Chapter 14: Team Meeting

March 2012, New York

Steve answered the knock at his door to see Natasha standing in the hall, a sand-colored folder in her hand with Russian writing on the cover. His hand clutched the doorknob until it protested with a creak.

He took a breath and let her in.

"I had to call in some favors from Kyiv." She slapped the file against his chest. "You might want to sit down before you open that. You look like hell, by the way."

He knew how he looked. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since hearing those three words—Bucky is alive. He dropped to the couch as he opened the file, and his breath died in his throat. Bucky…. Frozen behind glass and metal

Oh, God.

The hair was longer, but the face…the face was just the same. His eyes were closed, and he looked almost peaceful. In the corner was a smaller photo, and the longer he stared at it, the harder it was to pull his gaze away. There was Bucky exactly as Steve remembered him, the army cap on his head and a subtle upward curl to one end of his mouth.

"He's alive." He'd known it in his gut, ever since his doppelgänger touched him with the Scepter.

He just didn't know if he could trust that gut feeling. Was it merely an artifact of the Scepter, similar to how Clint's mind had been overridden, or was it something else?

"Possibly. The file was created in 1945 but there are newer documents, the last one from a decade ago, so…yeah. While we don't know for sure if he's still alive, it's likely. I'm sorry, Steve."

He flipped through the pages. Since working with Russian allies during the war, he could speak and understand Russian better than he could read it, but the few words he could decipher were like razors to his brain, carving images of….

'...starvation.'

'...sleep deprivation.'

'...drugs.'

'...restraints.'

And there, in the corner of a page, was the symbol he knew too well. A red skull with six octopus arms. It felt like the air was sucked out of the room as he pushed the word from his throat. "Hydra."

"Yeah, turns out maybe they aren't entirely gone." Then her voice took a turn, went softer. "Steve…."

He looked up at her. What else do you know? What could possibly be any worse than the things he could pick out from the file?

She sighed heavily. "There's reference in that file to…well, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that the friend you knew is gone forever."

He stiffened, back going ramrod straight. "Whatever you know, tell me, Nat."

"The file references The Winter Soldier program."

"What is that?"

"A myth. Most in the intelligence community don't believe he exists, but the file proves otherwise. He's an assassin credited with over two dozen kills in the last fifty years. Three years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Someone shot out my tires, we went off the road. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was waiting for us. He shot the engineer straight through me." She lifted her shirt to show the scar on her side. "Soviet slug. No rifling."

"You saw him?" If she'd seen his face, then she'd known all this time. How could she not? The Smithsonian exhibit, the documentaries….

"No." She sank into the chair facing him. "I saw a glint of metal in the shadows as he fired. I found out later the kill was credited to the Winter Soldier, but we weren't sure that was true. It's a boogeyman tale that takes on a life of its own. Unexplained kills from skilled assassins get pinned on the legend."

"Like a ghost story." Fifty years. Fifty years.

"How much of that file can you make out?" she asked.

"Just a few words. Enough to get the gist."

"I read all of it. Steve, I meant what I said. Your friend doesn't exist anymore, not like you knew him. They erased his memory and programmed his mind. It doesn't give all the details, of course, but it references another document. A manual."

"Does it say where he is?"

"Siberia. No coordinates. That's a big place."

"There's gotta be a way to narrow it down."

"There's no way to know if he's even still in Siberia…or alive, for that matter."

"He's alive. I know it." The dreams he'd been having were relentless. The train. Over and over again. He expected that one. He'd had it before. It was the new one that confused him. It never happened, and yet it was so vivid. "You said it yourself. He shot you three years ago."

"Maybe it was him. Maybe it wasn't."

Steve stared down at the photo of Bucky in his army hat, so full of life and promise. The glint in his eye, the subtle smile on his lips, a paradoxical combination of seriousness and humor.

"Be careful, Steve. You might not want to pull on that thread."

His gaze went to the larger photo of Bucky in the cryogenic tank. Was he there right this second? Dead but not dead? On ice, in a metal coffin, stored like a slab of meat?

She sighed. "You're going after him no matter what, aren't you?"

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," he muttered, running his finger along the edges of the small photo. God, Bucky….Why'd it have to be you?

"Steve, are you okay?" Her voice was soft, and she leaned forward, arms on her knees.

He didn't want to tell her about the dreams. Sometimes, he woke up with a scream caught in his throat. Other times, with tears on his face. The new dream always left him disoriented, feeling crushed by the weight of a failure so heavy he couldn't breathe. After a couple of seconds, he'd realize it was a dream. The relief always tore out of him with a sob and a thought. It's not too late. We still have time.

