AN: I can't apologise enough for how long this chapter has taken me - if you're still here, thank you so much for your patience. I sincerely hope it was worth it.

When Winter Strikes

10. Let Die and Live

Despite having had the time to adjust, James was still affected by nightmares most nights, a fact he did his best to keep to himself. They varied from flashes of faces to step-by-step walkthroughs of a memory, and sometimes actual dreams, where it wasn't someone from his past whose throat he was slitting. He'd finally come clean when one particularly vivid incident revealed to him that he'd killed Wanda's brother, a loose end at the time, and Darcy and Clint had begun to notice him stiffen whenever she was around at Asgard. Darcy was inevitably told more than Clint, but it still stunned James when she embraced him afterwards, whispering "I don't blame you," and kissing him until he kissed back.

The repercussions of these flashbacks he disguised in front of Steve as an old head injury that sprang up on him sometimes. It was a simple lie, but one that pulled at his chest every time he told it; the last incident had been a small fragment slipping through during a group conversation. Nobody noticed him flinch when it happened, but Steve soon caught him rubbing the back of his head to try and soothe the hard ache pressing there. "That injury again?" he'd asked quietly, and when James had seen the look of concern on his features he'd only been able to respond with a sigh and a nod. Then Steve had clapped him on the shoulder, and James thanked all the gods he could think of that he didn't appear to notice the metal seam underneath the layers of clothing.

Although most of his time as a noble was based upon lies (Count von Doom was dead? No, he hadn't heard about that – he'd never even been close to Victor von Doom… How terrible…), one thing James was genuinely able to press was his curiosity about Lord Loki Laufeyson. The next in line to the throne wasn't, he found out, especially popular, but the one thing people always commented on was everything he'd done for King Odin; he'd apparently nursed him through bad health, consoled him during times of sorrow, aided in plans for the city, contributed a sizeable army to the city's defences, and represented the court in overseas matters when necessary. Frosty personality and secretiveness aside, Loki Laufeyson was, for all intent and purposes, an incredibly valued member of Cenarian court life. James didn't buy a word of it.

He watched Loki whenever he could, often peering out from around Thor's huge body to see who he was talking to or what he was doing, and verified the rumours that he wasn't much of a social creature. Thor later explained what the fight had been about: he and Loki had been close as children, but a serious family incident during Thor's time out of Cenaria caused Loki to change. He wanted to help, but Loki repeatedly (and loudly) refused any aid. James couldn't press him to reveal the details of that 'family incident', but he wondered if it hadn't occurred around the same time he saw the Duke in Khalidor.

An opportunity to finally find out the truth presented itself at a New Year feast of the King's. He'd been keeping an eye on Loki from where he, Steve, Peggy, Sharon, Thor, and Jane were stood – so far, the Duke had done very little besides drink his wine and smile tightly whenever anyone passed his corner, and James was managing to keep up with conversation; however, the moment spotted a servant relaying some information to Lord Laufeyson that made his brow furrow, the wetboy decided to make his excuses.

"Do you know where you're going?" Sharon asked him when he told her he needed the toilet.

James smiled at her. "I'm not so new anymore, Lady Sharon; I've learnt the layout of the castle well enough now."

"Well I'll come with you anyway. I need the toilet too."

"Oh." He was unable to think of any suitable reason as to why she couldn't before she was pushing past him, letting her mother know where they were going and dragging him towards the door. They left the hall moments after Lord Laufeyson himself, and James caught a quick glimpse of him entering a side-room before he was firmly guided in the opposite direction.

"Your arm feels a little stiff again today," Sharon commented casually.

"Yeah," he replied, putting some distance between them both. "It, uh… It is."

"Haven't you seen anyone about it?" she asked, moving closer to him again. "There are some very good healers in the city centre if you know who to ask. My father could probably point you to one."

"Then I'll have to ask him, I suppose."

"I've never needed a healer myself. Unlike some people, I know how to take care of my body." Her eyes widened. "Not that I'm saying you don't!"

"It's fine, I –"

"I'm sure you have a perfect body."

"Uh, well –"

"I don't mean that I've been imagining what your body –"

"Lady Sharon!" They both came to a halt at the end of the corridor, Sharon looking slightly embarrassed. James gestured to the right. "The men's establishment is this way."

"Oh," she said. "Yes, it is."

