"This is Sergeant Barnes calling the Howling Commandos. Colonel Phillips. Anyone!"
The radio crackles, and for a long moment, nothing happens. Bucky rests his head against the microphone, praying – and then a voice shouts, "Jimmy!"
"Dugan, is that you?" Relief has him sagging in his chair, but a glance out the window snaps him back to attention. "Schmidt's dead. That cube is gone, too."
He hears whooping over the radio, and has to swallow hard to steady his nerves.
"Good work, Barnes," Phillips' voice tells him. "Let's get you back on the ground, son."
He winces. "Sorry, Colonel, but I don't think that's gonna happen."
TWO DAYS BEFORE
A dull, piercing whine stabs through his head. Bucky coughs, pain lancing into his side. The metal roof of the train above him is spinning, and he registers that he's lying on his back, winded. Steve. Steve needs his help.
Gritting his teeth, he rolls himself over and manages to get his hands beneath himself and push himself up, clutching the familiar weight of his gun like a lifeline. And then he's on his feet, the world around him swaying – or maybe it's him.
Shaking hands that he recognises as his own raise his gun at the blurry shapes thrashing before him. He's not seeing right, he realises in dismay. With an unsteady curse, he leans heavily against the ruined shelves, squeezing his eyes tight shut. The moments tick past, and through the ringing he's beginning to hear muffled thudding.
When he opens his eyes, he sees in vivid, uncompromising detail the exact moment Steve loses the struggle. The blast as it explodes against the shield. Then it has him stumbling, throwing up his arm to protect his face, heart pounding. When he looks back, Steve is gone, and the shield is on the ground. And there's a gaping hole in the side of the train.
"Steve!" Bucky shouts, his own voice setting off the ringing again. He can't hear, damn it. A shape moves in the swirling mist. The guard in his hulking suit. He sees the blue glow. This time when his gun comes up, his hands have no option but to be steady, and he pulls the trigger. The man collapses.
Bucky races to the jagged remains of the wall and leans out, flinching in the sudden assault of wind. Steve. He nearly cries out in relief to see his friend there, hanging onto a piece of railing. He doesn't hesitate. He sets his gun down on the floor and steps onto the precarious ledge, heart in his mouth.
"Hang on!" The wind whips away his call, and he clenches his teeth and shifts closer, reaching out.
Steve's face is set in determined surety. He shifts, one hand reaching out for Bucky's—
And that's when the bar snaps off.
Bucky doesn't know who screams as Steve plummets down, down, down…
His throat is raw by the time hands take hold of him and drag him back into the train.
Steve's face.
Steve's hand, just inches away.
Arms around him.
He's on the floor.
Someone's wailing.
He realises dimly that it's his own voice.
Steve… No…
There's not a dent on that goddamn shield. Only the slightest hint of where the blast hit it, one that's taken Bucky what feels like hours to even see. One of the straps is broken. And that's all the evidence there is of what happened.
He sits there, fingers so tightly interlocked that a part of him wonders if they'll just snap under the pressure, and stares at that shield. Why didn't you save him? He doesn't know if he's asking that question of the shield, or…
There's a hand on his shoulder.
"Barnes," says a voice. He doesn't need to turn to know it's Howard. He doesn't need to answer. He doesn't answer.
Howard comes around, pulling up a chair to sit by him. "The guys are worried," the man comments.
"Did they find him." His voice is like gravel. He doesn't look up from the shield.
Howard's gaze bores into him for a long moment. "No," he says, finally. "I'm sorry. I tried to get Phillips to clear you for the search, but…"
They lapse into silence.
"I need," Bucky finally rasps, closing his eyes. "I need to see Zola."
"Zola? Why? That maniac—"
"I'll bring him." It's Dugan. Dugan steps into the room and stops in front of Bucky, reaching a great big hand towards him. Bucky can't meet his eyes. "I ain't sure if they'll let us smash his face in, but everything's worth a try, right, Jimmy?"
He nods sharply, and accepts Dugan's hand. Dugan all but hauls him to his feet, and Bucky is grateful for his steadying presence. Dugan gives him a clap on the back, and if his hand stays there for a reassuring moment longer than it needs to, neither of them comment on it. His friend leads him down the long halls away from Howard's lab, past rooms with people who look out and murmur amongst themselves.
He doesn't care to hear what they're saying, especially not when he catches a stray pair of words: Captain America.
It's all he can do to just keep walking despite the choking feeling welling up in his chest.