He didn't know what any of it meant—not the dream or the thought that there was still time. Was it about Bucky being alive? He wanted to attribute the nightmares to stress and the aftermath of his encounter with his mystery double, but he felt it was more than that. The dream was more vivid than any he'd ever had before, and in the few seconds after he woke, he was certain it was real. In those brief moments, the dream made horrifying sense, and he knew he'd failed in a way that was permanent and unimaginable, but as soon as the fog cleared from his mind, he couldn't remember how he'd failed.

That sense of understanding and certainty only lasted seconds, then it disintegrated just as completely as the image of Bucky had, leaving him confused and shaky.

She pulled out her phone and typed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm calling a team meeting for tomorrow. Whoever's available. You've got resources you can leverage, and you'll need to if you have any hope of finding out where he's being kept."

"Thank you, Nat."

-0- -0- -0-

Coffee. It was too damn early. He was supposed to be flying home to his secret house and his secret family, but here he was in the conference room of Stark Tower, sipping the blackest, strongest coffee he could muster at 8 a.m. after another sleepless night.

Loki was still out there somewhere, and no one knew where the hell he was. At least the Scepter was safe in SHIELD's hands.

Natasha, Steve, and Thor were already seated at the table. A tablet sat in front of Natasha, and a tan folder with Russian writing was next to it.

"Where's—" Clint started to ask, when Tony and Bruce strolled in together, chattering something about neuro-genic subfields.

Tony's eyes were red-rimmed with puffy circles beneath, and his face was a shade too pale. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"So, can anyone just call a team meeting whenever they want?" Tony said, plopping into a chair across from Steve and glancing at Natasha as he drummed his fingers on the table. "And how did we decide that my tower is Avengers' central?" He glanced at Clint. "Am I running a bed and breakfast now? That smells suspiciously like my Black Ivory Coffee. It better not be my Black Ivory Coffee. It's elephant poop, just so you know."

Clint choked on the liquid going down his throat, looked into the black liquid that held the promise of caffeine, shrugged, then took another sip. He'd ingested far worse, and it was damn good coffee.

"I didn't want to have this conversation at SHIELD headquarters," Steve said, standing. "Natasha, could you…?" he looked almost ill as he waved a hand in the air.

With a grin, Natasha tapped on the tablet screen and a large screen in the wall came to life.

"Jarvis, we need to talk about your security protocols."

"Miss Potts has granted The Avengers access to communication and media devices on levels 10 through 12," Jarvis said.

"You know I'm the CEO again, right?" Tony proclaimed.

"I am aware, Sir," Jarvis responded.

"As you know," Steve began, "two weeks ago, someone who looks just like me stole and then returned the Scepter a few minutes later."

"Actually," Tony lifted a finger, "he returned the Scepter at the same time he stole it."

Clint took a big swig of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need another cup to make it through this conversation.

"What?" Steve asked, brow furrowed.

"Jarvis, pretend like I'm the boss here and do me the honors."

"Of course, Sir."

The screen showed footage of Steve Rogers handing the case to Rumlow while a time stamp played prominently in the lower corner.

I'll be damned. Clint sipped at his coffee and wished he'd grabbed something sinful for breakfast. Looks like this was going to be a day that required lots of caffeine and carbs. "Well, that's certainly…interesting."

"Yep, Capsickle three here is handing over the Scepter to Rumlow at the exact same time that Capsickle two is fighting Capsickle one. Curiouser, and curiouser," Tony said.

"Why are we just now seeing this?" Steve asked.

"Well, I woulda called a team meeting, but I didn't know that was a thing. Also, I have a company to run."

"With all due respect sir, Miss Potts–"

"Can it, Jarvis," Tony snarked.

Clint was really beginning to like Jarvis…as much as one could like a disembodied voice.

"How is this possible?" Steve asked. "Ideas."

"Well, one. It's radical, ridiculous, and totally off the wall, but happens to completely fit the facts here." Tony fidgeted and slapped his palms into a chaotic beat on the tabletop.

"Don't say it," Bruce muttered.

"Oh, I'm saying it." Tony tilted back in his chair. "Someone's been traveling through time. I'm not gonna drop any names, but he just got a cell phone a few weeks ago, and he still hasn't figured out emojis." Tony cocked his head at Steve. "And yet, somehow, you're gonna pull off time travel, the backwards kind."

Steve cleared his throat. "Time travel, that's your theory?"

Clint could swear he heard a slight tremble in Steve's voice. He studied the Captain's face. He looked like he'd been battling insomnia just as hard as Clint had.

"It is possible," Thor said. "There are forces in the universe that can harness the flow of time, but I know not the form or nature of such forces."

"If I could travel back in time," Steve continued, with just the slightest hesitation in his voice, "I'd go straight back to 1944 and stop Bucky from dying, de-rail Schmidt's plans, and celebrate the end of the war with the two most important people in my life."

