Marvel Cinematic Universe
The Path Not Taken
By Gabrielle Lawson

Chapter Eleven

Steve slept again until noon. Bucky wasn't around. He saw the pancakes were still out, and Alpine was trying to eat one on the floor. Considering they'd been out for four or more hours, Steve pitched the rest of them then tried to take the one from the kitten. She wasn't having it. She ran to the cat tree and into an opening to a part like a little box or house. "Cats eat meat," he told her. He had to get down on his knees and grab her by the scruff to get the pancake away. She growled the whole time.

The door opened behind him. "What are you doing to my cat?"

Steve dropped his head, chuckling. But he let go of the kitten and stood up, holding the pancake. "I think she might be hungry."

Bucky shrugged, which is when Steve noticed his arm was very different. "We probably should have put those away. Sorry."

"Your arm?" Steve asked. Tony had been here when he went back to sleep.

Bucky lifted it an inch or two. "Tony and I removed most of it. The rest will require Dr. Cho." He went to the kitchen and opened a cat of cat food. That got Alpine out of her hidey hole.

Steve threw away the partially eaten pancake with the others. "You hungry? I can make sandwiches."

"We can eat upstairs with the others," Bucky suggested. He set Alpine's food down then picked up the water dish to replace it.

"You up for that?" Steve was surprised. "It's a lot of people."

"I made mock apple pie for the five of us," Bucky told him. "Well, Sam helped."

"Wow! That brings back memories," Steve remarked. He looked at the trashcan. "No wonder I felt guilty throwing all those pancakes away. We'd never waste food back then."

"Bacteria could make us sick." He set the fresh bowl of water down. "Well, maybe not us. But back then, we weren't as careful. Are you ready to go?"

Steve washed his hands. "Yeah." When they made it to the dining hall, a few people were surprised. Rhodey and Hill were not among them.

Tony held out a chair for Bucky. "Welcome to the big kids' table."

Steve didn't see Wanda but Vision was there. "Ah, Sergeant James Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier. He's wanted for murder."

Steve tensed up. As did a few others.

"And yet," Vision went on, "I distinctly remember that we are harboring him."

"Yes, we are," Tony agreed. "Because he was brainwashed and forced. We are helping him regain his—"

"—humanity," Bucky finished. "Will you turn me in?"

"I will not," Vision said, nodding. "You seem to have the trust of everyone else in this room. I have only been in existence for a few days. I will endeavor to work on being more tactful. Please, be welcome."

"It's good to see you up here," Natasha told Bucky. "Sorry, I haven't been by as much."

Steve decided to ask about the person he hadn't seen. "Where's Wanda?"

"She's eating in my room," Nat replied. "She's not feeling very social."

"Clint is not here," Bucky remarked. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah," she assured him. "He went home to his family."

Tony smirked. "The one we didn't know about. Wife, two and a half kids."

"A half?" Bucky looked very confused.

Steve explained. "One on the way. Tony likes to be colorful."

Bucky looked around the table. "I didn't think you kept secrets from each other."

"It was to keep his family safe," Nat replied. "The less people who knew, the safer they were."

"Enough chitter chatter," Tony declared. "Let's eat."

Steve was quite hungry so he filled his plate, while Bucky stuck to foods he could eat with one hand.

Sam returned to his apartment and found a note on his door. "You up for one more patient?"

Depends on the patient, he thought. He went inside and set his books down on the coffee table. At least he felt more rested. He left as soon as Maria showed up then came back here to sleep a bit longer before class. Bucky hadn't had as many nightmares though. Sam only remembered waking up twice.

Still, he hadn't decided what he wanted to work on with Bucky today, and he hadn't heard the details of the mission from Steve. He was out of the loop.

It was late afternoon, so he made himself a sandwich and sat down to study his notes from class. They were discussing childhood trauma and its effects on the brain. It surprised Sam that children who were traumatized had brain scans that were markedly different from scans on non-traumatized children. There was more activity in the back of the brain and less in the pre-frontal cortex. So, the symptoms weren't just psychological but neurological.

Sam knew trauma could affect people physically, but probably not to the extent of children whose brains were still developing. It was interesting, but really had no bearing on Bucky. His first years weren't as traumatic. He had a loving family, a good friend, good marks in school, and an easy rapport with other children. His trauma came from the war, and from Hydra. And now that he was regaining the use of his conscience, he was traumatized again.