And, finally, they come to the prison block. If Zola's still here, he won't be for much longer, Bucky reasons. They'll move him out. He won't need to stay here with the knowledge that the bastard is in the same building.
Dugan talks to the guard, but the man shakes his head. Bucky can feel the skittish glance towards him.
"The colonel said not to let him anywhere near the prisoner," the guard informs them stiffly.
"Now you listen—" Dugan's threat doesn't have a chance to be heard, because the door suddenly opens, and out steps Colonel Phillips. Bucky lifts his chin and fixes the man with a cold glare.
"I want to see him."
"Whatever you have in mind, it won't bring Rogers back," Phillip says sharply. Maybe Bucky flinches, because the older man's expression softens. Bucky hates that.
"I don't care."
"I can't let you in there, Barnes."
"Yeah, you can. You know what he's done. And I—" He tries to fight off the crack in his voice and takes a moment to steady himself. "I need to look at him."
"Colonel," Dugan says gruffly. "It's important."
The Colonel's gaze travels between the two of them. "I can't let you in there," he says again, but holds his hand up to silence them both before either can make another protest. "But I'll let you see him. Follow me."
He leads them into a second room, beside the room that Bucky is certain Zola is in, and that's quickly confirmed by the windowpane taking up almost an entire wall, looking into that room. One way mirror.
And in the room is Zola, sitting at a chair with an untouched tray of food before him. Bucky folds his arms and stares, his fingers digging tightly into his arms. Zola looks fine, and something in Bucky is angry about that. Not a scratch, not a bruise. After everything, there he sits, poking at the edge of a table, straightening his glasses.
Sergeant Barnes, everything will be easier if you just give in.
Yes, your serial number. We must all know it by heart now, hm?
"You okay, Jimmy?" Dugan whispers. Bucky doesn't take his gaze off the scientist before him, unaware that he's being watched with such loathing. Would he even remember him?
Somehow, that's the worst thought of them all. Zola has haunted his nightmares, his voice weaselling its way into his brain. Zola is the reason that Steve is lying dead at the bottom of some valley where they'll never find his body. And the bastard—
He can't finish that thought.
Now what he needs is to get out of here. His feet carry him out the door, and he hears the other two follow along behind him quickly, but he doesn't stop, retracing his steps earlier, a sharp pain burrowing its way deeper into his chest with every breath he takes.
"You are super-soldier, no? They call you, eh, what is it? Captain America?"
The two men converse amongst themselves so rapidly that he almost doesn't make out their language. Russian, he discerns dully. They gave him something, and boy, is he starting to feel it kick in.
"We will take care of you," the man before him enunciates carefully. "When little doctor returns he will no doubt be pleased with our catch."
"Sleep," the second man commands. "It will bring you comfort, soldat."
He can't resist, and soon, he slips into the darkness…
It's a matter of hours before Phillips has the Howlies summoned. Bucky takes up the rear as they all file into the dim room, and impassively notes the trio awaiting them. Phillips, standing before the rows of chairs they're expected to fill, his arms crossed. Miss Carter beside him, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. Howard sitting on the only desk in the room, fiddling with some gadget in his hands he seems to have forgotten about.
Bucky takes a seat, his gaze flicking back to Phillips. The Colonel holds up a piece of paper.
"This is the map to the Hydra facility Schmidt's kicking back in," the man tells the assembled audience. "Now, Zola has been kind enough to provide us with this bastard's batshit crazy plan, and I'll tell it to you true. Johann Schmidt thinks he's a god, and he's willing to blow up half the world to prove it. Starting with the USA."
"Schmidt's working with powers beyond our capabilities," Howard explains. "If he gets across the Atlantic, he'll wipe out the entire Eastern seaboard within an hour."
"We've briefed our generals already," Phillips continues. "And I am here because we need you boys on board."
"Cap's gone," Gabe points out bitterly. "What chance do we have now?"
"A hell of a chance, contrary to popular belief," snaps the Colonel. "Rogers has done our work for us and now we can repay him by finishing what he started. We owe it to him to kick their sorry asses."
Peggy steps forward, seeming surprised at herself for half a second. "We've lost… a brilliant man," she says firmly, and she glances at Bucky with an expression that has him looking away, that sharp tightness attacking his chest again. "But our work isn't done. If we don't stop Schmidt—"
No one needs her to finish that sentence.
"We need the Howling Commandos to go on and help us finish this," she continues after a long moment, folding her hands as if she's at a loss for what to do with them, standing there before them all. "Captain Rogers –"
She stops, taking a breath, looking to Bucky once again, pinning him there with such sadness that this time he holds that gaze and gives her a small nod.
