Chapter 4: The Battle, Version 2.0

Bucky looked at the cheap digital wristwatch he'd purchased as he skidded to a halt near the destroyed Avenger's complex. He still had some time to wait. He crouched down behind a cluster of destroyed trees about 300 yards beyond the thick of the battle. He was dressed in black and kept low to the ground. He knew Thanos' ship would start to reign fire soon, and things would go to hell. He picked his initial position to stay out of the line of fire. If he got blown up, his mission would end prematurely, Tony would die, and 2024 Sam would've put himself on the line for nothing.

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky Barnes once again found himself in the middle of a fight. Just moments ago, he'd felt lightheaded and watched as his new vibranium arm disintegrated. He'd barely had time to call out Steve's name when everything went dark. When he came to, he was in the same spot, alone. He found T'Challa and the others a few minutes later. They all seemed just as disoriented, and that feeling only intensified when a portal opened and a man he'd never met told him five years had passed, and the battle was now thousands of miles across the globe in New York. The Avengers needed their help.

So, here he was at Steve's side again, trying his best to fight for something greater than himself, and hoping they both made it this time…or at least, if one of them had to go, it would be him again and not Steve.

He could live with death, but he wasn't sure how he'd survive his messed-up head and this brutal world without Steve.

"No, no. Gimme that. You have the little one," Bucky heard Thor tell Steve, but his focus was on the familiar Iron Man suit yards away.

Whatever those things were, they were overwhelming Stark. A few more minutes, and they'd kill him. Fortunately, his Wakandan-modified machine gun was proving highly effective against the aliens. Bucky held the weapon—looking down the barrel, his breathing steady, and his focus unyielding as he fired. Tony was in the fray, buried by Thanos' warriors. Bucky's shots were careful and deliberate.

The weapon did its job, clearing enough of them to give Stark his avenue of escape. Tony flew upward, hovering just a moment, his helmet swiveling in Bucky's direction. Iron Man gave him a quick nod of approval, then landed a few yards away, back in the fight.

-0- -0- -0-

Shortly after Thanos' ship crashed to Earth, time-traveling Bucky moved into his new position among the smoldering rubble a few feet away from where the gauntlet would land. He snaked himself beneath one of the piles of twisted metal, slithering into the dust and dirt, letting it cloak his presence The ground was littered with rocks and debris—hills forged by destruction—and he chose the higher elevation to maintain visibility of the battlefield from his temporary shelter.

He held his position until he saw the unmistakable form of Danvers barreling through Thanos' forces, a blazing wake of light and energy marking her path. He slithered out of his hiding spot, keeping low. He watched the glove land a few feet away from Stark. Tony pushed a body off, spotted the gauntlet, and moved toward it. Thanos was on him, and Tony adjusted his position, barreling into the alien. Thanos swept an arm out, flinging Stark hard into the ground and knocking him unconscious.

Bucky crawled forward. With his dark clothes and the dirt covering him, he knew he'd be hard to spot. Thor landed, the blue glow from his ax bright against the dark landscape. Thor reached for the glove, but Thanos grabbed him. The Asgardian swung the blade around, but when Thanos caught it in one hand, Thor used his free hand to call for the hammer.

Bucky knew Steve would arrive soon and pushed down the tingle of anticipation in his gut at seeing Steve in the flesh again. He couldn't afford to get distracted. He inched forward, watching closely as Thanos and Thor struggled. Thor's eyes glowed, and Steve leapt through the air, landing on Thanos' back.

Bucky launched himself toward the glove. His right hand curled around the cool metal, and he slipped it onto his vibranium arm. The glove was large, but his metal hand made contact, and he felt the instant tremor within the vibranium itself. The arm was directly connected to his nervous system, and he hoped the vibranium interface would give him a few more precious seconds.

He knew in less than a second that it was working. A shock of cold exploded from his shoulder socket, into his chest, stealing his breath. The cold turned to fire, and he choked back a scream. Energy carved a path of agony through his collarbone, into his neck, down into his stomach, to his groin.

He saw Thanos slam a massive fist into Steve's head, rendering him instantly unconscious, and fought the overwhelming urge to defend his friend. This had already happened once. Steve would live.

Bucky closed his eyes, blocking out Steve and the war still raging around him, and thought about the list. The words hung clear in his mind. He didn't snap his fingers. He focused instantly as the power surged through him, shredding his insides, tearing through his brain. The pain was intense. His throat and lungs froze.