Then it hit him. They had danced around the trauma. Natasha had discussed it with him, but Sam had stuck pretty much with the present, how Bucky was feeling and dealing with things now. To assuage his conscience, he might need to be as convinced as Tony was, that he had no choice.

But to balance the kind of intensity that would bring, Sam wanted to reward him with some things he hadn't been able to do. Like a trip outside.

He was about to ask Jarvis where Bucky was, but he remembered Jarvis was gone. "Uh, computer?"

"Hello, Mr. Wilson," a young woman's voice responded with an Irish lilt. "My name is Friday. How can I help you?"

"Where can I find Bucky Barnes?"

"Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers are in the gym. Would you like me to contact him?"

There was something about her voice that Sam liked. She sounded likeable, even personable, less like a butler. "No, that's okay," he replied. "In fact, I think I'll join them there."

He did want to keep in shape, even if he wasn't out fighting bad guys. He got changed and rode the elevator down. The two super soldiers were on the double treadmill. Sam couldn't even count their four legs as they were moving so fast. He didn't even want to compete with that, so he went to the weight bench to the left.

By the time they stopped, Sam had worked up a sweat. He wasn't lifting his personal best, but he'd been working out less and studying more. Still, it felt good to stretch his body and do more than just sit in a desk.

As Steve and Bucky headed out, he noticed something different about Bucky. His left arm wasn't shiny except high on his shoulder, and the lower two thirds of it was gone.

'Bout time, he thought. If Tony had spent his time working on that arm, none of that Ultron business would have happened.

Natasha was never one to mope. She did want Bruce back, but there were other things going on. Bucky now had half a metal arm instead of a whole, and Wanda was grieving her other half.

"Oh, hey, Nat," she heard behind her.

She turned to see Pepper. "Hey."

"I've got an apartment for Wanda, two doors down from you. It's all set up. And give her this, please." She held out a tablet. "She can order a new wardrobe, since she didn't bring any luggage."

"Sure," Natasha agreed. "Whatever she had is likely buried under rubble." She took the tablet. "Any spending limit?"

Pepper smiled. "It's a wardrobe, not an outfit. She doesn't strike me as the type to overspend. Give her my condolences, will you?"

"Of course." Pepper touched her shoulder then went on with her business. Natasha had thought about doing some yoga to stretch. She was going to go the gym, but she decided she could do it in the living room, just as easily.

"You missed a big lunch," she called as entered.

Wanda looked up from the couch. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were streaked with tears. "I wasn't hungry."

"I get it," Nat said. "I really do, but even when it hurts, life goes on. We have to eat and drink and sleep. Pepper Pots sends her condolences and she's even offering some retail therapy." She held out the tablet to the girl. "Said you could pick a whole new wardrobe."

Wanda scrolled for a bit on the tablet. "There's so much here. That could take days."

"Well, she has a lot of money," Nat told her. "Take your time. Wanna check out your new digs?"

"Digs?" Wanda shook her head.

"Apartment," Nat clarified. "Your own."

Wanda sniffed but stood. So Natasha opened the door and let her out into the hall. She knew Sam was two doors down on her left, so she went right and found a 'Welcome' card stuck to the door. Wanda pulled it down, and they went inside. It was a nice space with the same footprint as Natasha's. But the color palate was different. Muted warm colors and soft lighting.

"All this for just me," she asked. "Will I have to pay rent?"

"Yes, it's all for you," Natasha answered, smiling, "and no, we don't pay rent. Utilities and groceries included. This is Avengers Tower. House of the Avengers. And that includes you."

Wanda laid the tablet on the coffee table and checked out the bathroom and bedroom. "It's beautiful. I haven't had a home like this since we were children."

"These top five floors are generally only for us Avengers, and employees in the know, like Maria Hill," Natasha explained. "This floor is apartments. There's a gym one floor down. Dining hall with a big kitchen and regular meals one floor up. I take it you've been to the lab? One floor down from that is where the robots were housed and repaired. Not sure what Tony will do with it now. Above the lab is mostly Tony's and Pepper's offices, their penthouses and such. You are free to leave the building, just don't bring anyone up here without clearing it with me or Steve first."

