Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’d spent three days watching the facility without sleeping.

So far he remained unseen. Despite being mostly bare in late winter, the trees surrounding the building provided enough cover for him to observe the staff and their routine unnoticed. Lack of snow on the ground meant he didn’t need to worry about conspicuous footprints. When he snuck inside to check security and locate his target, no one saw him.

All this preparation was perhaps overly cautious — he was breaking into a small town nursing home, not a military base — but his target was Hydra. Being overly cautious was necessary.

His target was also dying. If he spent too long planning, death would rob him of his chance.

Tonight was the night.

There were only two security cameras, one at the entrance to the street and one facing the parking lot. The live feed was not regularly monitored. A well-thrown stone angled the parking lot camera slightly to one side, not enough to be obvious but enough to allow him to approach without being recorded.

Now he waited, standing still among the trees. Thick clouds covered the moon, making it even easier to hide. The night was quiet, the only sound the whistle of brisk wind.

Finally, one of the orderlies emerged through the door. Oblivious to being watched, the man leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

He had considered scaling the building to his target’s room — it was only three stories — but rejected the idea. The walls were completely smooth and bright white. Any damage done while creating finger holds for climbing or jumping and gripping the windowsill would be highly visible. He couldn’t chance leaving physical evidence of his presence. Using the door was less risky.

In the past, he would have simply killed the orderly for the man’s keycard.

Smoke wreathed the orderly’s head. The smell of tobacco wafted across the parking lot. Slowly, the cigarette burned down, its orange tip bright in the dark. A beacon for snipers, if there were any around who wanted to assassinate this man.

When the orderly finished smoking, he crushed the butt into the pavement and scanned his card to go back inside.

Quickly he crossed the lot and caught the door, sliding metal fingers into the latch to keep it from locking. The corridor inside was visible through a narrow pane of glass above the handle. As soon as the orderly turned a corner out of sight, he opened the door and moved silently down the hall.

There were few night staff. All he had to do to reach his target was not make noise and avoid physically bumping into anyone. He spotted the orderly who had been outside, now chatting with another orderly by the vending machines.

His target was on the top floor in the northeast corner of the building. Hand on the doorknob, he paused for a moment, steeling himself.

The door was unlocked. Without a sound, he entered the room. In the center, an elderly man slept in a hospital bed, lit from underneath by the dim blue glow of a nightlight plugged in at floor level. The man wore a two-pronged tube in his nostrils, the other end connected to an oxygen tank. The blanket had been pulled to one side, revealing tubing attached to a port in his abdomen that ended in a round plastic ball filled with clear fluid.

He didn’t recognize this man but he expected that. It had been decades since they last saw each other. This was Dr. Rikard Novak, the last of the scientists who created the first Winter Soldier.

Ever since leaving Hydra, he’d struggled to understand how he went from the man whose picture he saw at the Smithsonian exhibit to what he was now. Unfortunately, his only source of information about what Hydra did to him was his own fractured memory. None of the Winter Soldier files had been digitized. (He checked the data Black Widow had uploaded to the Internet.) The original paper files were likely destroyed. There was nowhere to turn for answers.

Desperate for any information, whenever he recalled the name of a scientist who worked on him, he researched it. He’d been shocked that the most recent one he remembered was still alive.

On the surface, Rikard Novak had lead a normal life. Born in Carpasia to parents who were both doctors, he became one himself. After WWII, he spent time doing humanitarian work in Central Asia— his cover for working on the Winter Soldier Project. After that, he moved to the US, where he taught at a university for twenty-five years before returning to his home country for his retirement. (Novak speaking English was useful. The Winter Soldier never had to kill anyone in Carpasia so he didn’t speak the language.)

Novak escaped the notice of the Avengers, who’d been hunting Hydra members since discovering the organization still existed. It wasn’t surprising. His peers were all dead. (At this point, any people he might have personally recruited while teaching were probably dead or in nursing homes themselves.) Any papers mentioning his name that still existed would be buried in filing cabinets scattered around the world.

No one knew what Novak had done, except the result of his experiments.

At first, he wasn’t sure he could confront Novak. But one question drove him here despite his fears. Was it possible to break Hydra’s control over his mind? Who would know better than one of the people who did it?

This was enough ruminating. He placed a hand on Novak’s forearm and squeezed lightly.

Novak jolted awake. Several moments of Novak peering up at him in bleary-eyed confusion passed. Then the man’s face filled with horrified comprehension. “Soldat…”

He had worried Novak wouldn’t remember him.

The next thing out of Novak’s mouth was the beginning of the first code word.

He clamped metal fingers on thin, dry lips. “I can kill you before you finish.”

Eyes wide, Novak stared at him. The old man trembled, looking so frail and helpless that for a second, he almost felt sorry for doing this.

There were times he had trembled with fear. That never stopped Novak or any of his colleagues. It wouldn’t stop him now. “I have questions for you.”

After a moment, Novak nodded.

He lifted his hand from the man’s mouth. Novak reached toward the call button. He grasped Novak’s wrist. “There’s no point calling for help. No one here can stop me.”

Coughing, Novak said, “Morphine. Please.” With his other hand, he pointed to a controller not far from the call button.

So that was what the port was for. Novak must live in a great deal of constant pain. He was tempted to let Novak suffer. It served him right. But if Novak could think clearly, it would be easier to answer questions. He activated the controller himself, using his left hand to leave no fingerprints.

Novak’s arm dropped back on the bed when released. His eyes closed. He lay still, breathing raggedly while the drugs kicked in.

Eventually, he reopened his eyes. “I saw you in the news last year. I couldn’t believe it. Your handlers were careless.” The man’s voice was hoarse and weak but the words were clear and coherent.

“I don’t work for Hydra anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“Who do you work for now?”

“No one.”

“No one?”

“The programming broke down. Hydra lost control of me. I escaped. You failed in the end.” He enjoyed saying that.

“You can be reprogrammed.”

“Not if the code words no longer work.”

“But they do work. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cared if I said them.” Novak paused, looking at him with eyes that were bloodshot but sharp. “Ah. You’re here because you want to be free from the words.”

“You will help me.”

“The procedure is irreversible. The amount of damage inflicted on your brain, your central nervous system, it will never be repaired. You might as well ask me how to re-grow your left arm.” He cleared his throat with a guttural sound. “I’m not lying. I swear on my wife’s grave, on my son’s grave. I cannot help you even if I wanted to.”

“Tell me what you did.”

“That won’t be much use. I only understood part of what Zola was doing. He never revealed all his plans to anyone. I was a neurologist— a good one, I will add, but he was a genius, a highly secretive genius. I cannot help you.”

He wanted to rage at Novak, threaten him, scare him into doing something. But ice cold certainty filled him. Novak was telling the truth.

“Come back home, Soldat. We need you now more than ever. Your existence is pointless without us. We are your reason for being.”

There was a glimmer of temptation in those words that made him ill. He did often feel his life was pointless. But it was his life now, however limited and strange it was. “Don’t call me that. That’s not who I am.”

“It’s not? Don’t tell me you think you’re…“

The old bastard forgot his name. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“That man is long dead. You are the Winter Soldier now. You always will be.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Can you even remember your life before you came to us?”

He said nothing. The truth was he could not. Except for that single lightning strike memory— not even a memory of an event or a person— a memory of a feeling. Something he had never felt before (but he must have felt it at some point): overwhelming care and concern and love.

That moment— he thought about it often. The only fitting comparison was it was like he’d never seen the sun, then the clouds parted. Ever since, he’d searched for more memories like that. All he remembered was terror and pain, not all of it his own.

“You’re not designed to live by yourself. You need someone to manage you.”

“I’m doing just fine. Do you seriously think I would go back to Hydra willingly? Go back to what you did to me?”

“You remember that.” Novak, still a scientist, sounded like he’d just observed something he found very interesting.

“I remember. I will never return to Hydra. I never wanted to be one of you in the first place. You made me do things…” He stopped himself. If he started in on all that, rage would build and build until he lost control.

“You were an accomplished sniper in the US Army. You killed many people on orders. You merely did more of the same for us.”

His fists clenched. He forced his hands to stay by his sides. If Novak died in the night, no one would think anything unusual had happened.

He didn’t kill people anymore.

Novak was right about one thing. Before he became the Winter Soldier, he killed one particular kind of person all the time: Hydra agents. Maybe he should do one more for old time’s sake.

“Are you going to kill me?"

He didn’t answer.

“You can if you want— if you desire revenge, if it will ease your mind.”

Surprised, he stared at Novak.

“Every time I fall asleep, I wonder if this is the time I don’t wake up. I have come to know what it’s like to be at the mercy of men in white coats.” Novak coughed and cleared his throat again. “You hate me for causing you pain. I hate the staff here sometimes even though I know they’re trying to help me. So I am sorry for that."

Their situations were not remotely comparable. Apologizing for the physical pain but not for breaking his mind and his will was insulting. He’d rather hear taunts and ‘Hail Hydra.’