He pictured Thanos and all his ships and forces disintegrating. The energy twisted and surged inside him, destroying his organs, killing the cells of his body.

He remembered the faces of Howard and Maria Stark and pictured them standing a few feet away.

Natasha, the soul stone. Her body falling. A millisecond before she hit, he copied her pattern—every atom in the very position and orientation it existed at that moment—and willed that pattern into the present. He could almost feel the neurons of his brain firing, forming new connections even as others scorched into nothingness.

He felt himself falling. He hit something hard. Even as part of his cerebral cortex shut down, the surviving neurons continued the list. The words he'd written down morphed to instant images. His desires took shape, briefly interrupted by unbidden faces that flowed through his mind like wild rapids in a river, bringing regret and shame. He tried to push them aside to continue the list.

He saw a blurry face in front of him and a kaleidoscope of red and gold. It looked familiar. He blinked. Recognition was fuzzy, but it came. Tony Stark. His fading brain barely made out the sounds of voices and the moans of the injured and dying. Another familiar face came into his dwindling view, this time bringing a cloudy hallow of blue and a cluster of collapsing memories. Austria. The long trek to Italy. The exhaustion. The injured and dying men. The ones they hadn't saved. The blessed relief of arriving in camp, of having a softer landing spot after surviving the horrors of war.

He thought he felt the glove yanked from his hand, and the power surging through him faded, leaving him a scorched, mutilated, dying mess.

No. The word registered more as a sentiment than language, but he knew, somewhere in the little pieces of him still clutching to life, that he hadn't finished the list.

He felt himself slipping away.

"Bucky?"

Steve. The name didn't quite make it to his lips. His eyes strained to focus. He wasn't sure they even still really worked, but he could almost make out the blue, tearful eyes of his friend and hear the confusion in that painfully familiar voice. He hoped he managed a smile. He tried to swallow, but the attempt choked him. He closed his eyes and struggled to focus even as his brain continued to shut down. He felt a warm pressure on the flesh of his right hand, and he willed a breath until he took in just enough air to manage a whisper.

"My pocket."

He felt more than saw Steve's hands on him until they found the envelopes inside his black jacket.

-0- -0- -0-

When Steve came to, the world around him was raining ash and dust. It was quiet—far too quiet for a battlefield. Every part of him hurt. His skull pounded, but he forced himself to lift his head. Thanos' forces were dissolving around him. Battlefield survivors stood still in stunned disbelief.

Steve groaned as he pushed himself to sit up. His eyes scanned the area until he spotted Tony crouched in his suit in front of a dark figure. The beautiful glow of the infinity stones caressed the fallen man's left arm, the energy sending scorching tendrils up the neck, into the….

He breath caught in his throat when he recognized the face.

Steve pushed away the pain and forced himself to his feet, stumbling toward the two men. He fell to his knees next to Tony. The other man's dark brown eyes snapped to him, confused, almost horrified. Tony shook his head, indicating he was lost about what just happened.

Steve turned his gaze onto the dying man in front of him. The face was unmistakable, as were the unfocused dark, blue eyes. The hair was shorter, and there was stubble on the soft jaw instead of the heavy beard, but it was Bucky. Somehow.

And he was dying. Steve looked around, searching the mass of bodies for the other Bucky—the long hair, the beard, but he didn't find him.

He wasted no more time, turning his gaze back to the friend in front of him and then, onto the bright stones nestled in the large metal glove encasing Bucky's vibranium hand. The arm itself glowed, looking almost one with the gauntlet. With one swift motion, he yanked the glove off the hand and set it to rest between himself and Tony.

Steve looked back up into the ashen face of his oldest friend—the heavy eyelids revealing slivers of blue that seemed to focus on something far in the distance.

"Bucky."

The eyelids fluttered open, the eyes drifted until they settled on Steve's face. Bucky's lips moved. His chest trembled, then a choke escaped him. Steve felt the sting of tears. His vision blurred, and the hot wetness spilled onto his cheeks. He had no idea what was happening, or how this version of Bucky was here, but it was Bucky, and he'd somehow saved the Universe.

Steve yanked off his mask so Bucky could see his face, then grabbed his friend's hand, encasing it in both of his.

