Romanoff needed backup against the super soldiers if they were in the van she was chasing. Sam joined Steve and Bucky on the sidewalk, regretting leaving his suit behind. Keeping up with those two was difficult without it, and he cursed himself for not retrieving it from the storage facility—the whole Captain America thing be damned. He hadn't anticipated dealing with Hydra super soldiers, but by now he should have learned that being prepared was better than being caught off guard by the unexpected.
Natasha was describing her location as she followed the fleeing Hydra agents on a motorcycle, and they needed to catch up fast. The chase was heading toward the highway. That brought back unpleasant memories. He'd be damned if he let a single Avenger become a casualty in this timeline.
Unfortunately their van, parked illegally across the street, had a front wheel completely removed, courtesy, no doubt, of one of Hydra's super goons.
"Where's Falcon?" Bucky asked.
"He's giving Natasha air support," Steve replied. "Clint's cleaning up at the bank."
Sam took a moment to really look at Bucky and didn't like what he saw. The man was not steady on his feet, and he kept shaking his head. Sam wasn't sure how long Bucky had been in the chair, but he sure as hell heard the screams.
Whatever lingering effects Bucky was experiencing didn't seem to slow him down because he went for the first car that came along with a single occupant and stepped in front of it. When the vehicle screeched to a halt, he ran around and opened the car door. It was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair who looked at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"I'm sorry about this." Bucky ripped off the man's seatbelt, grabbed his arm, and pulled him out of the vehicle. "Send the bill for any damages to Tony Stark." Bucky slid into the driver seat.
Steve took the passenger seat. He looked at Bucky and grimaced, a disapproving scowl on his face and a tilt of his head as Stark grumbled in the ear comm about being the one to pay for damages.
Sam flung himself into the backseat just as Bucky hit the accelerator. It took him a moment to catch his breath as he leaned forward between the two front seats. "Should you even be driving?"
"I'm fine," Bucky said, but Sam wasn't buying it.
He suspected it was too late for Bucky to admit he hadn't thought about that when he commandeered the vehicle and put himself behind the wheel. That notion was reinforced when Bucky took a corner too fast and ended up side-swiping a parked car. He swerved around traffic and got to the highway in minutes.
Natasha was about two miles ahead of them, and Bucky floored the sedan. It didn't take long for them to hear the gunshots and spot Natasha on a motorcycle behind a black van. A man hung out of the passenger window firing at her.
Falcon was 100 feet above, occasionally returning fire, but doing so was dangerous to the nearby civilians. It was amazing to Sam how many cars kept driving in the middle of this high-speed chase and shootout. If they didn't do something fast, somebody would get hurt or killed.
Bucky pulled up behind Natasha just as a bullet took out her front tire. As the motorcycle careened, Steve burst through the window and grabbed her, yanking her into the vehicle on top of him in an undignified heap.
"Thanks," she huffed as Sam helped her into the back seat.
Bucky glanced at Steve with that weird silent thing he'd seen them do in Berlin and Wakanda, as though they were formulating a plan without saying a word.
This sedan had a sunroof, and Bucky opened it. With a glance at Sam in the rearview mirror, he grabbed the rim of the opening with his right hand.
Don't you even…
"Take the wheel, Sam." Bucky pulled himself through the opening and landed on the roof of the car at the same time Steve yanked himself out of the broken passenger window and swung to the hood of the car.
"Damnit, Buck!" Sam scrambled between the seats as the car swerved. He slid into the driver's seat, grabbing the wheel and steadying the vehicle.
Bucky popped his head back in through the roof. "Hold onto it this time."
Oh, hell no! He'd get Bucky back for that one later.
"Screw you, man." Sam figured both men could hear him with their super soldier ears. He caught a glimpse of Natasha's smiling eyes in the rearview mirror and muttered, "Don't." He knew she had some smartass remark on the tip of her tongue.
Steve leapt onto the top of the van in front of him and half a second later Bucky followed. Now that he didn't have to keep the car steady, he swerved into the next lane, causing a motorist there to blare the horn.
"I swear people are assholes." He shook his head and pushed the sedan to its limits to get alongside the van. "If you saw two guys jump on the roof of the van right after the person inside shot the tire out of a motorcycle, you think you'd maybe wanna hit the brakes and give yourself space."
The driver of the van fired a couple of wild shots at the sedan.
Natasha crawled into the front seat and held a firearm out the window. "Well, you know, everyone's in a hurry." She fired a few shots at the driver's side door to keep the guy busy as Steve and Bucky forced open the rear doors and swung inside, shields at the ready.
There was gunfire from inside the van. Sam pulled ahead to give Natasha a clear shot at the driver. The van veered into the sedan, causing it to sideswipe a minivan.
"Shit!" Sam spared a glance at the other car as it careened into the divider.
All he could see was a figure with long curly hair behind the wheel. He hoped everybody was okay as he jerked the steering wheel back toward the black van.
Bodies started flying out of the back. The muzzle of a rifle came out of the driver's side window and peppered the windshield of Sam's car — or rather the car he was borrowing and that Stark would no doubt have to replace. He scrunched in his seat, keeping his head high enough to see over the dashboard, while Natasha returned fire.
Suddenly, the muzzle disappeared, the driver's door opened, and the driver was tossed directly onto the sedan's hood.
"Jesus!" Sam hit the brakes, sending the man rolling onto the freeway.
Glancing behind, Sam was relieved to see the traffic slow. The motorists had finally gotten some common sense about keeping their distance.
The black van came to a halt, and Bucky hopped out of the open driver's side door. Steve emerged from the back, sliding the shield onto his back. Sam and Natasha exited the sedan.
A roar from above preceded Falcon's landing in the middle of the lane behind the van. "Damn, this didn't go down easy, and these wings are wobbly."
"Everyone's a critic," Tony's voice echoed in Sam's ear. "Cut me some slack. I only had a few hours to make two of them."
Falcon grimaced and scratched at his head. "Hey no complaints, although I wouldn't mind taking one of your suits for a spin."
"Sorry, that's my shtick."
"We need to check civilians for injuries and get police and ambulance here," Steve said with that tone he used to make people click their heels and fall into place.
"Where are the super soldiers?" Bucky asked.
"Not here," Tony said.
"The fleeing cowards I have apprehended are mere normal humans," Thor answered.
Sam tried not to take the phrase "mere normal human" personally. "They're not with Tony or Thor's group," he explained to Bucky since the man didn't have an earpiece.
Bucky's eyes went hard and that grump line between them became obvious. "Well, if they're not here, we have a problem."
The blades of the helicopter drew Sam's attention upward. There was a news logo he could just make out on the side, but the craft looked larger than a standard news chopper, and it was coming in fast. Too fast.
"Get down!" Steve and Bucky shouted at the same time, and then all hell broke loose.
This was bad. The five super soldiers descended on them, each one armed to the teeth. Hydra was completely out of the shadows and making a last ditch, desperate effort to take out the Avengers.
Bucky went back to back with Steve, taking cover behind the energy shield while Steve did the same thing with the vibranium one. Bucky's ears were ringing and his balance was off, but he'd pushed through worse. He had no choice but to keep going.
"We need backup!" One of the Sam's yelled from somewhere.
Falcon was raining fire from above, keeping his distance, obviously having learned his lesson when Bucky took out his wings with a grappling line.
"Get Romanoff out of here, Sam!" Bucky yelled, emptying his assault rifle at Josef.
He was out of ammo and left with a single handgun that had, maybe, four rounds left in it.
"Not on your life!" came the reply.
Bucky bit back in angry retort. Having Natasha and Falcon in the mix was a problem. They weren't outnumbered, but they were out muscled. Sam didn't have his suit, and the younger one had a hastily made Stark pack that probably wouldn't survive an actual hit and—
He just took one, plummeting to the highway. He hit hard but had the good sense to roll so the pack took some of the impact. He was alive, but Tanaka was on him, aiming. Steve threw his shield, blocking the bullet and knocking the soldier off his feet.
Steve was a sitting duck, surrounded. Bucky twisted and curled his metal arm around Steve, using the energy shield to block fire from Josef and the other soldiers, but they were taking shots from multiple directions. Bucky did his best to spin with Steve, keeping the energy shield in front of them both while making each of his last four bullets count.
Steve lurched sideways, tilting against Bucky with a grunt. The scent of blood told Bucky at least one of the bullets had found its mark.
Static echoed in Bucky's skull, and time slowed. Ten years ago for him, not too far from here, a different battle had played out. He remembered it as though it were yesterday.
He looked around, assessing the situation as though he had all the time in the world. Falcon was on his knees, struggling to get to shaky feet. Natasha was moving to assist. Sam had an assault rifle and was providing cover from behind a vehicle.
Bucky felt the shift inside, his training took over. His movements were fast and smooth, the energy shield becoming an extension of him, vanishing when he threw a knife and coming back on once the blade was sailing through the air. He took out the woman. Her weapon was a thing of beauty in his hand.
There were punches and kicks as the fight came closer. The slash of the blade. The crunch of flesh. It was a dance his body remembered, and somewhere, as if at the end of a tunnel, he heard a voice. It tempted him away from this place of darkness and blood, but he was not finished.
Bones crunched. There was pain, but it existed outside of him. Not relevant.
"..ucky!"
He drove his metal fist into a skull.
"Bucky!"
Again.
"Stay back!"
And again.
"Bucky, stop!"
The static in his brain snapped into silence, and he came back to himself. The pain became a living entity, writhing hot in his right shoulder and ribs. His metal fist dripped with blood. Tanaka lay beneath him, the right side of his face a bloody mess.
The bodies of two other super soldiers littered the pavement alongside black-clad Hydra agents.
"Are you back with us, Buck?"
Bucky blinked and looked up into a familiar dark face. Sam. His Sam. Natasha, Thor, and Iron Man were there now, checking on the fallen soldiers and civilians.
Oh, God. Exhaustion hit him like a truck, and he rolled off Tanaka, his back to the ground, gazing at the overcast sky. What did I do? "Is everyone okay?" The air moved like a cyclone through his lungs. "Did I hurt…"
He trailed off. He'd hurt a lot of people, but he hoped only Hydra this time.
Sam knelt next to him and placed his hand on Bucky's right arm. Bucky focused on the touch, letting it ground him. "The only people you hurt had it coming."
Bucky lifted his head, searching for Steve. He found him leaning against the back of the black van, looking a couple of shades paler with one arm held close to his side, like he could drop at any moment. Pushing himself off the pavement, Bucky took Sam's arm and got to his feet.
Steve tracked his movements. Bucky made his feet move, and all the pains in his body sang a chorus in protest.
"Hey." He stopped in front of Steve, giving him a visual once over. "You took a bullet. You haven't even fully healed from the ones I gave you."
Steve grunted and pushed away from the van. "Just a flesh wound. I'll live."
All gunshot wounds were flesh wounds. It was a stupid saying, and Bucky was about to tell him just how stupid when Steve swayed, crumpling forward. Bucky caught him, arms wrapped around him, keeping him upright against his chest.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Bucky huffed against the top of Steve's head.
Steve's heart was beating like a mad drummer in the aftermath of the battle and blood loss. "I can do this all day," he muttered against Bucky's shoulder.
"Yeah, I know, Pal."
Shit. He was dangerously close to letting Steve worm his way back in. He knew how this would end.