Was Novak trying to coax him to kill in an attempt to bring him back to Hydra? Or was Novak just tired of suffering with no possible release but death?

The room was silent except for Novak’s raspy breathing. Novak looked at him intently, like he was an indecisive angel of death.

Hydra programmed the Winter Soldier to be pitiless and merciless. “You never did anything to ease my suffering. I won’t do anything to ease yours.”

He left Novak the way he found him, body ravaged by time and illness.

—

When the quinjet reached cruising altitude, Steve put it on autopilot. Then he opened the recording to listen again, sending the sound into his earpiece so it wouldn’t disturb Sam, who sat behind him. He also didn’t want Sam to know he was listening to it yet again. Steve had lost count of how many times he’d heard it.

“That man is long dead. You are the Winter Soldier now. You always will be.”

“You’re wrong.”

He still couldn’t believe he was hearing Bucky.

After a year and a half of searching, Steve finally found him. Now Steve had to get to Bucky before he disappeared again. Steve wished the quinjet could go faster.

When the audio ended, Steve turned to Sam. “How’s the drone coming?” They had been in such a hurry to leave, there was no time to test it.

“Still working on it.” Sam swiped left, right, up and down on the control panel on his wrist. Nothing happened. “You sure nobody minds me messing with this? It is Avengers property. And, you know, I’m not an Avenger. I’m just friends with one.”

“No one minds. If it’ll make you feel better, I can give you a requisition form to sign.”

“Do you have those?”

“I can make one up.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s not necessary.”

“You are kind of a temporary Avenger for this trip.”

“Man, I come up to New York for the weekend to take you to your first NBA game, now I’m a temporary Avenger.”

“Well, this is what being an Avenger is like. Your weekend plans get disrupted a lot.”

“The Knicks are terrible right now so we’re not missing much.”

”Thanks again for coming, Sam.”

“You think I’m going to miss the payoff after all the detective work I’ve done? It’s too bad Nat couldn’t come.”

Nat and Clint were currently searching for a stolen truck full of SHIELD tech. The last update Steve got said they were in north Texas.

A red light started flashing on the drone. Sam sighed. “I wish I had my wings. Those, I knew how to use.”

“Unfortunately, Tony doesn’t really do instruction manuals. And I’ve never piloted a drone before so I’m no help.”

“Oh, I will figure this out.” Sam continued swiping on the control panel in different patterns.

Steve removed his earpiece so he wouldn’t listen to the recording again. It was becoming obsessive.

He owed Natasha for being able to hear Bucky again. Steve found Dr. Rikard Novak after reading Bucky’s file and checking to see if any of the scientists named in it were still alive. It was her idea to bug Novak’s room with a device programmed to turn on if it detected Bucky’s voice. She planted the bug herself, saying afterward it was the easiest job she’d ever done.

Steve agreed to this because so many of Nat’s ideas that seemed outlandish to him had worked. The plan was still a long shot. Would Bucky want to see Novak? Would he kill Novak if he did turn up? Was he capable of finding Novak and traveling? Steve didn’t know what kind of state Bucky was in. He hadn't known if Bucky was alive.

He hated letting a Hydra member go, especially one who had tortured Bucky. If leaving Novak free for a while lead him to Bucky, it would be worth it. At least Novak wasn’t an imminent threat. The man was almost as old as Steve. Nat said the doctors thought he didn’t have more than a year to live. That was a year and a half ago. The bastard was hanging on to life with his fingernails.

Busy with the Avengers and looking for other leads, Steve forgot about the bug. Until tonight, when he received notification it had been triggered. Steve didn’t dare think it was Bucky, assuming it was someone who sounded like him. All they had to train the device were recordings from the ‘40s. Even with JARVIS cleaning the audio up, the sound quality wasn’t great.

As soon as Steve heard the first words, he knew it was Bucky. The following conversation removed any possibility of doubt.

Now he and Sam were on their way to Carpasia, a small country on the east coast of the Adriatic Sea. While Sam figured out how to operate the drone, Steve researched their destination. Carpasia had a jagged coastline of coves, cliffs, and beaches, with sparsely populated mountains in the interior. A large system of sea caves ran within the rock along the shore. There were a lot of places someone used to living rough could hide. A lot of paths someone with super strength and stamina could travel undetected.

Novak lived in his hometown, a seaside resort located on a shallow inlet with a stretch of sandy beach with sheer cliffs at either end. Parallel to the shore was a boardwalk and a strip of typical beach tourist businesses: hotels, restaurants, gift shops, bike and boat rentals. Most of the rest of the town sat up on hills above the water. Steve was glad it was currently post-holiday winter because the area wouldn’t be packed with vacationers.

He hated that one of the Winter Soldier scientists enjoyed retirement in such a picturesque place.

A series of chimes sounded. “It’s alive,” Sam announced. “There’s all kinds of scanning and analysis options on this thing. UV, infrared, thermal, electromagnetic.”

“That’ll be a big help.”

“So assuming we arrive in time to intercept our missing person, what’s our play?”

“We talk to him. Go in easy. No show of force. I convince him to turn himself in.”

“You’re sure you can do that?”

“You heard the recording. Novak practically dared Bucky to kill him. But Bucky didn’t. He doesn’t want violence. If we don’t back him into a corner, he won’t fight.”

“Is his desire not to fight stronger than his desire not to be taken into custody? Even if he’s happy to see you, he’s got to know that’s why we’re here.”

“I just need time. I can show him it’s better to come with us than wait to get caught.”

“He may think he’ll never get caught.”

“I don’t believe he does. I think he knows how much danger he’s in, but he doesn’t know a way out of it, so he’s hiding.”

“Let’s say he thinks of you as a friend and wants help. Why hasn’t he reached out to you?”

“He doesn’t want to drag me into his problems. Even now, he’s still trying to protect me.”

Steve did believe that. However, there was another reason for Bucky to avoid the Avengers that Steve never told anyone else. Zola never outright said Bucky killed Tony’s parents, although the implication was clear. Steve was wary of accepting anything from Zola without proof. But if it was true…

He was getting ahead of himself. First, they had to find Bucky. Then he would deal with the fallout from the Winter Soldier’s actions.

Sam said, “You know I’m always in favor of talking things out as long as no one’s getting hurt. But speaking as someone without super soldier abilities, I would be more comfortable with a plan in case things go wrong.”

“Of course. I don’t want to put anyone in danger.”

“Do you include yourself in that? Because I remember the shape you were in after your last tussle with the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s not going to happen again.” Steve didn’t want to fight Bucky. But if anyone was going to take a hit from the Winter Soldier, it should be him.

While they discussed possibilities, tactics and logistics, an unspoken trouble lurked in Steve’s mind.

Steve had noticed Bucky’s irritation when reminding Novak what his name was. This was a sign that Bucky was emotionally connected to his name, that he understood who he was. Steve also noticed that when Novak asked if Bucky remembered his past life, he didn’t answer.

Bucky remembered something. He wouldn’t have pulled Steve from the river otherwise. But Steve didn’t know what Bucky remembered or how he was reacting to those memories. Maybe they pained him. Maybe he’d rather not have them. Maybe he didn’t want to see Steve.

Did Bucky think of Steve as a friend? If he didn’t, this trip could turn into a disaster.

Whatever was going on with Bucky, Steve would find out soon enough. Assuming they could find him. Once Bucky left the nursing home, he wouldn’t hang around. By the time Steve got there, he could be on the other side of the world. This was most likely a fruitless trip. Yet Steve couldn’t not try.

Even if Bucky slipped away again, Steve had heard from him. He knew Bucky was alive. That he was free from Hydra (as much as he could be). That he wanted to get better. That he didn’t want to kill. It was more than he had yesterday.

God, Steve hoped he got there in time.

Chapter Text

He exited the nursing home the way he came. The rage that had burst into life while talking to Novak coiled inside him. He kept a tight grip on it, visualizing his metal hand clamping it in place. The last thing he needed was to lose control and make his presence known. He slipped by the orderlies who were still chatting by the vending machines unnoticed.

Novak did not alert the staff that there was an intruder. The old man had spent his life keeping Hydra’s secrets from outsiders. It seemed he would continue doing so until he died.

Once outside, he retrieved the backpack he left in the shrubs on the edge of the parking lot and disappeared into the trees. It felt like leaving the scene after a mission. Only this time he’d failed. Perhaps he should have stayed longer to question Novak more thoroughly. But the man repulsed him. He needed to get away before he did kill the bastard.

Wanting to get some distance from the nursing home before stealing a car, he trekked across the wooded hills. He focused on the soft soil beneath his feet, the cold air against his skin, the whistle of wind in his ears. Above, a few bright stars were now visible through breaks in the clouds. Slowly, the knot of rage inside him loosened, replaced with bitter disappointment.

“You might as well ask me how to re-grow your left arm.” Just because Novak said fixing his brain was impossible didn’t mean it was.