Bucky tried again, and this time managed a whisper. "My pocket."

Steve sprang into action. He knew the effort those words had cost his friend. He patted down Bucky's pants pockets, but found nothing, then went to the outer jacket pockets but again came up empty-handed. Finally, he reached into the jacket and felt the inner pocket. His fingers brushed against paper. He pulled out two envelopes.

There was handwriting on each one – the first one read, "George and Winnifred Barnes."

"For my folks," Bucky's voice croaked.

Steve was confused for a moment until he remembered they'd have to head back in time to return the stones, then it became clear. Bucky never got to say goodbye to his parents. This was his chance.

"God, Buck…" When he looked back up into his friend's face, he knew Bucky was gone. A sob escaped him. He leaned forward, resting the top of his head against Bucky's still chest. Steve felt a hand on his shoulder.

Tony's voice was soft, inches from his right ear. "The other one's addressed to you."

Steve forced himself to lean back. He hadn't realized he'd dropped the envelopes. Carefully, he picked them up. He set the one addressed to George and Winnifred on Bucky's leg, then turned the other one over and opened it. He pulled out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it.

The name at the top was his.

"Steve," the word morphed, blurred, and tears fell on the paper. He blinked, forcing himself to focus on his friend's last words. He read them softly out loud.

"I know you must be confused. I hope I didn't screw this up. If I did, then I'm sorry won't cut it. You won't be around to read this. So, if you are reading this, then I hope that means Thanos is dead and Tony is alive.

You've probably figured out that I'm from the future—a little less than a year, actually. I know we're not supposed to mess with timelines, but we already have. You found your happily ever after with Peggy. I know that hasn't happened for you yet, but I also know the idea is already in your head. You're a man of your word, and you made her a promise. You both deserve happiness. I'm glad you lived a wonderful life. You deserve it—perhaps more than anyone ever has."

Steve's voice broke, a sob escaping him. He closed his eyes, but the tears fell, cascading down his face and neck. He felt the paper gently pulled from his hand. He heard Tony take a breath and opened his eyes to look at him.

Stark held the paper in his hand and gave Steve a gentle smile. "I got this, Cap."

Just then, the warmth of another figure settled on his other side. Steve glanced over to his left and blinked through the tears to see the dirty, bloodied, and bearded face of his Bucky. The other man's confused, blue eyes drifted between Steve and the motionless, crumpled figure of the other Bucky. Steve shook his head. He didn't have an answer for the unspoken questions in those eyes.

Tony cleared his throat, then looked down at the letter and began reading.

"In the original version of this battle, Tony saved the universe."

Stark's voice caught, and he paused for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. Steve closed his eyes to listen to his friend's final words, in Tony's voice.

"I don't want to take that away from him. He forced the stones from the gauntlet and used them to defeat Thanos' army. It cost him his life. He left behind a little girl who needs him and a wife who loves him. He's the real hero here, not me. Make sure the world knows that."

Tony took a hitched breath, then continued.

"I made a list of amends after you left—bad people I helped as the Winter Soldier, good people I hurt. I never put Tony Stark's name on that list because there was no way I could make amends for killing his parents. There was no way I could be of service to him. He died saving us.

Then something happened back in my time—months from now, and this idea came to me. I can't bring back the Tony of my time, but I hope I can create a timeline where Morgan gets to grow up with her father and Pepper gets to grow old with him. That assumes he keeps himself out of trouble, of course.

I'm sorry for the rift that I caused between you two, and between the Avengers. I hope you don't see my death as throwing away those sacrifices. This is the only thing I could do for you—at least some version of you. The world gets to trade up from a 106-year-old headcase to Tony Stark.

I leave behind no one except Sam, and he'll be okay, I hope. He doesn't deserve to be burdened with my brand of craziness. Hell, up until a few weeks ago, he barely tolerated me. I don't blame him. He sacrificed a lot for me, and I tried to kill him twice. I know he only did it for you, though. He's loyal, and a very good man. Tell him I appreciate everything he gave up to help me. He risked never seeing Sarah or his nephews again. That's a lot…too much. He's not the only one who made that kind of sacrifice. Clint. Wanda. Scott. Natasha. That's bad math.

