Author's NOTE:
This is a stand alone sequel to a previous story of mine (Winter Soldier Resurrection). It's not required to understand this story, but I highly recommend it and it'll give background on the time travel device. If you've read the non-ship version of Winter Soldier's Endgame, here's what you need to know to decide whether to read this one: The major plot points are the same, and the story progresses almost identically. Some scenes have been re-written with new Stucky content (most of that occurs after Bucky travels through time). (Complete, likely to have chapters posted every day until it's all up).NChapter 1: The Wall
Sam eyed Bucky across the dining table as Sarah berated the boys to put away the cell phone and finish their breakfasts. Ever since Steve had returned to 2014, Bucky had been quieter, slipping back into the stoicism he seemed to wrap around himself like a blanket. Currently, Bucky was apparently contemplating the complexities of eggs and boudin. His head hung low, his eyes on his plate. His dog tags hung over a gray, long sleeved Henley. The fingers of his right hand played with the crust of his toast.
Sam's phone chirped in his jacket pocket, but he didn't dare go for it after Sarah had just berated the boys. She'd rip into him if he dared. Whatever it was could wait a few minutes until he finished the last of his eggs.
"Is everything okay with the food?" Sarah asked, nodding at Bucky and the half-eaten plate of boudin, toast, and eggs.
Sam knew she'd noticed the change in the other man.
Bucky smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, it's great." He took a bite of his boudin and toast, nodding as he muffled a "thanks," just before swallowing.
Sarah smiled at him. "I'm glad you like it. We're sorry to see you leave tomorrow. Sure you can't hang around?"
Sam's phone chirped again, and he took an irritated breath. Sometimes, he hated the thing. Between social media and app notifications, the damn device was downright annoying. He'd silence it more often if he didn't need to be reachable as the new Captain America.
The title still didn't feel right to him. He wondered how long it would take until it did.
Bucky shook his head. "You've been very welcoming, and I appreciate you letting me crash on your couch, but I have to settle up some things in Brooklyn."
Sarah nodded. "Well, you're welcome anytime," she said, then finished the last of her eggs and rose from the table. She eyed AJ and Cass. "Didn't I tell you two to put the cell phone away?"
AJ looked up from his phone, "But this is Bucky!"
Sam wasn't sure he'd heard that correctly. "What?"
Cass pointed to his brother's phone. "Bucky's viral!"
Sam looked at Bucky, who shook his head, but a hint of anxiety lurked in the other man's eyes. Sam was pretty sure he knew what Bucky was thinking. There was only one incident Sam could think of that involved cell phones and even remotely viral material where Bucky was concerned.
Oh, shit. Sam leaned over and grabbed the phone from AJ. Crap! Crap! Crap! There, on the screen, was Bucky in the Madripoor bar, playing the part of the Winter Soldier. Sam and Zemo were visible in the background as Bucky sent one guy flying into a metal beam.
"Sam?" Bucky prompted from across the table.
Sam looked up at him. "It's Madripoor."
"You're awesome!" Cass exclaimed. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
A muscle in the side of Bucky's jaw clenched. Something akin to regret flickered in his dark blue eyes.
"He's a super soldier, like Steve Rogers was!" AJ explained. "He was trained by the Nazi's and Russians, or something." AJ looked up at Bucky. "Right? I Googled you."
Bucky lowered his gaze to the unfinished food, grabbed his plate, and rose from the table.
"Hey!" Sarah swatted AJ on the head. "Bucky—"
He smiled softly at her and went to the sink. "Thanks again. The food was delicious, but I'm just not that hungry this morning." He dumped the rest of his breakfast in the trashcan near the sink and then methodically washed his dish.
Sam took a breath and gave AJ's cell phone to Sarah. She looked at him, concern and confusion on her face, and he shook his head at her, then walked to the kitchen island to stand near Bucky. He studied the familiar stiff shoulders of his friend and eyed the slow circles Bucky's metal hand made with the soapy dish rag against the now clean surface of the plate.
"Hey, man, this is nothing. It's not even half as interesting as the dancing parakeet that was all over the Internet last week. It'll disappear in a few days."
Bucky rinsed the dish under the sink and set it gently in the strainer, then turned to Sam. "Check your phone."
Sam felt a heaviness in his gut suddenly. He reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and glanced at the notifications. Two text messages, one from a senator, the other from a reporter. As he held the phone in his hand, it chimed again. Another text message. Then it rang.
"Shit." He silenced the phone and pocketed it.
A hard knock at the front door startled him. Sarah and the boys jumped. Sarah trotted to the front door, peered out, and then shot a worried look at Sam. She straightened as she opened the door. "What can I do for you?"
