

"I'll leave you to it. I know you had a rush discharge from the hospital and a long night, so sleep in as much as you like," Clint told him, then left.

Bucky set the bag down and stripped. He eyed the bathroom, then the bed, and stood for a moment, trying to gauge whether he had enough left in his tank to shower and brush his teeth. He didn't. He stumbled to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. He was out instantly.

Author's Note:

Happy Saturday! I hope you enjoyed this Chapter. I know it's rather long, but I wanted to make sure you all got to the good stuff before I cut you off. We'll meet again on Tuesday, same place :)