Winter Soldier's Endgame (Stucky Version)

by WintersSunrise

POST Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Bucky finds himself in serious legal trouble. With his future looking grim, he decides to cross off one more of his amends and travel through time to try to save Tony Stark. This is a stand-alone (loose) sequel to a previous story of mine.

13. Trauma and Loss

Chapter 13: Trauma and Loss

Steve sat patiently in a plush chair inside the small waiting room. He wore his Captain America uniform, and the shield rested near his right leg, leaning against the chair. Three large armed security guards hovered around, their postures stiff and their eyes straight ahead… most of the time. Occasionally, he'd catch one of them glancing at him.

The room was comfortable but focused more on function than elegance. It held three armchairs situated around a small coffee table. A tiny sink and refrigerator were against one wall, and a small television screen and camera were mounted on the opposite wall.

The door to the room opened, and the Chancellor walked in. Her eyes locked on him immediately. The holodrive Tony had provided rested on the small table. The guards had searched him thoroughly and discovered it, as he'd known they would.

"Captain Rogers," she walked into the room, and another man followed her, closing the door behind them.

Steve rose slowly and nodded his head. "Thank you for seeing me on short notice."

She tilted her head at him, doubt on her face. "The rumors are that you died."

"Well, it's a complicated story, but obviously I am very much alive."

"What brings you to Germany?" she asked him.

"I think you know." He pointed to the holodrive on the table. "I have something you should see."

She nodded at him.

He leaned forward and flicked his finger over the drive. He'd organized and pre-loaded the information during the flight, deleting the most sensitive parts that he knew Bucky wanted no one to see. He hated having to violate his friend's privacy in any way, but in this case, he felt it was the only way to help the Chancellor understand James Buchanan Barnes.

An image of Bucky on a table, surrounded by Nazi officers sprang to life. Dr. Zola hovered directly over Bucky. He pulled a syringe away from Bucky and set it on a metal tray. A machine hung over Bucky's head.

Zola backed up a step and gave a command in German to a nearby technician. The technician moved the machine in position so that its arms surrounded Bucky's head. One of the uniformed Nazi guards hit a button on a control panel, and the machine sparked to life.

Bucky's chest arched. Straps held him to the table as his screams ripped through the room.

"What is this?" The Chancellor asked, her eyes angry and her tone clipped.

Steve let the footage progress another few seconds, even though the sound of Bucky's screams made him feel like his insides were on fire, then he tapped the device, and the holovideo paused. "This," he told her, "is one of the first torture sessions Bucky experienced at the hands of his Nazi captors. They'd call it conditioning. There's about 20 more minutes of this type of footage, but that's only a tiny fraction of what the Nazi's did to James Barnes. This footage was recovered from a bunker in Siberia by Tony Stark."

Steve tapped the display and the footage continued. Bucky remained on the table, screaming, and after several minutes, the electric current, and his screams, died. His head lolled to the side, and then, after a moment, he began softly repeating his name, rank, and serial number.

Zola leaned over Bucky. "You are to be the new fist of Hydra. Say it."

Bucky continued repeating his name, rank, and serial number. Zola straightened, took a step away, and nodded at the Nazi guard. The machine flared to life again, and Bucky arched, the straps holding him down, his screams filling the room.

"Stop this," the Chancellor ordered.

Steve tapped the device. "This is the last thing I wanted to do, but I know Bucky's lawyers have tried to convince you to withdraw your request for extradition and drop all charges. I understand why you are reluctant to do so. I thought you should at least understand Bucky and what he's been through so you can better understand why it was so important to him, and a lot of other people, that the supersoldier serum be found and kept out of the hands of the wrong type of people."

"I know his story. I watch the news. I've even visited the Smithsonian and saw your display."

Steve nodded at her. "Knowing and seeing are two different things. I fought in World War II against the Nazi's and Hydra. I was there. So was he." Steve jerked his chin at Bucky's image, hovering paused in the air, his back arched, his mouth open and his eyes closed. "This is what he got for his service. They imprisoned him, made him work, then experimented on him…tortured him. I found him like that, strapped to the table, reciting his name, rank, and serial number."

The Chancellor sat in one of the empty armchairs, and Steve sank into the one he'd occupied moments before.

She looked at him. "I feel for your friend, but none of this excuses his actions."

Steve eyed the display. He had to tread a careful line. He didn't want to lie to the woman, but he didn't want to confess on Bucky's behalf, either.

"I wasn't here," he told her. "I know what Zemo did to him and many others. I know Bucky has no love for Zemo. I also know that an army of supersoldiers could potentially result in thousands if not millions of deaths. An army like that could take over nations, especially in this delicate world. Things are unstable, chaotic. I've seen regimes rise. I've seen power hungry dictators seize control. No one really thinks it can happen until it does. Bucky has seen it, too. We have a different perspective because we've lived the history you only learn about in books."

"I can only imagine what you and your friend went through during that war." She tilted her head at him. "Can you imagine what Leon Klein's family has gone through?"

Steve took a breath. He could, at least a little. He understood loss. He'd suffered enough of it. "Zemo is the man directly responsible for that."

"Do you remember how many people died in Berlin back when your friend escaped the detention center?"

"That wasn't his fault," Steve countered. "Zemo found the words to control Bucky's mind. Again, that was all on Zemo. He forced Bucky to do those things. And that Winter Soldier programming…you can blame that on German and Russian Hydra cells. They made Bucky into the Winter Soldier." He leaned forward and met her gaze. "What Bucky became…what he did…is what Nazi's and Russians did to him. They tortured him, wiped his memory, turned him into a human drone." Steve rose to his feet and pointed at the display. "If you want to go over past sins, I've got a whole lot right up here," he tapped his head, "of what Germans did back in the 1940s…What was done to my friend there." He took a deep breath as he tried to avoid staring at the image of his friend's agony hovering in mid-air. "For you, this was all before your time, and I know you're not to blame. The U.S. has its fair share of egregious sins, too. But what I'd like you to consider is that, for Bucky and me, this," he pointed to the display, "feels like yesterday. It may have physically been 80 years, but we were both on ice for most of that time. For us, it really was only a few years ago, and James Barnes is still recovering from what was done to him."

She looked at him sympathetically, and her gaze darted to Bucky's image. Steve could tell he was getting through to her. Then, she shook her head, and his hope sunk.

"I sympathize with you and your friend, and I will make sure that, if he ends up in our custody, this information is taken into consideration. Germany's extradition request will stand."

"Based on what hard evidence?" he countered, hoping he could appeal to her practical side.

She tilted her head. "That is up to us to present, of course."

Steve took another deep breath. He'd hoped that bit of footage would be sufficient and that he wouldn't have to go further, but he'd prepared to do whatever he could to open her eyes. He kept all the footage Stark had found, except for that girl in the hospital gown. That was a line he wouldn't cross. He knew Bucky probably wouldn't forgive him for that if he did.

Leaning forward, he met her gaze. "All I ask is that you watch the rest of what I have on this drive. I'll leave at the end of it, and that will be the last you'll hear from me, no matter what decision you make. Some of it may be difficult to watch, but with such an important decision, I hope you'll spare a few more minutes to consider the information Stark discovered in that Bunker. It's relevant to your decision."

She nodded solemnly at him. "You helped save the world. I will consider any information you wish to present today."

"Before I continue, may I ask that we have as few people here as possible to watch this. This is quite personal and sensitive, and I'd like it to stay in this room."

She glanced at two of the guards, and they left, leaving her aide and one guard. Steve nodded, then tapped the holoprojector. The video progressed.

When it was over, his own stomach felt queasy, and he'd had to watch the footage once before. He knew what to expect. He felt sympathy for her as she rose, her face pale, and hurried out of the room. Her aide rushed out behind her.

Steve glanced at the one guard remaining in the room and pocketed the holodrive. "I guess that means I'm done here now."

-0- -0- -0-

Sam took one final look at the five members of the Global Repatriation Council on his laptop screen and began to feel like, maybe, just maybe, there was hope for Bucky. Ayla Perez's held sympathy in her eyes. The other four members' faces displayed a range of emotions, but the five people before him all owed their lives to him and Bucky. They had been targeted by the supersoldiers. Ayla had been the one in the chopper that Sam had worked with. The other four had been among those in the armored van that Karli had set on fire. Bucky had spared those four from a particularly gruesome death.

GRC member Thomas spoke. "He saved my life, Captain. I shook his hand and thanked him. If not for him, my wife would be a widow and I wouldn't have gotten to meet my new grandchild. I know what you were both facing. You've got my support. I've already got my assistant working on a public statement."

Sam met the man's steady gaze. "Thank you." He met each of the councilmember's gazes one by one. "Thank you all."

-0- -0- -0-

The Governor of New York wished Bucky Barnes had turned himself in somewhere else. New Jersey. Pennsylvania. Louisiana even. Why did he have to pick New York?

He looked at the New York Attorney General and figured she probably wasn't too thrilled with the situation, either. This was a no-win situation. The press was all over him. Barnes' attorneys were all over him. Stark Enterprises was suddenly playing hard ball on some of their critical contracts, and even though they hadn't mentioned Barnes as a factor in their sudden lack of flexibility, he'd nevertheless gotten the message.