"You really don't mind that I hurt you?"

Natasha tensed but forced herself to relax. "It wasn't fun. But there's a few of us who have skeletons in our past, too."

"Maybe not so recent," Wanda collapsed on the couch.

A thought suddenly struck her. Natasha sat beside here. "There's someone here who shot me about a year ago. I think maybe you could help him."

"Help him? He shot you. And help how?"

"You can do to him what you did to us," Natasha said, thinking out loud. "Except not to hurt him. He was brainwashed and programed. Ten Russian words in sequence. If he hears them, he'll become the Winter Soldier. Ever heard of him?"

Wanda's eyes went wide. "He's a legend. Or he was. In Hydra. I thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead."

Well, that was helpful. Maybe no one who knew the words thinks he's still out there somewhere. "He never wanted to be Hydra," she told her. "Right now, he's free of it, unless he hears those words. But what he did as the Winter Soldier hurts him greatly. He tried to kill himself a couple weeks ago. Right after we took Strücker."

"But it can't be the same man," Wanda argued. "There were Winter Soldiers going back generations."

"No, it's him." Natasha felt a little odd talking with someone who had joined Hydra willingly. "They kept him in cryostasis between missions. He was an American soldier during World War II. Cap's best friend. He supposedly died falling off a mountain, but they found him, brainwashed him, experimented on him, programmed him, took away his memories with electric shocks and sent him off to kill people."

"How did you capture him?"

"Oh, he surrendered," Nat said. "Steve helped him get his memory back. It's snowballed from there." She turned to her body to face Wanda. "You get inside his head, you'll see terrible things. Either what they did to him, or what they made him do. But if you can find those ten words, maybe you can deprogram him. Set him free for good."

Wanda shook her head slowly. "Do you know how he was programmed with the words?"

"Hypnosis, by an 'enhanced' individual. He repeated the words around him and they converted into commands. The first half-dozen bring skills back to his memory—fighting, languages, technology. The next three take away his fear and remorse, cement his loyalty to Hydra. The last turns him into a killing machine who must complete his mission."

"What are these words," Wanda was no longer wide-eyed. She wiped her eyes. "I need to know what to look for."

"You can't say them," Natasha reminded her. "Only find them. Remove them, change them, untangle them, however it is they control him."

Natasha went to the computer desk and took out a notepad and pen she knew would be in the drawer. "I'll write them out of order, just in case. You know Cyrillic or need phonetic?"

"Cyrillic is fine," Wanda said. "We had to take Russian in school."

Natasha handed her the paper and Wanda read over them. "These are ordinary words. Nineteen? Homecoming?"

Natasha nodded. "The enhanced guy could hypnotize anyone just by speaking. So you'll do it?"

Wanda nodded, too. "Yes, if I can. Where is he?"

Natasha sat down again and handed her the shopping tablet. "I'll have to ask him first. We don't want to force anything on him. He gets to choose, and he might be a little reluctant to let someone mess with his head. Might take a day or two. So do some shopping and I'll let you know. Remember, I'm just two doors down."

Natasha left the apartment. She needed to find Sam.

Sam was just coming out of the shower when he heard a knock at his door. He tied the belt of his robe around his waist and went to answer it.

Natasha raised her eyebrows with a sly smile. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"This about the note?" he asked, waving her into the room.

"Well, no," she replied "and yes. It's about Wanda. And Bucky."

He figured Wanda. But what did she have to do with Bucky? "I wasn't aware they'd met," Sam said. He headed back to his bedroom to get dressed. Natasha followed but politely stayed at the door, which Sam closed to a crack so he could still hear her.

"They haven't. But I'd like to change that."

Sam stepped into his underwear then a pair of jeans. "You thinking group therapy?" He could kind of see it. Both had done dark things before coming over to the light side.

"Not exactly. I think she can deprogram him."

Sam was just about to put a shirt, on but he opened the door wide. "How?"

Natasha's brows went up again, so Sam slipped the shirt over his head. "Same way she made us see our pasts. Only she goes in and digs up those words."

Sam gave a long whistle as he led her back to the living room. "That's a lot to consider. It would be great if she could. But if that Fennhoff guy did it with some kind of enhanced hypnosis, how does she undo it?"