Remember Mrs. Doyle used to say math doesn't lie? She was right. I know what you're going to say. I passed that class only because you coerced me into studying for the final instead of hanging out with Becky Russo. You're right. In the grand scheme of things, though, passing that class didn't really help me in my future endeavors. Bad joke, I know."

Tony stopped to take a breath. Steve let the silence wash over him, a tiny smile on his lips knowing that, even in his last days, Bucky's humor survived. Steve choked back the emotion swelling in his throat. He felt a hand on his left shoulder. Bucky from the present.

Tony continued. "Don't worry, Steve. I'm okay with this. I should have died a long time ago. I don't belong here. The world doesn't know what to do with me, and I don't know what to do with myself. The only reason I made it this far is I didn't want to let you down or dishonor the sacrifices of your friends.

But, the truth is, I'm broken, and not even Shuri and a court-appointed therapist can fix me. I've made some terrible calls—and I can't blame Hydra or the Winter Soldier. The recent ones were on me—James Buchanan Barnes. Looking back over the past century, I've been the cause of so much death and destruction. I know I couldn't help most of it, but the body count is undeniable. The world would have been a better place had I never been born.

I hope, in your timeline, I can change that. That's selfish of me, I realize. I'm not sure whether I'm doing the right thing. I hope I am. It's all I ever tried to do…when I had a choice.

Don't worry about the other me, the one in your timeline. You deserve to live your life and stop sacrificing yourself for me. Yes, he's a mess. I was—am—a mess. But I hope what I've done makes things a little easier for him. The only advice I can give him is to not shut down. I did. I pushed people away—Sam, in particular. There's so much that's been broken and pieced back together inside me that I was afraid if I opened up and let any of the crap inside me out, I wouldn't be able to hold it together, and I'd crumble. I never risked finding out. He has to risk it if he hopes to make it through.

There's one last thing I hope you know. I love you. You're family. You always have been. I'm finally going to be okay. I've gone from one fight to the next for almost 90 years. All I ever wanted after remembering who I am—who I used to be—was peace. Twice, I tried to fight for things bigger than myself, and twice I failed. I hope this third time's the charm. Don't grieve for me. Just give me an awesome eulogy and remember me for who I once was—that kid from Brooklyn who tried to keep your punk ass out of trouble.

Goodbye, Steve.

Your friend and brother in spirit,

James Bucky Barnes

P.S. I guess I should let you know there's a time travel machine in my motel room. Parker inn off Saratoga Blvd. Room 4. Someone should probably go retrieve that and keep it safe. Also, there's about $100 bucks left of the cash Sam slipped me. Give it back to him—your Sam, anyway. Tell him, 'Thank you' for me.

Finally, I've made a list of amends for after I get the infinity stones. I'm not sure how successful I'll be at working through that list before the stones do me in, but—heads up—there may be some people who need help having things explained to them and getting to where they're supposed to be. If so, I know you and the others will make sure that happens."

Steve heard Tony take another long, deep breath. A hand came down on his right shoulder. Steve didn't open his eyes. He fell forward and grabbed the still, hard shoulders of Bucky's body and sobbed for all that had been taken from his friend.

Even with everything Hydra had done to Bucky, some part of him had held on—but he hadn't been okay. He wasn't okay. This wasn't right. None of it was right. He'd left Bucky back in '44. He'd be damned if he'd leave him now.

No! No way in hell!

This was not how Bucky's story would end. He deserved a shot at happiness. He deserved at least a few years of a life without torture, brain wipes, and battlefields.

Steve straightened and opened his eyes. His gaze dropped to the gauntlet, and he picked it up.

"Cap?" Tony's cautiously inquired.

Steve looked around and spotted a broken piece of his shield. He picked it up and pushed the stones out of the gauntlet one by one, letting each one fall gently to the ground until only the time stone remained. Then, he lifted his hand and slipped the glove over it.

"Stop!" A firm voice commanded. Steve looked over and saw the stern face of Dr. Strange. "You don't know how to use that. You could cause an endless time loop."

Steve set his jaw and shook his head. "I can't let him die."

Dr. Strange held out his hand. Steve eyed him skeptically.

The sorcerer gave him a hard stare. "I do know how to use that. You have my word. I'll try to bring him back."

Steve nodded as Strange took the glove from him, slipped it over his hand, then held out his arm. A green circle appeared, and Strange placed his fingers on it, pointed it at Bucky's motionless body, then dialed it slowly counterclockwise.