"Maybe not." Bruce piped up. "Time travel doesn't exactly work that way…we think."

Steve dropped into the chair, looking like he just found out Santa Claus doesn't exist. "There's something that might be relevant. I'm not sure."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Rogers," Tony said, "dish it out."

"I've been having these dreams ever since my double touched me with the Scepter. They're about Bucky. One is something that happened—his fall from the train—but the other is new. It never happened. Couldn't have happened."

Clint leaned forward, riveted by the distant look in the Captain's eyes and the almost hushed tone of his voice.

Steve looked at Thor, and there was a denial in his expression that gave Clint goosebumps.

"You and I are standing in a field," Steve said. "You have short hair, a scar on your face, and two different colored eyes. Bucky's there, holding a rifle. He says my name. I look at him, and he starts to dissolve. It begins with his left arm. He falls forward, disintegrating into ash and dust. The rifle clatters to the ground. That's the only thing left of him, and I have this devastating feeling of failure, a sense that something unimaginable just happened."

"The Scepter touches minds, as you know. It is possible that what you see is a vision of the future, a result of two minds connecting through the Scepter."

Steve took in a shuddering breath, suddenly looking a shade paler. "So, it's possible the guy I fought was actually me from the future, and when he knocked me out with the Scepter, our minds connected? What I'm seeing might happen?"

Thor frowned, his brow crinkling sympathetically. "It is possible."

"Whoever or whatever you fought," Natasha piped up, "is not something we're going to figure out right now. What we know is the Scepter is returned, and—" she flashed a sympathetic look at Clint, "Loki and the Cube are missing."

Clint dropped his gaze to the dark liquid in his mug, the hairs on his arms suddenly standing at attention. He still felt the shadow in his mind. If Loki had the Tesseract, he could go anywhere, open a portal right behind Clint and—

Stop it. Loki didn't have the Scepter, and he needed the Scepter to take over minds.

Didn't he?

Did he?

"And, we know something else…." Natasha continued.

"Oooh, do tell, Romanoff," Tony leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised.

"We know that Caps' double was telling the truth about Bucky." Her fingers flew over the tablet and an image of a man with long hair appeared, either dead or asleep behind something frosted made of glass and metal.

It took Clint's brain a second to make sense of what he was looking at. Holy Christ in a handbasket. That's Bucky Barnes in a….a cryogenic chamber?

"Bucky was captured by Germans in 1943 and experimented on by Dr. Arnim Zola," Steve began. "Zola must have done something to him that let Bucky survive the fall from the train. The Russians captured him, finished Zola's experiments. He's alive." Steve's voice cracked on that last word, and his face shifted, as if the enormity of the situation had just hit him. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face. "He's alive, and he's in Hydra's hands—whatever's left of them. I thought Hydra died with Schmidt, but apparently not." He paused, and silence lingered as he stared into space, then sighed. "Today's his birthday."

Ouch. Clint felt bad for Rogers. He knew what it was like to lose a friend, though not exactly in this way.

"Between missions," Natasha interjected, giving Steve a moment to collect his thoughts, "he's kept in Siberia somewhere."

"Missions?" Clint leaned forward. "What missions?"

Natasha threw an apologetic glance at Steve. "I'll be getting to that in a moment."

Clint caught her eye and gave a tight nod. He knew instantly what she was thinking. Poor Rogers. What a shit deal all around. If Barnes was still alive, after being in Hydra's clutches for 70 years, well…

Fuck.

"What is this Hydra of which you speak?" Thor asked.

Steve sucked in a breath and straightened. "It started under Hitler—a Nazi science division headed by Johann Schmidt, who was the first person to receive Erskin's serum. Schmidt had a lust for power, and the serum amplified that."

"There's some information out there that Hydra actually existed before the Nazi's," Romanoff said, "but what matters now is finding out how much of Hydra still exists and, of course, learning the whereabouts of Barnes. The file doesn't tell us everything," Natasha continued. "It does tell us that Barnes was the only one to survive Zola's experiments. The Russians experimented on him. They had a hard time managing him, so they put him on ice until they could figure out a way to gain control of his mind. They wiped his memories and programmed him somehow. We don't have the details on how they did that, but the file references a manual. It also references the Winter Soldier, an assassin who has been credited with over two dozen kills in the last fifty years."

Fuuuuck. Clint glanced at Steve and instantly regretted it. For someone who just found out his very best friend was alive, working for the enemy, and wouldn't remember him, Steve Rogers was holding it together. Barely. Behind the steel blue eyes was something raw and desperate.