Natasha leaned against the counter in the kitchenette. "May not know until she gets in there. She might be able to block the memories of Fennhoff so the words are never implanted, maybe she finds a way to undo them or change them, just make them inert. I don't think we have any better options. It's worth a try."

Sam wasn't convinced. "And what about Bucky? Will her rooting around in there trigger him into that killing machine we met on the streets? Will it traumatize him more? Will he even allow it? He's not real fond of the other people who screwed with his head."

She nodded. "Which is why I wasn't meaning today. We'd have to ease him into the idea."

She was right. Sam couldn't come up with a way to beat that programming with therapy, and Stark was an engineer, not a neuroscientist. He could maybe figure out the arm, but those ten Russian words could still put Bucky right back into Winter Soldier mode. If anyone nefarious uttered them in Bucky's hearing, he'd be a danger to everyone, even with half an arm. "I guess I can talk to him. They should probably meet well before any mind games. I'm guessing Wanda is my new client?"

"She lost her twin," Natasha replied, "her only family. That grief hits hard."

Sam nodded. "And she's on board with this?"

"She's willing to try."

Sam felt more confident now about his talk with Bucky. That programming was maybe the end of his ordeal to become the Winter Soldier. But everything before had led up to up. "We should probably let Steve know." He sat at the computer. He wanted to bone up on the horrible details he was going to ask Bucky to remember.

"I'll bring him up to speed." She let herself out.

Tony studied the new scans of the rest of Bucky's arm, along with the notes on the surgery that had installed it in 1949. Hydra had apparently inherited the German penchant for proper documentation.

The arm was one thing but, to have real strength, it had to be grounded in Barnes's actual body. They not only cut off most of his ruined left arm. They opened the shoulder, bolted the metal to the bones of his scapula, clavicle, coracoid process, and a couple of his upper ribs. The gleaming panels were seared to his skin all around his shoulder and remarkably articulated to move when he moved his arm. No wonder he had that awful scarring on his chest. This was before the super serum. He had heightened healing from Krausberg, but it couldn't compensate for that level of trauma.

Maybe Dr. Cho could do something with her artificial skin. The top of the arm itself contained the very real ball and socket as well as a few inches of humerus, nerves, tendons—reinforced—and blood vessels to keep that part alive. The robotics of the arm were embedded into his body, replacing the muscles that were no longer there. The nerves that remained were connected by wires to circuits, all allowing Barnes to control the arm with as much or as little thought as he moved the other flesh arm. Tony wasn't sure he could ever top that. And that thought really bothered him. Arnim Zola better than Tony Stark?

Still, the anchor for the new arm already existed. Why retraumatize those bones? In some small areas the bones had grown over the metal, as it was. And the core of the upper arm, frankly, worked. Why reinvent the wheel?

It was going to take a surgeon to remove the metal from his skin. But Cho could do that, and give him new skin to cover or replace the scarred and burnt. The outer parts of the arm could be removed, those needed to be replaced by something, even in the interim, to preserve the biological material inside.

Tony had sent all the scans and documents to Cho. He called her now to get her opinion.

"Hello, Tony," she said in greeting. It was nice to not have to worry anymore about time differences. She had a nice set up in the facility upstate.

"Hey, doc. I've got some ideas on what we can do, but I'm thinking we may need to keep some of it. What do you see?"

She grunted. "I see an abomination of medical science. That they did this to a human being. And semi-conscious at that!"

"Hydra wasn't known for their high moral stances," Tony reminded her. "They started with the Nazis, remember, and we know how they felt about the Hippocratic Oath."

She nodded. "If he wants a new arm, we'll have to preserve what biological material he has. I can cover it with artificial skin that can be removed later. But I'm concerned about the damage we'd cause removing the metal from the bones."

That made Tony feel better. "I was thinking the same thing. We'd just have to turn around and add it all back to secure the new arm, or he'd pull it off opening a car door." He took a breath. "But I also think we need to keep some of that inner arm circuitry. I don't think I can replace it with anything that moves as naturally as what he had."

"But is that what he wants, Tony?" she asked. "He wants that arm, that killed people, gone."

Tony argued. "He also wants a replacement. I promised him a replacement. But I'm an engineer, not a bio- neuro-engineer. I build exo-skeletons. I don't do inner body stuff."

She smiled. "Your arc reactor was in your body."

