AN: One more chapter to go, guys! Thanks to all of my lovely reviewers (and an extra special shoutout to resfulsky5 for reviewing every chapter!) and followers alike!

If you have yet to get your complete Avenger's fill, feel free to head on over to my other story, "Drop and Cover." It concerns Clint's whereabouts during "The Winter Soldier," and lucky for you lot, it's already complete! I upload a chapter every Sunday, so keep an eye out for it.

Happy reading!

It was only a matter of time when he would have his next run in with the following member of the team. He just couldn't be sure if it would be Stark or Barton.

He found out much sooner than he had expected.

Since his ashamedly awkward soul-bearing encounter with Bruce, Bucky had been lying low, avoiding Steve and the others when he could as he waited for his hand to heal and become less of a target for attention and the unwanted questions that would undoubtedly come with it. He gave himself that excuse each day, that he just didn't want Steve to worry about the hand, but in reality, he knew it was because Banner's words were still resonating in his mind a little too well.

He'd done well discovering most of the hiding spots the tower had to offer along the upper floors and behind the occasional odd door, and he'd managed to create an exit from just about every room he was bound to visit at some point during his stay. The amount of glossy sliding panels and extra rooms full of scrap and half built machinery was bordering on ridiculous, but Bucky wasn't about to complain about a blessing like the extra crawlspaces. Jarvis gave him fair warning when the other inhabitants of the tower were nearby, and for not the first time of those two short weeks, he was immensely grateful for the presence of the AI in the house. He was shocked at how quickly he had come to view Jarvis as a companion as opposed to the disembodied program he had first considered the voice to be.

Still, even with Jarvis' warnings, sometimes there was nowhere to slink away from the imminent encounters.

He'd been able to dodge Thor with relative ease. The big guy made enough noise when he walked to be heard a mile away, and he had a tendency to speak aimlessly with Jarvis as he made his way through the hallways. He wasn't a problem to easily avoid.

Natasha was a little trickier. Bucky had started to believe she had a sixth sense, as every time he slipped out of a room she was en route to on Jarvis' quiet suggestion, she would freeze in the doorway, her eyes darting this way and that as he watched carefully from behind a grate or in the security of the next room over. She almost always went about her business after that, but Bucky knew she knew he was nearby. How she knew, he didn't entirely want to know himself.

Bucky hadn't seen hide nor hair of Bruce since their little chat. The immense feeling of relief he got from that fact was a little startling to him.

He wouldn't have been too bothered if any of the others had found him, really. It was only Steve who he had been actively trying to avoid.

Which of course meant he was the one who came closest to cornering him.

Bucky was wandering aimlessly through the armory that day, his eyes roving unseeingly over the racks of miscellaneous weapons as the low humming of some oddly luminescent… thing buzzed in his ears. He'd noticed the sound the first night he had found the armory, and it gave him an almost pleasantly numb feeling as it droned on continuously. The stress and guilt had been threatening to overwhelm him again today, so he had made his way to the one floor he now knew could neutralize the feeling.

As he ran a hand lightly over a sniper rifle that looked suspiciously HYDRA-esque, something niggled anxiously at his mind. The droning hum was still resounding through the metal walls of the room uninterrupted, and he lifted his head, eyes narrowed suspiciously as his senses went on high alert.

Only seconds later, the long, low ding of the elevator doors opening pierced the stillness.

Bucky backpedaled rapidly, his shoulders brushing the wall without a sound as he searched desperately for a less conspicuous area to be standing in. There was the resonant thump of heavy footfalls, the owner hesitant and slow. The sound of the elevator doors closing with their distinct swoosh washed over the steps. Then, silence.

"Jarvis, are you sure he's here?"

Bucky's face fell, his eyes darkening at Steve's voice.

It would appear there was a limit to how long Jarvis was willing to not sell him out.

"Bucky?"

The split second flash of anger at the AI dissipated as quickly as it came. He couldn't be mad, really. He was supposed to be here to heal. In all actuality, he was surprised it had taken this long for Jarvis to rat him out.

He remained silent as Steve's footsteps echoed back through the room, his voice rising a level as he called his name. By the sound of the clicks, Steve was walking deeper into the room, opposite the direction Bucky was in. Bucky shut his eyes, mentally forcing himself to even his breathing before slowly, slowly inching his way along the wall towards the elevator's door and ducking behind a rack of foreign looking swords to conceal himself. He knew Steve would hear the doors opening, but it was the only exit he had for this room. He dimly noted that Jarvis hadn't pointed out his location to Steve yet, and a twinge of confusion ran through him. Why was he so silent?