He recognized it easily because he knew what raw and desperate felt like, and suddenly he knew why they were all here, and he wanted in.

Almost seventy years. Seventy goddamned years, and at least fifty of those as Hydra's kill-puppet. Clint's mind-fuck hadn't lasted anywhere near that long, but even that had felt like an eternity. He'd killed good people in that time, people he knew. People he liked.

The Russians didn't have an alien Scepter or an Asgardian "God" at their disposal. Whatever methods they used on Barnes decades ago to control his mind were no doubt far less refined than what he'd experienced. Poor bastard, gave his life fighting Hydra, and this is what he got for it.

"-int? Clint? Are you okay?"

He looked up at Natasha. "What?"

"I said, you're looking rather pensive." Her voice was softer than usual, her eyes gentle. He must look like crap to be getting that look.

"I am. Pensive, that is." They'd been talking. He'd spaced out and missed the discussion, but there really was only one thing to discuss. "So, when are we going to get your guy, Cap?"

The surprised look on Steve's face as he straightened in his chair did more for Clint's resolve than all the coffee in Stark's cabinets. "It's dangerous. We don't even know where he is."

"Fighting aliens was dangerous. Fighting Russians will be a downgrade." Clint drained the last of his coffee.

"Indeed!" Thor turned to Steve. "We have fought side-by-side to save Midgard, just as you and your friend once fought side-by-side to save it. I am bound here without the Tesseract, but even if I were not, it would be my honor to join in the quest for your brother wounded in battle."

"Uh…" Tony raised a finger, "geography isn't my strongest subject, so correct me if I'm wrong, but Siberia's kind of a big place. Like Ikea. Or Costco. Only with ice. Lots of ice. Right? And we don't even know if he's still there. So, what's the plan? Walk into the Kremlin and ask if anyone happens to know where Bucky-pop's being stored?"

Clint noticed the flash of quickly-concealed pain that crossed Steve's features. Jesus. Stark was an insensitive ass.

"We could narrow down the possible locations," Jarvis spoke up.

Tony glanced at the ceiling. "Did someone make Jarvis an Avenger and not tell me?"

"Forgive me, Sir, but you programmed me to be intuitive, responsive, and to monitor all activities within Stark Tower. In monitoring this discussion, I determined that I have information that may be of use."

"Lemee guess? We can use satellite imagery and top secrety information on the location of Russian facilities in Siberia to identify and rank potential targets." Tony swiveled back and forth restlessly in his chair. "So get on it, Jarvis, and avoid the landmines."

"As always, Sir."

"Using information you gained from hacking SHIELD?" Steve asked.

"Look at you, old man, catching on to the techno language." Stark nodded. "Aren't you glad I don't play by the rules?"

A tiny smile lifted the corners of Steve's mouth. "Rules sometimes do need to be broken."

"That's right," Tony lifted a finger thoughtfully. "You and my old man broke a few rules in your time, from what he told me."

"A few," Steve said, "for a good cause."

"Like rescuing your old war buddy?" Tony prompted.

"Yes." Steve's face lost all humor as his eyes drifted to the image of Barnes on the screen. "Like that." He tore his gaze away and leveled it at Stark. "Back in 1943, Colonel Phillips told me Bucky was dead, that a rescue mission to save the survivors was a suicide mission. I went anyway. Your father risked his life to fly me behind enemy lines. I found Bucky and 400 other men alive. On our last mission together, he picked up my shield when I was down and stepped between me and a Hydra soldier with a Tesseract-powered weapon that blasted him out of the train. I tried to get to him. I failed. I watched him fall almost a thousand feet. Then, I did my duty. I left him for dead and continued the mission. Only he wasn't dead," Steve's chest expanded as he sucked in a slow deep breath and swept his gaze over the group. "I'm not leaving him again, and I'll break whatever rules I have to to find him. I'll understand if any of you choose to sit this out. It's not your fight, and you all have your own lives. I lost everything important to me when I crashed into the ice, except, it turns out, Bucky. I'm going, and I'll pound down every door in Siberia that could possibly be a Hydra base until I find him."

"Uh," Bruce hesitated slightly, shifting in his seat, "according to Miss Romanoff, he won't remember who he is or who you are, Steve." Bruce's face pinched in apology. "So even if we do find him and rescue him, he's probably not going to come willingly. It may get ugly. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Steve squared his shoulders and nodded. "He'd do it for me."

"Nat didn't give up on me, and you shouldn't give up on Barnes," Clint said, flashing Natasha a soft, grateful smile. "We get a lead on his location, and I'm in."

He kept the rest to himself. Cap was smart enough to know that the man they brought back probably wasn't going to be the same man that fell off the train in 1945, but dammit, that guy, whoever he was now, still deserved a chance.