Steve sucked in air and got his feet under him, then straightened and pulled away. Tony walked up in the suit, with the helmet off, and slapped Bucky on the arm. "No hard feelings."
About what? Bucky went still, searching Steve's face. Had Tony found out? If he had, he was taking it remarkably well.
The edge of Steve's mouth quirked up, and he tilted his head. "You took a swing at the suit when Tony got too close. Just a little dent."
Bucky felt the heat rise from his chest, up his neck, and into his cheeks. He lost control, and everyone witnessed it. He could've hurt or even killed one of them.
Sam walked up, giving Steve an assessing look before turning his attention to Bucky. "I know what you're thinking, and stop it. I watched it all. I haven't seen you fight like that since, well, you know, but that other guy didn't take over. Maybe he was guiding the reins, but you knew who you were fighting. You were focused on Hydra and the super soldiers, and you did a number on them, along with Tony, Thor, and Steve. Yeah, in the thick of it, Tony got a little too close to you from behind, and you reacted, but his suit took the hit, and you went right back to laying out the bad guys.
"You can make it up to me by letting me take a look at that cool arm." Tony said, then looked at Steve. "Two of the super assholes got away, but Rumlow and Rollins are staying for dinner. You keep taking bullets, by the way, and we're going to use you as a sprinkler."
"What about Pierce?" Steve asked.
"He wasn't in any of the vans. Must've made use of a super cool secret exit."
Bucky was sure Pierce would turn up eventually, because there was something very important to him. "While we were chasing the three different vans, he made his getaway. That Zola computer is our next target." He eyed the bleeding wound from the bullet that went straight through Steve's left shoulder. "We gotta get everybody patched up first."
They were finally back at the tower. Everyone tried to convince Steve to go to the hospital, but he'd been shot before, and not just a few days ago by Bucky. The wound in his shoulder would heal, and he really needed to see the Bucky of this timeline.
The only thing that almost made him swing by a hospital were the various injuries others were sporting. 2024 Bucky favored his right side along with a collection of scrapes and cuts on his face. Falcon was concussed, and Sam had cuts and bruises, including a bullet graze. Natasha was in a similar state.
Something had shifted in Bucky's brain back there. He fought just as he had on the freeway as the Winter Soldier, but unlike that time, Steve knew it was his friend in more ways than just his face.
Bucky coordinated his tactics with Steve, just as they had back in 1944 during the war and in back-alley fights in Brooklyn before that, like they were extensions of one another. Bucky may have been partially zoned out, training and conditioning taking over, but he was still present.
Nevertheless, it was obvious that Bucky was deeply affected by what happened. He'd barely said a word on the ride back to the tower. Not even Sam's gentle ribbing could get a reaction out of him.
Steve was the first one in the Faraday room, but the others were close behind, except for Thor and Natasha, who were getting their newest prisoners settled. Bruce sat at a control panel next to the two drones. He swiveled toward the door, but Steve's attention went immediately to the figure on the couch. The Bucky of his timeline was still asleep, and the little white kitten was curled up between his knees on top of the blanket. They'd been gone for five hours, so it wasn't surprising that Bucky was still asleep, especially since he probably hadn't gotten much over the past couple of days, maybe longer.
"Well would you look at that," Tony breezed past Steve, carrying a large satchel from the bank building, "sleeping beauty and the fuzzball make quite a pair." He swiped a hand through the air, and the two drones guarding the room marched out. He set the satchel on a worktable and began digging through its contents.
Steve smiled. That they did. The Bucky he knew always had a soft spot for animals, as did 2024 Bucky, apparently. "Has he been asleep the whole time?"
Bruce nodded. "Not a peep."
"The cat didn't wake him?" Sam asked.
"He slept like a log," Banner replied.
Steve glanced over his shoulder at the other Bucky. "You always did sleep hard."
"The command induces a prolonged Stage IV sleep state." Bucky gave him a gentle push toward Banner. "Steve's been shot, and Falcon has a concussion. The others have minor injuries. Can you take a look, Doc?"
"Oh, yeah, of course."
Bucky gave a tired sigh and plopped into one of the empty chairs near the couch, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. It was odd seeing two versions of the Winter Soldier—Bucky in his undercover getup and vibranium arm that was still peppered with bits of silver plating and his younger self in socks and sweatpants—a couple of feet apart, one asleep and the other sorely in need of it.
Steve wasn't going to let Bucky off the hook that easily. "You've got your own injuries, too, Buck."
A mew from the floor drew Steve's attention. The little kitten was at Bucky's feet suddenly, serenading him loudly. He looked down at her, something that was either consternation or embarrassment on his face. "Has anyone fed her?"
"I gave her a can a couple hours ago," Bruce said, gathering the tools he'd used to examine the Soldier earlier and waving Steve toward the stool.
Steve took a seat and began stripping off the upper half of his uniform. "I think she's just happy to see her savior."
The kitten embedded her nails in Bucky's pants and climbed up.
"She likes you," Sam said with a grin, pulling up a chair to sit next to Bucky.
"I'm very likable," Bucky dead-panned, as though stating an immutable fact. "Your sister thinks so." The kitten settled herself on his lap and began to purr loudly.
Sam's chin jerked up. "Hey now! Watch it!"
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Falcon asked, rubbing gingerly at his temple.
"Nothing," Sam replied quickly. "He means absolutely nothing by that, right, Buck?"
Steve smiled at the exchange. The more time he spent around this version of Bucky, the more he recognized the man he used to know. Sure, he was less jovial, a whole lot sadder, and the easy friendship that had always existed between them didn't seem to have survived Hydra, but the essence of Bucky had.
"She's quite the cook," Bucky said, almost absent-minded in the way his fingers stroked the kitten's head. Then a grin split his face — one that was so unexpected that it stole Steve's breath for a moment — and he looked at Falcon with raised eyebrows. "She's very nice. Much nicer than you."
Steve was relieved to see Bucky talking and joking. It was a far cry from his demeanor on the ride over after the fight on the freeway. He wasn't sure what prompted the change, but he hoped it continued. Bucky's smile gave him a sense of home he hadn't experienced since he woke up in the ice. It made him feel like a kid again.
"Why don't you slip out of that tactical vest?" Sam suggested. "Let me take a look. You took a beating before you went a few rounds with those super soldiers."
He waved a dismissive hand. "I've had worse." He sighed, face heavy with exhaustion as he let the kitten play with the fingers of his vibranium hand. "Besides, I really just want to sit here for a minute."
As Bruce set to work on Steve's shoulder, Steve watched Bucky and Sam interact. He tried not to feel jealous of the ease between them. Their friendship was evident even when they bickered. He shouldn't begrudge Bucky this, but it hurt knowing his friendship with Bucky had been replaced.
It hurt even more than whatever the hell Bruce was doing to the exit wound on the back of Steve's shoulder. To distract himself, Steve dropped his gaze to the kitten who was twisting onto her side and batting at Bucky's vibranium fingers as he idly teased her while listening to Sam talk to his younger self about the boat restoration. It was the kitten, he realized, that prompted the change in Bucky. From the moment she had dug her claws into pant legs and climbed into his lap, the tension had oozed away from him.
Maybe it was because he had saved her, or because she liked him as is, with no regard for his metal arm or all the things Hydra made him do. It was an uncomplicated relationship, and even though Steve didn't know everything that happened to Bucky over the next decade, he sensed that Bucky didn't have many relationships, let alone uncomplicated ones.
Jarvis's voice from the ceiling interrupted Steve's thoughts. "The device is ready, sir."
Tony clapped his hands. "Great! As much as I've enjoyed spending this quality time with each of you, this room is beginning to feel a little small."
"What device?" Steve asked.
"Just a little something to take care of the kill switch in your best buddy over there."
The door opened and Natasha and Thor walked in.
"Our guests are settled," Natasha said, a weariness in her words highlighted by the budding bruise on her cheek and the cut above her eye.
Thor was completely unscathed, with barely a hair out of place.
"Good," Bucky said, using his free hand to rub his temple as though fighting a headache. "I don't suppose they provided useful information?"
Steve hoped Bucky hadn't been in the chair long enough for it to do any real damage. Bucky looked exhausted. Hell, everyone did, except for Thor. They were all running on a sleep deficit.
Natasha shrugged. "They did not, but I wasn't as persuasive as I could have been. Figured we'd debrief first."
"After some sleep," Steve said. "We could all use some."
"I never liked Rumlow," Clint said, perched on the edge of a worktable. "Too full of himself."
"What's your solution to the kill switch?" Steve asked as Bruce finished patching up the hole in his shoulder.
"All done." Bruce gave Steve's arm a gentle pat and began cleaning up the gauze and medical tools.
Steve gave him a grateful nod.
"Jarvis finished analyzing the scans of the device." Tony stood, mug in hand, near something Steve figured was a fancy coffee machine. "He designed a countermeasure that can be embedded in the shoulder area of the metal arm and send a hair-thin probe to safely deactivate the device until it can be surgically removed."
Steve didn't like the sound of that. It sounded far too experimental and potentially deadly if it didn't work. "Any chance it might detonate the device?"
"Point 001 percent chance," Jarvis responded.
That was as low risk as anything could realistically get. Still, it wasn't his life in the balance, but it's not like they could get any kind of meaningful consent from the man sleeping on the couch. That left the next best thing.
He gratefully accepted a clean T-shirt Natasha handed him and slipped it over his head, then looked at the future version of his friend. "Are you comfortable with that, Bucky?"
"I trust Stark's technical expertise." Bucky exchanged a glance with Sam.
There was an obvious unspoken message between the two time travelers. What was that about?
Tony looked almost smug as he glanced at Steve. "I like your friend, Cap. He's way more discerning than you. Takes to me right off the bat."
Something shifted on Bucky's face. Even after everything that had happened, Steve could read this version of Bucky, another sign the man he knew still existed. What Tony had meant as a compliment obviously had the opposite impact. Bucky looked as though he had just broken his mother's favorite necklace.
"After we get some sleep, I'll wake him up." Bucky lifted the kitten and set her on the floor, then rose and moved toward the couch. "Do what you gotta do to make sure the kill switch is disabled. After that, maybe we can see what we can get out of Rumlow and Rollins. Then we need to plan our attack on the Zola base."
There was another meaningful look between Bucky and Sam that gave Steve a heavy feeling in his gut. He knew if he asked about it, he wouldn't get a straight answer. If they wanted him to know, they'd have already told him.
Until they were ready to share, he'd focus on the next steps. "Everyone who needs patching up…" he gestured to Bruce. "And that includes you, too, Bucky."
Bucky waved a hand in the air. "I've got serum-enhanced healing. The others don't. I'll wait my turn."
Steve grimaced. He couldn't argue with that logic, which he suspected was the reason Bucky said it, even though it was an obvious deflection. So he waited until everyone else had gotten patched up, and then he gave Banner an appreciative smile, patted him on the shoulder, and pointed to Bucky, who was slouched in the chair with his eyelids at half-mast.
After a few hours of shut eye, while a drone suite stood guard over the Soldier, Banner and Tony did their thing. It went more smoothly than Steve could've hoped. The kill switch inside Bucky's chest was rendered harmless, meaning they were no longer confined to the cramped Faraday room.