"You don't have to wait for me," he continued. "I'll see you back in the hall." Before she could protest he turned on his heel and left, quickly pulling the shadows around him once he was round the corner. Peeking back to make sure Sharon was gone, he slipped back the way they'd come and headed for the door he'd seen Loki disappear through, the low murmur of voices just reaching him through the thick wood. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, he crouched down and pulled a hairpin out from his boot (courtesy of Lady Rogers), sliding it into the door's lock and muffling his lock-picking efforts with Talent. In a few seconds he had it open, and afterwards it was a case of getting inside as discreetly as possible – it took him five minutes, but in that time he heard a lot.

"We cannot cause any more alarm," Loki was saying.

A small man in an oversized coat nodded. "Perhaps one of the servants, then? They wouldn't be missed, wouldn't be cause for gossip – a quiet test, you might say."

Lord Laufeyson seemed to freeze on the spot for a moment, and James panicked that he'd been detected. "No," the Duke said softly, body relaxing. "No, I know who to test it on. Leave it with me."

"Very well."

"What other news do you have for me?"

The man pushed a pair of glasses up his nose. "The mage, Strange, may have been lying to us."

James' ears pricked at the mention of the name, as did Loki's. "Oh?"

"He let slip an interesting piece of information – information he had previously denied knowing. The Win- the assassin could very well be here, in Cenaria, right under our noses."

Lord Laufeyson's expression clouded over. "What makes you say that?"

The informant wrung his hands. "Strange was being questioned," he explained. "When asked why the assassin had not returned home, he replied: 'Was not Cenaria his place of birth?'. He would not state why that is significant, even after further torture."

Slowly nodding, Loki began to pace, chin in hand, eyes distant. "It could be true," he muttered. "There were stories some time ago of an archer almost as capable as Hawkeye. He went by the name of Bullseye, and has not been seen since. That, and our allies within the city have been greatly reduced, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"It is a travesty –"

"It's the Sa'kagé," he hissed, coming to a standstill. "The worms! They've been quieter than usual. Fury and his puppets could ruin everything!"

"Perhaps," the small man suggested, "they will not be a problem for much longer."

Loki turned to him. "How so?"

"His Holiness has amassed an army from Lodricar. They will be at Cenaria's borders tomorrow."

A grin leaked across the Duke's face, his eyes blazing with triumph. "From Lodricar, you say?"

"A precursor for our own forces. The plan is to separate the city from its allies, weaken them while they do not suspect, and then strike in full when they believe themselves to be at respite."

"And right as their king falls." James swallowed, recognising the feverish delight in the nobleman's face. "Thank you for this information, Zola. Leave the task of the poisoning to me, and tell the Red Room to fear not: their Winter Soldier will be of no threat during our time of rising. Neither will the Sa'kagé."

The informant – Zola – gave a shudder as James' former name was uttered. "Are you… Are you sure?"

"I turned one of them before. I can turn him against them again."

Zola gave a low bow and scurried out of the room. Holding his breath as Loki took a moment to regain his composure, James pressed himself against the wall, hiding in his shadows until the Duke had also vacated. He waited out of habit to make sure no-one was coming back, then he dropped his shadows and hurried out, mind whirling with all that he'd heard. By the time he made it back to Steve and their little group, he'd summarised his information into three key points: Loki intended to poison the king; the Red Room was still looking for him; a Lodricari army was headed their way. Barely able to concentrate on the conversation he was supposed to be having with a man named T'Challa, apparently an ambassador from Ladesh, James knew he had to alert the Shinga as soon as possible.

"You have a gift," Steve said a few minutes later, a smile on his lips, and James turned to see a servant hovering in front of him with a drink in hand.

"From Madame Viper," he said, gesturing towards a woman dressed in green with long, black hair. She raised her glass when James made eye contact, and he smiled in return, ignoring the shivers her eyes sent down his spine.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I refused?" he said with a grin, and took the proffered drink from the servant's hands. Taking a sip, he was pleased to feel the velvet tones of expensive Sethi wine on his tongue, and looked again at Madame Viper, hoping she could see his gratitude.

"She's always doing that," Sharon said disdainfully. "It really isn't any wonder she hasn't found a husband yet."

"Sharon!" Lady Rogers scolded.

"But you have to agree, Mother: Lord Barnes is far too young for a snake like her."

"That is enough, young lady! Lord Barnes is perfectly capable of choosing for himself –"

"And, as of yet, has no interest in finding a bride," James cut in, if only to take the panicked look off Steve's face. He grinned. "I thank you both for taking an interest, but as you said, My Lady, I know what to look for." Lady Rogers nodded, giving him a soft apology. Sharon just pouted and became very interested in her drink.