Sam walked forward slowly until he could see the porch. Two deputy sheriffs peered in at him, one male, the other female. The man on the left nodded. Stationed in front of the house were two sheriff vehicles and a handful of deputies.
"Mr. Wilson. We were asked to check out your place. We're looking for James Barnes, and we have reason to believe he might have been here recently."
"Why?" Sam asked, but before deputies could answer, Bucky walked past him and stood in the doorway, facing the officers.
The deputy on the right rested her hand on her gun.
"I'm James Barnes." The former Winter Soldier kept his hands at his side, palms facing the two officers.
Johnson took a step inside. "Mr. Barnes, I'm Deputy Johnson. I have a warrant for your arrest."
"Hey!" Sam moved forward, and Deputy Johnson put his hand on his weapon. "If this is about that video, he wasn't even in the United States, and Madripoor doesn't have an extradition treaty."
"Sam!" Sarah jerked her chin toward the boys, a warning. He recognized the fear in her eyes.
Bucky gave Sam a regretful shake of his head, then looked at Sarah with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry."
He raised his hands and turned his back to the officers. They wasted no time yanking his arms behind his back and slapping a set of handcuffs around his wrists, then patted him for weapons. They recited the Miranda Warning as they lead him down the stairs and into the back of their vehicle.
"Why are they arresting Bucky?" AJ asked.
Sarah moved to her son and put a hand on his head. "I'm not sure, but you two need to stay inside today."
Sam watched Bucky from the porch. He sat in the back of the vehicle, looking straight ahead, his shoulders slouched.
"I have to make some calls." Sam turned to Sarah and pulled out his cell phone. "And if they know he was here, the media will, too. You might want to lay low for a bit and take AJ's cell phone away until some of this blows over."
"But—" AJ started to protest.
Sam held up a hand. "Not now, AJ." He had to figure out how to help Bucky out of this mess, and he might have to use all his connections to do that.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky had spent decades terrifying people. During his time on the run and the two years of his recovery, he'd learned how to blend in and be unassuming. After the bombing of the UN, when he became the world's most wanted man—and his subsequent post-Blip legal headache—he wanted nothing more than to just go about his life being unnoticed.
Fortunately, the chaos caused by the Blip had helped his pardon. Family members of his victims had protested his pardon, but for the most part, half the planet was too pre-occupied with welcoming back lost loved ones or gaining their bearings after returning that few people cared about putting him behind bars. His participation in the fight against Thanos, along with Sam in his corner, had greased the wheels for his pardon. The protests died down quickly as people focused on the hard reality of post-Blip life.
He'd made an art of fading into the background. Shoulders relaxed. Nonchalant. Withdrawing into himself. Avoiding eye contact while scanning his surroundings. A soft smile here and there. Hiding his metal arm.
For the most part, it had worked…until Madripoor. It was like Bucharest all over again. As the deputies led him from the car and into the station, he was aware of all the eyes on him. Reporters surrounded him, pushed back by officers as they hurled questions at him. He feared that the video had, once again, made his face the most recognizable one on the planet.
"Mr. Barnes, how does it feel to be in custody again?"
"Do you have anything to say about the accusations against you?"
"Mr. Barnes, any comment on the video of you assaulting people in Madripoor? Doesn't that violate the terms of your pardon?"
"Do you have anything to say to the family of Leon Klein?"
Bucky looked into the face of the woman who'd asked about Klein. Who the hell was Leon Klein? The name meant nothing to him, and that gave him a heavy feeling in the center of his gut.
Bucky pushed his anxiety to the background and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as they entered the building, leaving the throng of reporters outside. He used his practiced nonchalance throughout the booking process, giving the deputies no reason to fear him even as they removed the ridiculous handcuffs. He was well-versed in the language of compliance.
Stand here. Put your thumb there. Turn that way. Face the camera.
He did it all wordlessly, except when answering direct questions confirming his name, birthdate, and address. The birthdate was always a fun one to answer in these situations – and he'd been in these situations far too often over the past few years.
Because it was a local sheriff's station, he was allowed to wear the clothes he came in with when they put him in the cell, except for his dog tags – those, they'd taken, along with his cell phone. Finally, as the bars slid closed in front of him, he asked the deputy a question.
"What am I being arrested for?" He wasn't sure anyone had even told him. If they had, his mind had been elsewhere.
The deputy paused on the other side of the bars and studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "All I know is you're a hot political commodity, and apparently a couple of guards in Berlin are in critical condition as a result of an escape they say you were involved with. The Germans are demanding extradition. That video didn't help your case, any. There are other charges, but that's all I know. You can talk to your lawyer about it."