They'd even threatened to pull out of a critical contract negotiation that would upgrade prison security across the state and most of the eastern United States for a fraction of the cost of other bidders. Thanks to their A.I. technology, they were eons ahead of the competition. They had the advantage, and they knew it. The problem was, international extradition was managed at the federal level. He was just caught in the middle of one giant mess.

The AG held a tablet on her lap and stared at him across the desk of his plush office. "The Wakandans are putting up quite the fuss."

He rubbed his forehead. "How the hell can they even ask for extradition?"

"The Germans have the stronger claim, of course, but the Wakandans are flexing their muscle…and that muscle is substantial," she said.

He sighed. "Fuck it. I don't care. Just, handle it." He waved a hand in the air. "It's not our problem, really. It's the feds. I wish they'd figure out something soon and get this problem off my lap. If he escapes, it's on me. If he's mistreated, it'll be on me. I'm getting calls from one side who want his head and others see him as some kind of misunderstood hero. Hell, I even have members of the GRC breathing down my neck."

"And the President's, too," she reminded him. "He did kind of help save the world, and he does have a few heavy hitters in his corner."

"Let them breathe down the President's neck all they want. How long is Barnes going to be on New York soil? Can't we get him transferred to DC?"

She shook his head. "Too much of a risk to transport him. Feds are insisting he stay put for the time being. The facility he's in right now is the most secure one in the region."

"Thanks to Stark Enterprises."

"Ironic, I know." She smiled at him.

"I don't like having the world's most wanted man in a cell governed by Stark Technology – when it's Stark paying the legal fees."

"Well, we don't know that for sure," she said.

"It's a pretty good guess."

The law firm representing Barnes presented some serious muscle. They had offices in New York, Los Angeles, London, Berlin, and Paris. They knew how to make themselves a real pain in the ass. At the moment, they were his pain in the ass.

The door opened, and his aide popped her head in. "Um, sir, you might want to check out CNN."

He closed his eyes. "Crap." Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

-0- -0- -0-

"Hello, everyone. Surprised to see me? I hear I kind of died saving the universe over there." Tony Stark's image played from the screen. Sam sat back in the chair at his small dining table and watched the broadcast from his laptop.

"You're welcome for all that, on behalf of the other version of myself who didn't make it. But you know, I got lucky, because some guy who it turns out I once tried to kill, came back in time and saved the universe. He saved my life, and he died doing it. Spoiler alert! We brought him back. But while he was dying, he didn't just save me and the universe. He brought back a lot of people who shouldn't have died—I'm not talking about the people gone in the Blip. I'm talking about people like my parents. Like some kid named RJ. Oh, he also reversed climate change and cleaned up the planet. Here," Tony raised a hand, "let me show you."

The image switched to another broadcast about the sudden reduction in greenhouse gases and the long-term impacts on climate change. It was a news cast that had never happened in the current timeline. Sam wondered how many people watching would believe this was a hoax.

"Anyway," the broadcast cut back to Tony Stark, "that guy's name is James Buchanan Barnes. I understand that things over there post Blip are difficult. Someone got ahold of supersoldier serum and tried to make themselves their own little army to wreak havoc on the world. Well, the world's had enough havoc for a while. I'm gone. Your Steve Rogers is gone. A lot of the Avengers are gone. You know who that leaves over there to fight the big bad guys like the enhanced individuals? The aliens? Your governments are left, that's who. Or… your new Captain America, a couple of enhanced stragglers—maybe—and one slightly refurbished supersoldier who, by the way, in his day, was fighting Nazis. Yeah, real ones. You know, like from World War II. The big bad Adolf. Hydra. Those guys. Yep. He got captured. They experimented on him. He paid the price defending our freedom. If he's a little wonky in the head, well, you can't really blame him. I did, and I was wrong about that. You see, back when he was the Winter Soldier, what he really was was a victim. He had no control over anything they made him do. I'm sure you can read all about it on the Internet, if you haven't already. While he was the Winter Soldier, Hydra sent him to murder my parents and steal some supersoldier serum. It took me some time to get over that. I'm over it now, and not just because he managed to bring my parents back to life and reverse a lot of the harm Hydra made him do, but because, even if he hadn't been able to do that, he's not to blame. Can you imagine having someone take control of your mind and force you to kill people? No, I don't think you can. I can't. Despite all the crap the world has thrown at him, he helped save it—your world and mine. Maybe you can cut him some slack. Who knows, your world might need him again. Mine did."

The broadcast cut to show the familiar face of GRC member Thomas. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties stood next to him. She had light brown hair and wore a dark green blazer. Two other younger woman were next to him. One cradled an infant in her arms.

"I'm GRC councilmember Thomas," the man spoke to the camera. "A few weeks ago, members from the group known as the Flag Smashers kidnapped me and other members of the council. They locked us in an armored van and set it on fire. We all thought we were going to die. Then, we heard pounding on the door. Over and over again. Someone was trying to save us. When the doors finally opened, we saw James Barnes standing there. I'm not sure how many recognized him. I did. I turned and thanked him. If he hadn't been there that day to stop those supersoldiers, I wouldn't be with my family right now. This little girl," he placed a hand on his grandchild's arm, "was born two weeks ago. Because of James Barnes, I got to meet her, and hopefully, I'll get to watch her grow up." His eyes started to glisten with tears, as did those of the other women around him. "I don't know what happened in Berlin. I don't want to diminish the harm that was caused. But I know that, if not for the actions of James Barnes, I wouldn't be alive today, and, frankly, there are a lot of other people who wouldn't be, as well."

The broadcast cut back to the anchorwoman. "This video was personally delivered by none other than Captain Steve Rogers. We've had it analyzed by an independent expert who believes the video to be authentic and can find no sign of falsification, deep faking, or tampering. We have Captain Rogers here in our studio, and he had agreed to a five-minute interview with our own Jason Bartley. Jason, it's all yours."

The image cut to a male reporter with graying hair wearing a dark blue suit. He sat in an armchair across from Steve, who was fully decked out in all his Captain America glory. Sam found himself smiling and remembered Steve saying, when you had to fight a battle, you needed to wear a uniform. He was fighting one hell of a battle now, but this time on the front lines of politics and media. Sam knew that was a battlefield Steve hated. Turns out, he was pretty damn good at it, though.

"Captain Rogers," Bartley asked, "let me just start with the question everyone is wondering. Where have you been?"

"Well, I'm not from your timeline. I'm from an alternate timeline—the one where Tony Stark recorded that message. I can't really speak to where your Steve Rogers is."

"Alternate timelines?" Bartley shook his head. "This is all a bit hard to believe."

"No harder than aliens invading New York, half the population vanishing and then suddenly reappearing five years later, and enhanced individuals like the Hulk."

"I'll give you that," the reporter responded. "So, time travel. Okay. How did you get to our timeline?"

"You can thank Tony Stark, Princess Shuri from Wakanda, and Bruce Banner for that. They all worked very hard on stuff that is well above my pay grade to figure out how to get Bucky Barnes and myself back to this timeline."

"Why did you two come back?"

"That was all Barnes. He escaped that prison in Louisiana for one reason. He wanted to try to make things right. He knew it wouldn't help him or this timeline, but he knew it would make a difference to us. And it did. He expected to die doing that. I couldn't let him. We used one of the infinity stones to bring him back. After that, he insisted that we try to help him return to this timeline so he could face the charges against him. I asked him to stay with us. Tony Stark asked him to stay with us. We all did our best to dissuade him from returning because we believe that he has a lot to offer the world, and he can't do that in a cage. He doesn't belong in one. I was there in 1944. I found him strapped to a table in a Nazi-Hydra lab. I pulled him out of there. He and the other Howling Commandos helped the Allied forces win the war. And then there was that one mission where he grabbed the shield and threw himself in the line of fire to save my life. It cost him his. I thought he died, but he didn't. He'd been captured by Russian Hydra forces. They continued whatever experiment Dr. Zola had started on him, and they turned him, against his will, into their Winter Soldier. He's paid a hefty price for helping the world defeat Hydra and the Nazis. For him, and for me, it wasn't that long ago. He's come a long way. He's fought to get his mind back, but it's a process. That process was interrupted when he was arrested and forced into mandatory therapy here in New York. The real people who should have been allowed to help him with his recovery are in Wakanda. And they are still ready, willing, and able to help him. We owe him that. As a society, all of us owe him a debt."

"What do you say to the critics who believe he helped the convicted murderer Zemo escape and that it was that escape that led to the death of Leon Klein?"

Steve nodded solemnly, meeting the reporters gaze. "I extend my deepest condolences to Klein's family. I know what it's like to lose people…to miss them. To think about what might have been. Bucky didn't kill Klein. That's on Zemo."

"Did Barnes help Zemo escape?"

"I'm not the man who can give you that answer."

"Fair enough," the reporter said.