As the party wore on, James made a conscious effort to dispel thoughts of Khalidor from his mind and actively take part in the discussion in front of him. T'Challa was interested in the fact that James had been to Ladesh, and the two spent some time talking about the finer points of Ladeshi culture and current styles (despite the fact that all he remembered of Ladeshi architecture was blood-stained walls). Lord Odinson, clearly in much higher spirits than each of them combined, soon began to regale them with a tale from his childhood while Lady Foster looked on in a mixture of fondness and embarrassment. Nobody could get a word in edgeways – but as Thor began his third tale James found himself dwelling on the absence of his own memories, and with his mind slowly drawn back to the many issues surrounding Khalidor and Cenaria he quietly made his excuses and slipped out into the night, headed for the Nine's chamber.

The midnight-black walls of the chamber, for all that they were designed to intimidate, had nothing on the one-eyed glare of the Shinga. James was unlucky enough to have earned it in full force, though he didn't quite know why. "That is the biggest load of crap I think I've ever heard."

The wetboy blinked. "Excuse me?"

Fury leaned forward in his mock throne. "You've just effectively accused Duke Laufeyson, one of the most – if not the most – dedicated nobles of his generation of being a traitor to the King and Cenaria. Pardon me for being somewhat incredulous."

James frowned. "But I just told you –"

"How much do you know about him, Barnes?"

"I know as much as I've been told: difficult childhood, not very well liked, contributes a lot to the city, close to King Odin –"

"And that has been going on for over twenty years. You expect me to believe that he's now working for the enemy because you, who only arrived to this city two years ago, apparently overheard a 'suspicious' conversation?"

This was not the reaction James had expected. Frustration rolled through him, and he clenched his jaw. "Sir, I am telling no lies. A Lodricari army –"

"We have informants who would have sent word if a hostile force of any kind was approaching Black Barrow," Hill interrupted. "There have been no warnings from Ossein either."

"And if a traitorous Duke Laufeyson suspects an attack on our borders, why, then, would he pledge his army to Cenaria's defence?" Coulson added.

Looking between all three of them, seeing the disbelief in each of their faces, James was speechless. "You're really going to just leave this?" he asked. "You won't even warn the King?"

"And have His Highness waste his time and resources gathering armies for nothing?" Fury shook his head. "We have a reputation to uphold."

"A reputation of finding out things that no-one else knows!"

"Exactly – no-one else." The Shinga narrowed his eye. "We cannot kill the named heir. Not everybody likes Laufesyon, Barnes – you should have first-hand experience of that. But nobody would ever think to question his loyalty to King Odin and the city that, as of recently, will one day be under his rule."

"But –"

"I have not finished." James shifted where he stood, stomach beginning to twist uncomfortably. "Now, can you think of one reason why a future king of Cenaria would be willing to hand over his inheritance to his lifelong enemy? Hill, Coulson?" The hands shook their heads. "Neither can I, because it isn't feasible that the Godking will let a Cenarian king live, let alone keep what is his. So here's what I think, Barnes: I think you need to consider your position in this organisation very carefully. You claim they messed with your memories? We can do that too, and I will if I believe it necessary. Have I made myself clear?"

He had to be talking about Bruce Banner. Would the same man who helped him all that time ago turn on him at the command of the Sa'kagé? James swallowed. "Perfectly."

Fury leaned back in his chair. "Get out, Barnes. Think about what news you're bringing me next time." The wetboy did as he was told without a glance at anyone – not even Sitwell and Wu, who stood stony-faced at the doors.

Making his way out of the hall, each step James took seemed to worsen the feeling in his stomach, even as his thoughts boiled at the Shinga's treatment of his information. This was a man who had made his success based on impossible knowledge, things nobody would dare to believe without seeing a noose or an axe when they closed their eyes. What was so ridiculous about James' revelations that made them worthless to the king of shadows? That made the messenger himself nothing more than a liar?

As he drew closer to home, the sensations in his stomach developed into something clearly unrelated to his shocking humiliation; James was dizzy as he stepped in view of his home, and after another two minutes of staggering along the ache he'd initially felt had turned into a lancing pain that seemed to cut through his gut. Within seconds he was retching violently into a bush, the taste of bile and expensive Sethi wine filling his mouth and nostrils. His body trembled, and it felt like somebody was squeezing the blood out of his veins, the bush was wavering and blurring in his vision as his heartbeat thumped too loudly over a high-pitched ringing and – and words…

"It's such a shame," a silky voice said as he dropped to his hands and knees, "to waste a masterpiece like this. The Red Room will be most disappointed."