They relocated to the party lounge, clean and rested. Bucky's hair was half an inch shorter than when he arrived. The ache in Steve's shoulder had morphed to an annoying burn.
Tony was already at the bar, pouring himself whiskey.
The two Buckys were seated on the couch across from the two Sams, with the younger Barnes wearing an oversized designer sweatshirt Tony had rounded up. The older Bucky's eyes had gone huge when he saw the party lounge. For a moment, he looked like the guy Steve knew, the guy who viewed the world as full of wonder, until he caught Steve staring and stuffed his hands in his pockets with a muttered, "There are too many goddamned windows."
Steve listened to Sam tell his younger counterpart all about AJ and Cass. The kitten was exploring the place, having discovered the piano keys and alternating between being startled by her own paw-induced music and batting playfully at the noise-making things.
"That's why I don't have animals in the tower." Tony pointed to the feline, glass in hand. "Too unsanitary. Now, I'm gonna have to disinfect those keys. I don't need animal hair getting into the machinery or the lab."
Steve was aware of Natasha discreetly eyeing him from her position behind the bar where she was mixing a drink and chatting with Bruce, Clint, and Thor. Food delivery from three different restaurants was on the way.
They were taking a post-mission breather, but the break couldn't last long. They had prisoners to deal with, and with SHIELD in disarray, that became complicated. He supposed the CIA would be the next agency with jurisdiction, but he wasn't sure whether Hydra had sleeper agents there, as well.
"Stop staring at them," Natasha said gesturing to an empty bar stool next to Bruce. "Have a seat and let me pour you a drink. I make a mean mojito."
Steve sighed and slid onto the bar stool. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass on the drink." The only alcohol that would take the edge off was Asgardian ale, and he needed to keep his wits about him. He wanted a chat with Rumlow sooner rather than later.
Natasha raised one eyebrow and dipped her head at him. "What was your friendship like before?"
Steve indulged in one last glance at both Buckys before swiveling to face her. "We were best friends. We grew up together. We did everything together… almost. He was always there when I needed him, even when I wouldn't tell him that I needed him. He always had a smile on his face before the war, during the war he was more serious. There was less to smile about. Still, he could make me laugh. He'd find a way to lighten almost any situation with a joke."
Bruce looked over at Steve. "Nobody goes through the kind of things he's gone through without changing. He still seems like a good guy, though."
Steve nodded. "He is." Of that, he had no doubt. "I wish we didn't have to still deal with Hydra. I'd rather be focusing my time on helping the Bucky of our timeline remember who he is."
"Don't push, Steve." Natasha leaned forward on her elbows. "It's obvious he'll get there."
He knew she was right, but he hated feeling like he was a passenger in this situation, without control. He let Bucky down in 1945, and he didn't want to let him down again. He pushed away from the bar and made his way over to the seating area. The conversation died as all eyes turned toward him.
"Is there anything we can do to help him remember?" he asked the older Bucky.
Bucky squinted up at him in a way that made Steve wonder whether he was still fighting a headache. "Music. Smells. Those were the things that jogged my memory." He glanced over at his younger self. "He knows that he's seen you before. I can tell he's had flashes of memory. The more vivid the flashes become, the more you'll have to be careful around him."
"Well on that cheerful note," Sam stood, "I'm gonna get a drink. Anybody want a whiskey or beer while I'm there?"
"Whiskey," Bucky replied. "Thanks."
Steve shook his head, mulling over what he'd just learned. If music was a useful tool in reconnecting his Bucky with his past, Steve had just the song. "Jarvis, play I'll Remember by Billy Cotton."
Bucky gave him a disbelieving glare. "Really? Now you're just being a smartass."
The slow melody began playing over the speakers. Steve shrugged with a smirk and dropped onto the adjacent sofa. "You used to love to slow dance to this."
"I used to love a lot of things," Bucky muttered with a slight dip of his head. His tongue played inside his cheek, and he shifted toward 2014 Bucky. "We should get him cleaned up properly. A shower."
Steve straightened, anxious at the chance to do something, anything, that would help either Bucky. "Can I assist?"
Bucky shrugged. "Might as well."
"Why doesn't he say much?" Falcon asked.
Bucky glanced at the Soldier, whose gaze was slowly traveling between them. "He can talk, but he doesn't unless necessary. Part of it is that Hydra conditioned him that way. The other part is that after each memory wipe, there's not much there. There's no reason for him to say anything. He waits for orders."
Steve placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, looking at his Bucky. "Do you know me?"
The Soldier looked at him. "You're my mission."
Steve tried not to let disappointment show on his face. "Before that. Do you remember me? We know each other. We've known each other for a long time."
Soldier–Bucky's expression turned hard. "No, we don't."
"You pulled me from the river."
"He doesn't remember that." The older Bucky sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Yep, headache, Steve mused.
"They wiped him after." Bucky sighed and rose from the couch. "Follow me, Soldier. You need a shower."
Soldier-Bucky didn't move. Steve tensed, ready to react if necessary. Had the altered mental state from the codewords finally faded? There was a faraway look in the achingly familiar eyes of his brainwashed friend.
The senior Bucky lowered himself slowly back to the couch.
Falcon looked ready to spring to his feet. "Is he about to freak out on us?"
Bucky held up a silencing hand. "He's remembering something."
The explanation was like music to Steve's ears. His friend was remembering. The song had done its job. It had jogged something.
Maybe he could jog things a little more. Steve was out of the chair, sliding onto one knee in front of the couch. When the younger Bucky tensed, he realized his mistake and went very still. The older Bucky was looking at him with the exasperated expression he used to wear whenever Steve's mouth wrote checks his fists couldn't cash.
"You remember the song?" Steve kept his voice low, hoping for a soothing tone.
Soldier-Bucky was staring at Steve with wide eyes, like he had on the helicarrier. "There was a train." His eyes narrowed, and he looked straight through Steve, as though he were trying to focus on something in the distance.
Of all the things Bucky had to remember now, why did it have to be that? "Yeah," Steve sighed. "There was a train."
The Soldier's eyes refocused on Steve. "You were there."
"I tried to reach you. You saved my life on that train. I wish I could've saved yours." What condition had Bucky been in when he finally landed at the bottom of that ravine? Had he been conscious? How long did he lay there before the Russians got to him?
Steve should've gotten there first. "I never should have left you for dead."
The blue eyes staring at him narrowed. "You left me?"
"Ease up, Steve," Bucky senior cautioned. "His memories are chaotic, fragmented. When my memories of you started returning, it was confusing. There were a lot of conflicting emotions, and I wasn't ready for them. I didn't know how to make sense of them. Neither does he. He's not your friend right now. Don't forget that."
"Are you my friend?" Steve instantly regretted the question. It sounded almost whiny, and the withering look Bucky gave him made his cheeks flush. He was aware of the pitying glances from the others. He hated pity. Growing up too skinny and too sick, he'd had enough of it in his life.
"I don't follow my enemies around saving their clueless asses from a highly skilled sniper as they waltz around pissing off bad guys and acting as though they're bulletproof."
There was an affectionate tone beneath the ribbing that gave Steve hope the future Bucky was warming up to him. Whatever happened to create this distance between them, he hoped it would play out differently in this timeline, with the Bucky of this timeline.
"Here you go, one whiskey," Sam approached, holding out a glass toward the older Bucky. "I don't even know why you bother with alcho—"
"Sam—" Bucky began, but what he was going to say was cut off when Soldier-Bucky's right arm lashed out, sending the glass flying across the room and shattering against a table. The kitten startled with a mewl, skittering across the floor and underneath an upholstered chair by one of the large windows.
Sam had the good sense to temper his reaction, taking a few slow steps away from the younger Bucky as Steve and the others got to their feet.
"Take it easy, everyone." The older Bucky raised his hands placatingly and glanced at Sam. "Sorry."
"Not your fault," Sam said.
"I should have seen it coming and warned you before you headed this way with the drink." Bucky's gaze traveled over the group. "Keep your distance. This is that unstable part I mentioned, and the drugs Hydra put in him are wearing off."
Steve eased himself back into the chair. It was a good thing Bucky's metal arm was deactivated. He'd be a lot easier to control if things got out of hand.
"He gonna be okay?" Falcon asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "Are the codewords holding?"
"Just stay back—" Bucky began, but the sudden appearance of the kitten, climbing up the back of the couch, had him twisting, eyes flashing with wide-eyed alarm as he scooped up the little thing before she could intrude on his younger counterpart's space.
Steve got the sense she considered Bucky her safe place and was seeking solace after the scare moments before.
Soldier-Bucky stared at the tiny feline nestled in the crook of Bucky's elbow for several long seconds of silence as everyone observed, poised to react. He looked at Natasha near the wall-sized wine refrigerator and tilted his head. A moment later he was on his feet.
"Hey now…" Sam threw an uncertain glance at his Bucky.
Natasha tensed as the Winter Soldier veered around the couch and glided toward her. The older Bucky was on his feet, one hand raised at Natasha as his younger counterpart walked up to the wine refrigerator. The lights from overhead bounced off the glass, and the younger Bucky stared at his ghost-like reflection.
"Yeah." The older Bucky stopped beside him, his movements quiet and slow.
Steve glanced at Sam, hoping the man had some idea what was going on, but only got a shake of the head by way of reply. The two Buckys stood in front of the glass, gazing at their nearly identical reflections. The music had stopped playing, and the room was bathed in a heavy silence.
Steve didn't realize he was holding his breath until his lungs burned, and he released the air, then took a slow deep breath. He didn't know what was going on, but the older Bucky seemed to.
"Buck?" Steve prodded.
"He's okay." Senior Bucky kept his gaze on their reflections. "He's just now figuring out why I look so familiar."
"Are you shitting me?" Tony huffed. "He doesn't know what he looks like?"
"They wipe his memory every time they pull him out of cryo," Bucky replied, voice so soft Steve was sure the others had to strain to hear him, "and most of the time he wears a mask on missions. He's caught glances of his reflection here and there, but it never registers, and if it does, his memory ends up wiped again. He hasn't gotten a good look at his own face in decades."
Steve had the sudden desire to go pull Rumlow out of the room they'd locked him in and pummel him until he gave up everything he knew about Hydra and regretted the day he ever decided to help them.
"Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "the food has arrived."
"Finally!" Tony set his glass on the bar. "I'm starved." He pointed at Clint. "Hands off my fried wontons. You had the chance to order some. You didn't."
"Come on," 2024 Bucky said. "Let's go back to the couch."
The only part of the other Bucky that moved was his right hand, which curled into a fist as he stared into the glass.
The older one noticed it, too, his gaze flickering down. "Don't smash it, please. Neither one of us can afford to replace the very expensive wine I'm sure is in there."
"The place is just gonna get trashed in a year, anyway," Sam said.
Tony's head snapped up. "What?"
"Nothing," Bucky muttered, throwing Sam a glance before returning his attention to his younger twin. "If you're getting any ideas about making a run for it, you've got one usable arm, and you'll have to get through all of us. Thor—the guy with the Hammer—he alone could take you."
Thor lifted his glass. "But I am certain you would present an honorable challenge."
"No." The older Bucky shook his head. "You took on a star." He pointed upward. "So, I'm gonna go with no."
What? Steve made a mental note to get that story later.