However, it had taken a genius to do this to him. It would take a genius to undo it. And he was a murderer. Where would he find someone with both the ability and willingness to help him who wasn’t a sadistic monster like Zola? Who wouldn’t want to make more programmable super soldiers?

Rounding the curve of the hill, he saw a lone deer ahead. The animal bounded away. These days, he was not much better than a deer, constantly on watch for threats, running, hiding. At least being a deer in the forest was better than being a lab rat or an attack dog.

There was nothing to do except return to Bucharest empty-handed. In practical terms, he wasn’t any worse off for failing. He still had everything necessary for survival: water, food, shelter, even money. He was free to come and go as he pleased. No one hurt him. He didn’t hurt others. If anyone caught up to him, whether Hydra or law enforcement or some unknown threat, he had an emergency evacuation plan.

But he didn’t have the thing he wanted most: full and complete control over himself. No matter how secure and pleasant he made his life, everything Hydra put in his head was still there. It didn’t matter how long he went without a memory wipe, without cryogenic sleep. If he ever met anyone who knew the code words again…

He shuddered.

The woods opened into a small clearing on a ridge overlooking the sea. He could hear waves lapping the shore below. Surrounded by overgrown grass littered with tree branches was a two-story house. The building had extensive fire damage: charred walls, a partially collapsed roof, boarded-up windows and doors.

Exhaustion hit him like a punch. He hadn’t slept since discovering Novak’s location ten days ago. Ten days of being on high alert while deciding whether to come, then planning, traveling, and staking out the facility. The most tiring part was alternating between hope that he would find a breakthrough and fear that he would not. He did not want to drive for hours. There was no one for him to report to anymore, so why not sleep? This house was as good a spot to rest unseen as he would find.

He paused on the edge of the clearing. As far as he knew, it had been several years since Novak had contact with anyone in Hydra. The organization seemed to have forgotten the man once he got too old and sick to do anything for them. The idea that Novak was disregarded and unrecognized by Hydra gave him a certain small satisfaction.

But what if there was something he overlooked? What if there were Hydra agents on their way here to capture him? Or was he being paranoid again?

Probably paranoid, he decided. If anyone from Hydra did come after him, he could kill them before they used the words. No— he wouldn’t kill them. He wouldn’t break that rule for anyone, not even Hydra. But he would defend himself.

He tore the boards off the door facing the woods and entered the house. Being in someone’s home reminded him of the days after he fled Hydra, when he’d sheltered in houses — some of them damaged like this one — in the evacuation zone around the destroyed Triskelion. Here, there were no signs of the previous occupants at all, no half-eaten meals on the table or laundry in the washing machine, just empty rooms and the smell of dust and mildew.

Dropping his backpack on the floor in what used to be a living room, he sat down and took a long drink from his canteen. In addition to water and food, he had a few changes of clothes, money (dollars and euros), a small radio, a compass, matches in a waterproof container, a folding knife, a flashlight, and a notebook. He did not have firearms. These days he didn’t keep any. Although he had debated and decided against getting a handgun for this trip in case he ran into any Hydra agents other than Novak.

The notebook was his most valuable possession. It contained everything he knew about his life based on what he learned from the museum exhibit and other sources plus his own disjointed memories. Tonight, he did not open it. There was nothing new to add.

Lying on the floor with his head on his bag, he closed his eyes. For once, he fell asleep immediately.

—

He awoke with a start, a nightmare image fresh in his mind— a man trapped within a machine. It would be better to say the machine grew out of the man, like a fungus on a dead tree. He couldn’t see the man but he could sense him buried under a mass of steel and wires that writhed like a pit of snakes. He knew the man was alive, somehow.

Rubbing his eyes, he remembered having this dream before. He’d seen enough things to have nightmares about. Why did his brain invent things to disturb his sleep too?

At least Hydra hadn’t arrived in the night. He stretched and checked his watch. Despite the nightmare, he’d slept for longer than usual. Afternoon sunlight slanted through gaps in the boards covering the windows. He would need to get moving soon.

While eating a breakfast of protein bars, an idea came to him. If one of the original Winter Soldier scientists was still alive, perhaps the original Winter Soldier files were still out there.

But where? The Hydra Siberian Facility had been abandoned for more than twenty years. When the USSR dissolved, Hydra decided to focus resources elsewhere. (He’d been one of those resources.) Would Hydra have left those files there instead of destroying them? Would a scientist have considered them valuable enough to keep and transport? There were so many unanswered questions.

The odds of him finding something to help him free his mind were small. Did he want to risk the long journey to Siberia on a slim hope? Would being back in the place where he’d endured so much pain and suffering drive him over the edge? Assuming he found anything related to him, would reading about what Hydra did to him destroy all the progress he’d made?

He’d faced one of the scientists who did this to him. He could face an abandoned bunker and a pile of paper. Couldn’t he?

What if he arrived and discovered the facility had been reactivated by Hydra agents hiding from the Avengers? What if they woke the others up?

Twigs snapped outside. His mind honed in on the sound.

The tall grass rustled. More twigs snapped. That wasn’t a deer.

He crept to the window facing the direction of the noise and peered through an opening in the boards. A lone man approached, not being stealthy at all.

There was no shield, no red-white-and-blue suit, but he would recognize this man anywhere: Captain America. Steve Rogers, who had been his best friend in a past life, according to everything he’d read.

He had to kill him.

His hand was on the knife in his bag by the time he stopped himself. He released it. Standing still, he breathed deeply in and out.

What the hell was he doing? The helicarriers were destroyed. Pierce was dead. Hydra was in shambles. There was no point killing Rogers now. He didn’t want to kill Rogers.

But he never finished that mission.

He needed to get out of here. He grabbed his bag.

Rogers called, “I know you’re in there.”

He froze.

“I just want to talk. There’s no cops, no soldiers.” Yet Rogers didn’t say he was alone.

Were the Avengers here? He didn’t think he warranted the entire team coming. He hadn’t killed anyone since leaving Hydra.

If the Avengers were here, Rogers wouldn’t be trying to coax him to come out. (If Iron Man were here — and knew what he’d done — he would be dead by now.) But he didn’t think Rogers was foolish enough to come alone. So who was with him?

In Washington, DC, he fought Black Widow and the flying man. If they were here, it would be more difficult to escape, but not impossible.

He couldn’t leave. He never finished his last mission.

He had to go now.

“I’ve been looking for you for over a year. Can we talk?”

Rogers' voice now came from the side of the house facing the woods.

There was no point killing Rogers now. He didn’t want to kill Rogers. He didn’t work for Hydra anymore. He didn’t kill people anymore. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.

None of that mattered. He had a mission. He had to finish it.

He should have brought a gun. A knife would have to do. He would wait to attack— give Rogers time to let his guard down. Let him think they were friends. He slipped the knife into his right sleeve.

Slowly, he opened the door he’d pulled the boards off of last night. Sunlight streamed into the darkened house. Outside on the overgrown grass stood Rogers. He looked unarmed.

In the trees, he glimpsed a flash of red. It was the flying man — Sam Wilson — holding the shield. This time, Wilson wasn’t wearing wings. Scanning the area, he saw no one else. A drone hovered over the ruined roof. That would have to be dealt with.

"Bucky?" Rogers’ voice dropped like he was trying not to wake up anyone in the house.

He and Rogers looked at each other.

There was something so familiar in that voice saying that name, like hearing the first notes of a song he’d heard countless times but couldn’t remember the words. A song that sparked emotions so raw and sharp and deep, he wondered how he survived feeling like this in the past.

He couldn’t finish this mission now any more than he could then.

“Can we talk?” There was pleading in Rogers’ eyes.

A desire to hug Rogers almost overpowered him, which was very weird because he still felt the urge to kill the man, although it was much fainter.

His attention snapped back to his current situation. He was a fugitive in hiding. And he’d just revealed himself. Fighting his way out was a last resort. He’d get a heap of new trouble and attention for attacking Captain America. The best course of action was stalling while he figured out how to escape.

So Rogers wanted to talk. He had conditions. “I want the drone shut down.”

He expected an argument. However, Rogers touched his ear and immediately asked for the drone to be deactivated. He only heard one side of a brief back-and-forth that ended with Rogers saying, “Sam, please.”

A moment later, the drone landed in front of Rogers and powered down.

“Bucky, do you know me?”

“You’re Steve Rogers. I know who you are.”

Was that even a lie? He knew a lot about Steve Rogers. He knew the two of them had once been the closest of friends. He just didn’t personally recall any of it.

Before they went any further, he asked, “How did you find me?”

“We had Novak under surveillance.”

“You found out he worked with Zola?”

Rogers nodded.

So a bit of the Winter Soldier paper trail had survived for Rogers to stumble on, probably some random administrative scrap with Novak’s name on it, a memo or inventory list or something.

“You bugged his room?”

“Yeah.”

“Where was the bug?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t plant it myself.”

“How long did you watch him waiting for me to turn up?”

“About a year and a half.”

Rogers had been really determined to find him.

