"… find out what they are planning."

Sam caught the tail end of whatever Bucky was talking about when he and Steve returned to the Faraday room. Pepper was gone, no doubt returning to whatever duties Stark Enterprises kept her busy with, but the kitten remained, curled into a ball asleep on the floor beneath a table.

"What are they planning?" Sam asked his Bucky while eyeing the face of the other one currently trapped behind the mask of the Winter Soldier. He wished there was a way to fast-forward this Bucky, to give him all his memories back at once and set him on the path of recovery.

"Something I heard when I was tailing Hydra." Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against one of the tables close to where the kitten was curled up in a ball asleep. "Operation Hindsight. I'm guessing from the not-so-subtle name that it has to do with this time travel plan of theirs. I know Hydra, and they have something else up their sleeve. We need to knock them back down to where they were before Rollins intervened, and that means putting a stop to whatever other plans they developed and taking out Zola."

"Zola's dead," Steve said, tone all business and face giving nothing away. No one who didn't know otherwise would have guessed he'd emptied his cookies in the toilet a few minutes ago.

"No, they put his brain in the computer."

"That's just a computer. It's not him," Steve countered. "Besides, Hydra dropped a missile on him and us."

Bucky crossed his arms and tilted his head at Steve. "They used a lower caliber missile this time around, and I'm sure that was because they didn't want to destroy Zola. He's responsible for the algorithm. His body may not be alive, but some part of brain and intellect still is, and that's always been the most dangerous part of him. I've had a few more years of exposure to the idea of artificial intelligence than you have Steve, so believe me when I say it can be very dangerous." When his eyes flicked to Tony, Sam knew Bucky was thinking about Ultron. Bucky uncrossed his arms and took a couple of steps closer to Steve as his eyes scanned the group. "I went on a mission back in 1945 to take out that son of a bitch. It cost me everything. I'm not leaving here until I finish it, and this time, I'm going to make sure he's gone for good."

Clint was leaning against the far wall next to Natasha when he raised his hand. "Count me in."

"Me, too," Natasha said with a shrug.

Tony shrugged. "I'm always game to blow something up, though I wouldn't mind getting a look at what passed for artificial intelligence created in the 1970s."

"It's just rows of computer banks now buried beneath rubble," Steve said, and when he looked at Bucky, Sam admired the man's poker face—all stoic determination. "We went on that mission in 1945 together, Buck, and we'll finish it together."

"And this time, no one dies," Tony piped up.

Steve's jaw went tight and his brow furrowed so subtly, Sam doubted Tony noticed the reaction, but he felt Steve's pain in his core.

"It's heavily guarded," Natasha said, and when they all looked at her, she shrugged. "I've already checked."

"Of course, it would be." Bucky's eyes went unfocused and distant. "It's got their prized Nazi psychopath." He took a breath and turned his attention to the Soldier. "Let's get you set up on the couch. Follow me."

The Soldier was on his feet instantly, following Bucky with the determination of a heat-seeking missile. Bucky pointed to the sofa. "Sit."

The soldier complied, his body all straight lines and stiff angles as he sat on the cushion.

"Here." Bucky was gentle as he lifted the metal limb and rested it on the arm of the couch. "That should take the pressure off your shoulder." His eyes scanned the room. "Do we have any pillows for his injured arm?"

"Oh, yeah, of course." Dr. Banner hurried out of the room, returning a moment later with a couple of throw pillows.

"Thanks, Doc." Bucky took the pillows and positioned them beneath the Soldier's right arm until it was propped up at what looked to be a comfortable angle.

Now that they had a moment to breathe, Sam allowed himself to really look into the face of the Winter Soldier. When he first encountered the seemingly unstoppable assassin, he had no idea what he was up against. He saw the Soldier as more of a robot than a man, but now he knew better. He knew the man behind the mask, and all he saw when he looked into those blank staring eyes was his friend, someone who had done his duty and paid a price far heavier than even his life. It was unimaginable that any human being could be so deeply violated, but the reality was sitting in front of him.

He understood Steve's determination to save Bucky a whole lot better now. Now that he knew Bucky, it hurt all the way through to see him sitting there like a human drone, waiting for orders, his memories and every ounce of free will stripped away. He wanted to protect this Bucky, to make sure he knew kindness and was granted the humanity Hydra had denied him for 70 years.

He saw the same mixture of anguish and yearning on Steve's face when the Captain walked up to stand beside Bucky and looked down at the other version of his friend. "I'm sorry." Steve dropped to the cushion next to the younger Bucky, but the Soldier didn't acknowledge his presence. Sam wasn't sure who Steve was talking to, but he kept his eyes on his blank-faced injured friend. "I didn't want to break your arm, but I couldn't let all of those people die."

"Cut it out," the older Bucky said with a hard edge in his tone that convinced Sam he and Bucky needed to have a chat sooner rather than later. "You made the right call, almost too late, but you got the job done."

"Ease up, man." Sam walked up to Bucky. "It's been a rough few days for everyone."

"You propped up the metal arm to take pressure off the shoulder?" When Steve looked up at Bucky, Sam recognized the dawning realization in those eyes and knew Steve was imagining the gruesomeness of what Hydra must have done to surgically attach that arm. "Does it hurt?"

Bucky raised his chin and looked down at Steve. "All the goddamn time." He turned away, eyeing a refrigerator beneath a worktable, and headed for it. He knelt to examine the contents and stood up with a couple of bottles of water clutched in his hands, closing the refrigerator door with a soft kick. "Here." He walked back, unscrewed the caps, and handed one of the bottles to his counterpart. "Drink."

The Soldier took the bottle of water with his braced right arm and drowned the contents in seconds.

Sam didn't like the clipped orders Bucky was issuing to his younger twin. It was dehumanizing. "You don't have to speak to him like that. . . do you?"

Bucky gave him a long look with a tolerant sigh. "Anything else would be confusing for him in his current mental state. Maybe trust that I know what I need right now?" He swapped out the empty bottle for the full one, but kept his gaze locked with Sam's when he ordered, "Now this one."

The Soldier complied.

Sam knew a challenge when he saw one, and challenge was written all over Bucky's face. Under any other circumstances, Sam wouldn't back down, but Bucky had a point. He was the only person who knew what the traumatized man sitting on the couch needed, but Sam wasn't sure Bucky was operating with a level head. There was a lot going on behind those stoic eyes.

All of this—seeing Steve, going fist-to-fist with his brainwashed Winter Soldier self, and being around Tony—had to be messing with Bucky's head. Sam raised his hands placatingly. "Okay, message received, but you and I really need to talk."

Bucky's eyebrows inched upward, and he tilted his head toward the corner of the room. "Fine. Let's go talk." He turned stiffly and marched over there, then leaned against the wall with a questioning gaze.

Sam glanced at the others in the room. He could just make out Natasha and Clint's conversation. They were batting around cat names. Steve was putting on a good show and pretending Bucky's continued dismissiveness wasn't affecting him. Sam's younger counterpart had barely said a word, which if Bucky were in better spirits he'd no doubt make a crack about. Tony and Banner were fussing over some panel against the wall, only giving furtive glances their way, as though pretending they weren't completely engrossed in the argument Sam was having with Bucky.

With a sigh, Sam worked his way over to Bucky, shifting so that his back was to the room and he was facing the man directly. He'd have to keep his voice barely a whisper to avoid the others overhearing, but with Bucky's enhanced hearing that shouldn't be a problem. "What's going on with you?"

Bucky's tongue worked the inside of his cheek for a moment, and he shook his head. "Nothing. What do you mean?"

So it was going to be like that. Lord, give me patience, Sam prayed. "Well, for one, that shoulder you're giving Steve is pure ice. Are you angry with him for leaving? Is this your passive aggressive way of getting back at him?"

Something shifted imperceptibly on Bucky's face. Sam couldn't pinpoint it, except that he knew he'd touched a sensitive spot, and Bucky was withdrawing into whatever place he went when he wanted to avoid anything even remotely resembling an emotion.

"I'm not angry with Steve," Bucky whispered so low that Sam got the gist of it more by reading his lips then hearing the actual words.

"Something is going on with you. Even you aren't usually this grumpy. I think this situation is messing with your head. It's got you on edge. You can't tell me you don't see the effect you're having on Steve. You know it's hurting him, right?

Bucky shifted on his feet and scratched at the back of his head as he dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm not doing this to hurt him. It's not about him. I'm just trying to get through this the only way I know how."

"Care to elaborate?"

When Bucky looked up, his eyes had a suspicious shine. "At the end of this, you and I are going home to our own time. Saying goodbye to Steve the first time was harder than I ever thought it would be, and that's saying a lot. I've known him my whole life. I didn't even know what it was like to be me without him. He was like a limb. When I lost him, it almost did me in. I felt like I had nothing left and sure as hell nothing to live for." His gaze darted away. "I was finally getting to a place where I could begin to imagine a future for myself." Bucky took in a deep breath, his shoulders dropping forward as though they bore a weight he could barely tolerate. "I can't go through that again."

So that was it. Sam knew Bucky was messed up about Steve's leaving, and he sure as hell knew what it felt like to grieve the loss of someone like Steve. Or Riley. Hell, Sam still grieved Riley. Every time August 30th rolled around, Riley's birthday, Sam called Riley's parents, poured himself a drink, and toasted his friend.

He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have to lose Riley twice.

Sam had a family to ease his grief and fill the empty spaces in his heart so that loss hurt a little less each year, but Bucky had no real family left. He and Steve had grown up together, inseparable on both the playground and the battlefield, just like the museum exhibit said—eight words describing a friendship that spanned a century.

"Okay." Sam placed a gentle hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I get it. You need to keep your distance from Steve so you don't dissolve into a puddle of goo when we get back home, is that it?"