After another moment of silence, 2014 Bucky turned his head and studied the face of his twin before finally turning and walking stiffly to the couch. The tension left Steve's lungs, and he heard both Sams give a similar sigh of relief.
"I take it the effect of the activation words has faded?" Natasha asked, her fingers curled around the stem of a cocktail glass resting on the bar.
"Yeah." Bucky responded, taking a seat next to his junior. "A deep sleep state sustained for long enough could knock me out of it… so could a knock on the head." He glanced at his Sam, and Steve figured there was a specific incident Bucky was thinking about.
Ten minutes later, the glass was cleaned up and the food was spread out on the table. Everyone else was clustered around on the various sectionals.
"What's he gonna eat?" Sam asked. "Should we make him up some more of that protein powder?"
"Maybe." Bucky looked in one of the white delivery bags and pulled out a soup container with a plastic lid. "Might as well get him started on real food now."
"What was the first thing you ate when you escaped Hydra?" Barton asked.
Bucky opened the soup container and handed it to his younger counterpart. "Drink this slowly." He leaned back and looked at Barton. "The hot dogs I mentioned before. My system wasn't used to it. I couldn't get enough calories to fuel my hunger, one of the downsides to being on the run and having a super soldier-sized metabolism, but I learned a lesson and went slower."
Steve jerked his chin at the younger Bucky as he took a tentative sip of the soup. "That already happened to him?" He tried to imagine what those first few days after the helicarriers were like for Bucky.
Bucky from the future had been on the run for two years. At some point he must've learned the basics. How to take care of himself. How to get money. Buy basic necessities. Take a shower. Launder his clothes.
The older Bucky nodded. "Yes, but he doesn't remember it." Bucky rifled through a bag and pulled out one of the five subs he had ordered. "One of the first meals after I'd figured out how to eat without making myself sick was from a little mom-and-pop Mexican place. Best tacos I've ever had." He shook his head sadly. "They went out of business by the time I returned to New York."
"They're still around now, right?" Sam mentioned as he opened a container of chicken and rice.
Bucky's chin tilted up in his eyes sparkled above an astonished smile. "That's right. I'm definitely hitting them up before we head back."
"What was the name of the place?" Steve asked, making a mental note to give the place as much business as he could. If Bucky liked them, then he'd have to introduce them to his Bucky. He wanted nothing more than to give Bucky every good thing he had been denied over the past seven decades.
"Pretty generic. Garcia's, a total dive from the outside, the only type of place I visited."
Steve watched as his Bucky downed the soup. What had started as tentative sips soon became greedy swallows until he was tilting the container all the way back to drain the last of it. He set the container on the table and looked longingly at the bags. The aroma of food was overwhelming to Steve, and he could only imagine what it was doing to Soldier-Bucky, who hadn't eaten a decent meal since 1943.
Steve had ordered five different versions of meat and rice. He rifled through the bags until he found the teriyaki chicken. "Would a little bit of this sit okay with him, Buck?"
"A few bites, sure."
Steve dumped a modest portion into the empty soup container, then debated what kind of utensils to offer. He rifled through the bags and came out with a plastic spoon he figured was safe enough. The younger Bucky watched him with something like a mixture of apprehension and longing, then his stomach grumbled so loudly that it seemed to surprise him. He shrank against the back of the couch.
Steve clenched his jaw as he ladled a few spoonfuls more into the container. He replayed the scene on the train in his mind. He should have kept a grappling hook on him. Hell, he was strong enough… Why hadn't he punched a hole through the side of the train to grab onto? Maybe it would've dislodged the rail, but that happened anyway, so he should've taken the chance.
When the rail began to give way, he could've jumped. The memory was vivid in his mind—a curse of the serum. There'd been a vertical bar and a few holes in the side of the train, enough for him to work with. He was strong enough. He could've jumped to Bucky.
Why hadn't he just kept his head on a swivel the whole time? If he had, that soldier never would've gotten the drop on them.
Hindsight had a nasty sting.
Both Bucky's were watching him now, the older one with narrowed eyes and a murky gaze that made Steve self-conscious, as though Bucky could sense his thoughts. Maybe they were all over his face. Bucky could always read him.
"Go ahead," 2024 Bucky told his younger self, pointing to the container. "Take small bites, and chew slowly."
"You have to tell him that?" Falcon asked. "Weren't you eating like a normal human being for the first 20 some years of your life?"
Bucky took a breath then glanced at his Sam. Steve could read his expression just as clearly as he could back in 1944. Bucky was embarrassed.
Steve tried to imagine sitting next to a brainwashed version of himself who had to relearn the basics of self-care and having to do it in front of a room full of people. He'd probably overcompensate just like he had back 30s and 40s, when he was standing up to every bully he came across while falsifying enlistment forms to join the Army, all to prove something to himself and everybody else. He told himself it was because he was standing up for what was right, just like his mother taught him, but Bucky hadn't been far off the mark that night before he shipped out, when they'd argued.
He had been trying to prove something. He and Bucky were both raised the same way—to be strong and independent. He thought back to his mother's death, and how even then he'd been determined to stand on his own two feet. He refused to accept anything that seemed like charity, but Bucky wouldn't let him drown in grief alone.
Bucky hadn't offered charity. He knew Steve well enough to know that wouldn't go over well. Instead, he offered friendship.
Now Bucky needed his friendship, maybe not the older one, but the younger one sure as hell did. Steve wouldn't let him down.
"When you haven't chewed real food in decades," Bucky replied, drawing Steve out of his head, "you kind of forget how it's done. I almost choked a couple of times because I swallowed chunks that were too large." He gave a wry smile. "To think, I survived a German work camp, the fall from the train, 70 years of Hydra, the helicarriers, only to be taken out by a hot dog."
That earned a few chuckles from the group, and even Falcon smiled and rolled his eyes. It was nice to see Bucky starting to crack jokes. At least his sense of humor hadn't died.
As Soldier-Bucky took the spoon and container, momentarily looking confused as to how to manage them with one hand, Steve watched silently, torn between offering to help and letting him figure it out. There were so many landmines to navigate in this new version of their relationship. It didn't take Bucky long. He balanced the container on his lap and discarded the spoon, then grabbed a piece of chicken with his fingers and brought it to his mouth.
He took a bite like a toddler who wasn't sure whether he would like what was being offered. His eyes went to the older version of himself, almost as though he were gauging the other man's reaction to determine whether he was doing it right. The older Bucky gave an encouraging nod, and the younger one began to chew.
Steve was riveted watching junior Bucky take his first real bite of food in decades. The pinched cautiousness of his expression melted within seconds as his jaw worked slowly and methodically. His eyes gradually widened, and when he swallowed, the gulp was audible.
He stuffed the rest of the piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed with gusto. The bite he swallowed was large enough to make a visible impression in his throat going down, and sure enough, he sputtered and hacked, but fortunately didn't choke.
At least if it came down to it, someone could administer the Heimlich maneuver.
They finished the rest of the food without incident. Soldier-Bucky finished a couple more containers of soup and another cup of chicken and rice.
"We've got to move soon," Sam said. "I have this feeling that while we're sitting around, Hydra isn't."
2024 Bucky nodded. "We've rested. We've eaten. Let's get him cleaned up, and then we'll see what we can get out of Rumlow and Rollins to plan our operation."
"Agreed," Steve said. With Pierce still out there, they needed to move fast. Of the five super soldiers they faced, one was restrained in heavy shackles and under guard in a security wing of a local hospital recovering from the beating Bucky gave him. Two others were kept under guard, wearing the strongest shackles Tony could come up with. Steve wasn't convinced those measures would be enough, but with SHIELD in tatters, they didn't have many other viable interim options. Two were still unaccounted for.
The CIA was working on a containment unit to bring the soldiers in, but for now, a heavily fortified room in Stark Tower was their prison. Their failsafe measure was implants. Bucky explained that after the revolt in the Siberian bunker that resulted in the deaths of several Hydra guards and scientists, the five soldiers were fitted with implants similar to the one in Bucky before being put on ice.
Tony had, of course, hacked those implants, but no matter how unstable and dangerous those three soldiers were or how willingly they had signed on to Hydra, Steve couldn't support the idea of pressing a button to kill them unless there was no other option.
The older Bucky pushed to his feet, rubbing once again at his temple. Apparently, his headache was still hanging on. Steve knew if he mentioned it, Bucky would brush him off like he had been doing. For now, Steve opted to keep a quiet eye on his friend, even if Bucky wasn't feeling particularly friendly toward him.
"Follow me, and I'll show you how to get cleaned up," Bucky told his junior counterpart.
The younger man looked up at him, his expression stoic but with a hint of suspicion crinkling the edges of his eyes. With the code words wearing off, they'd have to keep their guard up. Fortunately, it seemed, for now, the soldier version of Bucky was relatively compliant, or at least, nonviolent. When he rose to his feet, Steve followed. If the code words no longer controlled the Soldier, an extra pair of hands might be needed.
Steve led them to a bathroom down the hall. The whistle he got from 2024 Bucky had him smiling.
"Our entire apartment could've fit in this bathroom," Bucky said.
"And then some." There was a tiled shower stall large enough for a tall person to lie down in, if they so desired, and a Jacuzzi tub that could and, if Stark's reputation was well-deserved, probably had hosted an orgy at some point. "Bath or shower?"
"Tub. It's got a hose that should make it easy enough."
Steve felt uncomfortable talking about the younger version of Bucky as though he weren't in the room, but as the demonstration earlier in the lab showed, this version of Bucky wasn't yet up to making decisions.
The Bucky in charge started the water and pulled out the hose. "The water will be warm, I promise," he told the Soldier. "Take off your clothes and stand in the tub.
The Soldier complied, and a moment later he was standing naked in the tub without a trace of modesty or embarrassment on his face. Steve tried not to stare, but the shadow of ribs caught his eye. He had been lean and muscular when they fought on the helicarrier, but days on the run and whatever Hydra had done to him after capturing him had taken its toll.
At least the recent Hydra-inflicted wounds looked almost healed.
The older Bucky tested the water temperature by hand and adjusted knobs, then handed the hose to the Soldier. "Take this and rinse yourself all over, hair included."
Steve debated his next question. He wanted desperately to know, but he didn't know if Bucky wanted to talk about it, or whether talking about it might trigger younger Bucky. Yet, here he was alone with both of them for the first time since Bucky had stepped off the elevator, and this might be the only chance he had to speak privately with Bucky. "How did Hydra handle this kind of thing?"
He knew it was probably awful.
"Usually a quick hose down and soap-up with a long handled scrubber. The water was always freezing." Bucky shrugged. "I got used to it."
Bucky was willing to talk, and that gave Steve hope that things weren't irreparably damaged between them, but he still didn't dare ask why Bucky was treating him as little more than an acquaintance he barely tolerated. Bucky might clam up again, and whatever progress they were making would disintegrate.
Steve made himself useful and found body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in the cabinet against the wall. Stark kept the place well-stocked. "The arm is waterproof, I take it." It had, after all, survived a dip in the Potomac River.
He set the items on the wide lip of the Jacuzzi tub.
"Highly water resistant. It would get a little wonky if submerged for a long time." Bucky took the shower hose from his younger counterpart, who was now dripping wet.
With only one usable arm, the younger man wouldn't be able to soap up and manage the hose at the same time. Steve regretted the necessity of having to disable his friend in such a way, but logic told him it was safest for everyone, Bucky included.