He kicked himself for not checking for devices. He’d been so worried about Hydra, he didn’t think about the Avengers. And then he stopped to sleep like an idiot, making himself the perfect target for a drone to find— a single heat signature in an abandoned house in the woods. There was a reason the Winter Soldier didn’t take breaks to nap during missions. Was he losing his edge?

“We got a recording of your conversation, Bucky. I know you’re not with Hydra anymore.”

He felt a negative reaction to people eavesdropping on him. It took a second to realize it was embarrassment. Over the past year and a half, he’d begun developing a sense of privacy. Although it was good for him that Rogers heard what he said. There would be no confusion as to whether he had any remaining loyalty to Hydra.

Behind Rogers, the shield moved. He tensed but no attack came. “Is Romanoff here?”

“No.”

That would make escaping easier.

“I know you’re nervous,” Rogers said. “You have reason to be. I’m not here to fight you. I want to help.”

“Help how?”

“I know Hydra forced you to work for them. There are people who don’t believe that. Or who think it doesn’t matter. I’ve been trying to find you before they do. If you come with me, I can help you. The Avengers can help you. We have lawyers…”

God, Rogers was making a speech.

Rogers was trying to apprehend him the easy way because they had been friends. One of the few things he was certain of was that Rogers didn’t want to kill him. But he wondered, if Rogers knew he murdered the parents of a fellow Avenger, if they’d be talking like this.

Of all his mistakes, revealing himself was the worst. He’d been caught off guard by still feeling the compulsion to kill Rogers after all this time. (Would he want to kill Romanoff too if she were here?) He should run now. If he was quick, he could grab and smash the inert drone against Rogers’ head, eliminating the threat of being followed by air and (hopefully) stunning Rogers long enough to escape.

Rogers was talking about negotiating a plea deal but stopped mid sentence. “Bucky, please don’t go.”

He looked from the drone to Rogers. The way Rogers spoke was painful to hear. The man really thought he was talking to an old friend. “You can’t help me.”

“We can document what Hydra did to you. Prove you weren’t acting of your own free will.”

“How do you think you’ll do that?”

“I have the original file from the Winter Soldier Project. Everything they did to your brain, it’s all in there.”

“What? How did you get that?”

“Natasha Romanoff called in some favors.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in it exactly?”

“Reports on the brainwashing process and the cryogenics. How it worked. How it effected you. They recorded everything very thoroughly.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“Yes.”

He could not believe the thing he’d been considering going to Siberia to look for had fallen into his lap. Some sensible part of him told him to give up on this impossible quest and run. But this could be his only opportunity to learn more about what had been done to him— maybe someday to fix it.

“I want to see it."

“You do?”

He nodded.

Rogers’ face showed he thought this was a terrible idea. “I don’t have it on me right now.”

“Where is it?”

“On the jet.”

They looked at each other for a moment. He knew how this would go. Rogers would demand he surrender in order to see the file. He would agree. When they reached the quinjet, he would steal the file (possibly the jet, if things worked out that way) and flee. He wouldn’t kill anyone. Although he expected serious injuries, to himself as well.

But Rogers upended those plans before they fully formed. “I'll ask Sam to get the file while we find somewhere private where you can see it.”

“This house is private.”

“It’s also half falling down. There’s plenty of hotels that have vacancies and structural integrity.”

If Rogers thought having other people around would make it too difficult for him to escape, the man was wrong. He decided not to argue about location. “If I go somewhere with you, you’ll let me read the file there? Today?”

“If you want to, yes.”

“What happens after?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

If he refused to go, there would be a fight. Rogers may not want to fight him but he would. The Winter Soldier was a potential threat. Captain America couldn’t let him escape. If he agreed, he’d still have a chance to grab the file and run.

“I’ll come with you. I need to get my bag.”

“Okay.”

He left the door open so Rogers could see what he was doing.

Rogers waited outside, looking as though he’d won a hard-fought battle. He felt sorry for the man, not knowing his old friend was gone.

—

Steve walked across the tall grass. On his right was Sam, carrying the drone. On his left was Bucky, a backpack slung over his shoulder. This wasn’t a dream. Bucky was by Steve’s side again. His head was spinning slightly.

Being up on a bluff surrounded by trees overlooking water on a cold day transported Steve back to an afternoon in winter 1935. “This reminds me of the first time we went to Fort Tryon Park after it opened. It was bitterly cold, way colder than this. The wind cut right through you.”

Sam asked, “Is that the place you took me to in Manhattan with the view of the Hudson River?”

Nodding, Steve glanced at Bucky, expecting some comment. He looked away nervously. Realization hit Steve— he didn’t remember.

Did Bucky remember anything? Steve’s enthusiasm for sharing the anecdote vanished.

They reached the steeply inclined road that hugged the cliff. Halfway down, the rental car was parked out of sight of the house. Bucky kept his face turned towards the sea. Steve suspected Bucky was avoiding him rather than admiring the Adriatic.

You can’t help me. The tone had stabbed into Steve’s heart. He knew Bucky wasn’t talking about legal problems. All the lawyers in the world couldn’t heal the mind.

Steve needed help from Tony and Bruce. They were geniuses. More importantly, they were trustworthy. But if Zola was telling the truth about what Bucky had done, that avenue would be closed, possibly permanently.

What Bucky did wasn’t his fault. But people had died because of his actions. Their loved ones would be in pain. It would be cruel to demand Tony help the man who killed his parents. And Tony and Bruce were close enough friends that Bruce may not want to help out of solidarity. Maybe Tony could be talked around to working with Bucky in time. But that would leave Bucky suffering as he was for who knew how long.

It was best if Steve found someone else who could help Bucky. But who?

Bucky adjusted his backpack on his shoulders. For a second, Steve feared he would dive off the cliffside road into the water. He continued walking.

Steve exhaled. He needed to calm down.

Right now, his job was convincing Bucky not to run. The entire time they talked, it was obvious Bucky wanted to flee. If Steve didn’t have the file, Bucky likely would have tried to escape already.

He’d brought the file to have on hand for the lawyers. Bucky wanting to read the thing surprised him. Steve glanced at Sam. He had agreed to get the file, but Steve wondered if he thought this was a bad idea. It was too late to debate the matter. Steve promised Bucky he could see it.

Maybe Bucky didn’t remember what Hydra did to him. Steve read the file because he needed to know what happened. Perhaps Bucky felt the same.

When they reached the car, Sam drove off to the jet, which was at a small airfield outside town. Steve and Bucky continued walking downhill towards the beach. Neither of them said anything.

Steve would find a way to help heal Bucky’s mind if he had to personally go to every doctor on Earth to do it.

Chapter Text

Steve headed for the closer of the two hotels that were open on the boardwalk. There were not many people out and about, but to avoid attention, he’d wrapped the shield in cloth and carried it under his arm like a package. People recognizing him might scare Bucky away.

The front desk was unstaffed, so he rang the bell and waited. Bucky stood nearby but out of arm’s reach, looking everywhere except at him. The beach-themed lobby was nice — its white walls hung with watercolors of the ocean and its sand-colored tile floor decorated with a subtle seashell pattern — but not beautiful enough to stare at.

Bucky looked better than expected— rumpled but clean and physically healthy. His right arm seemed to have healed well from being broken, although that was to be expected from a super soldier. Steve pushed the memory of him crying out in pain as the arm snapped away.

He texted Sam their location. When Sam acknowledged, Steve asked if he thought Bucky would be okay reading the file.

Hard to say. You do know him better than I do. It’s his decision. But I would talk to him about it first. Make sure he knows what he wants from the file. Make sure he’s mentally prepared.

That made sense. As he thanked Sam, he noticed Bucky watching him text with poorly concealed nervousness. “I’m letting Sam know where we are.”

Bucky nodded, not seeming convinced of that.

In all the years they’d known each other, Bucky had sometimes been angry at, been disappointed by, and been fed up with Steve. But he’d never distrusted him. This suspicion hurt worse than a punch with the metal arm ever could.

As Steve had done many times over the years, he silently cursed Hydra.

—

Rogers continued texting as they went up to the hotel room. He didn’t want to get close enough to try to read what was typed. Instead, he would trust his senses to alert him to danger. With the hotel being almost empty — Rogers was given his pick of rooms — it would be easier to notice anyone coming for him.

The room was on the fourth floor of a six-story building, an easy jump to the ground. Across from the door was a pair of large double windows and, to the immediate left, a sliding glass door opening onto a balcony. Having multiple exit points reassured him. Of course when you had a metal arm, you could make your own exit. The furniture was nothing that would damage a super soldier in a fight. A rectangular table and a wooden chair sat below the windows with an armchair tucked into the corner to the right. Against the left wall was a double bed opposite a small TV on a stand.

Rogers glanced at him. “Have a seat.”