One edge of Bucky's lips twitched upward and the lines in his face softened. "Something like that."

Sam nodded. "Do what you have to do." Bucky was practicing self-care, in his own outdated, incredibly old-fashioned way, but it was still a form of self-care. At least they'd gotten to the bottom of issue number one. That left issue number two. "But that guy over there that looks a hell of a lot like you," Sam jerked his head toward Bucky's counterpart, "you talk around him most of the time like he can't hear you. You and I both know that he can, that there's a person inside… A very traumatized, confused person. Maybe ease up."

Bucky chewed at the inside of his lip as he gazed over at the couch, and from the guarded hunch his shoulders, Sam knew he was getting close to something. "I know he can hear me. You don't have to tell me that. Don't you think I know there's more going on inside his head than anyone else would ever guess? Don't you think I know that James Barnes is still in there? I was in there when it was me. Through everything." His voice wavered and he paused for a moment, and in that moment, Sam saw the struggle in Bucky's eyes and heard it in the hitch of his breath.

"Hey." Sam placed a soft hand on Bucky's arm, hoping to pull him back from whatever hell his brain was taking him to. "I know."

Bucky swallowed and looked up at him. "His mind is fractured, part of him knows he's been captured by the enemy and we somehow know the words to control him, and every time I tell him to do something, he has no choice but to do it because there's something else in his brain that's overwriting everything else and shutting it out? Don't you think I know how that feels?"

"I know you do. I just think dehumanizing him isn't good for him, and it sure as hell isn't good for you. Why don't you just ask him what he wants?"

"Okay." Bucky's face turned hard again, and Sam realized he'd stepped into another one of Bucky's landmines—the kind that went off silently. This whole situation had Bucky understandably on edge and defensive. It was a clusterfuck of reopened wounds.

"Go ask him whatever you want," Bucky continued. "Ask him if he's hungry and what he'd like to eat?"

Sam sensed a trap, but he knew Bucky wouldn't let him do anything that would get anybody hurt. "Okaaay." He gave Bucky a narrow gaze full of suspicion, but the man simply raised his eyebrows and gestured toward the couch where his younger counterpart still sat next to Steve.

When Sam turned around, everyone's eyes were quickly somewhere else. He walked up to the scarier version of the man he now called friend, keeping a good 10 feet between them. He was pretty sure this version of Bucky wouldn't attack him without being ordered to do so, but he saw no reason to take any chances. "Hey there, uh…" He didn't know what to call the Soldier, whose eyes suddenly shifted upward to stare at him in that blank, creepy way. "Are you hungry?"

Sam heard Bucky's footsteps and was aware of his presence just behind his right shoulder. It was a little unnerving being sandwiched between different versions of the same man. The Soldier version gave no response.

"Would you like something to eat?" Sam tried again.

The Soldier sat like a statue. He didn't so much as blink. "Okay." He looked back at Bucky. "I get your point."

Buck shifted to stand in front of Sam, giving the others a quick sweep with his eyes. "I don't think you do." From his tight expression, Sam knew he had waded into tumultuous waters. "Don't you think I know what's going on behind that stare you think is creepy?" Bucky jerked his chin toward his more murderous twin. "I'm not giving him orders to dehumanize him. I'm giving him orders because, in his current state, it's what he needs. Do you think Hydra ever cared about what he wanted? Whether he was hungry? Or cold? If he wanted to kill all those people?" As Bucky talked, his voice took on a hard edge. "Hydra didn't want a person, they wanted a machine, and machines don't have wants or needs. If they asked him whether he wanted a glass of water or milk, and he gave any response, it was a test. If he failed the test, they punished him…enough that eventually he stopped having wants and needs altogether. That part of his mind shut down, and he became the machine they wanted."

Sam didn't miss the way Bucky kept saying "he" and not "I", as if those terrible things only happened to the other guy sitting on the couch and not to him.

"Even though they wiped his memories," Bucky continued, "there's still a part of him that remembers punishment, just like he remembers what the chair feels like, or why, every time they shove him into the cryo-tank, he knows it's a kind of death." Bucky straightened, glancing around the room with a sudden self-consciousness that had him edging toward the door. "The kindest thing you can do for him now is order him to do the things that he needs to do, like drink water, take in nutrients, get dressed, let us tend to his injuries, bathe, sleep, that kind of thing."

When Bucky stopped talking, the room was awkwardly quiet. Steve had the look of a man who'd just watched his beloved dog get run over by a car. Clint looked like the last meal he had didn't agree with him, and even Sam's younger self seemed to be reassessing his opinion of the guy who almost killed him twice. Tony, Thor, and Banner looked slightly ill.

Natasha, on the other hand, showed her usual poker face, but her arms were crossed and there was a tenseness in the way she held herself that made it obvious she knew something of what Bucky spoke.

Sam shifted and glanced away, feeling like an asshole. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot for thinking you don't one hundred percent know what you're doing when it comes to him. I just don't like seeing him ordered around like a dog."

"That makes two of us." As Bucky took a step toward the door, he almost tripped on the white fluff ball that latched her claws into his pantleg. "Hey, there," His expression softened as he reached down to meet her halfway up her climb and extricated her claws from his jeans. "Why don't you go bother somebody else, you little punk?"

Sam didn't miss the way Steve's expression suddenly shifted to something both pained and hopeful.

"Here." Bucky moved closer to the Soldier and dropped the kitten gently on his lap. "Be gentle."

Sam didn't think the assassin knew the meaning of the word "gentle," but he couldn't help a smile when the Soldier cocked his head and looked down at the kitten as she played with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"What about Luna?" Natasha suggested as she studied the white furball.

Clint tilted his head incredulously. "Too common. How about Midnight? It's counterintuitive."

"I believe the name Nanna would suit the tiny warrior," Thor said. "It means courageous."

Sam jabbed his chin at Bucky. "You found her. Any names springing to mind?"

Bucky shook his head. "She's not mine." He turned to the Soldier and pointed to Steve. "Do whatever this man tells you to do. Follow his orders as though they were my own."

Sam wasn't sure whether he should be insulted, especially since Bucky wanted to keep Steve at arm's length. "I don't want to make a thing about this, but why not me? You don't trust me?"

"I trust you." Bucky paused and pointed at the Falcon. "But I don't trust him not to make me do the teapot dance and film it with his phone as payback for the steering wheel and the wings."

Sam's younger self straightened, his chin snapping up and his mouth opening as though he were going to protest, but he suddenly tilted his head and shrugged. "Fair enough."

As Bucky turned back toward the door, Steve spoke up, his voice unusually coarse, with a hint of a tremble that Sam had never heard before. "Where are you going?"

"To interrogate some Hydra assholes. Don't feed him anything until I get back." Bucky looked at Natasha. "Care to join me?"

-000-

Steve took the empty bottle from Bucky and handed it to Sam, who tossed it in the recycling bin. The other Bucky had left with Natasha to interrogate the Hydra prisoners, leaving Steve to care for the man who had spent most of his life caring for Steve. The kitten curled up on Bucky's lap and fell back asleep.

What have they done to you? He took in all the obvious and subtle evidence of Hydra's brutality—the grisly scars on Bucky's shoulder, the collection of healing cuts, burns, and bruises, the stoic expression and blank eyes so unlike Bucky that he looked like a different person.

Bucky from the future proved Hydra had changed him in ways that could not be undone. No one could go through that and come out the same. There was a tightness in Steve's chest that brought a sting in his eyes. There was rage, too, like a hot pile of coal in his gut.

He wanted to make every single person who hurt Bucky pay. He needed to make them pay—personally and directly. He'd made a promise in that bar in 1945 that he wouldn't stop until every member of Hydra was dead or captured. He intended to make good on that promise…for Bucky and everyone else Hydra hurt.

His priority at the moment, though, was the man in front of him. Steve was barely aware of Tony bringing up the video feed of the Hydra captives. He glanced briefly at it, seeing Natasha and Bucky inside the room with one of Stark's drone suits.

Steve shifted toward Bucky. "Do you know me?"

With a marionettish turn of his head, Bucky looked at him. "You're my target."

Steve glanced at Sam who gave a sympathetic flash of his eyebrows. It was a good thing, at least, that Bucky wasn't trying to kill him at this moment.

"Your name is Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. Do you know my name?"

Bucky's eyebrows knitted together. He didn't answer, but his chest heaved faster as his breathing picked up.

"Maybe we should lay off for now," Clint suggested, grabbing a chair and bringing it closer so he could plop down. "I know you want him to remember you, and the guy that just left here proves that he will, but don't push too fast."

"Clint's right," Sam added. "He'll get there, Steve. Let's just work on keeping him comfortable."

The door opened and a drone suit walked in carrying a machine that looked a lot like a hand-held ultrasound wand but with the wider tip.

"Good, the scanner's here." Tony pushed away from the workstation and rolled over to the drone, grabbing the scanner. "We can take a look at your BFF's arm." He glanced at Banner. "Doctor?"

Banner got to his feet and brought the scanner over to Bucky. Steve noticed the tight lines forming at the edges of Bucky's eyes and the subtle tensing of the shoulders.

"This won't hurt," Steve reassured his friend. "Dr. Banner just wants to take a look at your arm to see how the break is healing."

Banner stood there quietly, holding the scanner as though he didn't quite know what to do with it. "Um…Can you extend your right arm?"

Bucky looked at the doctor but did not move. Remembering what the other Bucky said, Steve took a breath and shifted a foot away from Bucky to give the doctor more room. "Do what he says." He hated being just another person giving Bucky orders, especially when his friend had no will of his own. It was a delicate responsibility, but if the situations were reversed, he would trust Bucky.