Spitting what felt like acid onto the ground, James tried to draw in a breath that didn't burn his lungs. "You…"

"Yes?" Though his eyes were closed, James could hear the amusement in Lord Laufeyson's tone.

"Won't succeed," he gasped out before coughing up more bile, his ears ringing louder after the experience.

"Won't I?" Loki said. "I've deceived the Sa'kagé, a feat unheard of since its formation along with the city. I have the complete confidence of that fool Odin, the support of the most powerful nation in the lands, and my suspicions confirmed: if a young, healthy man like you can't handle this marvellous concoction, what chance does an ageing king have?" James tried to stand and was thrown off balance when Loki hauled him up by his lapels. "And with you gone," he continued, "nobody will know that their beloved city is in danger." He shook his head pityingly. "No more eavesdropping for you, Winter Soldier."

"You saw me…" James mumbled, struggling to stay conscious.

"Your little shadow display did not go unnoticed. I'd have thought Fury trained you better."

"The… army…"

"Is almost upon us," the Duke grinned. "I have no doubt that Cenaria will be able to hold out against the Lodricari in the end, but against an immediate follow-up from Khalidor? Oh no; once its defences have crumbled and its pathetic excuse for nobility has submitted itself to save their skins I will be rewarded for my patience and loyalty, if not by His Holiness then by Khali herself. And while it is a shame that you won't be here to witness my success for yourself, Winter Soldier, you can go in the knowledge that, for some time, you aided it."

He had to fight. While there was still breath in him, he had to do something. Trying to get out of Loki's grasp, James pulled uselessly at the other man's wrists. It was then, through a haze of shadowed and blurred vision, that he saw something dark and wispy moving on the Duke's exposed skin. "How –"

Loki pushed him away, and he registered the sensation of falling just in time to meet the ground. "Get rid of him!" he heard him snap as the shadows pooled over his eyesight. His body groaned as someone lifted him, breathing becoming an almighty task as his head lolled backwards, and James was dimly aware of the steady rhythm of heavy steps taking him away from the life he'd become accustomed to. Too weak to attempt an escape he focused on staying conscious, failing to work out how long it was until they stopped, and then a new motion set his stomach churning: the feeling of weightlessness.

For a second, he thought he was dead, and that perhaps Darcy had been right about the Heaven she'd once spoken of (a place James was certain men like him were unlikely bound for). She'd never know, he realised; all the time they'd spent together, everything he'd ever confided in her, the things she'd made him feel, they would all become one-sided memories. And he knew better than most that memories were intangible, cursed, and more often painful than –

He landed on something hard yet soft. Beneath the sensation of being swallowed, the last thing he was aware of was an all-encompassing cold covering him inside and out, and a roaring in his ears that sounded like the thundering rumble of an army on the move.

He stared out at the wide, filthy expanse of moving water, wondering how he'd ended up on this side of it. Not for the first time, either – Bucky had no memories of his parents save for a silhouette of a woman, or more likely a girl, holding him in her arms and humming something off-key in a wavering tone. She didn't look at him, just rocked him absently. After years of trying Bucky had given up trying to find her, and the memory only served to reassure him that he wasn't born magically somehow, despite Toro's insistence to the contrary.

Looking down, he found himself staring at his reflection – another murky silhouette against the grimy grey water. This, he figured, was what memories were like: reflections of things. You couldn't touch them without them disappearing or being spoilt, and they gave little warmth or comfort. Sometimes they were clear, sometimes they weren't, but one thing he knew for sure; memories were –

"Hey."

Startled, Bucky spun round and saw a skinny, blonde familiar approaching him with a smile. He clutched his chest. "Scare a guy to death, why don't ya?" he teased.

"Sorry." He didn't sound very apologetic, and Bucky pulled him in for a fond noogie. "What are you doing here?" the boy asked when he was released.

Bucky shrugged. "I sometimes come here when I wanna think," he admitted. "Hard to do around Toro an' Dum Dum."

His friend chuckled. "I'll say." Then, after a beat, "What're you thinking about? If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

"'S okay," he returned with a one-shouldered shrug. "Just where I come from. I mean, nobody wants to live here, right? So where'd my parents come from? Who was my dad?" Kicking a stone into the Plith, he continued; "Nice to pretend I came from over there. Big house, food, good clothes an' stuff. No dues or bigs tellin' me what to do." He stared at the city rooftops, some already smoking though it wasn't yet particularly cold. "Reckon he'd've been a noble. My dad, I mean. A soldier."

"Yeah?"