He remained standing near the door, waiting to see if being in an enclosed space with Rogers would make the impulse to finish his last mission flare. The thought thrummed in the back of his mind, steady but ignorable. Keeping his distance was best. He did drop his bag to the floor as a sign he wasn’t planning to run immediately. The knife he had let fall from his sleeve onto the ground while walking to the hotel so he wouldn’t be tempted by it. He hoped someone picked it up and found it useful. It was a good knife.

The tumble of waves was audible although muted by glass. Rogers took the chair in front of the table and leaned over, elbows on knees. “I don’t know what to say. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d find you. But here we are.”

His eyes moved to the windows. Even from across the room, he could see the water. There were four people tossing a ball back and forth on the otherwise empty beach.

He should say something. “I appreciate the foresight and patience it took to use Novak as bait.”

“It wasn’t my idea. And I’m not letting him get away with what he did. Once we’ve worked things out, I’m reporting him to the authorities.”

‘Worked things out’ was a nice euphemism for ‘once the Winter Soldier was in custody.’ “They’ll leave him where he is until he dies. It’s not worth arresting him now.”

“I know. But he doesn’t get to die with a good reputation. He’ll pay for what he did somehow.”

For the first time since they arrived at the hotel, he looked directly in Rogers’ eyes. “Do you think I need to pay for what I’ve done?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You didn’t choose to do it.”

“What about your friend?”

“Sam? He wants to help.”

“Why?” He never had specific orders to kill Wilson, but he’d tried when the man got in his way.

“It’s what he does.”

“So it’s his job.”

“It’s more of a vocation. For Sam, helping people gives his life meaning.”

“Were you two texting about me?”

“Yeah.” Rogers frowned. “Sam’s not trying to convince me to bring in law enforcement, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know you don’t know him, but he’s trustworthy. He’s concerned about you. I am too. You can read the texts if you like.”

He had one of those moments of self-consciousness about his paranoia and shook his head. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“We’re concerned about what’s going on with you.”

“You’re worried about my mental state.”

“Well, yeah. You are too, aren’t you? That’s why you went to Novak, why you want to read the file.”

Rogers heard his conversation with Novak. Hell, he’d read the file. There was no point denying the obvious. “I’m not out-of-control. But things are— difficult.”

“You’re not beyond help, Bucky, medically or legally.”

Talking about legal issues was easier. “With all the things I’ve done, no one is going to negotiate anything with me.”

“Governments negotiate all the time with people who have something they want bad enough. They negotiated with Zola— a fact I will gladly remind them of. There must be something you know that they’ll cut a deal to get. Natasha didn’t get all of Hydra’s secrets.”

“You sound like you’ve been talking to lawyers.”

“I have.”

“Why would anyone offer me anything for what I know if they can just take it?”

“Because I won’t let them. And there are others who will help me, who will help you. This isn’t you against the world.”

He looked at Rogers again. “You really think you can do this.”

“I’ve done things that were way more impossible.”

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

Seeing the determination in Rogers’ face, for a second he thought maybe this was possible. Maybe he could find a path that didn’t end with him in prison or dead or, worst of all, doing what he did for Hydra for someone else.

Rogers didn’t know he killed the Starks. This would never work out.

There was a knock on the door. He and Rogers looked away from each other.

“It’s me,” Wilson called.

Wilson entered carrying a briefcase, which he handed to Rogers— the file. He was tempted to grab it and run. But now that he’d started this conversation with Rogers, some part of him needed to continue it.

He was surprised when Wilson looked straight at him and asked, “You want me to stick around?”

He didn’t answer. Whether Wilson stayed or not wasn’t his decision.

“I think it’ll be easier if it’s just us,” Rogers said. “I booked the room next door too.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there, enjoying my view of the cold, windy beach.” Wilson accepted a keycard from Rogers and left.

Rogers kept hold of the briefcase. “Before Natasha gave this to me, she warned me I might not want to read it.”

“You did anyway.”

“It was the only way to know what happened to you. Look, it’s up to you to read it or not. But I want to ask, what are you looking for from it?”

It was remarkably easy to be honest with Rogers. “I need to get rid of what Hydra put in my head. If there’s anything in there that can help, I have to see it.”

“Okay. Do you have to read it yourself?”

Rogers was going to try to persuade him to turn himself in so an “expert” could read the file and interpret it for him. To cut that off, he asked, “What’s the worst thing in it?”

That question surprised Rogers. “For me— it was the self-congratulatory bits. The way they’d compliment each other for figuring out how to solve problems.”

He had a flash of being strapped to a table. A technician probed different spots on his metal arm with an electrified needle, seeing how he responded. Another tech hovered over him, taking pictures.

“Are there photos?”

“Yeah.” Rogers looked deeply uncomfortable. “I can take them out.”

Rogers was trying to protect him. He couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that. The idea was strange.

“Buck, we can look at it together. Or, you know, I read the thing. We can talk about it.”

It occurred to him that talking to Steve Rogers was the next best thing to having his memories back. This man had known him better than anyone. What if he asked about things that weren’t in the file? But that would mean admitting he didn’t remember. Would Rogers’ helpful attitude towards him change if he did?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Reading this isn’t going to kill me.”

“It could give you nightmares.”

“I already have those.”

“I didn’t want to read this. I kind of wish I didn’t. But I got what I was looking for out of it. I want to make sure it’ll be worth it to you.”

He looked out the window again. Dark storm clouds had appeared on the horizon. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But he’d come this far. He wasn’t giving up now.

“I don’t really want to read it either.” He sighed. “There might not be anything in there that would help. But I have to know for sure.”

Rogers looked like he was trying to think of another argument to try.

“I survived it. I can handle reading about it.”

Finally, Rogers relented. He set the briefcase on the table, opened it, and removed the file.

He trusted Rogers far enough to risk asking for something. “Would you take the photos out?”

“Of course.”

While Rogers piled photos face down in a corner of the table, he kept his eyes on the waves. The people with the ball had gone. A woman in a windbreaker walked a standard poodle across the sand.

Rogers stood up. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“If I said yes, would you?”

“I would.”

He wondered what Wilson would do if he heard Rogers say that. “What if I took the file and ran?”

“I’d spend however many years it took to find you again.”

“Do you think you’d find me?”

“Eventually. We might be old by then.”

“We are old.”

“True.” Rogers smiled.

The sight of Rogers smiling gave him something more than pleasure. For a moment, he felt like he’d arrived home after long years of wandering alone. Then the feeling was gone.

He might as well look through the file to see if it was worth stealing. He didn’t mind Rogers being there while he did so. “You can stay.”

Worried the urge to kill Rogers would overwhelm him, he approached slowly. That impulse remained background noise. However, the instinct to hug Rogers flared again. He did not like having two contradictory drives.

Rogers settled in the armchair on the right of the table. He sat down, looking at the file. This was his last chance to change his mind.

It was a scientific document with charts and diagrams, as Rogers said, and probably dry and full of jargon. All he had to do was not think about the fact it documented things that had happened to him. He reminded himself— he had survived it. He could handle reading about it.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the folder.

—

Steve half-expected Bucky to change his mind after reading the first few pages. He didn’t.

In the back of the file was an English translation JARVIS created, but Bucky read the original. Steve was not used to Bucky being able to speak Russian.

He still worried this was a bad idea. But Steve couldn’t stop Bucky from doing whatever it took to make sense of what happened to him. He wouldn’t like it if someone tried to prevent him from seeing the Captain America exhibit because it might upset him.

But he was glad he removed the photos. There was one in particular that stuck with him, a close up of the metal arm with panels on the inside of the elbow open. That wasn't what haunted Steve. On the very edge of the frame were Bucky's eyes, looking right at the camera. In most of the pictures, his face wasn't even visible under all the machinery. But that one…

Thinking about it made Steve want to punch the surviving doctor through a wall.

To keep from staring at Bucky the whole time, Steve checked his messages. Before approaching the abandoned house, he’d set his phone to silent so no one would interrupt. The newest text was Sam asking how things were going. Steve replied that things were under control. Nat sent an update: the stolen SHIELD tech had been secured outside Amarillo. She also sent a picture of a prairie dog sticking its head up from underground. He acknowledged her but didn’t mention finding Bucky. The situation was so precarious that bringing anyone else into it right now, even friends, would wreck everything.

Steve still kept an eye on Bucky, who looked like he was in a trance. Steve couldn’t tell if that was good or bad or neutral. He’d always known what Bucky was thinking 98% of the time. Now he didn’t. Could they ever be on the same wavelength again?

Outside, a storm broke. It wasn’t cold enough to snow but rain poured from the sky. Strong wind battered the windows. The waves doubled in size, crashing against the shore. Steve watched them. Memories of the Hurricane of 1938, dubbed the Long Island Express in the papers, came to mind, although this storm was nothing compared to that beast.

By the time Bucky finished, night had fallen. He closed the folder, leaving his right hand on top. His lips moved slightly but no words came out.

“Bucky?”

He seemed surprised that Steve was there. "Is this everything?"

"That's all Natasha got. You okay?”

Bucky nodded, his expression distant.

In this situation, Sam would push for more, so Steve did. “What are you thinking?”