Bucky held out his arm, and Banner carefully undid the makeshift brace. The Soldier kept his arm in the same position, straight out, and his gaze directly ahead. With slow, cautious movements, Banner activated the scanner. It elicited a low hum, and the kitten startled, scurrying off Bucky's lap to find a hiding place beneath a table.

"Sorry, little one," Banner apologized as he started the scan at Bucky's shoulder. The scanner emitted a blue light, and as Banner moved slowly along the arm, Bucky's gaze shifted to observe.

Those subtle reactions—like the tensing when Banner approached and the shifting of his gaze—told Steve that despite being under control of the activation words, Bucky wasn't completely a blank slate.

"All finished. You can put your arm back on the pillow." Banner deactivated the scanner and looked at Tony on the other side of the room at his worktable.

When Steve glanced over, he saw a holographic three-dimensional image of Bucky's arm hovering in the air. The Bucky Steve knew would be riveted by such a display. "Look at that, Buck." Steve pointed to the hologram and studied Bucky's face as he shifted toward the display. "That's your arm. I'm sorry I had to break it. I didn't want to. Do you remember that?"

Bucky glanced at him, his brow creasing, but he didn't answer. Steve figured maybe he didn't know how to answer that question. Hydra's wipe had probably destroyed or suppressed the memory of their fight on the helicarrier.

When Bucky returned his gaze to the display, his eyes shifted over the various parts of the arm as Tony rotated it and then, with a pinch and expansion of his fingers, zoomed in to the healing fracture just below the elbow. Queasiness filled Steve's gut as he thought back to Bucky's scream when the bone snapped. He'd thought breaking the bone would be the only way to get Bucky to release the control chip, but even that hadn't worked.

Steve had to choke him out to get him to let go. All Bucky had to do was crush the chip in his hand, and Hydra would have been able to kill hundreds of thousands of people. Why hadn't he? He liked to think it was because some part of Bucky was still there, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Still, Bucky had remembered him. He jumped in the river and pulled Steve to shore. That meant that, despite Hydra's memory wipes, codewords, and brutal conditioning, they hadn't been able to completely erase the man Steve grew up wanting to emulate.

"The bone is almost healed." Banner looked at Steve and pointed to a hair thin line on the radius. "His rate of healing is comparable to yours. I don't think he even needs a cast as long as he doesn't tax the arm too much and no one, you know, twists it like his other self did."

"The first time around, I don't think he even had a cast." Sam leaned against the arm of the couch near Steve. "I don't know how he dealt with his arm but it healed okay."

Steve thought about that other version of his friend as his eyes drifted to the screen showing Natasha with future Bucky interrogating their Hydra assailants. Bucky, with gloves on, was currently in the process of dragging one of the men, who was stripped down to his boxers with his hands restrained behind his back, out into the hall.

"Can we get audio?" It took only a second before the audio was piped through speakers in the ceiling, and Steve didn't know who adjusted the controls since Tony hadn't moved a muscle. He assumed he had Jarvis to thank.

The camera angle was in the hallway now where Natasha and Bucky had their potential snitch pushed up against the wall. The man's eyes were wide as he stared, pale-faced, at Bucky.

"Th-they'll kill me if I tell you anything," the man stammered.

Natasha nodded. "Probably," she jerked her head toward Bucky, "but he will for sure kill you if you don't."

Bucky casually removed the glove covering his metal hand and leaned closer to the man, his eyes cold as glaciers. "I've been itching for some payback, so I'm kind of hoping that you don't."

Steve had to admit that Natasha and the older Bucky made a convincing team. He knew they wouldn't actually kill any of the prisoners… mostly knew. They probably wouldn't. He'd gotten to know Natasha enough to know that she almost certainly wouldn't, but he was still trying to figure out this new version of Bucky.

"Okay," the man raised his hands placatingly. "All I know is they've got a plan B, something to do with Camp Lehigh. Project Foresight."

Bucky raised his vibranium hand and flexed the fingers near the man's throat. "You're gonna need to be more specific. What is Project Foresight?"

"I don't know!" The man pressed himself harder into the wall as though that would gain him distance from the menacing glare. "I'm just a grunt. They don't tell me anything."

Bucky grabbed the man's elbow with his left hand. Steve couldn't make out what he did, but the prisoner screamed while practically vibrating against the wall. When Bucky released the hold, the man sagged, chest heaving.

"Don't make him ask again," Natasha said.

"I swear all I know is it has something to do with a computer."

Bucky looked at Natasha. "Is there another secure room where we can stash this guy while we work through the rest? I don't want anyone talking to the others until we're through everyone."

"With all the rooms in this place, I'm sure we can find something appropriate."

"You will find a room down the hall to the left that should suffice," Jarvis' voice came from the ceiling.

Bucky glanced upward. "Thanks, V…uh…Jarvis."

As Bucky and Natasha disappeared from camera view, Steve turned his attention back to the Winter Soldier Bucky on the sofa. "Are you in any pain?"

Bucky glanced at him before returning his gaze straight ahead.

"He's probably in a little pain," Bruce interjected, "but I don't have anything here that will be useful for someone enhanced by the super soldier serum. I did have an anesthetic I designed that they used on you in the hospital, but I gave them everything I had, which wasn't much. I'll work on producing more to keep in stock."

Falcon walked up, giving his future self a long look. Steve had to admit the situation was about the strangest thing he'd encountered, and he'd fought aliens.

"So you," Falcon pointed to Sam, "are friends with him?" He pointed to the Winter Soldier.

Sam nodded. "He's a good guy who's had a lot of bad things done to him."

"I still can't believe Bucky Barnes is sitting right here, alive, in the Tower." Barton scooted closer to the couch. "Damn, I wish Coulson was here. What I wouldn't give to see him geek out about this. I just hope this guy gets his memories back sooner rather than later, and you get a happy reunion with him."

Me, too. Steve looked at the screen, where Bucky and Natasha were returning to the makeshift containment room.

-0 0 0-

They'd questioned all the prisoners. Bucky asked Natasha to show him where the kitchen was. It was massive, of course. He searched the cabinets, trying to focus on the next step instead of dwelling on the memory of Steve's crestfallen face, the lost look on his face, and the well of pain in his eyes. Sam was right. He was hurting Steve.

He didn't want to. He'd spent his whole life trying to make sure Steve didn't get hurt, but here he was, holding the knife. He couldn't seem to stop himself. It was the only way he could keep from pulling Steve into a hug so tight, he'd never be able to let go, and if he did that, all his dignity would end up a puddle on the floor.

"What are you looking for?" Natasha asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed while he searched the cabinets.

Her question brought him back to the task at hand.

"Something that the other me's digestive system won't object to." All he needed was protein powder or a low-sodium soup, and he had to find one of those in a billionaire's kitchen. Now that they were finished interrogating the prisoners—having gained only minimal intelligence—it was time to tend more to the needs of his alter ego.

He hadn't expected the interrogations to yield a treasure trove of information, but at least now they had confirmation that Hydra's plan included the Zola computer.

He glanced back at her, still working over what he wanted to say. He'd never put her on his amends list because there was no way for him to make amends, but now that she was still alive, she deserved a place on that list. He could say he was sorry for shooting her twice, but Sam was right. Saying sorry was a weak way to make amends. He was sorry—so goddamned sorry he wasn't strong enough to resist Hydra or die trying—but apologizing wouldn't change the harm he inflicted.

He could make amends by saving her life—warning the Avengers about what was to come and hoping that was enough to prevent her from having to throw herself off a cliff on an alien planet.

"What about Winter?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

He grimaced at her. "For the cat? No."

He found a canister of protein powder and placed it on the counter before turning to face her. She was gazing at him with eyebrows raised slightly quizzically, and although she appeared casual in the way she was leaning against the counter, there was tension in her arms and shoulders. She didn't quite trust him, and that made her smart.

"Look, Agent Romanoff, I know my apology may not be worth much, but I am sorry for shooting you twice, and for killing that guy back in Odessa."

Her eyes remained steadfast, her posture stiff. "You didn't have a choice, right? Then no apology is necessary. If I blamed you for that, I'd be a hypocrite for what I told Clint when Loki took over his mind."

Bucky nodded, considering his next words. He owed her a lot, more than she knew. He owed her for helping them escape in Berlin and for sacrificing her life to bring him and half the universe back. He also owed her for her quick thinking a short time ago on the street below the freeway.

"I didn't have a choice, but I remember it, which means some part of me was still there. I owe you a lot. Even with a hole in your shoulder that I put there, you picked up my weapon and launched a rocket at me. You saved Steve's life. Thank you."

If he'd killed Steve, it would've been over for him. Even if he had managed to break free of Hydra, once his memories started to return, that would've been a memory he couldn't live with. He knew without a doubt that he would've put a bullet in his brain…after burning Hydra to the ground.

"It was my pleasure." The edge of her mouth quirked upward and there was a hint of humor in her eyes.

He grinned at the subtle ribbing and raised his chin. "I'm sure it was. Better aim next time."

She raised her eyebrows and gave a sharp smile. "Well, I wasn't at my best, what with the gunshot wound and all….you know, the one that missed my heart. So what's your excuse?"

"I guess I wasn't at my best that day, either…thankfully." In fact, he'd failed at just about every task they'd given him, from killing Fury to taking out Natasha and Steve.

Too much had happened for him to still believe in a God that cared about anything happening on this tiny planet, but sometimes he wondered how three different targets all survived the Winter Soldier without some kind of higher intervention. That had never happened before. If there was a God, he couldn't imagine why such an entity would save Fury, Natasha, and Steve but not his other victims, some of whom were so agonizingly innocent that they'd haunt him until his last breath.

His mind was about to go down a dark hole, so he grabbed the canister of protein powder and retrieved a large glass from the cabinet, focusing on the task at hand–finding suitable nutrition for the Soldier.