The older Bucky squeezed a generous portion into the palm of his younger self, who stared at it with a tilted head and almost quizzical expression.
"Go on," Steve prodded, "Soap up. I guarantee you this is better than anything you've had before." The scent was a bit heavy, but the container proclaimed all the ingredients to be natural and organic.
The Soldier raised his hand and sniffed the body wash then soaped up. He moved efficiently and quickly, and then the older version washed him off. Steve wasn't sure how they would manage the hair.
Bucky seemed to have it figured out as he set the body wash container next to the other two bottles. "Have a seat on the edge of the tub and lean forward. Close your eyes. I'll do your hair."
Steve swallowed hard. "Do you mind if I do it?" He felt the heat in his cheeks instantly. It was a strangely intimate thing, but this was his Bucky, and both of them needed to get used to being close to one another. Once the older Bucky returned to his timeline, Steve would be the one having to help Bucky through all of these things.
The older Bucky flashed him a strange look that Steve couldn't quite read but, after a moment's hesitation, handed him the shampoo bottle.
Steve slid the other bottles out of the way and took a seat on the rim next to the Soldier, who was leaning forward as instructed. Steve squeezed a generous helping of the shampoo in one palm and worked the lather into Bucky's wet hair and scalp.
The man beneath his ministrations kept still and quiet, and although the situation felt awkward all around, Steve relished the feeling of the warm skin beneath his touch, the tendrils of hair between his fingers. This was Bucky—alive, solid, and so achingly real that, for a moment, Steve forgot to breathe.
The cascade of warm water over his hands reminded him that there was a task to be performed. He exchanged the shampoo bottle for the conditioner and worked that into the Soldier's hair.
When they were finished, it wasn't until Soldier-Bucky straightened that Steve got a look at his face. His eyes were rimmed with red, and even though Bucky was dripping wet, Steve was pretty sure there were tears mixed with the water.
A lifetime of experience told him to reach out and put a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder, but common sense prevailed. "It's gonna be okay, Buck."
His friend blinked at him with wide-eyed vulnerability. The older Bucky turned away stiffly, something painful darkening his expression.
Had he said something wrong?
He returned a moment later and held a large gray towel out to Steve. With a grateful smile, Steve took it and, as gently and carefully as he could, draped it around the younger Bucky.
He knew this moment couldn't last much longer. They had prisoners to interrogate and a mission to plan, but Steve knew this was probably the first time in 70 years that Bucky had experienced being cared for in this manner, and he wouldn't cut the moment short. Hydra could wait five more minutes.
"So, you broke your leash?" Rumlow looked 2024 Bucky up and down, then glanced at 2014 Bucky sitting on the couch near Thor, who was sprawled in an armchair.
Sam wasn't going to let Rumlow provoke Bucky, not that Bucky was easy to provoke. He kept a tight lid on his emotions. Too tight. It just wasn't healthy.
They'd brought Rumlow to the party lounge for the interrogation with his hands bound behind him. Rollins would be next. Sam didn't have much hope that they'd get useful information out of either man, but they had to try.
It was a damn shame the helicarrier hadn't dropped out of the sky onto this version of Rumlow. Sam hated his smug face.
"If you want to talk, why don't you say something useful? But if you want to antagonize him," Sam tilted his head toward Bucky, "by all means, be my guest. None of us have any plans on interfering if he decides to rearrange your face."
Steve moved next to Sam. "What are Pierce's plans for the Zola computer?"
Rumlow raised his chin and smiled, looking down his nose at Steve. "How does it feel knowing your buddy, your pal, your Bucky worked for Hydra all these decades?"
Sam glanced at Bucky. His tongue was working the inside of his cheek, but otherwise his expression gave nothing away.
Arm whipping out, Steve grabbed Rumlow by the collar. "You're looking at a lifetime behind bars, if you're lucky."
The smugness never left Rumlow's face. "Hail Hydra, asshole." He looked at the Winter Soldier. "Hey, mush brain? Bark like a dog."
"Shut up." Steve shoved him against the wall. "There are a selection of cells you can find yourself in. Some of them are better than others. Where you go depends on the words that come out of your mouth."
"You should've heard the way he screamed when we put him in that chair."
The tendons in Steve's neck popped out.
Shit! Sam gripped Steve's shoulder. "He's not gonna give us anything. Let's just make sure he goes to the deepest, darkest hole." He leveled a hard glare at Rumlow to punctuate his words.
Steve backed off, but Bucky moved forward. "Did Rollins tell you what's coming?"
Rumlow gave a cocky, open-mouthed smile. "Aliens? Yeah. Only this time, we're going to end up on top." He chuckled, leaning forward toward Bucky. "Unlike you."
Bucky's tone was all business. If Rumlow was getting to him, he was doing a good job of hiding it. "You think you can get the stones? Is that it?"
Something flickered on Rumlow's face. Bucky had hit a nerve. Dammit. Did Hydra really think they could get all five infinity stones? Or was their play something else?
Rumlow smiled—all disdain and no mirth. "There's something I always wanted to know. Did you like taking it in the—?"
Bucky sent a right jab into the man's jaw. Rumlow hit the wall and bounced before crumpling, unconscious, to the floor.
Nobody moved except Bucky, who turned away from Rumlow's still figure. His expression was stone, but his eyes avoided everyone. "He talks too much."
Steve took a step toward him, but that's as far as he got before Bucky threw him a look full of fire and pain and shook his head, turning and marching to the bar. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, staring down at the caramel liquid before quickly taking a drink.
When Steve looked to Sam as though seeking some kind of confirmation, it was only then that Sam got a solid look at the man's face, and, God, that expression—no wonder Bucky had high-tailed it to the bar.
Damn.
After Zemo's innuendo in front of Selby in Madripoor, Sam had a pretty good idea that some of the fucked-up shit Hydra had done to Bucky included that, but he hadn't broached the topic. It wasn't his place to bring it up.
Rumlow, asshole that he was, just served it on a platter in front of everybody.
"Get him out of here." Steve's voice was rough. He didn't direct his order to anybody, but Natasha and Clint responded, each grabbing one of Rumlow's arms and hauling him out of the room.
An awkward silence followed. Steve's gaze darted between the two Bucky's. Sam knew he was visualizing all kinds of terrible scenarios.
Bucky obviously did, too, because he downed the rest of the liquor in his glass and walked away. "I'm gonna stretch my legs. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Steve shifted on his feet, one hand clenched into a fist, looking as though he debated following.
Tread carefully, Steve. Sam put a gentle hand on his arm. "Give him space. If he's not back in 20 minutes, I'll go check on him."
Steve pressed his mouth into a tight line, staring at the doorway where Bucky had exited. "I should—"
"I realize you've known Bucky longer than I have," Sam said, "but I've known this Bucky longer. Trust me when I say it's best to leave him alone for now."
"Yeah," Tony waved a hand in the air. He had plopped himself down with Falcon in the chairs a few feet away from the piano, taking in the view of the city. "Best not to poke the Bucky bear."
Steve's shoulders dropped in acquiescence, and he turned toward Sam. "We used to be there for each other. When I needed him, he was always there, but when he really needed me, I wasn't there. If I hadn't screwed up, he would've been sent home and lived a normal life. He would've been there for his folks and his sisters. He would've been an uncle. He probably would've married and had children of his own. There's nothing I can do about that." He sighed, looking suddenly as tired as he was old, and ran a hand over his face, "I never thought I would see the day when he wants nothing to do with me."
He turned away and walked toward the couch, dropping to the edge of the coffee table in front of his Bucky.
Awww, Steve. It was rare to hear Steve open up in front of him, much less in front of a room full of Avengers. Sam and Bucky were in many ways cut from the same cloth. They both grew up in a time and place when vulnerability was a sin, especially for men.
This wasn't the Steve that had been hardened after the Accords, going toe to toe with Tony, spending two years on the run, fighting Thanos, and watching half of all life disappear. This was the Steve who was still relatively fresh out of the ice, who had lost his best friend a couple of years ago, and who crashed his plane into ice only to wake up in a strange, new world almost seventy years later.
"He doesn't blame you, Steve." Sam moved over to the seating area and dropped into an empty seat perpendicular to Bucky and Steve.
Steve glanced over at him. "Just tell me how I can help him."
Sam wasn't sure if Steve was referring to the older Bucky or the younger one, or both. Probably both. "The guy who just left? He's signaling to you that he needs space. Respect that. It's not that he doesn't care about you. That man cares about you more than he cares about himself. You know that, and he knows you'd give his life for him. We'll tell you later what happened over the next 10 years for us, but you made a choice to leave, and it was the right choice for you. He wanted nothing but happiness for you, but you remember what it felt like when you woke up from the ice and realized everybody you knew and loved was gone?"
Steve's jaw clenched, and he nodded.
"The world was a strange place," Sam continued softly, "and you weren't quite sure how you fit in. Imagine going through all that, after everything he's been through, losing his memory, 70 years of Hydra brutality on and off, being stored in between missions in a cryogenic chamber, and then being hunted by the entire world."
Steve's face crumpled, his eyes shimmering. "I know that. If he had been here when I woke up, the world would've seemed less lonely. I'm just trying to do that for him."
"The thing is, Steve, when we go back to our time, you're not going to be there. He mourned you once, and he did a lot of work pulling himself out of that dark place. He's still not completely out of it, but he's a hell of a lot closer to the light than he was. You're a wound that has just started to heal. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yeah." Steve swallowed hard, staring at the Bucky in front of him, who stared back with his head tilted and his eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to grasp a memory.
He probably was.
"Bucky's protecting himself," Steve dropped his head and looked over at Sam, "from me."
A soft meow came from the floor. Sam glanced down to see the kitten at Soldier-Bucky's feet, looking like a cotton ball with a tail. She meowed again and rubbed her face on his sock.
"Hey, there." Steve leaned forward and gently picked her up, but she twisted and leapt from his grip, landing halfway on Bucky's legs and using her claws in his sweatpants to keep from falling.
"Be careful—" Steve tensed, alarm tightening his expression.
Then the damndest thing happened. Bucky helped her onto his lap and, as she curled up, purring, his big palm softly stroked her tiny back.
Goddamn, Rumlow.
Bucky didn't know where he was going as he hurried through the spacious corridors, just that he needed to be alone. Solitude was his sanctuary, a place where there was no scrutiny, judgment, or expectations. It was how he found calm in Wakanda.
He should have hit Rumlow harder, silenced him for good. It's not like ending him would be a bad thing. It would undeniably make the world a better place, even if just infinitesimally… but then he'd have proven himself still a killer to everyone.
Maybe the killer was still inside him. He'd lost control on the freeway. If Stark hadn't been wearing his suit….
He found a bathroom half the size of the one he and Steve had been in earlier and locked the door, leaned back against it, and slid to the floor. He couldn't be gone long. It wasn't a good idea to leave his younger self, even with a room full of Avengers. He knew the triggers, but they didn't, and there were far too many to list. There were far too many to be avoided altogether.
He just needed a moment where he didn't need to keep all broken pieces of himself together in front of everyone. He needed time away from the pity in Steve's eyes and the unbearable awkward silences. He knew the images Rumlow's words had evoked in the minds of everyone in that room.