"It was created by someone else first," Tony held. "I just improved on the design."

"Exactly." The smile faded. "Explain your reasoning to Barnes. He's allowed to make choices now."

Sam found Bucky on the floor, playing with Alpine. He seemed happier with the cat. And maybe the lightness of his arm. Bucky looked up and started to rise.

Sam waved him back down. "No, keep playing," Sam suggested. "It may make things easier. I can't help but notice a change in your shape. Wanna tell me about that?"

Bucky awkwardly lifted the partial arm. "Tony and I removed most of it. Need a doctor to get the rest."

"How do you feel about that?" Sam asked.

There was no hesitation. "Good. I want it gone. I used it to kill people."

Sam didn't remind him that the feelings of guilt wouldn't disappear with the arm. "It may be a while before you can get a replacement," he said instead. "Isn't it harder having only one working arm?"

Barnes looked at the stump. "Yes, it's harder, but I can learn to do without it."

Sam took the plunge. "Do you remember when they installed it?" Would Bucky freeze him out? He usually only talked about the hard stuff with Natasha.

Bucky kept him waiting for a good two minutes. "Flashes," he finally admitted. "I was in and out. Foggy and dizzy. I don't remember it hurting, just confusion. It was like I was watching someone else's body. Until I saw Zola."

That wasn't as horrible as Sam feared. He was drugged then, just not all the way to unconsciousness. "What did you feel when you saw him?"

"Fear."

"Because of what he did in the factory?" There were no notes on that. They'd apparently been burned up in the fire.

Bucky nodded. "At first, they made me feel better. I'd been sick, wounded. Thought they'd send me back to work, but no one had ever come back from where I was. And he didn't stop at healing me. He'd inject me with things that made me feel squishy, or they'd burn. He'd cut me to watch if I healed quick. I was too dizzy to know if I did. I saw things."

"Hallucinated?"

Bucky nodded again. "Frightening things. I just kept repeating my name, rank, and serial number over and over to get through it."

Bucky had a distant look on his face, and Alpine was annoyed he wasn't paying her enough attention. She pawed at his human shoulder. "How long were you there before Steve came?"

Bucky's head moved from side to side. "I don't know. Days or weeks? I lost touch with reality. I didn't think Steve was real until he busted the straps and pulled me off the table."

Sam could see why he'd feared Zola, especially when he was in a weakened state. "So, the arm. Then what?"

Bucky sat cross-legged and pulled the cat onto his lap. "I was still in and out. Only when I was in, it hurt like hell. It wasn't just the arm. I was all broken up from the fall. But I could think when I was awake. There were bags on poles, tubes going into my body. They took blood, injected me with stuff. Sometimes it was Zola. He usually only spoke German, but once he spoke English, took credit for my survival. I hated him."

Sam had some idea what was the in the tubes and injections, thanks to the documentation they'd kept. A lot of it was beneficial. He'd survived the fall, but in fairly critical condition, and the surgery to install the arm hadn't been helpful in that regard. He was given fluids, vitamins, antibiotics, and more of the secret compound Zola had been cooking up in Krausberg. To help him heal. "You healed rather quickly," was all he said. Bucky didn't want to know that Zola had helped him.

"Because Zola was right," he growled. "Whatever he'd given me before kept me alive there in the snow. After a bit, they moved me to a different room. No bed, less tubes. Chained me by my foot, but I was still too weak to move anyway. I just kept hoping Steve would find me."

"It hurts him that he didn't," Sam admitted. "There's no logical way he could've."

"It was all I had," Bucky breathed. He dropped his head to snuggle Alpine.

No logical way. Steve didn't know Bucky had survived. No one did. The fall he took was lethal for anyone who hadn't been getting injections from Zola. And Bucky didn't know that Steve had flown a plane into the ice of the Arctic. No one thought he'd survived, either, until they thawed him out seventy years later. No logical way, so Hydra was free to do what they wanted with Bucky Barnes.

"Zola couldn't stay. He had to keep up appearances back here," Sam told him. "Pretending he switched sides and redeemed himself."

"They lied to me," Bucky said. "Though I knew some of it was half true. I fell off a mountain. Who survives that? I thought about my sister getting my footlocker and a visit from the suits. I still hoped for Steve. He wasn't even supposed to be in Europe when he showed up at Krausberg."