"You mentioned the Red Room and my sister earlier," Natasha said. "Do you know where she is?"

He set the canister and glass on the counter and turned to face her. "Not for sure."

"I killed Dreykov. The Red Room is gone…at least, I thought it was. I'd have heard something if it wasn't."

He didn't know much about the time Natasha spent with Yelena taking down the Red Room, but he'd gotten the gist during those two years when Natasha, Steve, and the others were on the run. "All I know is the Red Room has taken its operation to the clouds. Literally."

"You mean like Coulson's Bus?"

"Something like that, only bigger. Dreykov is alive." He paused before dropping the next bombshell. He knew it was a sensitive subject for her. "So is his daughter."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the unflappable mask slipped, and her eyes glistened with a shadow of pain. "That's not possible."

"She and a lot of other young women are under Dreykov's control. In my timeline, you and your sister helped free them"

Natasha's gaze went distant. "She's not really my sister. We were a pretend family for three years. I thought she got out. I'd hoped she was living a normal life." Her gaze focused on him, and the mask slipped back into place. "I'm out now. What am I supposed to do with this information?"

"Whatever you want." He took a step closer. He didn't know Romanoff well, but he'd spent enough time around the future version of her to understand that there was a deep well of emotion beneath her stoic facade. "When you defected, it motivated them to come up with a chemical means of controlling people, and their work with me helped pave the way."

Their fates were intertwined. If he thought too much about how his fall from the train in 1945 would lead to hundreds if not thousands of girls being chemically controlled almost a century later, he'd end up down a dark, suffocating hole of what ifs.

"You've got the Avengers at your side now," he said. "After this is all over, Steve and the others will help you take down the Red Room."

She raised an eyebrow, her face as impassive as ever. "Risking my neck to go after Dreykov again doesn't seem like a smart move."

She played a good game, but he saw through her. "No, it doesn't. Staying here to free the James Barnes of this timeline wasn't smart of me, either."

"I suppose not."

He glanced at the clock on the microwave. They'd been gone too long. "We'd better get back before one of the Sams manages to put my hair in pigtails and take a photo."

A smile that looked forced blossomed on her face. "The Winter Soldier in pigtails? I can't say I'm opposed to that idea. It would definitely soften your image." She glanced at the ceiling thoughtfully, as though she'd already forgotten about Dreykov and Yelena, but Bucky knew better. "How about Casper?"

He gave her a look that he hoped conveyed just what he thought about that cliché name, then took a sip of the shake he'd mixed and instantly regretted it. God, he'd lived on the white sludge Hydra had forced down his throat for decades, and the green stuff he'd just tried wasn't much better. He couldn't in good conscience inflict it on his younger self.

Eyeing the bananas on the counter, he found a blender and dumped the contents into it, then put two of the ripest bananas from the bunch in and hit the button.

Natasha gave him a whisper of a smile. "Aren't you being all parental? It's kind of…weird."

His face twisted in dismayed agreement. That it is.

-0 0 0-

When Bucky followed Natasha back into the Faraday room, he saw himself sitting in the same spot, without the makeshift splint on his right arm. The metal limb was still propped up on the arm of the couch. His younger self's eyes tracked him as he set the canister protein powder on an unused portion of a worktable and carried the concoction he mixed in the glass over to the couch.

"Drink this."

Tony swiveled toward him on the stool. "You raided my high-octane, organic, all-natural, ethically sourced superfood powder mix?"

Younger, brainwashed James Barnes took the glass and began methodically draining the contents.

Well, shit. Bucky should have figured that anything in Tony Stark's kitchen was probably way more expensive than it had any right to be. "Uh…Sorry. I can make a run to the store—"

Tony waved a hand in the air. "I haven't touched the stuff since I upgraded the Arc Reactor in my chest."

Banner looked up from whatever he was doing at a computer panel. "Don't mind Tony. Why the meal shake?"

Bucky suppressed a shudder as he watched his counterpart finish the light green sludge. The stuff Hydra had forced on him for decades had the consistency of liquefied chalk. He could almost taste it now, and his stomach turned in revulsion. "It's close enough to what they give him. The first things I ate after escaping Hydra were a couple of hotdogs piled with jalapenos that I swiped off a street vendor. They sparked a memory. I was starving at that point and not used to chewing my food, so let's just say they didn't settle all that well in my stomach."

"What memory?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. He still wasn't sure when the memory was, but he knew where. "Coney Island, Nathan's hot dogs sometime during the Depression, the sign saying they were ten cents, with a long line on the sidewalk and people pushing up to the counters."

When Steve smiled, Bucky had to look away from that face. There was so much history shared between them, but that's all it was now—history.

"Your folks could feed the entire family for a little over fifty cents." Steve took the empty glass from Soldier-Bucky and set it on a cart someone had wheeled over as a makeshift end table. His smile faded as he searched the emotionless face next to him. "You were starving, you said?"

"I didn't have any money, ID, and the last 70 years of my life were spent under whatever regiment Hydra developed for me. I hadn't taken care of myself since the war, and I didn't even remember that I knew how until things started coming back. Finding enough food every day to fuel this supercharged metabolism wasn't easy."

Steve looked up at him. "Buck, why-?"

"Let's not get distracted," Bucky interrupted. The conversation was threatening to send him down another dark hole. "I didn't expect much from the interrogation, but we did confirm that the Zola computer is intact and Hydra has plans for that computerized Nazi asshole."

"So we fight!" Thor piped up from the back of the room with a raised fist and broad grin.

"Yes." Another fight. It always came down to that. "But we have to find out what they're planning specifically, and how far they've gotten. We need to know if they've been able to back up Zola, because I want to make sure that son of a bitch is taken out for good, and what their next steps are now that the helicarriers are in pieces."

"We could set up a couple of our guests as Trojan horses and someone can accidentally leave the door unlocked," Clint suggested.

Sam jerked a thumb toward Bucky. "They've seen his face, and if they mention the Winter Soldier has shorter hair and is working with the Avengers, Rollins is going to know that Bucky here is from the future and probably not alone. Right now, as far as we know, Hydra has no idea anyone else from the future followed Rollins and his cohort."

Bucky eyed the pile of Winter Soldier gear on the floor next to a table in the back of the room, and as he did, a churning mass of dread settled in his gut and a chill ran down his spine.

"That's a significant advantage we don't want to give up," Steve agreed.

A significant advantage, indeed. They had the element of surprise, and they had to make full use of it. Bucky picked up the tactical pants he remembered far too well and held the waist up to his. Hydra had kept him a bit leaner than he was currently, and his arm was different. Although he'd let his hair grow out—because sitting in a barber chair with instruments around his head was more unpleasant than getting a tooth pulled without novocaine—it was still shorter than it had been as the Winter Soldier.

"Oh, hell no." Sam was suddenly three feet away. "Don't even think it. That's a terrible idea."

Yes, it was. "I'm not thrilled about it, either—" He was still trying to convince his resolve to stick around, "—but let's face it, it's the best play."

Sam was already shaking his head. "Your hair is different, and Rollins will catch on right away if a short-haired 'Winter Soldier' looking slightly older—no offense—waltzes in, and in case you've forgotten, you have a vibranium arm."

Bucky looked at Stark. "Can you do something about the arm?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Can I do something? Oh, I don't know, let me see if I have something around here that I can make work. I might have to run to Home Depot or Best Buy or something."

Steve pushed off the couch. "I agree with Sam. It's too risky. We'll find another way."

Any other way had a greater chance of resulting in one of the Avengers getting killed, and with Thanos on the way, the world needed the Avengers way more than it needed him. "I didn't ask your opinion."

Sam took a step closer. "This whole situation is messing with your head, man. Playing dress up as the Winter Soldier and marching right back to the psychos that kept you captive for seven decades is only going to mess with it more."

Steve straightened his shoulders and marched up to him, eyes challenging. "You may be from the future, but you're not running the show solo here, Buck. This is a team. We do things together, including coming up with a plan."

Bucky met that stare with one just as hard as he played the hand he knew Steve wouldn't be able to beat. "You asked me to follow you once, and I did. Now, I'm asking you to follow me, but if you don't, I'm doing it anyway."

His words had the desired effect, and as he watched the determination in Steve's eyes give way to shimmering guilt, he hated himself a little more.

"If you're going to do this," Steve conceded, something pained and helpless in his eyes, "then we're going to come up with a plan to get you out of there the moment things go south."

"Because they will," Sam interjected. "They'll try to take a look at the arm, wipe your memories, shove you into a cryo-chamber, or tell you to kill somebody."

Bucky gave an acknowledging nod. Those were all likely scenarios, but hopefully he could get the information they needed before any of that happened.

"And what about when they check you for his injuries?" Banner pointed out, gesturing toward the Soldier sitting quietly on the couch.

"Yeah." Bucky took a deep breath. "We're gonna have to do something about that, too."

Sam let out an audible breath that sounded more like he was choking. "Damnit, Buck."

Bucky tried to muster a tone of bravado as he pushed a hint of a smile from his lips and looked between the Falcon and Widow. "Who's itching for payback?"

-000-

He was the Asset—a thing in the corner, a piece of equipment stored until needed, locked in a cage made of 10 immutable bars made of words. The static in his mind was now a dull roar. He watched, silent, as his new handlers gave their attention to the man with the metal arm similar to his own and a face that made something in his brain itch. He was talking to the golden-haired man who made his chest ache.

Things were not right. These were his targets but now his handlers. The mission prerogative remained, but the mission had been overwritten. They would recondition him for his failure.

Why did the man with the dark hair have such familiar eyes? And the other man with the determined brow, blonde hair, and a voice that echoed in the caverns of his mind with the word that hurt like a dagger.