"Steve. Would want us to do this. For him."
Bucky stands. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"
The rest of the Howlies are quick to get to their feet and murmur their agreement, and Peggy gives him a tight smile.
"Barnes," Phillips calls. "Get over here."
He hesitates, but lifts his chin and moves around the chairs, coming up to stand before the Colonel. Howard lifts up a canvas-covered casing and hops off the table, joining them slowly, meeting Bucky's eyes as he holds the object out. He realises what it is as soon as he takes hold of it.
"We need you to carry it now," Phillips tells him. "I know it's a lot to ask, but it'll go far."
"Yeah," Bucky manages. He stares at it for a long moment. Steve's face. He unzips the casing and pulls the shield out, slipping his arm into the repaired strap and holding it close, his hand ghosting across the red, white and blue surface.
To the end of the line, buddy.
THE PLANE
Bucky presses a hand to his side and flinches, pain streaking through him. His entire body screams in protest of the abuse it's faced from Schmidt tossing him around like a sack of potatoes. It's over. Schmidt's gone.
"Damn it," he hisses through his teeth, sinking gingerly into the chair before the console. He sits there like that for what feels like an eternity before he musters up the strength to open his eyes – and his heart sinks. The console is completely destroyed. He reaches for the joysticks, but nothing happens when he pulls back one of the levers. The plane is going down, towards the clouds below.
He reaches instead for the radio and flicks it on, pulling the microphone closer.
"This is Sergeant Barnes calling the Howling Commandos. Colonel Phillips. Anyone?"
The radio crackles, and for a long moment, nothing happens. Bucky rests his head against the microphone, praying – and then a voice shouts, "Jimmy!"
"Dugan, is that you?" Relief has him sagging in his chair, but a glance out the window snaps him back to attention. "Schmidt's dead. That cube is gone, too."
He hears whooping over the radio, and has to swallow hard to steady his nerves.
"Good work, Barnes," Phillips' voice tells him. "Let's get you back on the ground, son."
He winces. "Sorry, Colonel, but I don't think that's gonna happen."
"What?"
"Jimmy," Dugan butts in. "Come on, turn the jet around."
"I can't. The controls are busted," he says shakily. "And this thing's going down. I can't stop it."
Silence answers him.
"I don't know what to do," he continues helplessly.
"Jimmy," Dugan growls into the radio. "Don't you give up, you hear? We gotta get him down- There's gotta be a way—"
Dugan is cut off, and for a long moment the radio just goes static. He wonders if he's lost them, but the radio crackles again as their microphone is turned back on. "We can't help you, Barnes. I'm sorry."
His stomach twists horribly. "Yeah. Okay."
"There's still time, right?" Dugan's voice is back.
Bucky shakes his head slowly, as if the man can see him. The clouds have broken and he can see the ice far below.
"Dugan," he says into the microphone. "Please. I need you to tell—" His voice cracks, then, and he chokes back a sob. No. He needs to be strong. "I need you to tell my family," he continues, fighting to keep his tone level. "I love them. Steve and I love 'em to pieces. Tell my ma I… wasn't scared."
Dugan doesn't reply, but Bucky knows he's there.
"Tell my sisters I'm – I'm sorry I couldn't take 'em dancing in the victory parades. I'm proud of every one of them."
He pulls back on the controls, but it's no use. The lever just sags pathetically.
"Hey, Dugan?"
"I'm here, Jim."
"Sorry I won't be paying for the drinks this time."
He hears a sound like a sob. "You don't worry about that, Jimmy."
He rests his head on the side of the shield and closes his eyes.
"Is Peggy there?"
"Yes, Sergeant Barnes," the woman's voice crackles in response. "I'm… here too."
"Steve loved you. You gotta know that. I mean, he wouldn't shut up about it. Dugan'll tell you it's true."
"I know."
Another long pause.
"Thank you, James," she says, and he can hear the tremor in her voice.
He adjusts the shield, slipping one arm through the strap, lifting it in front of him. Maybe a half-hearted effort to project himself. Maybe just to block his view of the ice.
"Dugan?"
"Still here, Jim. Not going anywhere."
He doesn't know what to say. The ship groans. The radio crackles, and Dugan is starting to say something.
Bucky hears the explosion, and he knows no more.
Whatever Dugan had been about to say was abruptly lost when the radio suddenly spat out static.
"Jimmy?"