He spent five years trying to wipe those images from his brain, but now that the memories were back, they were back to stay. All of them. He dropped his head to his knees and wrapped his hands around his skull as though he could hold the memories at bay.
God, his head was throbbing.
What the hell was he doing? Steve was following his lead because he trusted him, but Steve didn't know how broken he was—how much he was winging it every day just to put one foot in front of the other.
The creature on his lap was soft, but it was vibrating. At first, the vibration alarmed him, but there was no indication that the cat had been tampered with, laced with explosives, or that the vibration was a sign of aggression. Now, he found the vibration calming.
The words of the strike team leader caused a heaviness in his gut and a coldness at the base of his neck. An image of a man with yellow teeth flashed behind his eyes. It made his heart race and something go tight in his chest.
How had the little creature sensed his unease? He knew not to show it. It was rare to feel it, to feel anything.
Something was wrong in his head. He kept seeing the face of the man staring at him, but in different contexts. Hanging off the side of the train. In a tan uniform with medals decorating the chest. Smaller, wearing a white shirt and brown jacket that was too large for his small frame. His nose bloodied, his fists raised.
It made his head hurt.
Yet, when his fingers brushed the soft thing and he allowed himself to focus on the vibration emanating from the juvenile feline, his heart rate slowed and the tightness of his chest eased. The cat was asleep. It felt safe with him, which was foolish. He would kill it in an instant if ordered to do so. Its life was of no consequence, except that the handler with his face insisted he be gentle with the creature.
Hydra had never commanded him to be gentle with anything, much less something as insignificant as a cat… that he could remember. His memory hit a wall, and that wall was waking up screaming, restrained in a chair, his head on fire, with the words echoing in his brain.
Why did the handler have his face? Or did he have the face of the handler? Why did he keep seeing the face of the man with the blue eyes and golden hair that was staring at him? Why did he see him smaller sometimes, and bigger other times? Why did the flashes steal his breath and make his head hurt?
The feline stirred, perhaps sensing his growing discomfort. The man with the blue eyes called Steve leaned forward with a smile and stroked the creature's head. He was too close. The proximity made something inside shift. His breath came faster, and pressure built behind his eyes.
"Bucky?" The man named Steve Rogers looked at him, brow furrowing. He could sense something was wrong. He leaned forward and lifted the cat, then gently placed the creature on the floor.
The sound of that name made the pressure explode behind his eyes. He rose to his feet. He needed distance. The handler had made it clear he could not escape. The man with the Hammer was watching him but seemed unconcerned. Perhaps he was as powerful as the handler stated. He would present an interesting challenge, as would the man named Rogers.
Steve.
Why did that name settle in his brain as though it were the piece to a puzzle carved inside his skull?
He'd heard enough of their conversations to know that the people around him were not normal human beings. They were the Avengers. They were targets. Hydra considered them dangerous.
He should not underestimate them.
"Are you okay, Buck?"
"Don't think of going anywhere, man," the man named Sam said.
He would not leave the room, not yet. He needed to understand things inside his head. He moved behind the bar just like he had seen the handler do, and grabbed a glass, quickly cataloging the items behind the bar that might be of some use. There were several. Glasses, utensils, and at the end of the bar, in a tray, the glint of metal.
His metal arm dangled, the shoulder aching, but he made quick work of the cap with one hand and poured some of the caramel-colored liquid in the glass. He took a sip. The liquid had a bite, but it went smoothly down his throat. It evoked another flash in his head.
He was sitting at a bar. Men were singing. He looked to his left, and there was the man named Steve again, looking at him with a smile.
"Are you thirsty?" The Steve from the present asked him.
Steve. Steve. Steve.
The name was a siren in his head, loud and painful.
"Are you ready to do Rollins next?" The handler walked into the room. The edges of his eyes were red, framed by lines that appeared deeper than when he left.
The small feline screamed at him as she padded in an uncoordinated fashion toward him. Steve turned toward the handler, a foolish mistake.
There were insufficient pockets in the sweatpants they provided him, but the knives slipped snugly into the band of his socks. His movements were swift and smooth. Had the Widow remained, she would have noticed, but he was certain the others did not.
"We don't have to, Bucky," Steve told the handler. "We can take a break."
"Hydra doesn't take breaks." The handler spared the feline only a glance before turning his attention to the bar, locking gazes with him.
The handler looked displeased as he walked past Steve, stopping a mere three feet away. The only thing between them was the countertop.
"You let him go behind the bar?" The handler asked, but his eyes never ventured away, so it was unclear to whom he was directing the question. "Soldier, come here."
The words no longer controlled him. During his slumber they had faded. Yet, his conditioning took over. He was trained to obey the commands of the handler, and this man had made himself a handler with the words. This man was not one of the targets provided to him by Hydra.
The situation was unclear. Confusing.
He slid around the end of the bar and came to a stop in front of the handler. The man held his hand out. "Whatever weapons you have on you, give them to me."
He would comply with that order, but he would test the handler in the process. In a single swift motion, he withdrew the knife from his right sock and swung it upward. The handler's metal arm stopped his—it was stronger. The knife hovered in the air, its blade pointed toward the man's face.
"Shit," Sam muttered.
If the handler were Hydra, there would be punishment. Reconditioning.
"The other one, too." The handler twisted his hand and snatched the knife from his grip.
He studied the handler's eyes, so like his own, for the span of a few breaths. The man made no move, but his eyes held the challenge, unafraid. Most people were afraid of him, even handlers. Lack of fear indicated a high position within the Hydra hierarchy. There was a confidence and patience in this handler's gaze that was unsettling—he understood the test, and it made no difference to him.
With a nod to indicate his compliance, he reached down and withdrew the second knife and held it, blade inward, to the handler.
The handler looked him up and down, assessing, as though searching for the outline of additional weapons. The man named Stark approached, a foolish casualness to his movements, and held out a fist encased in a metal glove. A beam of light emanated from the fist, and the Soldier braced himself for punishment.
The light held no pain as it swept over his lower half. When it vanished, Stark said, "He's clean."
The handler turned to Steve. "Really? All you had to do, man, was keep an eye on him for fifteen minutes."
"Knives or no knives, I can take him. He's only got one arm, and we've got a room full of highly capable people to handle him if he gets out of control. I'm not stupid, Buck."
The handler moved like a predator, stopping inches in front of Steve. "You're letting your guilt make you soft toward him. He's not your friend right now. I told you not to forget that."
"Yes, he is. He proved that when he pulled me from the river."
The river? The pain began at the base of his skull, snaking its way through his head and settling behind his eyes. There was fire and smoke. He was trapped beneath metal. Steve was standing above him, bleeding, eyes pained. With a grunt, he lifted the metal, freed him.
Why?
The men in the room continued to argue, but their words were fuzzy, their figures swimming before him as dots of light crept along the edges of his vision.
Another image flashed. The man's battered face, one eye open and looking up at him. "Then finish it, 'cause I'm with you till the end of the line."
The end of the line.
Stairs. A small figure climbing ahead, patting his pockets. Turning, blue eyes, sad.
"Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own."
"The thing is, you don't have to…I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Pal."
There was a feeling in his chest, tight and painful, like a hand squeezing his heart.
"Steve, Bucky…cut it out," a voice said, small and garbled, as though coming from a great distance.
The room shifted as everything slammed back into place. All eyes were on him, and everyone was on their feet, prepared but keeping a safe distance. Wise.
A tiny sound drew his attention to his feet. The infant feline stared up at him, opened her mouth, and mewled.
"Hey, don't." The handler's face registered alarm as he moved forward. It was unclear whether he was speaking to the cat or giving a command, but he appeared to harbor some concern for the creature.
The feline was no threat, merely lacking in survival skills. He took a step away to signal his intent not to harm the animal. She followed him. He took another step away, but she followed yet again, kneading her claws into his socks.
He did not know why the kitten sought his attention. Perhaps she confused him for the handler. They bore the same face, after all.
Steve called them both Bucky.
Bucky.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…."
A bolt of pain exploded in the center of his skull, and he could not stifle the flinch.
The kitten expanded her tiny voice to draw his attention yet again. Another flash in his brain had him wincing. There was destruction all around, rubble where buildings used to be and twisted pieces of metal that were once vehicles. There were groans, coughing, and soft tendrils of smoke billowing up from glowing piles of debris.
As sound drew his attention. He followed it to a mangled vehicle. He Thought it was an infant crying, but as he got closer and looked beneath, he saw a dark shape. It was an adult feline, covered in soot and dirt, eyes big and round. He found a scrap of metal that was roughly saucer-shaped, and poured some water from his canteen into it, then set the makeshift bowl on the ground, got to his feet, and met another pair of eyes.
The man's dirt-streaked face broke into a tired smile beneath his red mustache. "Maybe we should take it back to base, Sarge, give the rodents a run for their money."
Steve walked up, face serious, his eyes scanning the area. "No more survivors located. Did you find anything?"
The man with the red mustache jerked his chin toward the mangled car. "Just a stray."
"What's happening?" The voice brought him back to the present. Steve was staring at him, eyebrows almost coming together.
The handler was staring, too. "You're remembering something?"
The question was directed at him. He nodded. It seemed like a memory, but how could it be? He looked at Steve Rogers, the man he kept seeing over and over again in his mind—in flashes that made no sense.
He risked a question. "Who are you?"
"I'm your friend," Steve answered. "You've known me your whole life, Bucky."
Bucky.
The pressure built again behind his eyes.
Bucky.
The air felt thicker. "Who the hell is Bucky?"
Steve and the handler glanced at one another. The handler grabbed the chain around his neck and slipped it over his head, holding it out. He reached out to take the rectangular pieces of metal in his hand and brought them closer, reading the engravings.
James B. Barnes
32557038 T41 42 O
R Barnes
3062 STOCKTON RD
SHELBYVILLE IN P
Another flash…. A dark room. Red brick. A machine overhead. A map on the wall. "Buchanan, James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038…"
A round face with round glasses. Smiling. Smug.
A needle. The cackle of electricity. Pain. Screaming.
The pressure in his skull exploded into bright, hot agony, and everything fell away.
Sam never knew what Bucky endured during those two years on his own after leaving Steve on the riverbank, but with the glimpse he was getting, he wondered again how the hell Bucky managed to survive it. The Soldier was curled on the floor next to two toppled stools, his back pressed against the bar. He was staring wide-eyed into space, looking at nothing, barely breathing, his one hand held in front of his chest, clutching the dog tags.
"We can't just leave him like this." Sam looked at his Bucky, who was sitting in an armchair with the kitten safe on his lap, staring at his counterpart with an almost equally faraway look in his eyes.
Steve was still on his feet, practically vibrating with tension. Everyone else had the good sense to keep their distance. Thor was in the opposing armchair, and Tony was with Banner and Falcon by the window.
After a long moment, Bucky sighed and leaned back. "Just leave him alone."
Sam could tell from Steve's face that he felt as wrong as Sam did about leaving a human being huddled on the floor in the middle of a… whatever that was. Flashback? Psychotic break? The fact that it was Bucky made things even harder. He wasn't seeing the Winter Soldier curled up like a scared child. He was seeing his friend.
"This isn't right." Sam immediately regretted the words. Bucky would know better than him how to deal with this. He'd gone through it and come out the other side. "Forget I said that. It's just… it doesn't feel right. Is this what you went through? How often did this happen?"