The rack of swords suddenly merged with a much larger shelf of dense machinery, and Bucky stood with a cautious glance behind him. He would be shielded from the rest of the room until he came to the elevator.

He'd have to sprint for it.

Something glinted in the light over the rifle rack just ahead of him, and his eyes were drawn to the gleam despite themselves as he gently put his heel back on the floor from where it had been hovering in preparation to run. What he saw made his heart leap to his throat.

There was a sizable vent just over the rack of guns with what looked like standard bolts screwing it to the wall.

A vent.

How the hell did he miss a vent when he had mapped out the room?

He snapped himself out of his disbelief when Steve's voice suddenly rang back through the room, the tone low and concerned.

"Jarvis, where is he? You said he was on this floor."

Bucky didn't wait to hear the reply.

With all of the agility he had grudgingly become known for over the past fifty years, he leapt lightly for the rack, his feet connecting with the shelving with barely a sound. His hands worked furiously at the vent, and with the barest twinge of pain through his thumb, he pried the grating off with a tiny clang. He stood frozen for half a second, his ears straining past the buzzing that he was certain was now in his head. Jarvis had chosen that exact moment to reply to Steve, however, and the noise appeared to have been covered. Bucky hefted the grate into his metal hand as he silently thanked Jarvis, who appeared to be telling a very baffled Steve he had been mistaken. With another light leap and some careful maneuvering, he was well in the vent and pulling the opening shut.

The hum of the armory dwindled exponentially in the metal confines of the ventilation unit, and Bucky shifted further away from the grate with ease. He was well accustomed with crawlspaces, and it wasn't long before he found himself at a conjoining crossroads. He hooked a fast right and slid to a stop when he was certain he was well out of earshot of the armory, his breath still caught in his throat as he paused. His legs swung out underneath him as he lifted his body weight with his arms, and in seconds he was sitting against the wall of the ventilation shaft with his legs sprawled ungainly in front of him. An enormous, unbidden sigh of relief heaved out from his lungs, and he vaguely noted the sweat that had cooled on his face.

Had he really been that nervous?

The quiet of the vents was a welcome change, and he reveled in the stillness, his eyes closing as he gasped for breath.

That was, until, something thoroughly unexpected happened.

"Well. This is awkward."

Bucky's eyes flew open with an almost audible snap, and he was scooting back down the vent into a crouching position before he even registered where the voice had come from. His eyes landed on a solid form slightly concealed in the turn of the vent towards the only source of light in the crossroad, and he felt his hackles raising at the lack of a face to match to the voice. Anyone hiding out in the shadows in a ventilation unit was undoubtedly guilty of something. He silently cursed himself for his distraction before dimly belaying the curse. Expecting to meet adversity in a damn ventilation unit of a secured skyscraper was easily the last thing on his mind. His rapid fire judgment was shut down, however, as the figure suddenly extended it's hands in a peacemaking gesture, his body inching forward into the light as he spoke again, a slight twinge of dry amusement in his tone.

"Woah, there, man. I'm not looking for a fight here." There was a pause as he came closer. "Unless you are, of course, because then I'd happily oblige, seeing as you're a stranger hiding out in my ventilation."

Bucky felt a spike of dread run through him at that. 'My ventilation'? It couldn't be Tony Stark. There was no way. Did he make it a point of crawling through his ventilation shafts to check for intruders? That made no sense, he'd just ask Jarvis. So why else would he be up here? The panic coursing through Bucky's veins was almost unbearable when the figure came into the light filtering through the fan to his right.

The man was stockily built, carefully toned muscles lining his arms and shoulders as he stopped his forward motion and sat back on his haunches. A form fitting tee shirt clung to his torso, and Bucky's eyes darted over his baggy black pants and sneakers cautiously. He didn't look like the type of man Steve had made him out to be. His eyes roved back to his face, taking in the shadow of stubble on his chin and a large, gleaming white bandage plastered across easily half of his forehead. He skimmed over the patch and settled on the sandy blond of his spiked hair.

That was another thing.

He could have sworn Steve had said Stark had brown hair.

The man was speaking again, and he pulled himself from his musings to listen cautiously.

"So… you come here often?"

The deadpanned joke smacked Bucky solidly out of his defensive stance, and he relaxed exponentially. He fell out of his crouch and sat carefully back on his heels, his position mimicking the other man's perfectly. With a rueful shake of his head, he addressed him quietly.

"That's the fastest I've ever heard anyone go from threatening me to bar jokes as old as I am."

The man cracked a genuine grin at that, and he rocked out of his crouching position to sit more comfortably on the metal with a light shrug.