"What I will say," Steve continued, "is that I hope people remember Sergeant Barnes is a World War II veteran. He sacrificed his life to save mine, and he paid a terrible price for that. He was captured, and what they did to him…" Steve paused, talking a deep breath, "it hasn't been done to another human being in the history of our planet, that we know of. I volunteered for the army, and I volunteered to take the serum. James Barnes didn't volunteer to have the serum injected into him or to be turned into a Winter Soldier. His life, his family, his identity were all stolen from him. He's got his mind back, and he's been trying to find his way in this new, strange world. He'd barely gotten free of Hydra, and he joined us in the fight to help save the universe from Thanos. He put his life on the line again. For anyone who has ever had a loved one in the military, fighting for our freedoms, ask yourself how you would want your loved one treated if they went through what Sergeant Barnes has. He's going to take some time to recover, and he'll make mistakes along the way. He's been a prisoner for three quarters of a century. He deserves some compassion, and a chance at a life."

The reporter remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded. "It's obvious you care deeply for your friend. What would you say to—"

Steve leaned forward and glanced at the camera. "I promised five minutes. Thank you for giving me those five minutes. I have somewhere else I need to be now." He stood.

"Can I get you to answer just a couple more questions?" Bartley asked.

"Not at the moment. Thank you for this opportunity. And good luck in your world." Steve walked off camera.

The reporter looked at the camera. "Well, there you have it. The first interview with Captain Steve Rogers since the Blip ended. Make of that story what you will. I know my head is spinning."

The screen cut again back to the anchorwoman. "We have another portion of exclusive footage. We opted to save this until the end of this segment because some viewers may find the content disturbing. If you have children watching, we warn you that the following material is not appropriate for young or sensitive viewers." The anchorwoman paused for a few seconds, and then continued. "The following footage is alleged to have occurred in the alternate timeline. It is footage purported to be captured by Tony Stark's Iron Man suit during the final moments of the battle at the Avengers compound in New York."

The video cut again to a familiar figure, but Sam had never seen this footage. It was not part of any of the battle footage he'd provided Bucky, and he knew instantly why. He was watching how the alternate events played out.

There, on his screen, was Bucky Barnes, the gauntlet on his vibranium arm. He fell against a pile of scorched earth and debris. The perspective shifted. Tony Stark was moving toward Bucky, leaning over him. Bucky's lips were moving ever so slightly, even as the energy coursing up his vibranium arm snaked into his neck, up his jaw, over the side of his face.

A figure moved in the periphery of the image, and Stark shifted. Steve was there, dirty and bloody, disbelief on his face, anguish in his blue eyes. Steve looked at the man on the ground in front of him and then yanked the glove off Bucky's hand and set it to rest between himself and Tony.

"Bucky," Steve whispered.

Bucky's eyelids fluttered open, the eyes drifted until they settled on Steve's face. Bucky's lips moved. His chest trembled, then a choke escaped him. Steve yanked off his mask, then grabbed his friend's hand, encasing it in both of his.

Bucky whispered, his voice low and hoarse. "My pocket."

Steve sprang into action, patting down Bucky's pockets until he found something in the jacket. He pulled out two envelopes.

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

"God, Buck…" Steve croaked.

From the video, it looked like Bucky was already gone. Sam felt his own tears falling. He hadn't expected this…. He hadn't expected to watch his friend's death. Even though he knew Dr. Strange would resurrect Bucky, it still hurt to watch Bucky take his last breath. It hurt even worse knowing that Bucky did this because some part of him really believed he had no place in the world.

It especially hurt watching Steve on the screen lean forward and rest the top of his head against Bucky's still chest.

"The other one's addressed to you," Tony's voice sounded.

Sam watched as Steve carefully picked up the letters. He set one on Bucky's leg, then turned the other one over and opened it. He pulled out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it. After a moment, Steve began to read the words softly out loud.

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

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

Steve's voice broke, and he sobbed. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing Steve cry. He ached for both of his friends.

Sam watched as Tony gently pulled the letter from Steve's hand and say, "I got this, Cap."

Another figure appeared on the other side of Steve—the dirty, bloodied, and bearded face of their Bucky.

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

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

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

Tony took a hitched breath, then continued.

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked and the tears spilled down his cheeks as he listened to Tony reading Bucky's final words. Jesus, Bucky, you're not a burden, man.

He thought back to all the quips and cracks he'd made at Bucky. He'd thought, for the most part, Bucky knew he was just messing around, trying to ease the tension. Sure, sometimes, if he had to be honest with himself, he felt a little out of his league with Bucky. Back in Vienna and then Berlin, he wasn't so sure Steve had been doing the right thing, but he trusted Steve, and he backed him. He hadn't been happy about it, for sure. Bucky had tried to kill him repeatedly, after all.

But he knew the man now, and he knew why Steve sacrificed so much to save him. He swore to himself, as he watched the scene unfold on the screen, that if Bucky got out of this, Sam would make sure he knew that he considered Bucky a friend, not a burden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye, Steve.

Your friend and brother in spirit,

James Bucky Barnes

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

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

Sam watched, heartbroken, as Steve fell forward and grabbed the still, hard shoulders of Bucky's body and sobbed. After several long, agonizing seconds, Steve straightened and opened his eyes. He picked up the gauntlet.

"Cap?" Tony's cautiously inquired.

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

"Stop!" Dr. Strange's voice sounded just off camera, then Tony shifted to reveal the man kneeling nearby. "You don't know how to use that," Dr. Strange continued. "You could cause an endless time loop."

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

Dr. Strange held out his hand. "I do know how to use that. You have my word. I'll try to bring him back."

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

What Sam watched next blew his mind. Events unwound, but only with Bucky. Everything else remained as it was. His body shifted, changed. His vibranium arm glowed, then it didn't. The energy flared and then snaked down his arm, and damaged tissue became healthy. He took in a deep, shuddering breath, then his eyes opened.

Bucky looked around, confused, then panic set on his face. "Thanos!"

"Thanos is gone." Steve said. "You destroyed his forces."

Bucky looked at Steve in silence for several seconds, confusion evident in his face. "What happened?" Bucky asked. "How am I alive? Am I alive?"

Dr. Strange answered. "Your friend Captain Rogers here was about to make a cosmically foolish decision and unsuccessfully attempt to use the time stone to rewind your physical essence to an earlier state. I intervened and did it for him—successfully, of course."

Bucky stared at the sorcerer. "You used the time stone to bring me back?"

Strange nodded.

Bucky leaned his head back and sighed. "You're a real pain in the ass, Steve."

Sam laughed at that. The man wasn't lying. His laughter faded to a grin as he watched Steve pull Bucky into what appeared to be a crushing hug.

The video faded for a moment, then resumed. Sam heard a man's voice off-screen.

"What the hell is happening? Where are we?"

The video turned toward the voice. There was an older man with the gray hair wearing a slightly vintage business suit. Sam recognized Howard Stark immediately. He was pretty sure the blonde woman standing next to him his Tony's mother.

The video jolted and shifted suddenly, then Tony's voice came through as a stunned gasp. "Mom? Dad?"

Maria Stark tilted her head and looked at her son, her brow creased. Tears filled her eyes. "Tony?"

In the background of the video, Sam saw other people milling around, looking confused, and his eyes focused on one figure in the distance. He wasn't sure…she was too far away, but it almost looked like Natasha.

Before he could get a solid look, however, the screen went blank, then returned to the anchorwoman behind the desk. "As mentioned previously, we have had the video independently examined by an expert. There is no indication that the footage is a deep fake or has otherwise been tampered with. It appears to be authentic, but we have turned the source video provided over to authorities for further investigation." She took a breath, as if steadying herself, then promptly moved into the next story about repatriation efforts.

Sam clicked off the video and closed the laptop lid. He took a moment to just sit there in silence and process what he'd just watched—his friend's suicide mission, thwarted by Steve and Dr. Strange. Instantly, he also felt a deep regret. If only someone had thought about that those many months ago, when Tony had taken his last breath.

But, then again, Dr. Strange had been busy trying to keep flood waters at bay and wasn't available to save Tony the first time around. It appeared that, in Bucky's version of events, he'd taken care of that threat, too…all while he was dying. Sam had to hand it to Bucky…when he put his mind to a mission, he really followed through, even to his last breath.

"Shit, Bucky." He leaned back in his chair. "Well done, man. Well done."

-0- -0- -0-

Clint Barton stood mesmerized in the middle of the living room as he watched the scene unfold on the television screen. This was an entirely different version of events…a version where Tony Stark survived and…

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the familiar red head in the distance. He knew her walk, anywhere. Suddenly, he was back on the side of the cliff, trying to hold on to her, then watching her fall.

"Oh my god, is that Natasha?" Laura's voice brought him out of his dark thoughts.

He felt her arm wrap around his waist.

"Yeah," he croaked.

Son of a bitch. Barnes had somehow managed to bring her back.

-0- -0- -0-

The Chancellor stared at the handwritten letter sitting on her desk. She'd read it twice. The handwriting was neat and meticulous. The words had obviously been written with care.

When her Aide had delivered it, she wasn't sure what she expected when she found out it was from Leon Klein's grandmother… one of a dwindling number of living holocaust victims. The Chancellor was still recovering from the images she'd seen during her meeting with Captain Rogers. She knew he had meant to shock her…to make her feel sympathy for his friend.

He had succeeded.

The letter from Eva Klein was just one more surprise. It did, however, make her decision clearer. Easier.