“I understand what Novak meant when he said he didn’t understand half of what Zola did. If there’s anything in here,” he tapped the file, “that could help me, I can’t pinpoint it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I knew this was a gamble. It didn’t work out.”

“You don’t have to figure things out on your own.”

“This can’t be undone.”

There was a hopelessness in Bucky’s voice that Steve couldn’t take. “There has to be some way to free your mind.”

“How?”

“I know some pretty smart people who can answer that if you give them a chance.”

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

That question again. “You know why.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and met Steve’s eyes. This was the closest he’d gotten to Steve yet. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember what?”

“Anything. Brooklyn. The war. The Howling Commandos. You. I didn’t want to tell you. But if you insist on getting involved in this, you should know.”

Steve was already involved in ‘this’— Bucky’s life. “Know what, exactly?”

“That we’re not friends.”

Steve had considered the possibility Bucky didn’t remember and didn’t think of them as friends. Hearing him say it still hurt. It didn’t change Steve’s commitment to helping Bucky. “If you don’t remember me, why did you pull me from the river?”

“I don’t know.”

“You were supposed to kill me. Why didn’t you?”

Bucky looked out the window. Streetlights along the boardwalk illuminated sheets of rain. Steve waited.

Finally, Bucky said, “I knew you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I feel like I know you but I don’t remember you. Believe me, I’ve tried. I went to a museum exhibit about you.”

“The Smithsonian?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“I needed to know if what you said about me was true.”

Steve had feared reading the file would make Bucky withdraw, but it had the opposite effect. He had to keep this going. He tried to think of what Sam would say. “What did you think seeing the exhibit?”

“How would you feel if you found out you had a whole life you didn’t remember?”

“Like I was losing my mind.”

Bucky nodded. “You know, everything I know about myself, I got secondhand. And all from people who never even knew me.”

“Well, I knew you. You can ask me anything.”

“Anything?” Bucky looked like he was wondering where the catch was.

“Anything.”

“How did we become friends? It seems like it just happened.”

“It kind of did. We just met and clicked. That night, my mom asked how school went and I said, ‘I met my best friend today.’ She thought it was funny. But it was true.”

“Best friends at first sight, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

“What was I like?”

It took Steve a moment to respond. He felt weird answering this question. (Bucky surely felt weird asking it.) “This may sound like blowing smoke, but you were one of the guys the rest of us wanted to be. I mean, you had it all. You were smart. Athletic. Funny. Charming. You weren’t a jerk, most of the time.”

“What did I do to be a jerk?”

“You liked to show off. You could act like my bossy older brother.”

“Did I fight a lot?”

Steve tried not to get excited at the possibility of Bucky remembering something. The exhibit had mentioned that Bucky physically protected Steve from bullies. “Not any more than your average young guy in Brooklyn back then. Half the fights you got into were because of me.”

“What about the other half?”

“That was you finishing things other people started. There were some real jackasses in the old neighborhood.”

“But I didn’t attack people?”

So Bucky was worried he’d been a violent person. “No. You were a good egg.” Bucky looked skeptical, so Steve continued. “Pretty much everyone who knew you liked you, even our crabby sophomore math teacher, Mr. Jansen. Girls went wild over you. One time, we went to a Sadie Hawkins charity ball. So many girls wanted to ask you to dance the emcee had to organize them for crowd control. The line went out the dancehall doors.”

“I liked dancing?”

“You were a social butterfly. Loved parties. I don’t think I ever would have gone to a dance if you hadn’t dragged me along.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure what else to ask.”

“I have something that might give you ideas.” Steve opened the briefcase and pulled out an album. This he had brought along intending to show Bucky. “The curator of the Captain America exhibit gave me this— photos they collected while doing research. Some of these pictures I’d never seen before. You want to look?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve angled the armchair so they could both see the album while giving Bucky space. The prospect of Bucky panicking if he got too close— he never would have thought things could be like this between them. He tried not to let it get to him.

He skipped over the first few pages of Rogers family pictures, stopping at a group photo of his first grade class. In the front row, bottom left, was Steve, sitting cross-legged on the ground and squinting. Standing behind him grinning was young James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky identified himself immediately, which Steve took as a good sign. “That was me.”

“That was you.”

From that point on, almost every picture of Steve was also a picture of Bucky.

Steve answered every question Bucky had. He was glad there were so many happy memories to share. Bucky’s mother owned a Kodak Brownie camera and loved taking pictures. There was Steve with the Barnes siblings in front of a Christmas tree, all showing off their presents; Steve and Bucky in seats at Ebbets Field sharing a bag of peanuts; the two of them on the old couch in the Rogers’ tiny apartment with the calico cat Sarah Rogers rescued from the street on Bucky’s lap.

“That cat adored you,” Steve said. “She’d perch on your shoulders while you walked around. You called her your cat scarf.”

That made Bucky smile slightly. Steve mentally thanked whoever added this picture to the album.

A drop in the number of photos marked the start of the Depression. He and Bucky were luckier than a lot of kids because Sarah Rogers and George Barnes still had jobs. But both families lost their savings in the bank failures. Parties and trips were few and far between and modest when they did happen. There was less money for camera film.

Halfway through the album, there was a page of photo booth candids. Three sets of small pictures of Steve and Bucky mugging for the camera: sticking out their tongues, holding up their fists like boxers, posing like James Cagney or Clark Gable or Errol Flynn. There were even a few of them smiling normally and hugging.

“Looks like we were having fun,” Bucky said.

Steve explained the circumstances behind each set. The first was from his tenth birthday. “These were taken at the first photo booth that opened in our neighborhood. We had to wait in line two hours to use it.”

The second was from a trip to Coney Island, where Steve rode the Cyclone at Bucky’s insistence and threw up. “The pictures are from before that, when I didn’t have vomit all over my shirt.”

The last was taken at Rockaway Beach. “This trip was great until the end. We spent all our money on food and rides and games, so we had to go home in the back of a freezer truck instead of taking the train.”

“That sounds like very poor planning.”

Steve shrugged. “We were fifteen.”

A few pages later was a photo of Steve sitting at a desk by a window, drawing. “This was our apartment. Well, your apartment that I moved into after my mom died.”

“Did I take that photo?”

“You did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember. I’m not sure you told me.”

Steve wished he had more pictures of that place. Having somewhere that felt like home after losing his mother meant a lot to him. Of course it felt like home because of Bucky. There were so many things Steve wanted to say about that time— but Bucky didn’t remember. (At least he didn’t yet.) Unleashing it all might overwhelm him and scare him off.

Even if Bucky never got his memories back, Steve wanted to give him a place where he could feel at home. The question was how to do that.

A few pages later, another big change was marked in the album: the US entering World War II. There were photos of Betsy Ross in her Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps uniform and Arnie Roth in his Navy uniform. Steve had to explain that those were friends of theirs from high school.

Among these pictures was one more set of photo booth candids of Steve and Bucky with the latter in uniform. “These are from the night before you shipped out. We went to the World Exposition of Tomorrow. Then—“ he omitted meeting Dr. Erskine. Steve wanted to tell Bucky what he did that night. “You went dancing.”

“Really?”

“It was your last opportunity to dance for a while.”

Steve’s finger ran down the side of the strip: Steve and Bucky pointing to each other with their thumbs, Steve knocking Bucky’s hat off his head, Bucky putting the hat on Steve (which fell down over his eyes). The last shot was the two of them standing together, Bucky's arm around Steve's shoulder. Steve gazed at the camera stoically. Bucky was looking at Steve. His expression was sad.

“I guess that was the last night I was a normal person,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve turned the page. There was nothing else he could say about these pictures.

He skipped over the Camp Lehigh section and tried to skip the war bond tour. Bucky stopped him. “What are you wearing?”

“You’ve seen this. It was in the exhibit.”

“Well, I was paying attention to other things at the time.”

Steve grimaced while Bucky stared at an 8x10 color photo of him in that ridiculous costume.

Bucky laughed softly. “Sorry. I just— the tights…“

“I know.” Steve laughed himself, which made Bucky laugh harder. They set each other off until tears trickled out of their eyes. All that time searching was worth every moment for this. Steve wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “You always did have strong opinions about clothes.”

“I did?”

“You kept me from looking too scruffy.”

There were only a few pages left: Steve, standing in front of the Hydra prisoners he liberated, Bucky once again by his side, then photos of the Howling Commandos in camp and in the field. Every picture of Steve was also a picture of Bucky.

And then there weren't any more pictures of Bucky. Steve closed the album, not bothering with the rest.

Neither of them spoke for a time. Then Bucky pointed to the pile of photos from the file. “Those are the only pictures of me after…” Tears, not from laughter, welled in his eyes.

Steve couldn't take it. He had held back to give Bucky space. Now he leaned over and laid an arm along Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky shot out of the chair and was across the room before it hit the floor.

Staying in the armchair, Steve held up his hands. “I’m sorry.“

“I need to go.”