From Bucky's perspective, that had been a miracle. Steve bigger, in the Army, there to rescue him when he'd left him in New York. Why not hope for another miracle? Sam couldn't fault him for that. "You kept healing."

Bucky nodded. "They beat me more often. They had these glowing blue rods. They shocked, like touching a live wire. They told me America lost the war, said the US didn't want me back. They even had newspapers showing FDR signing the surrender. When I'd call them liars, they'd shock me. Then there was a letter, addressed to Steve. Said they wanted to make arrangements for my repatriation. Let me count the days with a green crayon as we waited for a reply. I did it in Morse code. My name."

"Steve was in the ice by then," Sam reminded him. "They probably never even sent the letter."

"Still hurt when the so-called reply came. 'Keep him.' After that, it was straight to the torture. Day and night mixed up, blaring noise, awful food, not enough water. I couldn't count days anymore. Just thought my name to hold on to it."

"They weakened you again," Sam provided, to move the narrative along. "They knew then it wouldn't kill you."

"They started with Russian, called me Asset, made me learn the words for food, to follow instructions. Beat me if I messed up the work, or the grammar. But I learned it. Even thought in Russian eventually. Got so good at it, my handler let me go outside. I saw the trees, the grass under the snow. I remembered it was winter when I fell. It was winter again. Steve hadn't come."

"You still remembered Steve."

"But they told he me was dead and it had been two years. I could remember Steve by not my own name."

Sam remembered most of that from the journals, though in less detail. Still, it was heartbreaking. "Name or no name, you were still you then. You were James Buchanan Barnes, a sergeant in the US Army, one of the Howling Commandos, who died to take down Hydra—or so we thought for about seventy years. You were a hero, a prisoner, a good man in a terrible situation."

Sam wanted to lighten things a bit before they ended the session. "Bucky, what would you do, if you didn't have to worry about the words, or arrest, if you were really, totally free?"

Bucky sniffed and thought for a moment. "I'd go to Brooklyn, see what it's like now. I'd go find my family's graves. I'd tell the people I hurt that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a monster."

And that was growth, Sam realized. He 'was' a monster when he tried to rip his arm off. But now, he wasn't one by choice. He didn't mean to be a monster. It wasn't all the way there, but it was a step in the right direction. "Those are good things. I'm hoping we can do the first, maybe once the rest of the arm is off."

"But the words," Bucky said.

"We can disguise you, stay in the car," Sam told him. "And maybe we'll figure out the words so they won't do anything anymore."

"How?"

Sam met his gaze. "Wanda, the Maximoff girl. She can do things to people's minds."

"She hurt Steve and Natasha."

Gently now, Sam. "She did, but like you, she stopped that. She wants to help. I did read your journals. I didn't see how the words started. They were just there. If we can help you remember when they started, maybe she can change them somehow."

Bucky's eyes looked away, but his brows were pulled down. He didn't like the idea. But maybe the desire to be free of the words would help him make the decision.

"Is that why were talking about this time?" he asked.

"It's not the only reason," Sam admitted. "I want you to really connect with the guy who fell off the mountain and all they had to do to make you their assassin. Two years in, you were still you. Brainwashed or just getting by in a terrible situation. Name or no name. You were still you. I think you were still you for a good while after that."

Bucky wasn't buying it. "But the machine."

"Losing your memory doesn't mean you lose your personality," Sam held. "But we'll talk about that more in the coming days. Keep remembering this time before your first mission. It's important." He stood. "I'll see you at dinner." He touched Bucky's shoulder on the way out.

Those first two years had to have been a constant, waking nightmare for Bucky. And just knowing he had no reprieve for seventy years was almost unfathomable. Sam again felt inadequate against all that suffering. But he reminded himself that he was learning more all the time. And he was still the only therapist Bucky had. He would have to be enough.

Author's Note: These first two years come from my story, The Asset, from the Making the Winter Soldier series. The Asset starts with some of the flashbacks we see the Winter Soldier having in CA:WS. It continues after that with my idea on how he was brainwashed. Began with torture and trying to trick him, but then went on to the indoctrination. The idea that Fennhoff (from Agent Carter S1) was the one to program Bucky with the words can be found in my story, His Greatest Achievement, the last of the Making the Winter Soldier series.