-0- -0- -0-

Sam's phone rang, and he slipped it out of his pocket and answered. "Yeah?

"Sam. Pepper. Good news."

He smiled. "Words I love to hear. Thank you again, by the way, for everything."

"No need to thank me, Sam. It's just nice to know there's some version of events out there where Morgan gets to grow up with Tony in her life….Anyway, the good news is that Germany has dropped its extradition request."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, leaning forward on the table and rubbing his fingers over his eyes. "Thank, God. I heard he met with the Chancellor. Sounds like he was as persuasive as usual?"

"Yes, but there was another factor in her decision, I'm told. After the news broadcast, Leon Klein's grandmother wrote the Chancellor and asked for clemency for Barnes. She was a victim of the Nazi's. Both of her parents were killed in Buchenwald. There was a segment on a German news station about it. She said she thought long and hard about what would be right, and she remembered what it was like back then. If not for people like Barnes fighting the Nazis, she might not have made it out alive, and her grandson would never have been born. She said she has decided to forgive whatever Barnes did that led to Zemo killing her grandson, because she would not allow the legacy of the Nazi's to continue to destroy lives."

"Damn." Sam took a moment to process the news. "I…I don't even know what to say to that." He tried to imagine how difficult that must have been for the grandmother. He couldn't.

Unfortunately, even with the Germans backing off, Sam knew they weren't out of the woods yet. There was still the matter of the jailbreak. "What does that mean for Bucky?"

"The only charges left are those related to his escape from the jail in Louisiana. Happy and Benson got your gift baskets by the way. Happy's slightly less upset with you."

Sam winced. "Yeah, well….I don't blame him for still being upset. You told him it was me and not Bucky that took him out?"

"Yeah, that's one reason he's not as upset with you as he could be. I think he's happier it was you."

Sam chuckled at that. "Ask him how that zap felt. He was the test subject."

"I don't think I'm going to tell him that. You should start thinking about a good Christmas present for him."

"I will. Thanks, Pepper."

"I'll be in touch, Sam, goodbye."

Sam ended the connection and dialed the Louisiana Governor's office. He hoped the man would take a call from Lousiana's home-grown Captain America. After that, he needed to see what Sarah could cook up on her end.

-0- -0- -0

His hands were behind his back, his metal arm de-activated, hanging limply, tethered to the wrist of his flesh arm. He was barefoot and bare-chested, and the cold seeped into his bones. The collar around his neck was tight, its thick electrodes jutting painfully into the flesh of his neck. The leash attached to it jerked him forward. He stumbled, following along. He felt the quick zap in his back from the prod, and his knees almost gave way, but he forced himself to remain upright to avoid another unpleasant jolt.

He was led through a doorway into a room. His eyes focused immediately on the chair. Three men stood around the chair, two in white lab coats and the third in a military uniform. Two more armed guards stood against the wall, staring at him.

The third man approached him.

His handler jerked him to a stop and reported to the uniformed man, "Aktiv nestabilen."

The asset is unstable, his brain translated.

He swallowed hard, his chest pounding. He knew that chair. Somehow. Everything in his head was so fuzzy. Whenever he tried to remember anything, blinding pain snaked behind his eyes, stealing his breath. He knew the chair, though. He knew it brought pain. He planted his feet, but the prod rammed hard into his lower spine, and this time, his knees gave way as the current shot through him.

He was yanked upward, the electrodes digging into his neck. The room spun. He was being jerked toward the chair. He was somebody. He knew. He had a name. It was just at the edge of his mind, like a dream. He knew the chair would push it out of reach. He didn't know how he knew, but he did…in his gut, his soul.

The commander's eyes were unyielding as he stared at the handler. "Udvoyte vremya seansa," Double the session time.

"No." He heard himself say, though he couldn't remember deciding to speak.

The commander's gaze shifted to him. "What did you say?"

He was trembling. He was afraid. He was angry. Some part of him preferred the peace of death to that chair. He clenched the fist of his flesh hand behind his back. Then he lunged forward, barreling into the commander, and he pulled with everything he had against the restraint. A scream erupted from his throat. His right arm was free.

He was on top of the commander. He raised his arm to deliver a blow. The collar seared into him, driving rational thought from his brain and bringing nothing but pain. He reached up, grabbing at it. More pain came—a sharp jab in his groin, followed by another surge of violent electricity. Agony snaked through every crevice of his body. He kicked, made contact with something, but he couldn't breathe. Hands were on him. The pain suddenly vanished, and he realized the collar was in his right hand, broken.

He heard yelling. Panic. He had a moment. This was it. He surged upward. The room spun. His legs barely obeyed. They shook, but he lunged forward into a man. His fingers wrapped around a gun. The prod hit him again. Then batons. Men were all over him. Something sharp jabbed into his neck. He yelled, defiant. He eyed the open doorway, throwing the men off him. He ordered his legs to move him. They did, but not far enough. The edges of his vision faded. More sharp jabs, two of them—in the back of his neck and the back of his thigh. A baton slammed into his skull.

He knew the chair would be next.

Bucky gasped. The world shifted disconcertingly from a dim, cold bunker to a sterile, softly lit room with three solid walls. His hands went to the collar, yanking on it, frantic. He couldn't breathe.

"Stand down!" A voice commanded.

He had to get away. He wouldn't let them put him in that chair again. His fingers wrapped around the unforgiving metal around his neck.

The collar beeped, then a jolt surged through him. He screamed, flinging himself into something hard. His metal arm came upward, grabbing the collar and ripping it off. The electrodes tore into his flesh as the collar gave way. Warm blood snaked down his collar.

A siren rang. Men shouted. He lunged forward toward the area he could see. A doorway. Freedom. He slammed hard into something invisible, transparent, unexpected. It jolted him into brutal awareness, and he found himself on the ground, staring up at a white ceiling and artificial lights. Realization came first with a wave of relief, and then a sickening twist in his gut as the siren blasted through his skull and the thud of footsteps rumbled in the floor. He wasn't in Siberia. He was in New York.

He took a moment to catch his breath after the nightmare as he stared up into the ceiling and the embedded circles. Security cameras. Sensors. Whatever else they were, they were focused on him. He lifted his head to see six armed men on the other side of the transparent partition, their rifles pointed at him. He looked around and spotted the broken collar on the ground next to him, then took a deep breath, laid his head back on the cool floor, and closed his eyes.

"Roll onto your stomach and put your hands behind your head," a shaky voice barked.

He complied.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve was jolted awake by the sound of his cell phone. He sat up on the floor and grabbed the phone. It was next to his makeshift bed, plugged into the wall. He answered it, unhooking it from the cord.

"Sam?"

"Steve, there's been an incident with Bucky."

His stomach dropped. He was afraid something like this would happen. "What happened? Is he okay?"

The lawyers are getting a copy of the security footage, but all I know right now is he became combative in his cell and tried to break free. He tore off the collar.

"What collar?" Steve was on his feet.

"It was a security collar. It had GPS and….well, in case he tried to escape, it could potentially disable him long enough for them to, you know."

Steve closed his eyes and clenched his free hand into a fist. "Damnit."

"The lawyers already filed a motion about it. I didn't want to tell you because…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"You were trying to spare me. I understand, Sam. Thanks. Don't worry about sparing me any details. I need to know them all."

"Understood."

Steve took a breath and dropped into the chair. "How is he? Is he okay?"

"He's being looked at. He suffered minor injuries to his neck when he took the collar off. He slammed into the clear wall, so they're also checking him out for a concussion, the usual. From what I'm told, he's behaving himself now, but he hasn't said a word to anyone since the incident."

"I need to see him."

"They aren't letting anyone other than the lawyers in. I've tried, Steve."

"I know you have." Steve pushed himself to his feet. "Thank you for that, but I think maybe I need to try this time."

-0- -0- -0-

"We got you five minutes, Cap." The attorney with the white hair extended her hand. "I'm Melissa Zedan, part of Barnes' representation."

Steve shook her hand as he prepared to enter the detention room. "Thank you for getting this done."

"Well, being Captain Steve Rogers lets you pull some strings. Plus, if you can take on Thanos, we're all pretty sure you could break out your friend, if you really wanted to. I think the powers that be figure it's best to play nice for the time being."

He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. "How is he?"

Her face grew serious. "He's had a rough go. I managed to get a little bit out of him—enough to find out that the Russians had put a collar around his neck. Other than that, he hasn't been in the talking mood. I know he's suffered from nightmares in the past. Apparently, he had a doozy of one, triggered by the collar, and, well… the guards are a little on edge given his history and capabilities."

Steve tried to quench the anger in his gut. Bucky didn't belong in a prison cell. What he needed was help continuing his recovery. "Can we go in now?"

She nodded and led the way to the metal door. An armed guard outside opened it for her. Steve followed her through the doorway. Another armed guard inside nodded at her, then left the room. The metal door closed with a solid thunk behind the guard.

Steve's eyes went to the lone figure in the modest cell on the other side of the partition. Bucky was seated on the floor, his back resting against the partition. Steve couldn't tell whether Bucky was asleep or awake, but he was relieved to see there was no collar around his friend's neck.

"James, you have a visitor," Melissa said.