Critical condition? Bucky took a breath. He hadn't known. How critical?
He wondered if he'd end up with the same court-appointed attorney he'd had last time. He turned and walked over to the small bench in his solitary cell and sat down. He eyed the small prison. He was certain he could break through the wall, and from the layout, he was pretty sure it was an exterior wall. That was foolish of them. Of course, in his Winter Soldier days, he could just bust the lock on the bars and work his way through the small handful of poorly armed deputies, but that wasn't an option he would choose, anymore.
Not that he had any intention of breaking out. He'd spent time on the run. He didn't relish that life. Of course, he didn't relish a life behind bars, either, but he'd give the process a chance, figure out the charges, hopefully find out whether the guards would be okay, and go from there.
The door to the lockup room opened. Two sets of footsteps sounded through the short hallway. He didn't bother looking. He recognized the gait of the man in the back, even as he continued to stare at the wall on the other side of his cell, but he tracked his friend in the periphery of his vision.
"Hey, Sam. I'm sorry for bringing this to your family."
"That's not anything you need to worry about. Sarah and the boys are fine. Cass and AJ thought it was exciting, though they're all worried about you." Sam stopped in front of the bars. A deputy moved to stand behind him. "How are you doing?"
Bucky glanced at him. "Two guards are in critical condition in Berlin? Is that true?"
Sam grabbed the bars and lowered his head.
Bucky leaned forward, his full attention on his friend. "Sam?"
"One of the guards died…The one that Zemo took out to steal the uniform. The other one was hurt in the prison fight. It looks like he'll be okay."
Bucky felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew who Leon Klein was now—the dead guard. The guard he'd gotten killed by helping Zemo break free. His heart thudded. The room tilted for a moment, then everything went blurry.
What have I done?
He'd not only hurt several people in his desire to find the serum and stop the super soldiers, but he'd gotten an innocent man killed. Another was hospitalized. Those were on top of the ones he'd injured in Madripoor. He didn't even have Hydra or brainwashing to blame this time. Those were all on him—James Buchanan Barnes.
He'd justified his actions by telling himself he was saving lives. An army of super soldiers could be virtually unstoppable, especially with most of the Avengers gone. And what if some of those soldiers were unwilling victims having their brains scrambled? The world didn't need 20 or 50 or 100 Winter Soldiers. He'd been sure Hydra had been involved and that, if he didn't stop them, hundreds or thousands or possibly even millions of people could die. So, he'd sacrificed lives he had no right to put on the line.
"Bucky! Bucky, are you hearing me?"
The voice was pleading. How long had Sam been talking to him?
"I hear you, Sam."
"I'm working on getting you a good lawyer."
Bucky shook his head. "Don't. I don't want you dipping into whatever savings you have. This isn't on you." He felt his voice catch, his chest suddenly tight. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in the back of his throat. "This is all on me. Besides, I'm guilty." He closed his eyes. "Guess I turned that book into the Doc too soon."
"Bucky, stop talking." Sam's voice was firm, insistent. "Anything you say…and all that; and you're not guilty. Zemo is the one who broke out, and he's the one that killed that guard. Stop taking the world on your shoulders."
Bucky looked up at Sam and the deputy behind him. He figured Sam's words were more for the officer's ears than his own since the other man knew full well Bucky had orchestrated the prison break. Sam was being a good friend, no doubt just trying to stop him from digging a deeper grave.
Bucky rose and moved to stand in front of Sam, the bars between them. He looked his friend straight in the eyes. Sam had to know he meant what he said.
"I don't want you spending money on a lawyer for me. I know it would be a hardship, and it's not your problem." He'd already screwed up enough lives, and he didn't want Sam to become another casualty.
Sam leaned forward and whispered. "Don't be stupid, man. They're talking about sending you to the Raft. That video has a lot of people thinking the Winter Soldier isn't all that gone. The Germans are pissed. Family members of Winter Soldier victims are putting pressure on the President and the Louisiana Governor. FBI agents are on their way. It's a mess. If you get a crappy lawyer, you'll likely spend the rest of your life in the Raft."
The Raft. Bucky gripped the bars in front of him, his legs suddenly weak. It made sense, he realized. It would be poetic justice for him to spend the rest of his life sharing a prison with Zemo. That would be a new kind of hell he wasn't sure he could weather.
Sam reached through the bars and put a hand on Bucky's shoulder.
"No contact!" The deputy behind him said.
Sam ignored him. "I'm working on this, calling in all my markers. Just…don't give up, okay? I don't like the look in your eyes."