"Eh. You would've attacked by now if you were planning on it. That, plus the, ah-" He gestured in the general direction of Bucky's arm. Bucky followed the line of sight dumbly, staring at the bright red abomination on his bicep for a minute before turning back to the man and raising a brow, waiting for him to continue. He apparently had said all he needed to on the matter, as he plowed on, extending a hand as he spoke.

"Clint Barton. Nice to finally meet Cap's long lost war buddy."

Bucky could have slapped himself for his stupidity. Of course it was Barton; Steve had only told him about how the Hawk had gotten his name in almost every story he'd told him in the hospital. Of course he'd want to be as high as he could be in the tower. Of course he'd be in the vents. The guy had probably been in the building the whole time Bucky had been.

Bucky eyed the offered hand for a moment before raising his injured hand slowly and clasping it. He shook once solidly before letting it go and pulling back out of range from the archer. Clint raised an eyebrow at the bandages covering his hand, but thankfully didn't comment.

A slightly awkward moment of silence passed between the two before Bucky broke it with a weary sigh. "Not going to lie, Barton, I thought you were Stark."

Clint's entire forehead practically shifted upwards at that, and the archer huffed a shocked laugh. "You th- what, do I look like a cocky prick of a genius with cash to paper the walls with? Because if so, I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

Now it was Bucky's turn to raise his eyebrows. That certainly hadn't been the answer he'd been expecting. "You said these were 'your vents'. It's Stark's building, so I just…" He shrugged, at a loss for an ending to the sentence. Clint didn't appear to need one, however, as he laughed in earnest. He sat back further into the ledge he had been reclining in when Bucky had stumbled in, and as he moved out of the way of the main duct, Bucky got a clearer view of the small space. There was an oddly patterned cushion of some sort layered on the floor, and a crumpled bag of some sort of chips sat next to a six pack of bright red cans. The sight was undoubtedly strange, and Bucky couldn't keep himself from staring at it as Clint replied easily.

"Up until now, pal, it's just been me up here. So, yeah, 'my vents'." He paused, and Bucky's eyes snapped back to his face. There was a curious expression that he didn't really like there, and before he could speak, Barton was continuing casually. "So what brings you to my humble abode? Wanted a new perspective or something? Hell of a difference, I gotta say."

Bucky stared into his face for a long moment, watching as Barton's eyes flickered over his own rapidly. After a full minute of debating with himself, he gave in with a burst of an exhale and scrubbed his hand over his face. If this man was half as good as he'd been informed, then he'd know when he was being lied to.

Whatever.

He was exhausted, and starving, and a basket case, and guilt ridden, and honestly, he couldn't find it in himself to care about his image anymore.

So he told the truth.

"I'm a coward."

Clint blinked at that, the silence overtaking the metal enclosure oddly unnerving this time. There was a brief pause before Clint spoke.

"Uh… care to elaborate?"

Bucky shook his head, his eyes trained on the floor. "I'm hiding. From… from Steve. From everyone." He hesitated a moment, a quick glance at Barton's face revealing only patient absorption. So he continued, his head tilting back to rest against the side of the ventilation shaft.

"There's this…look they give me. Like I'm damaged goods, or something." He snorted. "Which, really, I am, but it's the look that kills me. There's only so much of it I can take sometimes. And I'm a coward. I hide from what I can't deal with." He paused again, his exhaustion motivating him to just spill his thoughts and be done with it, and he continued bitterly. "They don't know what it was like. I wasn't… I wasn't me for over fifty years, and suddenly I'm here, and they want me to just… just get better. Like, like I can just smack a bandaid over everything I've done and make it all better again. But I can't. I don't know how, and I'm honestly starting to think it can't be done." He stopped abruptly, turning his gaze back to Barton, who was watching him carefully with a neutral expression. Bucky nodded in his direction wearily.

"Why the hell am I even telling you?"

Clint huffed a laugh. "I've got a lovable face." At Bucky's disbelieving look, he shrugged. "What? I ain't lying." There was a companionable silence that fell over them for a moment before Barton continued.

"If it counts for anything, I get what it's like."

Bucky couldn't quite keep back his snort of disbelief, and after a moment, he felt slightly rude as he shot a glance towards the archer. There was a pause as Clint seemingly gathered up some sort of will to continue.

"To not be in control of yourself."

Bucky stared at him openly, and Clint shifted under his scrutiny. "Look, I don't know how much Steve told you about us, but, uh, there was this fight-"

"Here in the city. He mentioned aliens and I stopped listening."