Bucky nodded. "An' I wouldn't've been alone – I'd've had a sister. We'd learn stuff together, I'd stick up for her, tell other guys to lay off…"

"Sounds like me and you."

Surprised, he turned to look at his companion. "How?"

He ducked his head, dirty blonde hair obscuring his face a little. "Well, you've always been like a brother to me," he said softly. "A great one, too. I… I owe a lot to you, Bucky. And I guess I just realised – I never said thanks." The boy looked up with a warm smile. "So thank you."

After a moment of processing all that had just been said (and all that meant, too), Bucky scoffed and shoved him in the shoulder. Lightly. "C'mon, punk, ya tryin' to make me cry?"

"Maybe, jerk."

They shared a laugh then slipped back into quiet reminiscence, each lost to his own, troubled, childish thoughts of families and what-could-have-beens and life on the other side. It was a whole other world on the other side of the river, full of excitement and adventure and a better chance of staying alive than either of them had right now. The Warrens were a place of war, and as far as Bucky was concerned, cities didn't have wars between their walls.

"So I heard there are some new kids in Carson's," the little guy said after a while.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "From Friaku."

"Really? Damn. That's a long way away."

"Is it?"

"'Parently." Bucky picked up a stone and threw it as hard as he could, dismayed when it didn't even reach halfway. "Y'know they do weird stuff to themselves?"

"Who?"

"Freaks."

"Freaks?"

"Folk from Friaku. They, like, cut themselves up or something. 'S why we call 'em Freaks."

There was no response to that for a short while. "They say they're good at throwing things. Just thought you should know."

Bucky shot him a sidelong glance. "What, and you don't think we could take 'em?" He grinned, wrapping an arm around the little soldier's bony neck. "We're the guys who beat Schmidt! Ain't no-one who's too tough for us now!"

Nervous laughter preceded a quiet, "You think?"

"Pal, one day we'll be heroes," Bucky assured him. "All of us. Well, 'cept maybe Toro – he'd just make everythin' catch fire."

The boy under his arm grinned. "We'd be quite a team, right?"

He matched the expression. "We sure would! We'd have all these adventures…"

As they made their way back to their friends, new tales of suspense spilling forth from their imaginations, Bucky decided that he didn't need memories of his parents to know who he was – he had his friends, the constants in his life that he knew would keep him going, and the ones who would keep his memories the warm beacons of light he always fell back on whenever he felt like the Plith was pulling him under.

Natasha kept her breathing even as the Shinga laid out his orders to Wade, listening only to the sound of his words, the shift in volume as he lost his temper with Deadpool and the latter's contrasting jovial tone. Curling her fingers into fists, she slowly closed her eyes and stilled herself, pushing her opinions on Wade's attitude to his fellows – his friends – to the recesses of her mind. There were more important things to consider: James, for one. A traitor… It didn't feel right. In all the time she'd spent in his company the former Khalidoran had done nothing to imply that he still harboured the forced ideals of his past 'masters' – but Natasha knew the lengths some wetboys would go to in order to be convincing. What if James was just a very good actor? What if the noble defectors killed by his hand he'd viewed as sacrifices? And, more worryingly, what if he had a part in Clint's –

Her attention was brought back to the present by a new sound cutting off the old ones: the door to the chamber opened, and Sitwell entered, a light grey bird on one arm. "Sir," he addressed the Shinga, "she wouldn't let me open it myself;" and the one in question flew across the remaining distance directly to the arm of Fury's chair, offering her message-bearing leg as soon as her wings stilled.

Fury wasted no time in opening the small square, and quickly scanned the two hurriedly scrawled lines. He lowered his arms slowly, expression slacking into something unreadable. Below, Hill and Coulson exchanged concerned frowns, and Hill was the one bold enough to ask, "What is it?"

Blinking once, the Shinga stood sharply from his seat and strode off with the barest of explanations: "The Banners have found something dangerous."

Bruce stood at the mouth of the cave, breathing heavily, unable to do anything but stare. Betty was motionless beside him, but he was only distantly aware of her. They'd clawed their way up this mountain with the hopes of finding Stephen Strange, dead or alive, and it hadn't been easy. They never expected it to have been, but it was more of a struggle than Bruce had anticipated. Now, they were here, and he didn't know what he was supposed to feel – relief? Joy? Disappointment? Shock? Anger? Until he could make up his mind, he settled for stunned, trying once more to take in the small furnishings before him of a bed, fire pit, and makeshift supply corner, as well as the robed figure smiling warmly at him and his wife as though they'd seen him yesterday.

"Hello, Bruce. Betty."

"Charles?"