Bucky didn't acknowledge her.

Steve stepped forward, stopping a few inches from the partition. "Bucky."

Bucky twisted around to look up at Steve. Surprise and relief flooded his face. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face them. The edges of his eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles hung beneath. Healing scabs circled his neck like macabre beads. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Steve," Bucky's lips turned upward into the barest hint of a smile, "how do you like this timeline so far?"

"I like what you did to ours better." Steve put his hand on the barrier. "How are you doing?"

Bucky tilted his head. "This joint is better than most places I've stayed in."

"I heard about what happened." Steve lowered his hand and studied his friend's face.

Bucky's eyes darted away, and he swallowed hard. "Just a nightmare. It's not the first, and it won't be the last."

"A lot of people are working to get you out of here, Bucky. We're making good progress. Hang in there a little longer."

"Piece of cake." Bucky shrugged a shoulder. "Don't worry about me, man. I've been through a lot worse."

"I know." He knew enough of it, and knowing was more than enough.

Bucky had lived it, and the things Steve didn't know about Bucky's time under Hydra's control made him both grateful for his ignorance and sick to his stomach.

"Is there anything you need that you're not getting in here?" Steve asked.

Bucky managed a small smile. "Some 40s music would be nice…and maybe a bit of that 50s stuff, too."

Steve glanced at Melissa.

"On it," she grinned at him.

"How's Sam?" Bucky asked.

Making sure Sam was in the clear was at least half of Bucky's reasons for coming back, so Steve was glad to be able to give him good news. "He's doing well. Turning you in really took the heat off him, but he's more worried about you."

"Tell him thank you for me…and I'm fine. I can handle this."

"The thing is," Steve swallowed, "you shouldn't have to." He intentionally echoed the words Bucky had said to him what felt like both a lifetime ago and only yesterday.

The door opened, and a guard entered. "Time's up, Captain Rogers."

Steve looked back at Bucky. "Goodbye for now, pal. I'll see you soon."

Bucky smiled gently at him. "Don't do anything stupid."

Steve tried to return the smile, but he didn't think it made it to his face. "Too late."

"One more thing before I go," Melissa said as she pulled out her cell phone and held it up to Bucky. "With your permission, I'd like to take photos of your neck."

Bucky glanced at her, looking slightly uncomfortable, but nodded.

She wasted no time snapping a few photos, then pocketed her cell phone again. Steve followed her out of the room.

When the door closed behind them, she turned to him and said, "Well, you got more out of him than anyone else has, myself included. I've been asking him if he needs anything since Day One, and all I've ever gotten is a terse 'no.' He didn't even mention the food situation. We figured that out our own rather quickly, though. The first thing we did once we were retained was conduct a full review of his conditions and correlate those conditions to what we know of supersoldier physiology. We've been working on getting that collar off him, but it's been a tricky situation given his capabilities."

"Will it stay off?" Steve asked.

"Well, it should until his neck is healed. After that, we'll see." She patted her jacket pocket. "These photos should help. I took some during the previous visit, but he was hunched on the floor in the corner of his cell and I couldn't get a good shot. Like I said, he was minimally responsive. We're still waiting on them getting us the security footage so we can see exactly what happened. I think they're intentionally dragging their feet, but since it hasn't even been 36 hours yet, and it's Friday, we're probably going to realistically have to wait a bit longer before raising a fuss."

He wasn't sure how he felt about her matter-of-fact explanation for what amounted to torture, but he figured, given the type of clients she had, she was probably used to dealing with all sorts of unique and disturbing legal situations. For her, this was another day at the office. For Bucky, it was his life.

She must have seen something in his face, because she said, "I know you're worried about your friend. Believe me when I say, we've got some of the best legal minds in the world on his case. We've become a thorn in the government's side, and we're looking at everything under a microscope. He's given us permission to discuss his case with both you and Wilson. We've filed multiple motions, a lawsuit, and we've been carefully gathering and documenting information in the event any of this goes to trial or we need to coordinate with an outside firm on the PR aspects of his case. We've asked the court to consider ordering a psychiatric evaluation prior to any transfers or further legal proceedings."

Steve felt marginally better listening to her reassurances. He knew Bucky wasn't much into PR. He wasn't, either, frankly, though he'd had to become more familiar with it than he liked as Captain America. In Bucky's case, however, some good PR was proving necessary. He also had his doubts that any court-appointed psychiatrist would be of much help to Bucky, but he knew they had to work within the process for the time being.

-0- -0- -0-

Sam's phone rang, and he lifted it to see the incoming video message request. Quickly, he answered it. His sister's face greeted him.

"Sarah?" He heard yelling in the background, honks, a chaotic symphony of noise. Her face filled most of the screen, but he could see a crowd behind her. "What's going on there?"

She smiled at him. "Hang on." He saw her finger come up and tap the screen, then the camera shifted to the rear view. She turned around slowly, and he saw a large crowd of people in front of the Louisiana State Capitol Building. Many held signs. He could make out a few of them.

One had big, bold letters and read, "Free Bucky!"

Another declared, "Do it for Tony!"

Another, several feet away and part of what looked to be a different crowd, proclaimed, "Winter Soldier=Gun! We support Gun Control!"

He shook his head. The one good thing about Bucky being in a cell is, hopefully, he wasn't seeing any of this.

"You're in Baton Rouge?" he asked Sarah.

She nodded. "Yep! Lots of protestors. Everyone I know. We carpooled. We put it out on social media. Our 'Pardon Bucky' crowd is twice as big as the other crowd."

AJ and Cass jumped into view. "Hi, Uncle Sam!"

Sam couldn't believe his eyes. "You brought the boys?"

"Yeah, why the hell not?" The camera flipped back around to her face. "They gotta learn all about their civil rights. The First Amendment. We're keeping it peaceful."

"What if the other side doesn't?"

"Well," she gave him that look, "we outnumber them, and the media is here, so I'm pretty sure the cops will behave themselves."

He hoped so. He didn't like the idea of the boys being in the middle of that, but at least they were getting a first-hand lesson in the Constitution.

-0- -0- -0-

"Mr. President, it's two O'clock," the Aide popped her head into the oval office. "King T'Challa is on the line."

The President sighed and looked at the blinking light on desk phone. He wanted this headache to go away. The Germans had dropped their extradition request, leaving the Wakandans breathing down his neck. The world had just gotten a reboot, and he had so many more pressing matters to deal with rather than spend time figuring out what to do with a 100-plus-year-old-supersoldier-former-brainwashed assassin-buddy to both Captain Americas.

If Barnes was released—and there were really no federal charges at this point—he'd have to deal with the backlash from the anti-Barnes protesters. But keeping him locked up just meant dealing with other protests, letters, emails and really bad international PR….like those damn wounds around his neck that had Barnes' lawyers threatening another lawsuit. They'd been 'leaked' to the press. Those unfortunate photos even had the ACLU and Amnesty International all over his back…and his approval ratings were taking a hit.

He needed the Louisiana Governor to either follow through and take Barnes into the state's jurisdiction or cut him loose and get him the hell out of everyone's hair. After T'Challa, the Governor would be his very next phone call.

The President picked up the line and hit the blinking button. "Good afternoon, King T'Challa…"

-0- -0- -0-

"Barnes, on your feet."

Bucky pushed himself off the floor and turned to face the guard. His body ached with fatigue, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he didn't dare sleep. Not after the last time. He knew it was unrealistic to stay awake forever, and eventually his brain would shut down on its own. For the time being, however, he wanted to remain in control, and that meant remaining awake.

Two guards entered behind the one who had spoken. Bucky's breath quickened. This was…new. New worried him, as did the anxious expression on the guards' faces.

One of the men took a step forward. He was older, maybe about 50, with dark eyes and a square jaw. He looked less nervous than the others, but he held his gun just as firmly.

"It's your lucky day," the older man told him. "You're being transferred."

A buzzer sounded.

"Turn around and put your hands on the wall," the guard commanded him.

Bucky took a breath and turned around, moving to the far wall and facing it. He lifted both hands and placed his palms flat against the wall. He knew they were afraid of him. He didn't blame them. He could kill all of them. They knew that. They'd no doubt seen the footage of him on the helicarrier…on the bridge…in Bucharest.

He heard the door slide open. Footsteps clanked on the floor behind him. Thick metal wrapped around his waist. Hands pulled his arms down, tethering them to restraints on the metal belt. The thick metal cuff around his wrist was tight, digging into the flesh of his right hand. He didn't bother telling them he could probably break free of the restraints.

Shackles closed around his ankles. He figured it was a bad time to tell them that he'd need to use the bathroom soon.

Two guards came on either side of him. Their hands grabbed his arms on either side, then turned him around. They marched him out of the cell and through the doorway. He walked down the long corridor with them, his steps short due to the restriction of the shackles.

Then he was in an elevator with four of them, traveling upward. They exited, going through another door, then up a short staircase and out another door. His bare feet smacked against a rough cement floor.

When he realized he was on the roof and it was the middle of the night, his heart beat faster. The cool air whipped against his face, and it felt good after being in the cell, but everything else about the situation set off his internal alarms. He tensed, and he felt the guards tense in response on either side of him.