"Bucky."

He was speaking to the other man now, the one he also called Bucky. "Are you sure about this?"

"Not at all, pal." The other Bucky had his shirt off, his chest bare, revealing scars where flesh met metal. Scars that were like his own, but muted. "Hit me with it."

The redhead held the baton. This was reconditioning, and the other Bucky accepted it. The woman's eyes darted his way, her gaze dropping to his torso where a mark from a similar baton lingered. Then, with an imperceptible scrunch of her face, a far different expression than any he had seen on those who wielded such a baton, she activated it, sending a buzz of electricity through the room, setting the hair on his arms upright and causing the tiny white creature to scurry beneath the couch. She jabbed it into the soft flesh just beneath the other Bucky's naval, the exact spot where his own mark evidenced a similar reconditioning, but one he could not remember receiving.

The man grunted, folding forward as she held it against his flesh until he crumbled to his knees and the sizzling buzz of the device ended. The man with gold hair and the dark-skinned one descended on the other Bucky, placing their hands on his back and arms, asking confusing questions.

"You okay?"

"Still want to go through with this?"

"You don't have to, you know?"

None of it made sense, but things rarely made sense. It was not his place to know why or how, only to receive orders and comply.

The blond man appeared to be in pain as he leaned over the other man he called Bucky. Perhaps he had been reconditioned earlier. There were telltale wounds on the blonde man's face, and occasionally his hand would hover protectively near his abdomen.

The dull roar in his brain shifted to a higher cadence, like a scream in the distance getting louder with each beat of his heart.

"Those injuries are partially healed," the man with the glasses said, glancing his way. "It will be impossible to replicate them."

The other Bucky got to his feet, helped by the dark-skinned man and the blond. His breath came heavy. "We just have to get close enough. Cover it up with newer injuries they'll think I sustained in the fight with the Avengers."

"Just great," the dark-skinned man muttered. "Are you a glutton for punishment?"

Punishment. The question made no sense. Punishment was not a thing to want, it was a thing to recondition, to correct deficiencies, to eradicate weakness and build resolve.

Your name is Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes

An echo of pain from the chair made him wince. The golden man told him he had a name, but he never had a name. He has been called many things, but none of them names. The Asset. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of Hydra.

The other Bucky looked at the redhead. "You want to lay a few blows on me?"

Her mouth quirked upward with a tilt of her head. She shrugged, then spun, leg whipping out to hit him in the gut with her foot.

The other Soldier barely flinched. "Come on, Romanoff. That was like being kicked by a malnourished toddler. If you're gonna leave a mark, you'll have to do better than that. Just not the face." He grinned. "That's the moneymaker."

He recognized the redhead rolling her eyes as a Red Room Widow, but he didn't know how. Something tickled the back of his brain. He saw himself looking through a scope at a vehicle, his finger squeezing the trigger, blowing out a tire and sending the car over a cliff.

The brown man with the glowering twin huffed what sounded like a choked laugh. "The only money that mug of yours ever brought in was reward money of the dead or alive variety."

The tall man with the long hair sitting at a table in the back of the room spoke up. "It would be my honor to pummel you!"

"No!" The golden man yelled in sync with his darker companion.

"That's quite alright," the other Bucky said, raising his hand. "Thanks for the offer though, Thor."

The Widow engaged another roundhouse kick, but her mass was insufficient to inflict serious damage. She straightened and blew a lock of hair out of her face. "I think I can do better if I find a solid blunt object."

The golden man looked ill.

"You're enjoying your job a little too much, Romanoff," one of the other men interjected. He had a strange beard and sat in the back of the room near a bank of computers and holographic displays.

The handler with the metal arm was inexplicably dictating his own punishment. He turned to the golden man. "Okay, Steve, it looks like you're gonna have to give me a super soldier-sized punch or two."

Steve.

Each time he heard that name, his lungs stopped working and something tightened in his chest. Steve with the blond hair and blue eyes. Steve with the shield of red, white, and blue. Steve with the voice that stirred something inside him and kept saying the Bucky name that made the distant scream sound closer.

The names were like lashes to his mind instead of his back, with flashes of a tiny apartment and a pile of socks in the corner of the room. They left no marks but hurt just the same. He never wanted to hear them again.

"Where do you want it?"

"Right here on my ribs where his bruises are. If we do it right, it'll be enough of a mess they won't bother trying to tell old from new."

The golden man threw a punch that caused the other to grunt and fold forward. He looked up with one eyebrow raised. "Don't do me any favors. It needs to look good. If you pull your punches, you'll likely get me killed, Steve."

The sound of seagulls. The taste of salt in the air.

He couldn't breathe again.

"If you're too injured to fight, Buck, you won't be much good."

The scream in his head was so loud it was deafening.

I've fought through worse injuries, Steve, and stop calling me that."

"What? Buck?"

'Where are we going this time, Buck?'

His brain was on fire.

"Yeah, that."

"What should I call you?"

"Bucky or Barnes but not Buck, like we're pals, like nothing has changed, as if you know me. You don't know me, you just think you do. If you did, you sure as hell wouldn't pull any punches. Now shut up and hit me better this time, Steve."

'Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.'

Please….

"I know what you're trying to do, Bucky."

A small man with narrow shoulders and sad blue eyes.

Stop….

"You're trying to make me mad enough so I'll hit you hard, but the only reason I'm going to hit you hard is because you're too damn stubborn to listen to reason, and you're gonna do this anyway. So, I'll make it look good, Bucky."

Heavy footsteps. A figure looming over him. 'Bucky, oh my God…'

"Then quit yammering, Steve, and do it. I'd rather get this over with."

'You are to be the new fist of Hydra!'

"Hey, guys…" The man with the short sleeves who favored arrows as his weapon spoke, looking his way.

He realized that he was on his feet, back pressed against the wall. His chest was moving but he couldn't draw air into his lungs. His heart was a wild thing in his chest. The screaming in his head was agony.

The golden man hurried toward him, brows pinched together, but his path was intercepted by the other Bucky's arm across his chest. "Stop, don't rush him."

The screaming in his head turned to a deafening roar—the sound of a train barreling over tracks and wind whipping against his eardrums. He felt cold all of a sudden, deep into his muscles and bones. Images of snow-covered mountains flashed in front of him, as though reality was shifting before his eyes.

The man's voice rang in his ears. "Bucky! Hang on…"

"Don't touch him. Give him space," a voice intruded.

"…Grab my hand! No!"

He was falling. The golden man was above him, face twisted with horror, getting smaller and smaller until he was gone.

The roar of the train morphed into a mechanical buzzing that sent terror into his gut, snaking into his chest and stealing his breath. There were figures above him with masks over their noses and mouths. A circular saw came into view. Bright lights were in his face, almost blinding.

"Soldier, look at me."

There was pain, so much pain. The screaming returned, battering the insides of his skull.

"Posmotri na menya, Soldat."

He tried to comply, searching for the voice until, finally, a pair of blue eyes emerged from the blurry figures and bright lights. The dark-haired handler stood before him with the blond man and the darker one a few feet behind.

"That's good. Focus on my face," the handler ordered. "I know you're confused. You remembered something, but that's all it is, just a memory. It can't hurt you. You're safe here."

He tried to use his metal hand to push away from the wall, but it didn't respond. It was a deadweight hanging off his shoulder. He shifted on his feet and leaned forward instead, then straightened at attention.

"Follow me back to the couch." The handler swiveled half a step away.

He complied.

-0 0 0-

The moment the younger Bucky was settled on the couch, Sam breathed a relieved sigh. He was sure when he saw wide-eyed Winter Soldier Bucky pressed against the wall with 240 pounds of papa bear Steve Rogers heading his way that things were about to go south fast. He recognized the signs of a flashback, and he knew they could be dangerous, especially when the one having them was a trained assassin.

Fortunately, his Bucky beat Steve there and held him back. It was awe-inspiring seeing Bucky talk his younger self through the episode. Now, the Soldier was back, sitting ramrod straight on the couch and looking blankly ahead, his dead metal limb once again propped on the arm of the couch.

Steve sat on the cushion next to him with a few feet between them. The older Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the wounds from the mission prep session turning his torso various shades of red as they made their way to bruising.

"This happened to you, too, didn't it?" Steve looked up at the older Bucky, his expression pained as though he had been the one taking punches to the gut just a few minutes ago.

"Many times." Bucky sighed and unfolded his arms. "He's got a rough road ahead of him."

That's an understatement, Sam thought. Neither he nor Steve were around for the first two years of Bucky's post-Hydra existence, but Sam could imagine what the guy who had the world's worst case of PTSD must have gone through.

Alone.

He hoped things would be better for the Bucky of this timeline.

"He remembered something?" Steve asked, a note of hope in his tone.

"Yeah." Bucky looked around the room. "Where's the cat?"

Despite the grimness of the situation, Sam had to suppress a smile. The guy who kept insisting it wasn't his cat seemed awfully concerned about the creature's welfare.

"She scurried under the couch when you and Natasha were playing with the baton," Clint said.

"I don't know why Pepper didn't take the fleabag with her when she left," Tony huffed. "I'm not running an animal shelter here."

"If he's already remembering things, that's a good sign, right?" Steve asked, not derailed from the topic of helping the blank-eyed man staring at the far wall.

"I remembered. He'll remember." Bucky walked up to Tony. "We've gotta get back to the mission at hand. You want to put one of those Ironman gloves on and hit me with a repulsor?"

Tony swiveled toward him with raised eyebrows. "Why me? Why not just have Point Break give you a love tap?"

"No reason. Just thought I'd give you a shot."

Sam knew the reason for that, but now wasn't the time to bring up the topic. They had a mission to plan, and his younger self was without wings, thanks to the man with the staring problem.