Bucky swallowed hard. "It happened a few times. It'll happen to him a few times."
"How many times?" Banner asked, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.
Bucky shrugged. "A dozen or so."
A dozen?! "Jesus, Bucky. How long is this going to last?"
On the outside, Bucky looked as unbothered as a man could get, but Sam knew better. What came across as apathy was Bucky shutting down and going to whatever place he went to that let him survive unimaginable things.
"I don't know, Sam." Bucky rubbed his temple and glanced furtively around the room. "Could be a few minutes or a few hours."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Steve asked, taking a step closer to the bar before stopping himself, desperation obvious in the set of his browline and shimmering eyes.
Taking a long breath, Bucky released a slow sigh, his fingers stroking the kitten's fur. "You can try talking to him, as long as you keep your distance. He knows your voice, Steve, even though he doesn't fully understand why. It rattled me on the freeway…and the helicarrier." Bucky swallowed and dropped his gaze to the white ball of fur. "Just talk to him. Tell him things you remember from when we were young. Happy memories. The stronger the better. Things with an emotional impact."
"I can do that." Steve's voice was suddenly rough, and he swiped quickly at his eyes. He lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged ten feet away from the curled up figure. "Hey, Buck. You're safe here. Whatever you're remembering, it can't hurt you. Not anymore. Do you remember when the War of the Worlds radio broadcast aired? You'd read the book, but I hadn't, and when I walked into the apartment in the middle of the news broadcast, I thought it was real." Steve gave a gentle smile as he lowered himself to his side, looking at Bucky even as Bucky looked through him. "You played along with it, until I went on the hunt for a weapon and came out of my room with the baseball bat. You couldn't keep a straight face and asked me how the hell I thought a piece of wood would be an effective defense against an advanced alien army."
Sam remembered his grandmother telling him about that. The broadcast had sent the country into near hysteria.
Steve's words seemed to have no effect on the younger Bucky, but the older one's mouth twitched upward. Sam found it ironic that, decades later, extraterrestrials actually did invade, and those two kids who'd heard the radio broadcast of a fictional invasion were part of the fight.
Steve lay there for 20 minutes, talking about Coney Island, Rockaway Beach, and a woman named Dot. Sam wasn't sure when it happened, but the faraway look in the younger Bucky's eyes faded, and he focused his gaze on Steve. His body started to relax and uncurl. The two men were 10 feet apart, facing one another, with Steve talking about their past and the other man listening.
Every person in the room was riveted. It wasn't until Natasha and Clint walked into the room that the spell was broken. The Soldier lurched to his feet, as did Steve. Natasha and Clint stopped, looking at each other and then everyone else but not asking the obvious question.
"It's okay." Steve raised one hand toward them and the other toward Soldier-Bucky. "Just keep your distance."
Sam sensed the episode had fully passed. The younger Bucky's gaze was sharp as usual, his back ramrod straight.
The older Bucky got to his feet and took a few steps toward his counterpart. "You good?"
Soldier-Bucky nodded.
The AI's voice came from overhead, and Soldier-Bucky's eyes shot upward as he tensed.
"Processing is finished, Sir."
"Thanks, Jarvis." Tony got to his feet and looked at Natasha and Clint. "You two were gone a while. Let me guess, Rollins didn't give up anything?"
"Not much," Clint said.
"Just something called Ultron." Natasha tilted her head. "Ring a bell, Tony?"
An hour later, after going over the data recovered from the bank computers thanks to the bug Bucky had planted and Rollins' information, Steve felt they had a pretty good handle on Hydra's plans. After everything Hydra had done, he was itching for payback.
"Ultron?" Tony was shaking his head at the end of the table in the conference room. Everyone else was gathered around, with Bucky and Sam standing at the other end of the room.
They left the kitten in the party lounge because Tony muttered that she'd already clawed that sofa, and he didn't want her evil little claws claiming any more victims.
The younger Bucky sat in a chair against the glass wall, a lounge space on the other side that was simpler and smaller than the party lounge. Steve monitored him out of the corner of his eye, and so far his traumatized friend was cooperating. There had been no more episodes.
Episodes.
Steve's mind wandered to a bunker in Siberia, conjuring up images of a dark cell with thick cement walls. Or maybe they held Bucky in a cage with bars, kept like an animal, tortured, experimented on—all in the name of Hydra. What would it take to strip away a man's identity, take control of his mind, and turn him into a robotic killer? How long did it take?
He clenched his fists, dangerously close to sending one into the wall, when Sam's voice intruded.
"You used the mind stone to create a psychotic AI. It almost destroyed the world." Sam flung his arms out. "It trashed this place."
Steve forced his attention back to the matter at hand, but the manufactured images continued to haunt his brain ghosts in the background.
"Hydra is crazy enough to try to create their version of Ultron," Bucky added, "a mega AI based on their Zola computer. It'd be loyal to Hydra, and they'll use it to try to take over the world and defend against the impending alien attack."
Tony raised a finger. "Yeah, let's go over that." He glanced at Banner. "We've only just started conceptualizing Ultron specifically to defend against an advanced alien army, when it returns. You want to give us specifics?"
Steve needed to hear the details. They'd barely defended the planet against the first alien attack. People died, and a thermonuclear bomb had almost been dropped on the city. Tony did the unexpected — he made the sacrifice play.
But it seemed he might also be responsible for almost destroying the planet a year from now.
"When and where." Tony drummed his fingers on the table. "Obviously you're here, so how did we defeat aliens again?"
"We didn't… Not at first, anyway." Bucky gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. "Look, Howard—"
"Ah, Tony," Stark corrected. "I'm better looking and slightly less of a jerk than my father was."
Bucky blinked, and Steve knew instantly that something was wrong. Bucky's gaze traveled the faces in the room, his eyebrows almost coming together, and he looked pale. When he saw the younger version of himself, his eyes shimmered with what looked like fear.
Steve got to his feet. The motion drew Bucky's attention to him.
"Steve?" Bucky's voice was plaintive, beseeching, and he looked at Steve like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.
Steve closed the distance between them. Bucky didn't recognize the Avengers. Something was terribly wrong. How long had Bucky been in the memory-wipe chair?
"It's okay, Bucky." Steve guided Bucky into the chair and threw a glance at Sam. "Has this ever happened before?"
Sam shook his head. "Not that I know."
"Where…" Bucky's eyes darted around the room as he rubbed his temple. "What happened?"
"Do you remember the chair?" Steve placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Just take it easy. You're in Stark Tower. Do you know what year it is?"
Bucky took a shuddering breath and stared at his younger self, biting his lower lip. "It's twenty-twenty…uh…no." He shook his head, and his brow furrowed as his gaze traveled the faces in the room. "It's twenty-fourteen." He looked up at Steve. "Right?"
Steve sagged with relief. It seemed, at least for the moment, that Bucky was back. "Yeah, it is."
"I'm okay." Bucky's cheeks flushed pink and he ducked his head as he waved a hand at Steve. "This happened a couple of times after I walked away from the riverbank. Something would trigger a memory, and I'd be momentarily disoriented about what year it was. It's a side effect of the chair. Just a temporary glitch."
Sam crossed arms and leaned against the edge of the table. "What do you mean this happened before? Why didn't you tell us this could happen again? You've been fighting a headache, haven't you?"
Bucky closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "It's not a big deal."
"I don't know if this is a Winter Soldier thing or a 1945 thing," Sam said, "but you don't have to suffer in silence. It's a good thing to tell people who can help you when you're not a hundred percent, and there are a lot of people here who can help you."
Bucky straightened. Steve knew that look. He was doing the exact opposite of what Sam suggested. He was shoving down vulnerability and hardening his shell.
"I'm fine. We have a mission to plan."
Steve knew the next words out of his mouth would lead to a fight. "You can help plan the mission, but—"
Bucky shot to his feet, glaring at Steve. "I'm going on the mission. I'm fine. I wasn't in the chair long enough. The effects are already fading, and in a couple more hours, I'll be good as new."
"You're a liability if you're not one hundred percent," Clint said.
"I am one hundred percent. The serum makes sure of that." Bucky's gaze settled on Tony, and for a moment, it looked as though he were going to say something, then his gaze bounced to Sam and finally, to his young twin seated near the glass. "There's more information I need to give you." He sighed heavily, dropping his head again and rubbing at the back of his neck.
"Now?" Sam asked softly, leaning in.
Bucky nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. Something hard and heavy settled in Steve's gut. He caught Natasha's worried glance and laid his palm flat on the table. The images Zola had shown him in the bunker came back to him.
Hydra orchestrated events in their favor. They assassinated anyone who posed a threat, like Howard Stark.
"Just give me five minutes." Bucky moved to the door and looked at Soldier-Bucky. "Come with me. It's about time you took in more calories."
"Where are you taking him?" Sam asked.
"Just to the lounge, in plain sight."
The younger Bucky followed the older one out of the conference room. Steve watched as Bucky gestured to the couch, and Soldier-Bucky took a seat.
"Sam," Steve looked back at the future version of his friend, "you said you know this version of Bucky better. Do you think he's good enough to go on this mission?"
Sam sank into the chair and stared at his Bucky through the glass. "I don't know, Steve, but I know that if he's determined to go on this mission, then he thinks he is, and it'll be damn hard to keep him out of it. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize anyone's life, that much I'm sure about. If he presented a liability, he'd sit it out."
Steve nodded and glanced at the others. "Okay then." Movement in the lounge caught his eye. The younger Bucky was huddled at the end of the couch, hunched over as though he were in pain while Bucky from the future leaned over, talking to him.
Steve opened the door, and as he walked into the lounge, he heard the words "tovarniy vagon" slip from the older man's lips.
It was the last string of the activation word.
A burst of hot anger had him sailing forward, and he shoved the older Bucky away from the younger one. "What the hell are you doing?"
Bucky backed away, throwing a forlorn look into the conference room. The heavy feeling in Steve's gut twisted into something that churned restlessly. A cluster of footsteps and breathing told him the others had abandoned the conference room,
"What's going on?" Sam asked, his eyes darting between his Bucky and Steve.
"The control was fading," Bucky said. "I need to make sure he'll comply."
"We had him under control." Steve let the anger control his tone. Bucky's mind wasn't anything to be played with. He couldn't believe the other Bucky would violate another human being—violate himself just as he was beginning to remember.
"It's not like I enjoy this." Bucky moved to the black tactical bag on the floor behind the couch and rifled through it. "I have to tell you all something, and I know it's not going to go well." He gave Sam a long look as he rose to his feet and said, "Soldier, take this," his arm swung up, and Steve had only a moment to register the firearm in the older Bucky's hand before he shoved it into the younger one's palm. "Put the muzzle to your temple and pull the trigger."
"Jesus, Buck!" Sam exclaimed at the same time as Tony gave an alarmed, "Hey!"
Steve lunged, but he was too late. The click of the gun made him flinch. His heart pounded like a wild thing in his chest as he yanked the firearm out of Bucky's hand.
The face of his young friend was blank, but there was something freshly wounded in his eyes that told Steve he wasn't as emotionless as everyone believed. "It's okay," he whispered, then looked up at future Bucky. "What the hell are you doing?"