The deputy grabbed Sam and yanked him back. "Time's up, Mr. Wilson."
Bucky watched Sam being led out of the lockup area and mustered as much of an appreciative smile as he could. "Keep your markers," he then eyed the deputy, "and that's Captain America to you."
As the door closed behind Sam, Bucky sank down on the bench and reviewed his options. He could wait out the trial, but by that time he'd be in a much more secure holding cell. If they convicted him – and he was actually guilty – and sent him to the Raft, escape would be much more difficult. He'd be facing a lifetime in the same dark, hopeless prison facility as Zemo. The Raft conditions were bad enough—although even that would be an upgrade to Siberia—but spending the rest of his life near Zemo, possibly even having to listen to his needling for the rest of his days, well, that was something he couldn't fathom.
His other option was escape, and he'd have to make that decision soon—before the FBI arrived—if he had any hope of minimizing potential harm to others. And then what? Evade responsibility for getting a man killed…a man that was just doing his job? Bucky closed his eyes and slouched against the wall. He didn't even know what the man looked like or how Zemo had disposed of him. Had it been fast? Probably. Had the unfortunate guard left behind a family? Children?
More names to add to his list, only this time under amends for acts committed as Bucky Barnes, and as he knew to the very core of his soul, there really was no way to make amends for taking an innocent life. Right now, looking back at his catastrophically bad decision, he wondered what he'd been thinking. Had he really been so focused on the mission—stopping an army of super soldiers—that he was willing to trade lives?
Steve had never traded lives, even when the fate of the Universe was on the line. Steve had made the world a better place just by being in it, even before he'd been Captain America. Bucky had always respected that about his friend, admired him. Hell, loved him…as much as he'd loved anyone, his folks and sisters included. Steve had an indomitable spirit, even battling asthma and all his ailments, he never backed down from anything. He'd lost both his parents, and despite all the losses he'd suffered, he'd still done a far better job of connecting with people after being on ice for 70 years than Bucky had. Steve had the truest moral compass of anyone Bucky had ever known.
Bucky had hoped he'd pick up some of that certainty just by being around Steve, but the truth was, he and Steve were two very different people, and no matter how hard he tried to fight for something bigger than himself, he always seemed to fail…and fail big.
The world would have been a better place had James Buchanan Barnes never been born. He wouldn't have gotten captured, and he sure as hell wouldn't have spent 70 years as Hydra's assassin. Pierce had told him he'd shaped the century. Shaped it for Hydra.
The world would have been more civilized without the Fist of Hydra. And Leon Klein would still be alive.
Instead, Klein was dead, and Bucky was alive. Why? What was the point? Steve was gone, and as much as he tried, he couldn't find meaning in a world without him.
God, he was pathetic. Steve would be ashamed if he could see him now.
It was all suddenly just too much. The room tilted, he slammed into something hard, curled up against the wall, and let go. He was tired of fighting. He didn't care if there were cameras or this ended up on some evening broadcast – his pathetic, broken figure sobbing uncontrollably on TV screens across the world.
He couldn't do it, anymore. He struggled to suck in air. The room seemed to close around him. No matter how hard he tried, or what he did, he'd never be able to truly make amends. He couldn't bring back Howard or Maria Stark or Yori's son or that mother and her three year-old daughter or Leon Klein. He couldn't bring back any of them. Everything he touched, he destroyed. It's what Hydra had programmed him to do. It's all he knew. He had no place in the world except in a prison cell, and it had no use for him except as a killer.
"You are the fist of Hydra. You are a perfect killing machine."
The accented voice rang in his ears. The Wakandans had freed his mind from the code words, but not even they could erase 70 years of Hydra in his head. Zemo was right. Something was still inside him. He still carried part of the Winter Soldier—that ruthless pursuit of the mission, the disregard for anything but the objective, the consummate ability to destroy anyone in the way.
Even Steve had seen it in him, after the Vienna bombings. "Buck stop! You're gonna kill someone."
"I'm not going to kill anyone," he'd said.
But he almost had—sending one of the special forces guys over the railing. He remembered the look on Steve's face as he'd caught the guy. "Come on, man," was all he'd said.
The people he'd decimated were too many to count. He didn't even know all their names. Howard and Maria Stark were just two that happened to catch up to him.
He remembered Tony's words. "On the plane, I said it wasn't your fault. I'm not sure that I really meant it back then, but I mean it now. Mom and Dad are not on you." Maybe Howard and Maria Stark weren't on him, but Leon Klein sure as hell was.
Stark.