Sam needed his suit, but it was still sitting in a storage facility, and he hadn't sprung the news on Cap that he was the new Captain America. This should be a relatively easy operation. Thor alone could take out the Hydra assholes at the bank and, with all the Avengers—sans Banner—the suit was probably unnecessary.

He decided to save it for later. He might need the element of surprise when they took on the New Jersey base and the contingent guarding Zola. Romanoff indicated it was likely to be far more heavily guarded.

"So, uh, Stark, can you do anything in terms of equipment for me and my less handsome twin?"

-0 0 0-

Four hours later, after Bucky interrogated his younger self for information, they had come up with the details of a plan and a pair of hastily made jetpacks and wings. Sam thought the jackpacks were probably just as likely to blow up as to function properly. Despite all he had seen—like a talking raccoon and Thanos' army—nothing could have prepared Sam for seeing the Bucky he had come to know walk out of the bathroom in full Winter Soldier gear, sans mask.

His vibranium arm now looked indistinguishable from the titanium one, complete with a red star on the shoulder, courtesy of Stark magic. It was just a shell, and it wouldn't hold up if anyone decided to open it for maintenance. Hopefully that wouldn't happen before they could get what they needed and get Bucky the hell out of there.

Bucky's hair was the best they could do under the circumstances. It had singed longer locks by way of hair extensions that, combined with soot and a few superficial burns on his clothes, hand, and brow, made it look like he'd escaped a fire or explosion.

Bucky moved his metal arm and flexed the fist. "It's not very maneuverable, but it'll do."

Stark grabbed some nuts from his snack pile. "The palm breaks away in an emergency to activate the onboard shield, which I would love to take a looksie at, by the way."

"I'm sure you would," Bucky replied as Tony munched away. He moved closer to 2014 Bucky for comparison. "The arm passes muster?"

With the exception of Steve, who looked like he ate bad seafood, the other Avengers gave Bucky an approving nod. Sam was probably one of the few people in the room who knew what this had to be doing to Bucky's head. The Winter Soldier was a violation of James Buchanan Barnes, and there he was, slipping back into that trauma, once again for the sake of a mission.

It sure as hell wasn't fair. The guy deserved a break. Even if this was his choice, sometimes, Sam wondered if Bucky did these things because he had something to prove.

Or maybe he thought that, by punishing himself, he was somehow giving justice to his victims.

Sam walked up to him. "Be straight with me. Are you good?"

Bucky grimaced and gave a curt nod, but when his eyes settled on the mask sitting at the edge of the nearest table, the color drained from his cheeks.

Sam leaned in and whispered, "You don't have to put that on."

Bucky gave him only the briefest of looks, but it was enough for Sam to see the flash of terror in them. Then with a mechanical turn, Bucky walked to the table, picked up the mask, and fastened it over his mouth and nose.

"Let's get this over with," he said, his voice muffled behind the mask, but when he caught a glimpse of his reflection on a glass panel set into the far wall, he froze.

Sam was about to try to talk some sense into Bucky when a rustling from the couch drew his attention. The disarmed Winter Soldier was standing next to Steve, gaze fixed on Bucky. Sam couldn't quite place the look in his eyes. Anyone else would likely think them blank, but Sam knew the man well enough to recognize there was something behind those eyes.

The older Bucky walked up to him, giving Steve barely a glance over the mask before eyeing the Soldier, taking several seconds to study him, as if searching his face for the answer to a question. Finally, he commanded, in a slightly muffled voice, "Sit down."

When the Soldier complied, Sam gave a relieved sigh. "What the hell are we doing with him while everyone's on the mission?"

"I'll stay," Banner piped up. "I don't think we want to risk setting the Big Guy loose on the city, anyway."

Bucky faced his 2014 version and pointed to Banner. "In my absence, obey his commands." Then, he took a breath and said, "Sputnik." His arms whipped out immediately as the Soldier's head lolled forward and he tilted sideways. With a tenderness Sam had rarely seen, Bucky lowered his younger self all the way to the couch, propping his feet up on one arm and putting a pillow beneath his head near the other arm.

Sam wasn't sure what just happened. "What the hell was that?"

Bucky straightened. "A deactivation command. It induces sleep."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. That would have come in handy several times had he known, not like Hydra would broadcast it, of course. "You mean to tell me all I had to do was reference some old Soviet satellite back when you were kicking my ass all over the freeway, the helicarrier, and in Berlin?"

"Berlin?" Steve interjected.

Right. They hadn't gotten there yet and, now that this timeline's Bucky was safe, they never would.

Bucky looked as though he was humoring an overly curious toddler. "No. Hydra's not that stupid. It only works if the command is given by the same person who said the activation string."

"He's just asleep?" Steve asked, gazing down at his friend on the couch. "For how long?"

Bucky shrugged. "Don't know. He can be woken, but I wouldn't recommend being too close if you try. Is there a blanket around here?"

Tony got to his feet and sauntered over to a cabinet. He retrieved a folded, gray blanket, thick and fuzzy, and handed it to Steve, who gently draped it over the sleeping man.

Sam marveled at just how much he didn't know about the crap Hydra did to Bucky's mind.

Tony dropped back to his stool and spun with all the pent-up energy of a toddler. "I'll send in a couple of sentry drones so we can keep tabs on him and, if he wakes up cranky, the sentry can handle him so the green rage monster doesn't have to make an appearance."

Steve gave an appreciative nod, then walked up to Bucky. Sam didn't need to be telepathic to read the disquiet in Steve's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low and surprisingly gentle. "Bucky, look," he shifted, glancing away briefly, "our last mission together didn't go quite as planned…"

Bucky tilted his head, and his eyebrows went almost to his hairline. "You don't say? I mean, I didn't think my taking a plunge into an icy ravine was part of your Coney Island payback plan."

Bucky's tone and expression gave nothing away, so Sam couldn't tell whether he was joking or being deliberately argumentative, and by the restrained grimace on Steve's face, it was obvious he couldn't either.

Apparently undeterred, Steve took a couple of steps closer to Bucky. "Your life is more important than this mission. If you get a weird feeling that things are going sideways, give the signal."

Bucky stared at Steve for a good several seconds, his tongue playing inside his cheek, and finally said, "Thanks, Pal, but don't look so glum. If I don't make it, I'm not your Bucky, anyway. Yours is going to be safe and sound here in the tower."

Sam felt the sting of that, and it wasn't even directed at him. Jesus, Bucky, do you have to top those walls you're building with barbed wire?

Bucky walked to the door, but before he left, he turned to look at Steve, and Sam hoped he was considering the very grim possibility that those sharp words may be the last ones he said to Steve.

"Play it safe for once in your life this time." Bucky's eyes scanned the group. "The world is going to need the Avengers."

"Aww, you do care," Tony piped up. "Don't worry, we're a collection of JSOC folks who are more than capable of sweeping up your old Hydra pals."

With the final, lingering glance settled on his younger counterpart, Bucky left the room. Sam wasn't about to let him leave like this, heading alone into the belly of the beast and no doubt about to live his worst nightmare. He knew they had a solid plan, but even the best laid plans often went to hell. This might be the last time he saw Bucky alive.

Sam jogged after him, stopping him in the hallway. "Hey man, wait up."

Bucky stopped mid-stride and turned half a step to look at him, waiting.

Sam lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. "What about… You know? What if it comes up and he hears something?"

A crevice formed between Bucky's eyes. "The details of that mission were never entered into the computer. Zemo put two and two together from the information Romanoff leaked, but no one else did. We can't afford things going sideways before we find out what Hydra is planning next. Once we do, we'll tell him."

"Rollins probably knows. The older one, of course."

"Probably, but let's hope the topic doesn't come up."

"If it does?"

"I don't know, but if we divulge it now, it may delay the mission enough that Hydra gets the upper hand, and we can't let that happen."

"Okay." Sam knew how that first reveal went, and he sure as hell hoped the second time around would go a lot better. They just had to get through this phase of the mission, and he hated that Bucky had to do this part alone. Anything could go wrong. "Look, just…" He faltered, the words failing him. "Be careful yourself. Our timeline needs Bucky Barnes."

The mask hid most of Bucky's expression, but he smiled with his eyes—something soft and sad. With a slow nod, he turned and walked away.

-000-

"The attack on Stark Tower has left New York City reeling shortly after airships rained down over the Potomac. The Governor has yet to issue a statement, but early reports indicate that Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America, was taken to an undisclosed medical facility with life-threatening injuries. His condition is unknown at this time. Captain Rogers was still recovering from injuries sustained during his encounter with a Hydra assassin on one of the destroyed helicarriers."

Tony was watching the broadcast on his tablet and swiped to turn up the volume. Steve paced in the Faraday room. Sam was getting tired watching him.

He had to still be hurting from those earlier injuries, but if he was, he wasn't showing it, and they weren't slowing him down. Tony had replicated the Hydra GPS in the titanium arm and placed it in Bucky's vibranium arm, so they knew he was almost at the bank building.

"Grainy cell phone footage shows a glimpse of the assassin attacking Captain America. We warn you that this footage is disturbing."

Tony did that thing with his fingers and projected the newscast onto a holographic display. Dark, shaky cell phone footage, taken from what looked to be a nearby building, glimpsed a blurry figure dressed in blue and carrying a shield. As he tried to fend off two black-clad Strike team members—who were in fact, Clint and Tony— a titanium arm appeared briefly in the frame, firing three shots into the back of the man's head.

His body spasmed and crumpled, unmoving.

"RIP, old geezer." Tony ended the display. "I think that was pretty darn convincing. Oscar worthy, in fact."

Natasha looked up from her phone. "It's trending."