A suspicious shimmer filled Bucky's eyes as he averted his gaze. "I need you to understand that, when under the control of the activation words, my body is not my own. I don't have a choice. I have to comply, even if I really don't want to."
Bucky's explanation made no sense. Steve checked the gun again just to make sure. It was completely empty, but that still didn't give Bucky the right to use his younger self that way… To traumatize him even further by making him think he was about to die. "I know that, Bucky. You—"
"Not you, Steve." Bucky looked directly at Tony. "You."
Tony's chin came up in surprise. "Me? Yeah, I got the memo." His brows knitted together. "Why?"
"Dammit, Bucky," Sam said, voice nearly a whisper, "I understand why you felt you had to do that, but this whole thing has you on edge. Over the edge. Hell, a few seconds ago, you forgot where you were. You're off-kilter, man. You had no right to do that. He's not you. Not exactly. He's a separate person."
Bucky gave a lopsided smile that was half sad and half defeat. "It's a drop in the bucket, man. It's not even the first time that's happened to him. He forgets with each wipe, but Hydra tested him like this and worse dozens of times. It won't even register as a blip on the radar."
The images that conjured in Steve's mind stole the fire from his anger. His knees went weak, and he dropped to the edge of the table in front of the couch.
"He would know that the gun wasn't loaded by weight," Romanoff spoke up, her tone cool and matter-of-fact.
"No." Bucky shook his head sadly. "Steve, hand Natasha the gun."
Steve didn't know where Bucky was going with this, but he held the firearm out to Natasha.
She took it and immediately inspected it. "Huh. Interesting. Thumb detection in the handle. Liquid-helium cooled. Titanium barrel and slide. Is it a prototype?"
"Not in my time. In your time, this won't exist for another six months or so."
"So, he doesn't know the gun was empty." Natasha nodded and handed the gun back to Steve, but she looked at Stark when she said, "He really thought he was going to blow his brains out."
Steve set the gun on the glass table in front of the couch. "We don't have to do this now." He wasn't sure before, but he was now. He knew what Bucky needed to tell Tony.
Tears rose in Bucky's eyes, but they didn't spill onto his cheeks. "Yeah, we do."
Zola. That was what all this was about. If the Zola computer was active when they attacked the compound, Stark would find out exactly what happened to his parents. Learning that in the middle of a mission would be disastrous, and they couldn't afford to let Hydra's plan come to fruition.
Sam pulled out his phone and texted someone. Steve gave him a curious glance. Who could he possibly be texting, and what was so important that it couldn't wait?
"Okay, fine." Tony took a few steps forward, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What terrible thing do you have to tell me? Do you kill me in the future, or something?"
Bucky slid around the couch and stood in front of his younger counterpart. "No."
Natasha spoke up, moving a few steps closer to Stark. "Whatever he did, his mind was under Hydra's control." She looked at Clint, and there was a budding realization on Clint's face. "He's no more responsible for whatever Hydra ordered him to do—" Natasha continued.
"Than I was under Loki's control," Clint finished.
"Okay, Sam," Pepper walked into the room, pocketing her phone, and stopped, looking up at all the eyes suddenly on her. "Why did you ask me to come?"
Steve saw an almost apologetic look cross Sam's face as he looked at her, then Bucky, and answered. "Tony might need you here."
Steve thought there was more to it than that—perhaps it was also meant as a reminder that Bucky saved Pepper from Rumlow's team.
Bucky cleared his throat and held Tony's gaze. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady. "Hydra ordered the death of your father. Your mother was a witness."
Tony looked like he'd just been punched in the gut. "What?" The question came out as a rough whisper, as though he had a hard time pushing the air from his lungs.
Bucky's gaze dropped briefly to the vibranium arm hanging at his side before looking back up at Tony. "They sent me."
Tony stood, mouth hanging, eyes shimmering as he stared at Bucky. "You?" he breathed.
The anguish etched into the lines around Bucky's face spoke volumes, even though he kept silent, giving a slow nod in reply. Steve stepped closer. "Tony—"
"You!" Tony's hand whipped out toward Steve. "Did you know?"
There was a world of accusation in that question. Steve nodded. "I knew Hydra was responsible for your parents' deaths. I didn't know it was him."
A whir and a blur of motion had Steve and Bucky spinning toward the door as a glove whizzed inches away from Bucky's face and snapped onto Tony's right hand.
Tony swung his palm toward Bucky, his palm glowing.
"Tony!" Pepper was there suddenly, standing between Tony and Bucky. Instantly, Tony lowered his palm and staggered back, a glint of betrayal in his eyes.
Bucky slid a couple of steps to the side so that Pepper was no longer directly in front of him. Steve knew Tony would never intentionally hurt Pepper, but it was obvious Bucky wasn't taking any chances.
"He saved my life." Pepper eased her way to Tony, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.
"Fine." Tony's eyes were on fire, and he swung toward Steve, hand whipping out.
Steve felt the impact square in his chest as he flew through the air. He crashed into a console table against the wall, twisting to get his feet under him and coming back up in time to see Bucky facing Stark, holding a restraining hand out to the younger Bucky tensing on the couch.
"When you found out in my time, everything went to hell," Bucky said. "The Avengers were already disintegrating, and this was the final death knell for them. When Thanos' army came, we were caught off-guard. He won. Half of all life in the universe was destroyed, mine included."
Steve went numb. Half of all life?
"Too bad, so sad," Tony spat, as if Bucky hadn't just said that half the universe vanished.
"Sam died. Fury. Maria Hill." Bucky swallowed and shifted his gaze toward Clint. "Barton's entire family."
"What?" Clint dropped onto the corner of the coffee table like all the strength suddenly left his legs. Natasha was at his side immediately.
"We got them all back." Bucky said, "To do it, the Avengers had to work together." Bucky pulled out his cellphone, made a few swipes, and the screen in the conference room lit up. "This is what's coming."
Everyone clustered at the glass window, except for Tony and Pepper, who hung back. The two Buckys also stayed back, and Steve kept a close eye on both of them in the periphery of his vision, just in case Tony's grief and anger got the better of him.
The images on the screen were hard to process. The audio filtered out of the room through the open door. It was a broadcast, and the reporter's voice was shaking as he delivered the news. "Reports are coming in from all over the globe. Humans, animals, plants, all are affected equally. There seems to be no pattern to who survived and who didn't. Many who survived the initial disintegration died in collateral accidents, killed in car or plane crashes."
The clips were chaotic. Steve recognized New York City, close to where he'd busted out of the SHIELD facility after waking up from the ice. People were disintegrating, turning into ash until there was nothing left. Cars crashed into buildings as some people screamed and ran while others stood in apparent shock.
Then he saw something he could barely wrap his mind around—a woman was running with an infant clutched against her chest, and suddenly the baby wasn't there anymore.
"Oh my God," Natasha whispered.
The screen went dark. Silence hovered for several seconds. Slowly, everyone turned to look at the two time travelers. Even Thor seemed stunned, and it took a lot to shock someone who had lived so long and seen so much.
"There will be two things that destroy the Avengers, if we let it happen," Bucky continued, "an international agreement called the Sokovia Accords about the registration and oversight of enhanced individuals… and me."
Sam senior stepped forward, shaking his head. "Not you. Zemo."
"Who's that?" Steve asked. They needed all the information they could get to prevent what they saw on the screen from happening.
"A Sokovian asshole who framed Bucky for blowing up the United Nations just to find him." Sam walked up to his Bucky and gave him a gentle pat on the arm.
"He found me, and he used the code words against me." Bucky took a seat on the couch a couple feet away from his counterpart. He looked over at the younger man as he spoke. "We followed him to Siberia, where Hydra had kept me. That was all part of Zemo's plan. Sam, Clint, and a couple of others who helped Steve and me were already imprisoned in the Raft. Tony figured out it was a frame job, and he followed us to Siberia. We walked right into Zemo's trap. He revealed that I killed Tony's parents. Tony tried to kill me, Steve tried to stop him, I lost the arm, and Steve gave up the shield. Steve and Natasha broke the others out of the Raft, except for Barton and another guy who also had a family. They agreed to wear ankle monitors. Sam, Steve, and Natasha spent two years on the run as fugitives."
"And you?" Falcon asked.
Bucky looked at them. "For part of that time I was in cryogenic suspension in the place that offered me sanctuary."
"He volunteered for that, by the way." Sam threw a pointed glance Tony's way. "And when the aliens arrived, Bucky was right there alongside us fighting. He and I both died fighting them. Granted it didn't stick, but for five years, we were dead."
Five years? The more Steve learned about the future, the more confused he became.
"This is why we held off on telling you, and there is much more we still have to tell you." Bucky sighed and leaned back. "It's hard to wrap your heads around, I know. It was for me. But we have a situation here, and we can't afford to be distracted or divided. If Hydra creates a superpowered artificial intelligence that ends up being some kind of hybrid between Zola and Ultron, it will likely destroy this planet before Thanos ever gets here. Even if it doesn't, and it goes exactly as Hydra plans, it will take over and let Hydra rule. Everyone on this planet who survives will become a slave to Hydra…until Thanos comes looking for the stones."
"Who is this Thanos?" Thor walked to the center of the room and looked down at Bucky. "How do I find him?"
Bucky shrugged. "I don't know, but he found you and us the first time. He has a ship and an army, and he's searching for the Infinity stones."
"You mentioned those before," Banner began. "Three of them are on this planet?'
"Three were, two are now," Sam said. "Thanos gets the Tesseract from Loki, then the Time Stone from Strange, and the Mind Stone from…"
Sam trailed off, and Steve wondered what could possibly be making him hesitate after everything else the two time travelers revealed..
"Vision," Bucky finished. "Vision was another A.I. Tony created him from Jarvis to stop Ultron, and Thanos killed him to get the Time Stone."
Tony's expression went slack again, but just for a moment, before the angry mask slipped once again into place.
"Once he had all the stones," Bucky continued, "he snapped his fingers, and half of all life in the universe vanished."
Another heavy silence lingered. After a few moments, Tony walked up to Bucky, and Steve tensed, aware of everyone else doing the same. Pepper put a gentle hand on the back of Tony's shoulder. Neither Bucky moved from their positions on the couch, but both of them were looking up at him now.
"Fine." Tony's voice was ice. "We take down the last of Hydra. No Ultron, No Sokovian Accords, right?"
"Don't bet on it," Sam said. "Ross was behind the Accords, and he's pretty gung-ho on controlling enhanced people and using them to advance whatever official agenda he's pushing at the time. It takes just one misstep to have people screaming for oversight. Sokovia wasn't the only reason for the Accords."
"Whatever." Tony turned toward the exit. "We'll take out Hydra." He looked back at two Buckys as he hovered in the doorway. "Then I never want to see either of you in my Tower again."
Bucky nodded, stiff and stoic, but when Tony left, he leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands, shoulders curling inward.
"Hey, man." Sam took a seat between the two men and placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know that wasn't easy, but it went better than it did the last time. On the bright side, everyone still has all their limbs."
Bucky huffed and looked up, his eyes wet.
"Sergeant," Pepper knelt in front of him, "I'm going to go check on Tony, but don't worry about him. He'll work through this." She placed her hand on his knee, and he gave her the faintest hint of a smile. "And thank you again."
He held his smile as she got to her feet, dropping it the moment she left the room, and with a heavy sigh, tilted his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