The archer actually grinned at that. "Yeah, I probably would've too." His face fell then, and Bucky was dimly surprised at the sudden change in demeanor. "There was this guy. Loki. Complete bastard, really. We brought him down in the end, but we had casualties." He paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts as his eyes darkened in thinly veiled sorrow. He spoke with a sigh. "A lot of casualties. Loki, he had this… staff. Could control people's minds. Their thoughts. Their memories. Their goals. Everything." There was another pause before he rolled his shoulders and spoke bitterly.

"I was the first he took."

Bucky blinked in shock.

Steve had failed to mention that little tidbit.

"I killed a lot of people," Clint continued matter-of-factly. "I helped the bastard weasel his way around the globe and get everything he needed to rain absolute hell on the planet, and I did it with a smile. He forced me to do things I still have nightmares about. But Natasha…" There was an odd pause in the story as Clint gave a rueful half grin. "Nat, ah, helped me come back to my senses. But I still think about being under someone else's agenda sometimes. Being controlled. I lost every bit of will I had, and I couldn't do anything about it. So yeah, I get it. You don't think you're ever going to go a day without thinking about it again." He paused before shrugging. "You won't. But you'll stop looking at it like it's the end of your world." There was another long pause as he gathered his thoughts again before continuing slowly. "But you do heal. It just… takes a little while to remember why it's worth it."

Bucky stared at Clint, his expression utterly dumbfounded. How had Steve failed to mention something like this? There was literally another member on his team who had gone through his same hell! He turned his focus away from Barton as his thoughts whirled through his head incoherently, and he found himself staring blankly at the floor as the minutes stretched on and he attempted to process what he had just heard.

The archer regarded him silently before leaning back into his space and snagging one of the brightly colored cans from the six pack against the wall. He tore it from the plastic binders and tossed it blindly over his shoulder to Bucky, who caught it in some surprise. It made a hollow clang when it came in contact with his arm, and he glared at it for a moment before focusing on the words on the object.

Coca Cola.

Huh.

How about that.

Clint reappeared out of his crawlspace with another can clenched in his hand, and he popped it open noisily before holding it up in a mock salute and tipping it back to take a long swig. He swallowed with a relish before motioning loosely for Bucky to open his can and do the same. He did so, and after a moment's hesitation, he followed suit and tipped the can back to take an enormous gulp of his own.

Not a second later saw him spitting the soda out across the vents, his spluttering interspersed with him coughing and scraping his tongue against his teeth against the barrage of sickly sweet flavoring. He eyed the can critically before turning his focus back to a puzzled looking Clint.

"What is this?"

Clint blinked before holding his can aloft as if putting the name on a pedestal might help him understand.

"It's Coke."

Bucky shook his head, his tastebuds still fizzling with the sticky strangeness of what should have been a familiar drink. "No, it's not. There's no way it is."

Clint shot him a long look.

"Pppprrrrretty sure it is, man."

"I've had Coca Cola before, and trust me, this isn't it."

The archer quirked an eyebrow before darting a glance to the can in his hand. There was a moment of silence before he spoke awkwardly. "Well, it, uh, says it on the tin-"

"It's too…" Bucky searched for the word for a long moment before settling lamely on "…fake, to be Coke. It's... wrong."

Something in Clint's eyes cleared at that, and he spun the can idly in his hand to scan the microscopic list of ingredients on the back. "When was the last time you've had soda?"

Bucky was silent for a moment as he wracked his brain for the answer. It was pretty depressing, really. "Would've been around 1942."

The date didn't seem to faze Clint whatsoever, and the archer's face morphed into an understanding expression, a small "ah" of comprehension escaping him. Before Bucky could ask, Barton was speaking again.

"It's the sugar. You're used to the real stuff. It's a bunch of high fructose whatevers and other artificial things thrown together now." He regarded the can curiously for a second before speaking again, his voice deadpan. "I'm not kidding when I say they use it to literally clean blood off of the streets nowadays."

There was a long silence as Barton stared critically at the can, the heavy meaning behind his words appearing to be preventing him from taking another sip.

The hesitation didn't last for long as he shrugged and took a swig.

Bucky wrinkled his nose as he put the can down next to him with a shake of his head. "Don't think I'll ever be used to that one."

"You don't even wanna know about cheese whiz if you can't handle soda." At Bucky's incredulous look, he shrugged. "But hey, we've got microwaves and TV dinners now, so how bad can it be?"

Bucky was silent for a long moment as Clint tilted his head back completely and drained the last of the can. He put it down with an echoing, hollow clang and a shake of his head as the bubbles fizzed up his nose, and Bucky watched silently as the man stared at the wall with his face scrunched in discomfort. Bucky broke the quiet again.