No answer.
"Buck, you still there?"
Nothing.
They were a sight to see. Colonel Phillips, leaning over the table, gripping the edge so tight that his knuckles went white. Dugan, slumped in his chair, head in his hands. Peggy standing alone behind them. Later, the Howling Commandos would gather in a bar, and while the rest of the world rejoiced for the end of the war, they would sit in an isolated corner. They would raise their glasses for their lost brothers, but most of them wouldn't be able to bring themselves to drink.
In a cramped apartment in Brooklyn, the blinds would be drawn tightly shut. The Barnes family would not join the celebrations. Their world had been their family, and two of their boys would never come home.
And the world would move on, never caring that deep in a Hydra faculty, Steve Rogers lost himself. Never knowing, never caring that elsewhere, encased in ice, life still clung fiercely to Bucky Barnes.
2012
Bucky wakes slowly, painfully, from a dreamless sleep. His entire body aches, and he blearily opens his eyes. A ceiling fan makes slow, lazy circles, and he watches it, dazed, for a long moment.
Finally, he musters the strength to ease himself into a sitting position. He's… in a hospital room? He lifts an arm, only to freeze midway through. Because there is no arm where it should be to make that move. His blood roars in his ears as he reaches across with his other hand, touching the bandage wrapped around the stump that is not his arm. A dull ache spreads from it, and he withdraws, staring at it, horrified and morbidly intrigued all at once.
A breeze blows through the open window, and he stands slowly, one arm loosely wrapped around himself, part of him still marvelling at how his arm is simply not there. He moves unsteadily towards the window and peers out. And something is wrong. The view doesn't look right.
Uneased, he moves back across the room, staring suspiciously at a radio playing something on low volume. He crosses over to it and turns the dial, and his stomach drops as he listens. Flashes of the food stand. His dad and Steve at his side. How the crowd had gone wild, sweeping the three of them up into the chaos, how they'd left afterwards positively buzzing—
Something is very wrong. He lifts the radio, checking under and behind it. It looks… normal. So why is it replaying a game from four years ago?
The door opens.
"Good morning, Mr Barnes," the redheaded nurse that walks in says, checking her chart and looking pleasantly surprised to see him. "You're finally awake!"
"Where am I," he asks, forcing his voice to remain level, clenching his fist.
The nurse smiles kindly at him, but that only sets off alarm bells in his brain. "You're in a recovery room in New York City. How's your arm?"
"No. I'm not."
Her smile falters. "Mr. Barnes—"
"Who are you?" He demands. Her smile has dropped, and she discreetly reaches into her apron pocket – Bucky steps forward, and the door slams open once more. Two guards stride in, leaving the nurse to skitter out of the room.
"James Barnes, we need you to calm down," one of them orders. "We'll get someone to explain everything—"
He doesn't think. He surges forward, driving his shoulder into the nearest guard and knocking him off his feet. The other snaps to attention, reaching out to grab him, but Bucky side-steps and drives a kick to the back of his knee, slamming the man to the floor. He runs from the room, halting in his tracks when he sees more guards ahead turn to look at him, the woman from earlier pointing frantically towards him. With a curse, he whips around and rounds the corner of the – box?
He's not in a hospital at all. He's in a massive room with a box in the centre he just emerged from. And he's dizzy. He grips the wall for support, taking one unsteady step after another. Doors. He makes his way forward towards a set of doors that he damn well hopes lead the way out, but the guards catch up to him far quicker than he can stumble forward, and he finds himself surrounded.
The doors slam open, and in marches a troupe of men, led by a man with an eyepatch. He looks directly at Bucky and calls, "At ease, soldier!"
The voice stops everyone in their tracks, and the guards part to let him through.
"Where am I?" Bucky demands again. "And what the hell's going on here?"
"I'm sorry about all this," the man gestures around. "We wanted to break it to you slowly, Sergeant Barnes."
"Break what."
"You've been asleep, Sergeant. For almost 70 years."
That knocks the wind right out of him. "…what?"
"You went into the ice in '45. Until two weeks ago, that's where you've been. A team found you, dug you out."
He is definitely dizzy now. "And who are you?"
"Director Fury. We're SHIELD."
He recognises that. Howard. Peggy. The fight abruptly drains out of him.
"You gonna be alright?" Fury asks, finally.
"Yeah," he manages after a long moment. "Yeah, I just…"
"This is all very strange for you," Fury states. "I understand. We'll help you, Barnes."
Bucky nods. "Alright."