Everyone who wanted the IHop scene is gonna be disappointed. Sorry! Anyways, moving on! I'm trying to update as much as I can before Friday because I work at a movie theater so I'm working ALL weekend. Thank you, Spider Man. I'm going to miss Free Comic Book Day now :C

Review and let me know thoughts, concerns, questions, predictions, etc!

Chapter 12

"Anything that looks familiar?" she asked quietly as they looped through the roads in a car Stark had loaned to her for the day.

"Not really," he grumbled. "It all looks…"

"New," she supplied.

"Right."

Clara turned onto a road that looped around the outskirts of the town. Buildings lined the street on the right, but endless grass fields dotted with trees and gravestones stretched out to their left. She noticed the soldier perk up and lean forward to see around her. She was already looking for a parking place of the side of the road before he even asked her to stop.

"You recognize this cemetery?" she asked him as they got out.

"Yes," he grunted, leading the way across the road and down a foot path.

"Don't do this to yourself," she advised warily, catching up to his fast pace.

"It's not war related." They walked for a minute or two, moving quickly towards a far corner, when he stopped suddenly.

"Oh."

He stared wide-eyed at his own name carved into a stone. One Barnes in a line. His was between two other plots. He pointed to the one on the right. "That's my sister," he whispered. To the one on the left, "that's my mother." The one on the other side of hers. "My father."

"I'm sorry," she managed. She wanted to comfort him somehow, in some way other than her words. She wanted to take his hand so that he had some form of physical comfort. But she hesitated, unsure of how he would react.

"Everyone dies," he stated bluntly. He kicked at the grass at the end of his own grave. "It's empty, though." He held up his metal hand and wiggled the fingers a little. "Unless it's not."

"Are you making jokes," she mock gasped, staring up at him.

A smile flit across his face, a short lift of the corners of his mouth. "My sister got married," he muttered. His heart sunk. He hadn't met her husband. He hadn't met any of her dates. He hadn't been there for her wedding. Nothing. "Rebecca Proctor." He didn't remember much of her, but he remembered loving her despite the gap in their ages.

"So you could still have family out there," Clara noted lightly, only to be shot down.

"My family is dead." He turned on his heel and headed down a different path, seeming to know where he was going. He stopped in front of a new set of graves.

"Steve got a grave, too," Clara whispered, pointing. "Are those his parents?"

"Yeah," the soldier breathed. "I remember when his mom died." His face was tilted down towards the headstones, but his eyes were not looking at them. They were distant. Remembering.

"How much of your life before do you remember?" she asked, choosing her words carefully.

"Enough to know Bucky died a hero. His grave is back there," he responded, gesturing back down the path the way they'd come. Before she could respond—lightly scold him for what he'd said—he changed the subject. "Is your family buried here in the States or in England?"

"Well," she started slowly, deciding to take this opportunity. "I told you my grandmother lived here in New York—my dad's family is from England. But my grandmother and my mom are actually buried here. My grandmother is from Brooklyn."

He turned to look at her suddenly. "Buried here as in, the US here, or this cemetery here?"

She bit her lip and led the way across the cemetery to a grave marker that she was more familiar with, knowing the cat was out of the bag, so to speak.

The Winter Soldier watched her lead the way this time, eyes flicking over his shoulder towards the graves of his family. She came to a stop and he almost ran into her. His blood ran cold when he looked at the marker. It was worn and dirty but the name, the inscription, the photo—they were as clear as if it had been carved into the stone yesterday.

Connie Louise Warner
January 21, 1919- November 14, 1995

The Soldier swallowed roughly. He could feel his face getting hot, but his eyes refused to leave the sepia photo of the young, black-haired girl. The photo had been taken later in her life, but she was just as he had remembered her. Dark eyes and hair, dainty smile with the dimple.

"We do kind of look similar," she noted quietly.

"Did you know before that Connie was your grandmother?" he managed with difficulty.

"I had my suspicions," she murmured. He could feel her eyes on him but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the photo of Connie. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"Is that why you're helping me?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." She sighed and turned back towards the car. "I talked to Steve about it when I called him last night." He followed her slowly, watching her glance at the markers as they passed them. "I have these diaries she wrote. You're mentioned in a lot of the earlier ones. I have them in the car."

What could he say to her? Clara was Connie's granddaughter. But it wasn't anything Clara did that upset him. It was knowing that Connie had moved on, forgotten about him. She'd started a family, got married, had children. She'd lived her life completely and he hadn't been around to witness it.

The Winter Soldier blinked into another time. He was sitting at a booth inside some old burger joint. Empty plates had been pushed aside. It was early evening—there weren't too many occupied booths, but the sun was bright on the horizon to his right.

"Alright," the girl across from him sighed, dark wavy hair bouncing as she sat up straighter. "Tell me what's wrong?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

She cocked her head, eyebrows rising. "C'mon, Bucky. I know you. You demanded we go out tonight, you haven't been yourself in a coupla days. Tell me."

Bucky ran his tongue between his lips and averted his eyes, focusing instead on an older couple sitting a few booths away along the far wall to his left. "Nothing's wrong," he said with a forced smile. Connie shook her head.

"Why can't you tell me?" she murmured.

"Because I can't even tell Steve," he replied, finally meeting her gaze. It was as close to an admission as he would get—as close to saying the words. Like he knew it would, he watched the realization wash over her face. She blinked in surprise, at first, and then connected the dots. Her eyebrows pulled together and her eyes got wide and shiny.

"Did you enlist or—"

Bucky shook his head. "Steve needs me here—I can't just leave. I'm all the family he's got now—"

Connie's hand flew to her mouth with a gasp and she tucked into herself, shoulders shaking. Bucky pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table before standing up and helping Connie out of the booth. She wrapped her arms around him and let him lead her out of the building.

"C'mon, Connie," he breathed, pulling her towards a bench across the street. "Everyone knows this could happen."

"I know—" She took the handkerchief he was holding out for her and dabbed at her face as he pulled her down gently onto the bench next to him. Her face was red, eyes wide as she looked up at him. "I just…"

Bucky pressed his lips to hers suddenly, hands slipping through her hair at the base of her neck. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead on hers and sighed. "Let's go dancing—one last time—"

She pulled away from him suddenly, eyebrows pulled together. "No," she cried. "We'll go dancing again when you come back, too."

A grin spread across his face and he pulled the girl back to him, pecking her on the cheek. "Yeah?" he laughed. "You really gonna wait for me?"

Connie just smiled.