“You don't have to go! I didn’t mean to startle you. Everything's fine.”

“You don't understand. I have to go. Now.”

“What's going on?”

Bucky looked like he’d break through a wall to get out of the room. “My last mission. I never finished it.”

“What?”

He gripped his metal wrist with his other hand. “I still feel like I’m supposed to kill you. I had it under control until you touched me.”

Steve was shocked. But the only thing he feared was Bucky leaving. “Don’t go! I know people who can help, Buck. Doctors, scientists.”

“I can't take being an experiment in another laboratory!”

“They’re good people. They won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, they will. Even if they don’t mean to, they will. What are they going to do anyway? Seventy years of counter-brainwashing?”

“Bucky—“

“Let it go! I should never have come here. It'll kill both of us if I stay.”

Before Steve could say another word, Bucky fled the room.

Chapter Text

Steve grabbed the shield before pursuing Bucky. By the time he left the room, a fire door at the end of the hallway was banging shut.

Sam opened his door. “What happened?”

Charging down the corridor, Steve shouted over his shoulder. “He’s running!”

Steve burst into the stairwell, leapt over the railing, and landed four stories below. He bolted through the exit onto the boardwalk, almost tearing the door off its hinges.

Bucky raced along the deserted beach, pulling his backpack onto his shoulders as he ran. Steve followed. Cold rain lashed his face, which he blinked out of his eyes. Bucky was still close enough to the boardwalk lights to be visible but was rapidly approaching darkness. Steve cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight.

A spotlight appeared from behind. Glancing back, Steve saw the drone skimming over the ground. Flying low, it avoided most of the wind, but occasional gusts buffeted the small machine, making it zig zag in its course. Sam managed to keep the light on Bucky.

Steve threw the shield. The fabric covering it tore away, revealing the painted metal. He expected Bucky to pause to grab it and throw it back. This time Steve would be ready to dodge and close the distance between them. But Bucky simply veered to the right, keeping his pace. The shield flew past him, hitting sand and skipping like a stone over water before coming to a stop.

At the end of the beach rose towering cliffs. The cave system within ran for miles. If Bucky made it inside, it would be difficult to track him even with the drone. Steve pushed harder, feet digging into wet sand with every step.

A tall pile of rocks at the bottom of the cliff blocked his line of sight. He dug his earpiece out of his jacket pocket and put it in. “Don’t lose him, Sam.”

“I’ve got eyes on him.”

With a burst of speed, the drone passed Steve. Bucky reached the cliff bottom and vaulted over the rocks, dropping out of view. The drone followed, light shining bright in the stormy darkness.

“Pull up higher!” Steve shouted but not fast enough. Bucky leapt into the air, snatched the drone, and smashed it into a boulder.

Sam swore loudly in his ear. Steve jumped, sailing over the sand and landing on top of the tallest rock.

Bucky was gone.

The only illumination here was from light pollution from the town. However, the spotlight from the broken drone still worked. Steve grabbed it, grateful that Stark Industries built things to last.

The storm was so loud trying to listen for Bucky was pointless. Steve searched the bluff above in case Bucky was climbing. He couldn’t have already reached the top, which was at least 75 feet high. Only a second or two had separated them in the chase. Not even a super soldier could get up there that fast, especially with strong wind and a cliff face slippery with rain. Steve doubted Bucky would try to jump in the pitch-dark. It would be too easy to smash his head against some bit of unseen overhanging rock.

Steve peered into the surf, searching for a swimmer. There was nothing but endless whitecaps.

The light fell on several items lying on the rocks: a handheld radio, a chocolate bar, and a blue notebook, which was rapidly getting soaked. Steve picked the notebook up and put it inside his jacket for protection. A piece of fabric stuck on a sharp rock edge showed what had happened: Bucky’s bag had snagged and broken open.

“Steve?” Sam’s voice was staticky over the comm.

“I lost him. I’m searching the shoreline.”

“On my way.”

Bucky had to be hiding somewhere nearby. He couldn’t actually disappear into thin air.

A portion of the cliff jutted out into the sea. Clambering over rocks, Steve went around to the other side. A cave mouth greeted him. He had worried Bucky would enter the caverns.

The opening was wide and tall enough for him to stand. Cold sea water covered the floor up to his knees, surging back and forth with the rhythm of the waves. The cave bored into the cliffside far enough that Steve couldn’t see the end. Even worse, two other chambers branched off the main grotto. Every way Steve looked, the spotlight illuminated damp rock for a few yards then was swallowed by absolute darkness.

Cupping his hands to his mouth, Steve called, “Bucky!”

His voice echoed in the cave. There was no answer.

Steve studied the floors and walls, hoping to see another item dropped from the backpack or a torn bit of fabric from Bucky’s clothes or a rock broken in a suspicious manner. He found no clues.

Water splashed behind him and he turned, hopeful. Sam stood at the mouth of the cave, a small flashlight in hand and the shield on his arm.

“Bucky went into one of these passages. I’m sure of it,” Steve said.

“But you didn’t see which one.”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to go flailing around in flooded caves looking for him. I can’t help you here. The drone is toast. Steve, we need to regroup and come up with another plan.”

Part of Steve absolutely wanted to run after Bucky. But Sam was right. They needed to be smart about this. He unzipped his jacket so Sam could see the notebook. “Bucky’s backpack split open. I picked this up. There might be some clue where he’ll go next in here.”

Sam nodded. “Let’s get back to the hotel before that thing gets destroyed by water.”

Steve took the shield back so Sam wouldn’t have to carry it back over the rocks. When they arrived at the downed drone, Sam picked up the pieces. “Sorry, little buddy,” he said. “And I was just getting the hang of piloting you.”

As they trudged back to the hotel, Steve explained what happened. “He got through reading the file. Handled it better than I thought he would. We were making progress. You know, starting to connect a little, in spite of his memory loss. Then I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“We have to find him.”

"I agree. For the good of everyone.”

“He’s not Hydra anymore.”

“I know. But he still wants to kill you.”

“He doesn’t want to kill me.”

“Okay. He feels compelled to kill you.”

“He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it.”

Sam shook his head. “The kind of help he needs is way beyond me. I can’t even prescribe drugs.”

“Even if Bruce and Tony could de-program him, it would take them a while to figure out how. Bucky doesn't want to be a lab rat anymore, even for people who want to help. I can’t blame him.”

On arriving at the hotel, Steve took one last look towards the beach, hoping to see Bucky, either having decided to come back or to escape a different way. There was nothing but empty sand and sea. He hoped there was information in this notebook he could use.

They retrieved their duffel bags from the car, then finally returned inside to warmth and dryness. Their water-logged shoes squelched on the tile floor. A sign in four languages posted on the front desk announced it was closed for the night. Steve was glad there was no one out in this terrible weather to see the shield.

In the elevator, Sam said, “You know, there might be another option.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“It's kind of an out-there idea, but maybe you could ask Thor."

“This isn't a problem you can solve by throwing Mjolnir at it."

"The Asgardians have super advanced technology. I mean, I heard Thor talking about traveling through space on a rainbow. If anyone has something that can help Bucky without inflicting further trauma on him, they would.”

Steve thought about it. His experience with Asgardian technology was the Tesseract, which powered Hydra’s war machines and made it possible for aliens to invade Earth. That didn’t leave a great impression. But the Tesseract was secure in Asgard. He didn’t really know what other things Thor’s people could do.

Anything that might help Bucky was worth a shot. “That is an out-there idea. I’ll contact Thor.”

The elevator doors opened. Sam said, “I’m going to get dry clothes and get another drone from the jet so we’ll have air superiority again.”

“Spoken like true Air Force.”

Sam half-smiled. “We’ll find Bucky again.”

“We will.”

Shouldering his bag, Sam went to his room, leaving Steve alone with thoughts about otherworldly magic.

—

First, Steve had to salvage the drenched notebook. He found a drying rack in the closet of his room. Carefully fanning out the pages, he laid the book on the rack, set it near an air vent and turned the heat up. Many, many years ago, he’d done this to save one of his sketchbooks after he’d been caught in the rain with no umbrella.

Then he took his laptop out of the briefcase. A half hour later, he was starting a video call with Thor. JARVIS, who set the call up, warned that the connection would be choppy. Thor was at the South Pole where Jane Foster and her team were working on a project. Communication was only possible via satellite and unusually intense solar flares were affecting the signal.

“Steve Rogers! This is unexpected.” Thor smiled. He was wearing a bright orange wool hat with a yellow pom pom on top. Behind him was an open tent flap through which Steve glimpsed a vast snowy plain. A woman’s voice spoke offscreen. Thor added, “Jane says hello.”

“Hello to her, too”

Thor glanced to his left. “Steve says hello!”

The video froze for a second, then restarted. Fearing losing the connection, Steve got to the point. “I’m afraid I’m calling for a favor.”

“I am always happy to help a friend. What is your trouble?"