-0 0 0-

He quelled his breathing, calmed his heart, and looked straight ahead as Alexander Pierce stood in front of him. He swayed slightly on his feet intentionally. He needed to convince them that he'd given his all fighting the Avengers so he could use the cover of physical instability to complete his mission.

Bucky could see the chair in the periphery of his vision, but he dared not look at it as he gave his report. "One target eliminated. Two targets critically injured. Strike team members captured or dead."

Brock Rumlow stood behind Pierce, gazing at Bucky with narrowed eyes. Both of the Rollins were present, along with the female time traveler and a handful of armed guards and scientists.

Pierce pointed to the chair. "Take a seat."

Bucky complied. A small disc was on the index finger of his metal arm. As he moved to the chair, he stumbled just enough to place the disc on the underside of one of the computers. According to Stark, the disc would activate automatically and begin hacking into and downloading Hydra data. It would be even more undetectable than the first device used to hack SHIELD's computers and it would give the Avengers ears in the room.

"Identify targets eliminated and injured," Pierce commanded.

"Captain America, eliminated. Iron Man, injured. The Black Widow, injured."

"Captain America is dead. Are you certain?"

Something hot rose in Bucky's chest, but before it could take shape, he pushed it down. He couldn't allow a flicker of motion on his face, and he sure as hell couldn't clench his fists or drive one of them into Pierce's face. "Affirmative."

"Identify Strike team members captured."

"Strike team members Wilson, Connors, Jensen captured."

Pierce gave an approving nod. "Too bad. They'll have to be dealt with." He turned his attention to Rumow. "Assemble a new team. Proceed to base immediately."

Rumlow gripped the firearm at his hip and glanced at Bucky. "What about him?"

"Clean him up and prep him."

-0 0 0-

From a black van in an alley two blocks away, Steve and Sam listened.

"We're live." Steve heard Tony in his ear. Phase 1 of the mission was a success. Steve gave a small relieved sigh. Bucky had managed to plant Stark's device.

While the little disc hacked into Hydra's computers, it also let them eavesdrop even if Bucky left the room. When he heard Pierce order Bucky cleaned and prepped, the muscles in his body went tight, preparing for combat even though he still had to stand by and wait for the signal.

He wasn't sure what prepping the Winter Soldier entailed, and he hoped Bucky would give the signal if things got too hairy. There was something dark and angry inside Bucky, something that hadn't been there even after Azzano, and Steve wasn't sure he'd pull the plug in time, not where Hydra was concerned.

If it came down to it, Steve was prepared to make the call, even at the expense of the mission. He'd put a mission above Bucky's life once before, and the only thing that had done was allow Hydra to grow inside SHIELD. He wouldn't let Bucky sacrifice himself this time.

"Switching comms," Stark said.

Steve looked at Sam. The worry on his face matched the knot in Steve's gut. "Keep me with Bucky."

"Okey-dokey. Switching you to your BFF."

The GPS device in Bucky's arm had audio surveillance capabilities, but all Steve could hear right now were footsteps. The sound bounced around, indicating a room with hard floors and walls.

A door opened and closed hard.

"Strip," Rumlow ordered.

"I think it's a mistake keeping this guy alive." Steve recognized the voice of Jack Rollins, but he didn't know if it was the younger or older version. "We can't risk his memory returning."

There was the sound of fabric rustling, clasps being undone, and things hitting the floor.

"Hydra's managed to keep his brain fried for decades, and he killed Cap this time," Rumlow replied. "If he so much as twitches wrong, he goes back in the chair, or we put a bullet in his head… What do you think about that, Soldier?"

There was a brief silence, then Rollins said, "Don't underestimate this guy, and don't poke his memory. Where Rogers is concerned, he'll become unstable."

That told Steve it was the older Rollins talking.

"I can't believe Hydra had Bucky Barnes as their secret assassin all these years."

"Jesus Christ, Brock. What did I just tell you about poking his memory? Lay off the name."

"Sounds like you're scared of him, Jack."

"Fuck off, Brock. I'm older and wiser. Your cocky arrogance is going to get you killed."

"Yeah you already told me that. Still, helping tear the Avengers apart with one misdirected bomb ain't a bad way to go…A robot really almost destroyed the world?"

"Yes. If we harness that technology with the Scepter and avoid the pitfalls of Stark's original programming, Hydra will be unstoppable. This World War II relic will be obsolete."

Steve struggled to keep his anger in check at the way they talked about Bucky. He met Sam's gaze in the van and turned off the comm mic. "What's he talking about?"

Sam put a finger to his comm to silence the mic. "Tony created an A.I. that got it into its head to destroy humanity. It was called Ultron. We'll give you a full briefing after the mission, everything that happens between now and our time."

"Hey, Big Bird," Stark's voice came through the comm, "you want to explain about the psychotic robot?"

"Big Bird, really?" Sam grumbled, as he put a hand to his ear to reactivate the mic. "Later, I promise."

"Well, at least he said almost," Clint's voice chimed.

Steve turned his mic back on. Bucky's life was on the line, and they couldn't afford distractions. "Can the chatter. We've got to keep ears on the situation."

-0 0 0-

Bucky was dangerously close to shivering when the AC in the basement kicked on, spewing cold air onto his bare skin. Rumlow was readying the hose. The room was all tile and cement, and it sat beneath the bank vault. Hydra loved secret underground facilities.

He braced himself when the cold spray hit. A twisted smile on Rumlow's face made it clear he enjoyed the job. Now that they knew Hydra's plan involved re-creating Ultron by using the Scepter, the only piece of the puzzle he needed was how the Zola computer factored into it.

That bit of information should be easy enough to extract.

Rollins turned the hose off, leaving Bucky dripping wet and naked. Rumlow handed Rollins the sprayer, then turned to face Bucky, eyes searching his face for something. Bucky wasn't sure what, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, his face a blank mask.

"Is there anything in there? You killed your best friend, and you don't even remember who he was."

"Cut it out, Brock," Rollins chided. "You shake things loose in that brain of his and we're gonna have to put him down."

Brock shrugged. "So what? You said there are five more worse than him."

So that was another piece of the puzzle. Hydra was desperate enough to re-activate the five super soldiers still kept on ice in Siberia.

"I'd love to put a bullet in his head," Brock continued. "My only regret is that Rogers is already dead. I'd love to make him watch his Bucky die a second time, by my hand this time."

"You're really bitter about the whole elevator thing, man. Let it go."

"Fuck no. I can't take it out on Rogers' hide, so this is the next best thing." Brock grinned and shifted his right shoulder back. His arm swung straight toward Bucky's jaw.

Bucky stopped it with his metal arm. He had only a moment to enjoy the stunned look on Rumlow's face, because if either one of them got a shot off, he'd be dealing with more guards. With a sliver of regret that he couldn't relish the moment a few seconds longer, he sent his right fist into Brock's temple hard enough to drop him on the spot.

Rollins spun in surprise, hand going to his firearm, but the wet floor took his feet out from under him. Bucky was on him instantly, crushing the firearm in his metal arm, grabbing the man by the throat with his right one and hauling him upward until his feet dangled in the air and his hands clawed at Bucky's.

Bucky took the opportunity to relieve Rollins of the backup firearm, then pressed him against the wall and kept enough pressure on the man's throat that he couldn't call for help. "Hello, asshole. You let the wrong Bucky in. I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you aren't inclined to answer me, I'm going to close my fist and end you. Blink once for yes, two for no. Some of the questions I'm going to ask you I already know the answer to. Every time you lie to me, I'm going to break something on your body. Understand?"

Rollins' eyes were bulging, but he managed to blink once as his fingers dug uselessly into Bucky's wrist.

"Did you travel here alone?"

Rollins blinked once.

Bucky squeezed the man's throat a little harder to prevent any sound from escaping. He'd had enough of torture to last a dozen lifetimes, but too many lives were on the line for him to play it soft, and as far he was concerned, anyone who knowingly and willingly helped Hydra deserved far worse than a broken bone or two. He snapped the thumb on Rollins' right finger. The man spasmed like a dying fish, his nails digging into Bucky's arm in a vain attempt to get him to loosen his grip.

Bucky leaned closer into the man's face. "That was the wrong answer."

"Are the five super soldiers in Siberia?"

Rollins blinked twice.

"Are they in the United States?"

The man blinked once.

"Is the Zola computer operational?"

Rollins blinked once. Red spots dotted the whites of his eyes.

"I am going to loosen my grip just enough to let you croak out a few words. Don't try to call the guards because they won't be able to hear you, but if you do try anything, I'm gonna send my fist into your face, and I'm going to really enjoy doing it." Bucky eased his hold on the man's throat just enough that he could breathe.

Rollins sucked in a panicked, greedy breath through strangulation-swollen lips.

"Where are the other super soldiers?"

"Lehigh," Rollins wheezed.

"How many?"

"Five."

That was good and bad. Bad because the five soldiers were a psychotic, unpredictable force to be reckoned with, but good because they were a known commodity. He wasn't dealing with an unknown number, like the Flag Smashers.

"Who did you travel here with?"

"Pierce's daughter."

The clunk of footsteps in the hall told Bucky time was running short, but he needed one more piece of information. "How does the Zola computer factor into Hydra's plans?"

Rollins' eyes darted into the closed door. Bucky squeezed, bringing the man's attention back to the unforgiving hand around his throat.

"Answer me." Bucky eased up enough that Rollins could talk.

Only there wasn't time. Many footsteps approached, and they were close. He slammed Rollins back against the wall hard enough to knock him out and dropped the limp body to the floor, then hurried into his boots and pants and donned the tactical vest. It would offer a modicum of protection from bullets. He grabbed an assault rifle and two handguns off Rumlow and Rollins.

"I could use some help." That was the signal. The Avengers would be three minutes out.