"What's happening?" He asked, doing his best to keep his tone level and nonthreatening.

"You're being transferred," one of them answered.

"Where?"

"Out of the country."

He took a breath. His lawyers had told him that Germany had dropped its extradition request. Had that changed?

He heard a subtle hum, and a small, sleek aircraft lowered to the edge of the roof. The blades of a chopper roared in the distance. The aircraft's door opened.

The older guard held up a collar and snapped it around Bucky's neck.

"Hey," one of the younger guards spoke up, "I thought we weren't allowed to use that, anymore?"

The older man shot a glare at the younger one. "This guy put a bullet in my cousin's head ten years ago. He was one of the men trying to help Rogers stop the helicarriers. You want it off, you get to take the plane with him alone and hope for the best, but, I'm not risking not making it home to my wife and kids." He held up the remote.

The younger man shifted on his feet and looked away from the other officer. He made brief eye contact with Bucky, looking both apologetic and terrified at the same time, then the other guards pushed Bucky into the plane.

The older man shoved Bucky into a seat against the wall, then fastened a harness over his chest that kept him secured and even more immobile than he already was. Two guards remained inside with him, and the younger one closed the door behind him.

The older guard took the seat directly across from Bucky. The younger guard sat down on the opposite end, farther away. Bucky eyed the older man's nametag.

Hogan.

It meant nothing to him, but then again, he wouldn't expect a cousin to share the same last name. Bucky had killed a number of men that day. He'd resurrected them all in the alternate timeline—but not in this one.

He wondered if the man that had almost gotten away in the aircraft was Hogan's cousin. Bucky had jumped on top of the quinjet and put a single bullet into the man's head before dropping into the cockpit himself and lifting off. He didn't think there was any way he could ease Hogan's pain or anger, but he could try.

"I resurrected all those men," Bucky said, as the plane's hum grew to a roar and his stomach dropped as it lifted into the air.

"What?" Hogan's hand twitched around the remote to the collar.

"In the alternate timeline," Bucky said. "When I had the infinity stones. I resurrected every man the Winter Soldier…I…killed that day."

The guard studied him for several seconds. His eyes and face remained unyielding, hard. Finally, he said, "He's still dead here."

Bucky nodded solemnly. "I can't change that."

He wished he could. He wished he could change a lot of things about this timeline, but it didn't seem to want to budge no matter what he did.

"No," the man glared at him, "you can't."

-0- -0- -0-

Steve was anxious and impatient. He tried to project a steady calm as he stood next to T'Challa and Sam on the Wakandan landing pad, but inside, he was worried. Things hadn't gone according to plan in getting Bucky to Wakanda. The lawyers had been working on arranging a private release and transport when, the next thing Steve had heard, Bucky was already in the air, under federal guard, on his way to Wakanda.

He shouldn't have even been under guard. He was technically a free man. The ink was still wet, but it was official. They had no legal reason to keep him in custody. The lawyers threatened another lawsuit, the Governor had issued an unimpressively canned apology, and there was talk about intercepting the plane or turning it around. The Wakandans had tried to ping the geolocation sensor in Bucky's arm, but Steve informed them that the Shuri from his timeline had deactivated it.

So, the Wakandans had stepped in and offered the transport plane an escort once it entered international airspace. What they were really doing was using their sophisticated sensors—courtesy of a Kimoyo Bead attached mid-air onto the hull of the aircraft—to keep an eye on the jet's occupants and, especially, one slightly rough-around-the-edges serum-enhanced centenarian.

Steve watched the two aircraft descend onto the large landing pad. The Wakandan vessel was first, and it immediately opened. Ayo and another Dora Milaje exited, both carrying spears. They immediately approached the U.S. jet moments after it touched down.

Steve couldn't wait any longer. He walked briskly toward the aircraft, his gaze glued to the hatch-style door on the side. Its engine cut out, bathing the area in silence. Steve came to a stop next to Ayo. He sensed Sam and T'Challa behind him. He heard Shuri's light footsteps and knew she'd arrived, too. They were all anxious to see Bucky.

The hatch slid open, and a short set of stairs unfolded from the doorway. A young guard hopped out. He looked nervously at them, his gaze hovering over Steve for several seconds. Then, two more figures emerged.

Steve sucked in a breath as Bucky stopped in the doorway of the jet. He was dressed in the same gray shirt and pants he'd been wearing in his cell, and his feet were still bare. It was the sight of the restraints and collar that caused the anger to swell in Steve's chest—that, and the confused, apprehensive expression in Bucky's eyes as he looked around as though he had expected to be somewhere else.

Bucky's ankles were shackled, restricting the range of motion of his legs. He eyed the steps for a moment, then simply hopped over them and landed with a soft thud on the ground, his feet together and the metal of his restraints clanking with the motion. The guard behind him trotted down the steps after him.

When Bucky's gaze locked with his, Steve saw the tension leave his shoulders. The confused apprehension in his eyes melted to relief, but then his gaze instantly went to a point behind Steve—T'Challa, Steve realized—and the apprehension returned. Bucky swallowed hard as the older guard moved him forward.

"What's going on here?" Bucky asked.

Steve was in front of him in seconds. "You're a free man." Steve gave a hard look at the older guard behind Bucky. "Get him out of these restraints and that collar immediately."

The older guard held Steve's gaze firmly, almost challenging, then raised the remote and clicked a button. The collar sprang open and clattered to the ground. Steve eyed the healing but freshly irritated red marks around Bucky's neck.

"Jesus Christ," Sam said from behind Steve. "Bucky, are you okay?"

Bucky's gaze went to Sam, and he gave a quick nod.

The younger guard moved forward, keys in hand, and undid the rest of the restraints around Bucky. He shot Steve a quick glance. "Sorry, Cap. I was just following orders."

Steve looked at the young man. "Sometimes, the right thing to do is to question orders."

The young man straightened and nodded, then backed away toward the older guard.

T'Challa walked forward, his steady gaze hovering over the two men. "You may take your leave now."

The two guards turned swiftly and headed back into the transport plane. Within moments, it was lifting into the air and heading out through the force field.

Steve saw Bucky's metal fingers rubbing his right wrist and noticed the angry red marks from the shackle. Bucky hadn't said a word, and Steve could tell he was hovering between overwhelmed and confused.

"T'Challa." Bucky nodded at the Black Panther, then at Ayo as she marched up and took a position next to the King. "Thank you." His eyes hovered over Ayo, and he took a breath. "I know I'm not welcome here right now." Bucky then looked uncertainly at Steve. "What's next?"

T'Challa walked up to Bucky and put a hand on his right shoulder. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to, White Wolf." T'Challa dropped his arm and raised his chin as he barked an order into the air. "Someone get this man shoes and fresh clothes!"

Bucky's eyes glistened visibly, on the verge of tears, and Steve heard the quick, shallow breaths that told him his friend was struggling to keep control. Steve slipped an arm around Bucky's shoulders and gently guided him away from T'Challa to spare him from having to try to formulate a reply.

Steve leaned in close to his friend and said, low in his ear, "You're okay, Bucky. You're free. Everything's been dropped. I'm sorry about how they brought you here. It wasn't supposed to go down that way."

Sam moved into step alongside them. "We've got quite the spread as a sort of welcome home for you planned, once you get cleaned up and have a chance to relax and crash, if you want. Depends on whether you're more tired or hungry. Whatever you want, man. You've earned a breather."

Bucky's feet stopped moving, and Steve came to a stop alongside him, sliding his arm down slightly but keeping a supportive hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Thank you, Sam." Bucky looked over at Steve. "You, too." He shook head and took a slow breath. "I'm not sure how you managed any of this."

Steve smiled, but the shell-shocked expression on Bucky's face worried him. He wondered just how much sleep his friend had gotten during his incarceration. Bucky had been through a lot, and now that it was over, the toll of the it all seemed to be catching up to him.

Ayo walked up to Bucky, stopping to stand a couple of feet in front of him. Bucky met her gaze, looking uncertain. Steve remembered what had happened between them, and how Bucky had said he wasn't welcome in Wakanda after the fight over Zemo. It was obvious from Bucky's expression that he still wasn't sure how things stood between him and Ayo.

She nodded her head at him. "I am pleased to see you, White Wolf."

Shuri was there, suddenly, as well, a bright smile on her face. "I've have had plenty of time to review the information provided by the version of me from the alternative timeline. The other me was very thorough." She waved and spun around. "If you follow me, we'll get you set up in my lab and check you out, get those marks on your neck taken care of, and give you a good once over."

Bucky kept his feet planted for a few seconds, his gaze drifting from Ayo, to Shuri, then to T'Challa, Steve, Sam and back again as though he wasn't sure who to thank or where to look. Steve nudged him forward. He wanted to get Bucky in Shuri's lab and give him some time to decompress and process everything. He knew that was something he'd discussed with his Shuri before the trip. Bucky was great at rolling with the punches. It was when the punches stopped that the real work began. The space in between those battles left a void that would be filled only by the flood of his past trauma and brutal conditioning, and Bucky's response to that had always been to simply shut down.