"How do you do it?"

Clint shot him a glance. "What, chug? It's not that hard, it's all in the-"

Bucky held up a hand, frustration simmering in his gut. "Not the soda, Barton. The act."

The archer stared at him blankly.

"The act."

Bucky nodded as he silently waited for an answer. When it came, he was truly disappointed.

"I have no clue what you're talking about here, pal. What act?"

A sigh escaped Bucky before he could stop it, and he planted his forehead in his hand solidly before speaking. "The whole… 'everything's fine' act. The normalcy. The face. The jokes. The…" He waved a hand helplessly in Barton's direction.

"Nevermind."

The silence was suffocating this time, and Bucky lost count of the minutes that passed by as he kept his face buried in his hand and strained to hear any sound from his companion. He had almost concluded that the archer had left when he heard Barton's voice. There was no humor in it, and the low, serious tone encouraged Bucky to lift his head.

"It's not an act, Barnes. It's me." Bucky blinked at the use of his real name, and he felt his head tilting slightly as Clint continued. "Look, where I come from, you've gotta keep positive somehow. Or you'd go insane." He paused. "I prefer my marbles intact, personally, so the world gets to know the distinguished sense of shitty jokes and horribly timed puns that is Clint Barton." He ran his eyes searchingly over Bucky then before running a hand through his hair. "You'll get there, man. Just don't give up on yourself so soon, you got that?"

Bucky was quiet for a brief moment before he nodded slowly. A slight grin grew on Clint's face, and the archer sat back against his wall. "And hey, you know where to find me. If you ever need help with all of…" He waggled his fingers beside his temple. "…this nonsense, come get me. I get what you're up against here."

If there was moisture prickling at Bucky's eyes then, he'd deny it until the day he died.

He couldn't believe it. Where in the world had Clint Barton been his whole miserable rebirth in reality?

The archer winced suddenly, his head tilting to an odd angle as a hand flew to his ear. Bucky watched in some slight concern (and wasn't that a weird feeling) as the man brought his index finger and his thumb to his right ear. After a moment of pinching, he removed a small, flesh colored bud. At Bucky's curious look, Clint smiled unabashedly.

"Well. You're one of the privileged few who know the truth behind the great Hawkeye's simply fabulous marksmanship, man." He held the tiny thing up in his palm, and Bucky squinted at the small blinking light in the middle of the object. "It's a hearing aid. Stark designed it for me a few months ago when I got back from a mission that went… well, a lot more south than it ever should have when SHIELD went all…" He trailed off and gestured to the bandage on his forehead. Bucky stared incredulously at the aid before slowly looking back up to Clint's face.

"You're telling me you're deaf."

Clint's face was blank. "What?"

Bucky raised his voice slightly. "I said, you're telling me-"

He stopped when Clint burst into laughter and waved him off. "Nah, stop it, man, I heard you perfectly fine. Still got my other aid in," he said between laughs, his hand flapping loosely towards his other ear. "But yeah. 80% deaf, both ears. Helluva fun time growing up without a steady supply of these babies." He gestured towards the bud in his palm.

Bucky felt a slow, genuine smile began to grow across his face, and suddenly, he felt lighter than he had in years. The cracks in the wall surrounding his mind widened all that much more, and the sunlight he'd begun to feel from Natasha grew tenfold. Suddenly, he wasn't quite so certain he'd be doomed to reliving the horrors that were his memories for the rest of his miserable life.

Suddenly, he had solid proof of a chance.

Clint was facing the grate at the end of his little duct space, and the archer shot a glance over his shoulder. "I need to take this thing to Tony. It's still in prototype phase, so he'll want to know what's up with it. You feel like coming with?"

Bucky was silent for a long moment before he slowly shook his head. "Go for it. I get the feeling he's… not ready to see me yet."

Clint watched him carefully before shrugging lightly and popping the grate off of the vent. Bucky glanced over the archer's shoulder and caught a view of rows upon rows of sleek, modern shelves. The library. They were above the library.

Clint slid easily out of the vent, his feet touching down lightly on top of one of the shelves. He snagged another can of the soda as he turned back to replace the grate, and he regarded Bucky for a second before grinning.

"Make yourself at home, man. I've only got about fifty other stations set up throughout the building. Steve's never found any of 'em."

And with that, he disappeared from view without a sound.

Bucky stayed in that crawlspace for a long while that day before crawling down himself and making his way back to his room. He'd meet Stark eventually.

Unfortunately for him, the meeting would come much sooner and much more explosively than he ever would have liked it to.