When the door opened, he hesitated just enough to confirm the targets were Hydra and then dropped the barrel of the rifle and opened fire, taking out the legs of the first couple of guys unlucky enough to walk in.

The alarm sounded immediately. The doorway was clear, but he knew if he walked out he would take fire from both sides. He expected the grenade that rolled in and kicked it back into the hallway, then slammed the door shut just as the explosion rocked the walls.

He could hold out until help arrived but, if he had to, he'd bulldoze and shoot his way through the Hydra guards. Even though he'd killed in his time—even before Hydra—he didn't want the Avengers arriving to a sea of dead bodies. It would just reinforce their view of him as a killer, and it wouldn't help his conversation with Tony about what happened to his parents.

When the door exploded inward, he opened fire. Something crashed through the wall to his left, and he spun into a dive to make himself a difficult target, knowing they'd be coming at him from two fronts now.

He slammed his metal fist on the floor to dislodge the fake plates, and raised his arm to activate the shield as he rolled to his feet to face the new attacker. He didn't expect to see Josef, leader of Hydra's most elite death squad and one of their previously frozen psycho super soldiers, who, according to that lying bastard Rollins, should be in Camp Lehigh.

Bucky opened fire, but Josef was fast, and the bullets hit two men coming in through the hole Josef had made in the wall.

A flash from behind had him spinning, rifle firing, taking out whoever he could. It was either him or them. He used the shield to cover his left while the gun covered his right. He had two minutes until the Avengers arrived, and as Josef tried to get through the energy shield, Bucky pivoted to keep him at bay while using the rifle to cover his exposed side.

When another super soldier—Tanaka—arrived, carrying a metal door as a shield, Bucky knew he was boxed in and outnumbered. He gave a final spray of bullets to keep Tanaka on the move and then slammed into Josef with everything he had, using the energy shield to stun him. It gave him a second, and he used it to barrel through the far wall. He didn't know what he would find on the other side, but the rifle's ammo was spent, leaving him two handguns.

He bulldozed his way through half a dozen guards in front and took out four more coming up behind. He turned the corner and stopped, taking a breath as he stared at the figure blocking his pathway.

Fuck. Garin, the bearded super soldier glared at him, then raised two guns and opened fire. Bucky blocked the shots easily with the shield and charged forward, emptying the clip behind him. He tossed the gun away and went for the second one in the waistband of his pants when a slug hit his right shoulder.

Tanaka and Josef were taking up the rear, and Bucky had only a moment to realize he had taken an ICER and not an actual bullet, when the three soldiers descended on him.

They wanted him alive. The ICER wasn't powerful enough to knock him out, but a few more shots would sure as hell slow him down. The combat was hand-to-hand now, with Bucky using the shield as a battering ram and his arms and legs as weapons. Garin took an elbow to the throat, and Tanaka took a kick under the chin.

That left an opening for Josef, who wrapped an arm around Bucky's neck and squeezed. Bucky knew he had precious few seconds until the blood that wasn't getting to his brain deprived him of consciousness. He deactivated this shield and used his metal fingers to dig into Josef's forearm.

The man grunted but held on. Garin came at him with a stun baton, and as stars danced in Bucky's vision, he drew his legs up and kicked. The room dimmed. How long had it been? How close were the Avengers?

He felt the bite of the baton in his gut and two more ICER hits in his side as darkness claimed him.

When he came to, he was in the chair with restraints around both arms and his legs. Alexander Pierce stood in front of him. The three winter soldiers were stationed a few feet behind Pierce. Rumlow and Rollins were upright but unsteady on their feet near the security bars.

The younger Rollins and the female time traveler were nowhere to be seen.

How long had he been out? The Avengers had to be arriving soon.

"So, you're another time traveler?" Pierce brought a chair over and sat in front of Bucky. "Come all this way to rescue yourself?"

Bucky strained against the metal clamps over his arms. Titanium plates gave way as the metal creaked, revealing the black vibranium beneath.

"Stop that, or I'll have Agent Rumlow put a few ICERs in you." Pierce glanced back at the man, who had drying blood on the side of his face and sported an angry scowl. "I'm sure he'd love nothing more." Pierce turned his attention back to Bucky, eyeing the metal arm. "A new and improved arm, I see. Thank you for bringing tech from the future back here. It'll no doubt be an advantage for Hydra."

An explosion rumbled through the building, and another siren wailed. Rumlow put a hand to his ear and looked at Rollins, then Pierce. "We've got incoming. The Avengers."

Pierce sighed and leveled a tolerant gaze at Bucky. "I'm guessing your report about Captain America's death and injuries to the Avengers wasn't exactly accurate."

"Oops." Bucky glared at Pierce. The Avengers could hear him, but not see what was happening. "Three super soldiers at lea…"

Two ICER tranqs hit him square in the chest, stealing his breath and making the room spin. He was dangerously close to throwing up all over himself. "…Brock, Rumlow—"

When the muzzle of a lethal firearm was shoved into his face, his throat went tight. This was it. Finally. He took a breath, bracing himself. It would be over in less than a second, but at least then he'd finally know peace. He thought of Steve and Sam hearing this, their expressions when they found his body.

There was no time for goodbyes.

"No. Let's move." Pierce commanded. "Activate the chair. I want his buddy to find him in it, an empty vessel."

"Why not just kill him?" Rumlow asked, lowering the gun.

"Because tending to him will tie up Rogers and maybe another Avenger for a few minutes, and that's all we need. Set the charges."

As the halo sizzled to life above him, Bucky gritted his teeth and strained against the clamps. The chair tilted backwards. The room cleared out. The place was rigged. He had to get out before the others arrived and all of it came down.

He heard gunshots as the warm metal pressed against his head, and he had only a moment to suck in a single deep breath before the current slammed into him. His screams echoed through the room as he arched away from the current and focused every bit of strength on his vibranium arm.

- 0 0 0 -

Steve heard the screams both in the hallway and through his ear canal from the comm unit linked to the device in Bucky's arm.

"Bucky!" He pushed his legs faster, gritting his teeth against the pain in his still healing gut, and careened around the corner. He slammed into the wall, sending tile and cement spraying behind him.

Sam was five yards behind him, but Steve couldn't wait. Pierce had ordered charges set, which meant the whole place was likely to come down around them at any moment.

"Sam, get out of here!"

"The hell I will!" came the reply in his ear.

The bars to the safe deposit room were up ahead, and beyond them Steve could see Bucky writhing in the chair, his chest arched upward. The tendons in his neck were tightly strung cords, and his screams bounced around the bank vault.

The clamp around the metal arm gave way just as Steve burst through the locked bars. Bucky jerked away from the tight grip of the metal halo on his face and, once blessedly free, he sagged, breathing heavily, then shook his head and bashed at the restraint on his right arm.

"Bucky!"

Bucky's head snapped up. "Get out! This place is gonna blow!"

There was a time when Steve had been the one telling Bucky to leave, to save himself. Bucky hadn't listened then, and Steve sure as hell wasn't going to now. "No! Not without you!"

It didn't matter whether Bucky liked him very much these days, Steve remembered their friendship. He'd let Bucky down on the train back in the war. He wouldn't do it again.

Sliding forward, he grunted against the pain in his torso and lifted the shield to slam the edge into the restraint around Bucky's left leg. He quickly did the same with the other one, then grabbed Bucky's arm and hauled him to his feet, dragging him out of the room.

The blast went off before they were clear, sending Steve off his feet and careening into Sam. The collision was bone-jarring, but Steve did the best he could to shield Sam, using his arms to keep himself a few inches above Sam and hoping the shield at his back would take the brunt of debris.

When parts of the walls and ceilings stopped falling, Steve heard Natasha in his ear.

"Rogers, come in! Come in."

Steve coughed dust from his lungs. There was a pressure on his legs. "Stand by. Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah," came the strained response, "but the jet pack is toast."

Oh God, Bucky had been directly behind him. Steve twisted. The mass pinning his legs was Bucky, who was curled into a ball beneath the energy shield, using it to protect both himself and Steve's lower half.

Bucky disengaged the shield and threw a glare at him. "You stupid idiot punk." He got to his feet and dusted himself off. "I told you to go."

Relief rushed from Steve's lungs in a burst of air, and despite facing Bucky's anger, he couldn't help the smile that broke over his face. Bucky swayed slightly, and as Steve stood, he placed a setting on Bucky's shoulder. "That's a handy shield."

"Jealous?" Bucky asked with a quirk of his mouth that gave rise to a familiar warmth in Steve's chest.

"Nah. I can throw mine at people."

"That's what knives and bullets are for."

"The vibranium shield doesn't require a power source."

"The power source in my arm will outlast you, Pal."

Sam grunted and pushed to his feet. "I'm great, thanks for the help. Are you two done comparing your thingies?"

Steve threw an apologetic grin at Sam and slapped him on the shoulder when Clint came in his ear. "Three vans fleeing. Tony's in pursuit of one. Nat's on the second. Thor just took out the third."

"On our way." Steve eyed Bucky. "We've got to mop up the runners."

All mirth was gone from Bucky's face, and he gave a stern nod. "Pierce, Rumlow, Rollins, the super soldiers, and the other time traveler are priorities. She's Pierce's daughter."

Sam gave Bucky a withering look. "Oh, those are the only priorities, huh? And here I thought this might be hard." He sighed and slipped out of the damaged jet pack. "I'm so over the whole super soldier thing."

Steve huffed and Bucky tilted his head.

With a roll of his eyes, Sam added. "Present company excluded, of course."


Author's Note

I hope you're enjoying these mega chapters. If you prefer the story in shorter bits 1-2 times per week, you can find this story under the same title on AO3. There are a few shorter works I've posted over there that I don't think made it over here, if you're interested in more Bucky Barnes stories. (No account needed. My works are open to guests).