Steve felt he understood this post Winter Soldier version Bucky a little better thanks to Shuri. At the very least, he knew—so much more keenly than the other version of himself obviously had—that he couldn't just tell Bucky it would be okay and expect that to happen…not after everything Hydra had put him through. Bucky needed a support system. Steve would be part of that support system until it was time for him to return to his own timeline. By then, Steve hoped the rest of that support system would fall into place to help Bucky continue his recovery.

He knew Sam would be part of that system every step of the way.

"Come on, pal," Steve prodded Bucky gently. "We'll let Shuri give you a once-over and then go from there."

Bucky allowed himself to be nudged forward, and he started walking again. Steve and Sam were on either side of him. Ayo and Shuri walked ahead, and T'Challa strolled behind.

Steve was aware of the King's slow steps and low voice as he spoke to one of the Dora Milaje. He knew the political strings T'Challa had played to get Bucky safe in Wakanda, and he also knew that T'Challa had managed that on top of everything else he had to deal with in a post-Blip Wakanda. He'd be forever grateful to the man.

They entered the building, and Shuri led them to her lab. It felt like only yesterday that he'd been here, but it was over five years ago.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Bucky said giving a shy smile.

Shuri nodded with a smile and gestured to a doorway. Bucky padded stiffly through it. He re-emerged a few minutes later, and Shuri gestured to an exam table. Bucky hopped up wordlessly, his bare feet dangling above the floor.

Steve exchanged glances with Sam and recognized the concern in the other man's eyes. He'd noticed the way Sam's gaze had hovered over the marks on Bucky's neck. Sam had seen the leaked photograph. The wounds had looked nastier back then, fresher. Now, they were almost healed…other than being recently irritated by another few hours' worth of contact with the metal electrodes.

Shuri came up to Bucky, a device in her hand that Steve remembered seeing her use once before when she'd patched Bucky up after the fight with Tony in the Bunker. She held the device up to the healing wounds on Bucky's neck. His enhanced physiology was already doing its job, but Shuri's tissue regeneration scanner would kick that process into even higher gear.

The device let out a low hum as she slowly worked it around the entire circumference of his neck. He sat still, his shoulder hunched and his eyes focused at some point on the far wall as she did her work.

Steve wasn't sure what was going through Bucky's head. This should be a happy occasion. It concerned him that Bucky didn't seem to be finding any joy in his freedom.

Steve nodded at Sam and walked with him to the far wall. He leaned back, eyeing Bucky a moment longer before turning to Sam and asking, "Any thoughts about what's going through his head?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. He looks exhausted, frankly. Maybe that's all it is. I know he wasn't getting much sleep in his cell, and when he did fall asleep…"

Steve nodded. "The nightmares. We know how at least one of those went."

"Being locked up, having the collar on…it had to have brought up a lot of shit for him."

Steve watched as Shuri spoke softly to Bucky and gestured to the table. He brought his legs up and laid flat on his back, his gaze on the ceiling. She muttered something to him, and he nodded, then she reached into a case on a nearby table and pulled out a disc. It looked very much like the one she'd used on him before, back in Steve's timeline. She set it on temple, and a tiny blue light turned on in the center of the disc. On a transparent panel near the head of the bed, a display rose with Wakandan script and a series of what looked like EEG waves.

Bucky's eyelids drifted closed. The waves shifted from close and short to long and tall. Shuri moved to a short cabinet and pulled out a folded, white blanket. She let it fall open and then gently draped it over Bucky, adjusting it over his bare feet and tucking it carefully beneath his arms. Then, she turned and walked up Steve and Sam.

"He's in good condition, other than having a significant sleep deficit and being slightly dehydrated. There's some evidence that he sustained a mild concussion recently—my guess is when he ran into the barrier of his cell during the nightmare episode you told me about. The scans were able to pick up only a faint trace of the biomarkers for the injury. As for his sleep deficit and nightmares, I've used a sleep modulator. It will help prolong the period of time when his brain is in a deep sleep mode, what your science would refer to as Stage IV sleep. It will also monitor the various stages of sleep and help regulate unpleasant dreams. Based on prior scans of his brain, and the information the other version of myself included in the Kimoya Bead you provided, I am able to use the existing map we have of his neural network to identify and intercept traumatic memories that surface during his sleep stages and stimulate other neural pathways to encourage more pleasant dreams. He should awake feeling more refreshed, and the restorative sleep will help his body heal faster."

Steve gave a relieved smile. "Thank you, Shuri, for helping him. You've been a huge help—in both timelines."

She smiled brightly at him. "I spent a great deal of time fixing him. I have no intention of seeing my effort go to waste."

"How long will he be out?" Sam asked.

"Anywhere from four to seven hours is my guess, given his enhanced system. If he were an average human, it'd be much longer considering how little sleep he's gotten. He's not average, however."

"So we have time to kill." Sam looked at Steve. "You wanna hang around here, though, I take it?"

Steve smiled at him. "At least for a little while longer."

Sam nodded and slapped him on the arm. "I'll go round us up some food."

"You are not eating in my lab," Shuri told him sternly.

"Okay then," Sam clapped his hands, "I'll go round me up some food." He cocked his head at Steve. "You can fend for yourself. I'll be back."

Steve gave a soft chuckle and waved him off.

-0- -0- -0-

Bucky eyed the explosion of brown wrapping paper and ribbons that littered the floor of the apartment. His mom was fussing over a new sweater for Becca, buttoning it up and testing how the shoulder's fit. His other sisters were running around squealing, play fighting and bartering with each other's presents. The smell of cinnamon filled the air, and his stomach was full with eggs and bacon.

It was Christmas, the time of year for which his folks saved and scrimped to be able to splurge on a mini feast and modest gifts for all of them. He smiled and opened the ice box, his hand grabbing the brown bottle.

"Jimmy, don't you dare!"

"Aww, shucks, Ma, come on," he grinned back at her. "Prohibition's over, and I'll be 18 in three months! And stop calling me Jimmy. I'm not a kid, anymore"

"When you're 18, then you can have a beer." She shot him a meaningful look. "And, I'm your mother. I gave birth to you. I named you. I'll call you whatever I want."

"Not fair at all." He closed the refrigerator and opened the oven.

"Stop it!" she chided.

"I'm just gonna grab a few for Steve his mom. I have to head on over to exchange presents."

She sighed. "All right. Go bring him and Sarah some of my banana bread, too. And make sure to take Sarah that paper on the counter. It's the recipe she asked for."

He spotted it and snatched it off the counter, stuffing it into his pocket. Then he grabbed a plate and spatula and finessed a half dozen cookies off one of the baking sheets, setting the gooey disks of dough on the plate to further cook and cool until they started coalescing into actual cookies.

It smelled like goddamn heaven.

He lifted the plate and moved into the living room, setting the plate down on the cabinet near the front door as he slipped into his gloves and jacket. He swooped to pick up the two colorfully-wrapped linen presents for Steve and Sarah—mom always made sure to use the good stuff for others—and opened the door.

"The cookies!" Becca hopped up to him, and he turned just as she snatched one off the plate, blowing on it as she tossed it from hand to hand. It broke and crumbled, but she didn't seem to care.

"Cut it out, Becca!" he berated, grabbing the plate, then flashing her a playful smile. "And thanks for the reminder."

She waved at him. "Don't slip on the ice."

"I won't." He turned to leave.

"Jimmy, does it ever snow in Wakanda?"

"What?" He turned back to her.

She was standing in the room, looking at him with a curious grin on her face. His parents and siblings were engaged with one another, inspecting their presents and chatting. Becca was the only one focused on him.

"Wakanda?" She rolled her eyes. "Does it ever snow there?"

"Only on some of the tallest mountains." He knew that, and suddenly it seemed normal, like they always talked about Wakanda and his hut on the hillside with the goats.

He turned to walk through the door, and as he stepped outside, Brooklyn and the snow disappeared. He was standing on the hill, outside his hut. The air was warm. Goats munched on the grass.

"This is nice."

He looked down to see Becca beside him. He still held the plate of cookies in one hand and the presents in the other.

But his left hand—the one carrying the plate—was vibranium.

"Let's eat the cookies before they get cold," Becca suggested.

"They're for Steve and his mom," he said.

"They're back in Brooklyn," Becca told him.

Oh, right.

Suddenly, it was night, and he and Becca were sitting around a campfire beneath a canopy of twinkling lights and a sliver of a moon. The plate of cookies sat between them. He had a beer in his hand. Becca had a glass of milk in hers.

"Mom makes the best chocolate walnut cookies," Becca said.

He grabbed one from the plate and bit into it. It was still warm and melted in his mouth. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

"Yeah," he swallowed the disintegrating bits, "she does." Then he took a swig of his beer.

"You're not 18 yet," she said.

"I'm 106."

She laughed.

"Does your arm hurt?" She asked him.

"What?"

She pointed to his vibranium one. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much. The old one used to, but this one doesn't."

"It's pretty."

He set his beer down and moved his fingers as though he were seeing the arm for the first time. "Thanks, I guess."

"Mom took your death hard."

He looked at her. "How do you know about that?"

He was confused all of a sudden. He hadn't officially died yet. He wasn't even in the army.

I'm dreaming, he realized with sudden clarity. He stared at the fire. He knew it was a dream—lucid dreaming, Shuri had told him once as part of a strategy to help him cope with nightmares, but this dream felt different than some of the other lucid dreams she'd helped him achieve.