Bucky raised his head, the swell of emotion taking a back seat to a burgeoning thought—a new mission that suppressed his despair and consumed the dark space in his mind where part of the Winter Soldier still lived. Back on the transport, he'd had an idea. He hadn't gone through with it because it was just too risky, and frankly, he wasn't sure he could even pull it off, or that it would truly change anything. Timelines were immutable, from what he understood.
But timelines had already changed. Steve must have created one when he'd gone back in time and spent his life with Peggy Carter.
God, how that hurt think about, and that hurt made him ashamed. Steve deserved happiness.
Yet another timeline must have branched off when Steve, Natasha, and Tony went back to 2014 with the knowledge they'd gained from meeting him and spending time in 2024 – Bucky hoped that, in that timeline, the Avengers still managed to defeat Thanos.
So, why couldn't he fix things – even if not for himself, for the others? He could create a timeline where Tony Stark never died. Maybe he could go even further and do more? If he went back to the battle outside of the Avenger's complex, he could be in the right place, at the right time….
Maybe he could create a single timeline where the sum total of the existence of one James Buchanan Barnes would be a net positive. Maybe, in some way, for some version of the people he'd harmed and cared about, he could truly make amends. It would be a one-way trip, but at the end of it, he'd finally, hopefully, pay for his sins and find peace.
And the world would be blissfully devoid of one James Buchanan Barnes.
-0- -0- -0-
"Look, you can't prove he had anything to do with Zemo breaking out of prison." Sam eyed the Sheriff. He wasn't lying, technically. He knew Buck was behind the breakout, but he also knew the former Winter Soldier had been careful. If they could've proved something, they would have arrested him a while ago "This is all political because of that stupid video."
The older man, Sheriff Watson, had a face worn with deep lines and dark brown eyes. He sat behind his desk, an active security monitor set on top a table perpendicular to his desk. Sam's gaze kept darting between the Sheriff and Bucky on the screen. His friend was sitting on the bench, staring at the wall, so still that, if not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Sam would've thought the video frozen.
"It's not up to me to prove anything," The Sheriff leaned back in his chair. "I'm just providing the holding cell until the feds show up.
"Look," Sam eyed the monitor again, "I—" his words caught in his throat as motion on the screen drew his attention.
Bucky toppled sideways, slamming into the wall. His chest heaved, his shoulders shook, and he buried his face in the elbow of his right arm. There was no sound, and for that, Sam was grateful. He wasn't sure he could take hearing his friend's torment. He had known the Bucky for years – not as well as Steve had – but he'd seen the guy in some truly hairy situations, stuff that would have broken almost anyone else. The only other time he'd seen Bucky actually cry was back at the cabin, after that dream and the run-through of the code words. Sam still hadn't been able to pry the details of that nightmare from his friend.
But there Bucky was on the screen, alone, broken, looking like a man who'd finally hit the wall. Bucky was usually so adept at stoicism that it was often easy to forget that he was a man who had experienced profound trauma, more trauma than perhaps any human being had ever experienced and lived through. Looking at him now, Sam saw a man who had been repeatedly and brutally tormented by a sick, terrible world and finally reached his limit.
The Sheriff noticed Barnes, too. He leaned forward in his chair and took a breath. "Your friend's going for the psych angle, huh?"
The sudden rage took Sam by surprise. His arm lashed out, sending the items on top of the desk flying. The Sheriff jumped to his feet, his hand going to his side arm. "You want to end up in a cell next to him, Cap?"
Sam was so furious he shook. He eyed the man as he tried to calm himself. Breathe. Slowly. In and out. He'd do no good to Bucky if he found himself locked up. He straightened and pointed at the monitor, but before he could say another word, he saw Bucky rise to his feet, his wet eyes scanning the area briefly before settling on the camera.
Bucky raised a hand and gave a two-finger wave at the lens, then turned around, pulled back his vibranium arm, and punched a hole in the wall. He followed through, bulldozing his way through the brick and out to the parking lot.
"Shit!" The Sheriff was out of his office, yelling, "Prisoner's escaped! South parking lot."
Sam stared at the monitor for a second more, eyeing the large hole in the wall and the sunlight pouring inside the small cell. His chest went tight. Even if they could get Bucky out of the Berlin mess, there was now the jail break-caught on camera. There'd be no way around this.
Christ, Bucky, what have you done?
He forced his gaze away from the screen and ran outside, thankful that he'd brought the suit. His car was parked just past the throng of media vans, but fortunately there weren't any reporters present. He figured they were all on the other side of the building trying to cover the chase. Sam opened his trunk, pulled out the case, and suited up.