Becca's presence was so real beside him. The smell of the cookies was physical. He could feel the heat from the fire.

The orange flames blurred, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks. "I'm sorry about Mom. I figured she would. Was she okay, though?"

Becca nodded. "Eventually. I took it hard, too. We all did."

He looked over at her, gazing into her blue eyes, studying her face. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. You were doing your job. You made us proud."

He looked back into the fire. "Until I became the Winter Soldier."

"Mom never saw that."

"You did, didn't you?"

She sighed. "I guess so. I was pretty old, right?"

"Yes, still are."

She smiled at him and nudged him. "So are you."

He laughed, and more tears spilled.

"They got your letter."

"What?" He looked down at her again. "Steve delivered it, on his trip back."

"He did?" He'd forgotten about that. He'd have to ask Steve about it when he woke up.

"They don't know he delivered it, though. It was after. It was just left at the door. Mom cried. Even Dad cried. I found out later."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. For a dream, she felt solid and warm.

"I love you, Becca."

"I love you, too, Jimmy."

"Did you have a good life?"

"Except for losing my big brother in the war, yeah." She tilted her chin up at him. "You have nieces and nephews, you know. You should get to know them."

He sucked in a deep breath. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"They know who you are, I'm sure. They would want to meet you."

"They know what I did. I don't want it to be awkward for them."

"They're your family," she whispered.

"They've never even met me. I'd just be pushing myself into their lives, and I'm too much of a mess to do that to anyone…Steve is really the only family I have left."

"He can't stay," she said the quiet thing aloud.

Bucky felt more tears flow and he stared at the blurry whips of orange flames. "I know."

"You have to let go of him and move on, big brother."

An ache blossomed in his chest. "I know that, too."

"See your family. Take Sam along. I'm sure they would love to meet the new Captain America, too."

He smiled. "I'm sure they would."

"What are you afraid of?" she asked him.

He took a deep breath, but he didn't know how to answer that question. He looked back down at her. "Are you my subconscious, or something?"

She shrugged. "Or something, I guess. It's your dream."

"I have one of those doohickies on my temple." He rubbed at his temple, but it wasn't there, not in his dream world. He knew it was, in fact, on his head, as he slept in Shuri's lab. "It must be doing this—making the dream more vivid."

"Do you like it?"

He smiled and nodded. "It's a nice dream. One of the best I've had in a long time." He reached down and grabbed another cookie.

"Hey, you two!" His mother popped her head out of the hut and yelled at them, and suddenly it was like she'd been in there the whole time, and he knew his sisters were in there, and his Dad was sitting somewhere inside with his feet up.

"What is it, Mom?" Becca yelled back.

"Don't eat all those cookies! Save some for your sisters."

"There's more in the oven," Becca yelled back.

"Don't sass me!"

Bucky laughed. "You're in trouble."

Becca elbowed him gently in the side. "What else is new?"

"Everything." He said, and his smile faded for a brief moment. "But this is nice. Familiar."

"Safe?" she added.

He nodded. "Safe."

"You can't stay here forever, though."

"No," He tilted his head and let the fire mesmerize him, "but it's my dream, and I can stay for a while."

"Come on in you two," his mother called from the doorway of the hut. "Dinner's ready."

Bucky stood up, and Becca followed him into the hut. Once he stepped through the doorway, he was back in his folks' Brooklyn apartment. It was warm, cozy, and a little messy from the girls. A familiar dish sat on the modest dining room table—a large chicken divan casserole. A loaf of bread rested next to it. Six chairs were around the table. His father and mother sat at either end of the table and his sisters took up the chairs along the sides.

Becca ran past him and snagged the seat closest to her father. Bucky grinned and dropped himself into the chair closest to his mother, across from his two other sisters. He closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar aroma. He couldn't ever remember smelling anything so vivid in a dream before…or perhaps he wasn't really smelling his mother's cooking. Perhaps his brain just thought he was. Either way, he didn't care.

"Go on, eat up," his mother said.

He opened his eyes to see a large portion of the casserole on his dish next to a sizeable hunk of bread. A glass of iced tea sat next to his plate. He picked up his fork and dug in. It tasted just like he remembered.

His sisters chatted about school and friends. Margaret teased Ruth about a crush on a boy. Becca hated her history class. His mother asked his father about the leaky faucet in the bathroom.

Bucky ate in silence as he listened to their conversations. He remembered this. He hadn't truly appreciated it back then. He'd been a teenager, stupid like every teenager. Every chance he'd gotten, he'd spent it out on the streets, hanging with Steve, taking a lady dancing, convincing her to bring a friend for Steve.

He never thought his time with his folks and his sisters would be so short…not until the war and his number came up.

"Well," his mother rose and began clearing the table.

Bucky got to his feet. "Ma, sit. I'll do the cleanup."

She grinned at him. "Really?" She sank back into her chair. "Thank you, Jimmy."

He cleaned up the table, washed the dishes, and listened as everyone padded off into the living room. When he was all done, his mother and father rose.

"Well, Winnie, we better be going," his father said.

"What?" He turned to them. "What do you mean? This is your apartment."

They headed toward the door, and the girls followed his parents outside.

"Mom, Dad…" He trotted after them. As he passed through the doorway, he was back on the Wakandan hillside. It was still night. The campfire was fading to a low smolder.

His parents and three siblings walked down the slope. A creek snaked along the countryside. It had never been there before—and he wondered where it had come from.

His mother and father turned to him just before crossing the stream.

"Goodbye, my little man." She smiled at him, then reached out a hand and ruffled her fingers through his hair.

His father gave him a salute. "Make us proud, son."

His mother pulled away from him, and he grabbed her arm, enveloping it in his flesh one. He looked into her blue eyes, and he felt like a little boy again.

"Don't go," he begged, his voice shaky. Salty tears ran into his mouth, touching the tip of his tongue.

She hugged him, smelling of jasmine and rose—her favorite perfume. "You'll always be my Jimmy. Nothing will ever change that," she whispered into his ear, then pulled away, turned her back to him, and followed his father toward the creek.

"Wait!" He ran after them, but they were suddenly much farther ahead. His vision blurred as he watched them cross the stream.

He walked up to the stream, intending to follow, but his feet stopped. He knew he couldn't cross. The stream was the divide. This world and the other one. He didn't know how he knew that. He just did—in that weird dream way.

His siblings followed, trudging through the small creak after his parents—all except Becca. She stopped just before setting foot in the stream.

Bucky gently grabbed her arm. "Becca… " His voice caught on a sob. "Please just stay a little longer."

She looked up at him. "You have abandonment issues." A sadness filled her eyes. "I'm not going, not yet. But soon."

He knelt in front of her. He couldn't stop the tears. He didn't care. He just wanted a little more time in this world. Why couldn't he control what was happening in his own dream?

She raised one of her small hands and placed it firmly on the side of his face. He could actually feel the warmth of her palm on his cheek, but her hand felt so much bigger, as though it were cupping the entire side of his face. A thumb wiped away tears on his right cheek.

"Time to wake up," she told him, her voice gentle, encouraging.

-0- -0- -0-

Steve looked up from Bucky's anguished, sleeping face and studied Shuri as she hovered in front of the neural display. Bucky had been asleep for over four hours, most of it peaceful until the last 30 minutes. Sam was off somewhere with Ayo, getting a tour of the city.

"He's having a nightmare." Steve told Shuri.

She shook her head as she studied the map of neurons. "The pathways here indicate older memories. These portions here," she pointed to a section of lit neurons on the transparent panel, "are indicative of emotions—joy, sadness, but there are no fear-based pathways that we'd see with post-traumatic episodes."

Steve looked back down at Bucky's face—tears snaked from beneath his closed eyelids and dropped downward along the side of his face. His brow was furrowed, and his chest hitched with each breath. Whatever the dream was, it wasn't pleasant.

"Come on, Bucky." Steve reached out a hand and cupped the side of his friend's wet face. His thumb wiped fresh tears from Bucky's cheek. "Time to wake up."

Bucky's eyelids sprang open, and his blue eyes took a moment to focus, sliding around to take in the surrounding lab before settling on Steve's face.

"You okay?" Steve asked him.

Bucky sat up, and the blanket covering him slipped to the floor. He brought his right hand up to his temple and, with shaking fingers, rubbed at the sensor. Steve could tell the emotions from the dream were still quite raw. Shuri walked up and gently removed the sensor from Bucky's head, then shifted gracefully away, casting a sympathetic glance at Steve.

"Hey," Steve placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

Bucky looked up at him. His eyes were red and wet. "I…I was dreaming about my folks…" his voice quivered, "my sisters…Becca." Then he gave into a deep, shuddering sob and crumpled forward.

Steve caught him and reached up tentatively to wrap his arms around his friend's sobbing, trembling form, still mindful of how guarded Bucky was after Hydra, but when Bucky leaned into him, Steve took the invitation to tighten his embrace.

Bucky was finally grieving his family. It was heartbreaking…and beautiful. Steve caught Shuri's gaze. Her shimmering eyes conveyed a sense of somber relief.