Steve explained the situation as quickly as possible. A frown gradually crept over Thor’s face as he listened. When Steve was done, Thor said, “I did not think it possible for people on Earth to practice soul-binding.”

“Did you say soul-binding?”

“Aye. Breaking the will of others and forcing them to do one's bidding. A wicked and terrible art forbidden in Asgard.”

That was a poetic way to put it. “Do you know of any way to break, uh, soul-binding?”

“I do not have the skill necessary to undertake such a task. But I do know those who may have such knowledge.”

“Do I have to go to Asgard?”

“What did you say?”

The signal was breaking up. Steve repeated the question.

“No need, my friend. They live in Midgard,” Thor said, lapsing into using the Asgardian name for Earth. For a moment, the video and audio went dead. “—ask if they will grant you an audience. If they choose to hear your supplication, they will contact you.“

“Thor, you’re cutting out. Who— ?“

The connection died. Steve tried calling back but couldn’t get through.

Who, exactly, was Thor sending to him? Wizards? Elves? Other gods from Norse myth? Steve always felt extremely out of his depth with anything related to Asgard. Maybe it was better if he met whoever it was without having time to build up ideas about them.

Still, Steve was greatly relieved that there was someone who might be able to help Bucky. He texted Sam the update, then checked the notebook. The pages were still too wet and fragile to handle.

Since he had to wait to go through the notebook, Steve researched Norse mythology. He'd read some about Odin and the Nine Realms after he met Thor and learned it was all real. Now he was looking for anything — a legend, a fragment of verse — similar to Bucky's situation. He tried various search terms, skimming scholarly articles that came up. Steve had a lot to sift through. There had been an explosion of interest in Norse myth since Thor, God of Thunder, appeared in the flesh.

Something zipping by the window caught his eye. Looking up, Steve saw a drone. He went out on the balcony. The sun was just rising. He’d been up all night. Sam stood on the balcony to the right, fingers on a drone controller on his wrist.

“Well, we have air superiority again,” Steve said.

“I’ll say. I got five drones up there.”

“Five?”

“The jet comes with six.”

“I forgot there were that many on board.”

“Took me a bit to figure out how to route them all into one controller but they’re up and running. If Bucky’s anywhere near here, I’ll spot him.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Watching the closest drone zoom along the boardwalk, he noticed a pair of ravens flying along the shore. He couldn’t remember ever seeing ravens at the beach. He supposed they came down from the forested hills above.

“Since the drones are on watch, how about breakfast?”

“Sounds good.” There wasn’t much to do while waiting for Thor’s friends except go through Bucky’s notebook. Steve decided to eat and clear his head first. He’d been so focused on finding clues to where Bucky was, he didn’t consider until now that reading Bucky’s personal thoughts was going to be taxing.

“That cafe on the corner with the blue sign is open.”

“Okay.” The ravens landed on the balcony railing surprisingly close to Steve. They must be used to being fed by tourists. He turned to go back inside.

An unfamiliar voice said, “Captain America Steve Rogers.”

He whipped around. “Who said that?”

“Uh—” Sam said. “I may be hallucinating but I think that bird did.”

“Captain America Steve Rogers.” As Steve watched the beak move, a voice indistinguishable from a human’s came out. He gawked at the raven. Dark bird eyes gazed back at him.

A bit he’d been reading last night came to him: Odin’s ravens, Thought and Memory. They travelled throughout Midgard (now Steve was doing it) keeping an eye on things for their king. This was who Thor meant.

“You’re Hugin and Munin.” He hoped he was saying that right.

The raven said, “I am Hugin.” It tilted its head towards its companion. “This is Munin. Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard, tells us that you seek our aid to undo vile and unlawful magic. Given your friendship with our King’s heir, we will hear your request.”

Steve was aware seconds were ticking by but was unable to speak. If he didn’t say something, the ravens might leave. Pretend they’re not birds. He imagined Thor standing in front of him talking. That got his brain unstuck.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know you, uh, must be busy.” Being polite never hurt. “My friend needs help. He’s been— Thor said you call it soul binding. We call it brainwashing or mind control.”

“We know that of which you speak” Hugin said. “He must be dear to you to seek an audience with us.”

“He’s the best friend I ever had. During tough times, he was always there for me. We’re not blood, but he’s my brother. I will do anything I can for him.”

Now Munin spoke. “When Midgardians beseech us for aid, their real purpose is often to acquire power for themselves.” Munin’s voice was hoarse. Steve noticed that its throat was missing some feathers. “Some of them have even sought to force us to do their bidding.”

Hugin said, “The Prince has vouched for his friend.”

Munin cawed. Hugin cawed back. Fluttering their wings, they chattered to each other. Steve didn’t speak raven but he was pretty sure they were arguing. He was saddened but not surprised that the ravens had negative experiences with humanity. Had a human injured Munin? It seemed rude to ask.

When the ravens stopped talking, Steve said, “I don’t want anything from you other than whatever help you can give my friend, I swear.”

“It is uncharacteristic of your kind to have selfless motives,” Munin said.

“I don’t know if my motives are selfless. My friend also lost his memory of his life before the, uh, soul-binding. He doesn’t remember me. I want him to remember.”

“I see,” Munin said. “If we were only able to do one, restore his memories or break the soul-binding, which would you choose?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“But if he were unable to choose and the task fell to you?”

Was this a test? “I would break the soul-binding. That's what he would want." As much as Steve wanted Bucky to remember, he couldn’t leave his friend vulnerable to mind control.

Again, the ravens flapped their wings and cawed to each other. Steve feared they might be unmoved by his plea and leave. But Hugin said, “We agree to help your friend as best we can.”

Steve nodded so deeply it was almost a bow. (He had no idea what the etiquette for this situation was.) “Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer you but my gratitude.”

Hugin said, “We shall call on you if we should require aid in the future.”

“I will be happy to help.”

“Now where is your friend?”

“That’s a problem. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Speak his name and we will find him.”

“James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.” Steve hesitated before adding, in case it would help, “Another name for him is the Winter Soldier.”

“Take heart, Captain America Steve Rogers,” Hugin said. “We shall return.”

The birds launched themselves from the railing, dark feathers gleaming in the early morning sunlight.

When they were out of sight, Sam said, “Thor didn’t tell you he was sending talking birds?”

“No.”

“That’s kind of an important detail.”

“The call got cut off.”

Steve was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Bucky.

—

He’d been sitting in stopped traffic ten kilometers from the Carpasian border for an hour. The storm that unleashed rain on the coast dumped snow in the country’s interior. Thick white drifts covered the ground on either side of the two-lane mountain highway. After it stopped snowing, heavy fog rolled in, making the road invisible. He knew there was a car in front of him but he couldn’t see it. With these conditions, the trip was taking much longer than expected. It was already mid-morning.

Something rattled in the engine of the blue Volkswagen Beetle. The old car had almost stalled out a couple of times. He should have stolen a better vehicle. But he was in such a hurry to get away, he took the first thing he found.

A bigger problem troubled him. The one irreplaceable item he owned, the notebook, had been lost. He’d felt things tumble out when his backpack split open during his landing after destroying the drone. But with Rogers hot on his heels, he couldn’t stop.

He was amazed he escaped. Scrambling along the shoreline in a storm, barely able to see, he didn’t think he would get away. Then he saw the cave. He plunged into the pitch-dark passage off the right side of the main chamber and hid behind a stony outcropping. Cold, briny waist-high water swirled around him. He was close enough to hear Rogers call his name.

When he was certain Rogers wasn’t following, he fumbled in his bag for his flashlight. He found it but discovered he’d lost the notebook. Even with the drone destroyed, he didn’t dare go back for it.

Air currents whipped up by storm winds circulated through the maze and lead him through the system to the surface. He ended up swimming half the way, including through two completely flooded chambers. Not wanting to trigger a cave-in, he didn’t break rock to make a passage for himself. After several hours, he emerged outside a mere half kilometer down the coast, although the distance he traveled was easily four times that. By then, the storm had ended. He scaled the cliff, found the Beetle parked on the edge of town, and drove off.

Once he was out of Carpasia, he would replace the car. He’d also find somewhere to shower. The dried salt on his skin made him itch. He didn’t use to even notice being dirty. That was progress towards being a normal person, he supposed. Although right now he wished he could ignore feeling gross completely.

Sleet started falling, undetectable in the fog until it splattered the windshield. He turned the wipers on the lowest setting, not that it made any difference in visibility.

He couldn’t risk returning to Bucharest. The thought disappointed him more than expected. Seeing the same places every day, the same people out on the streets and in local businesses, was almost like having a home. He even had a favorite restaurant.

Rogers might not have his notebook. It could have been washed into the sea. But he couldn’t afford to assume Rogers didn’t pick it up. He hadn’t written an address down, but the man could figure out where he’d been living from things he did write.

It would be much easier to start over this time. When he left Hydra, all he had were the clothes on his back and a knife in his boot. Now he had cash in the backpack and a fake ID in his wallet. He’d land on his feet somewhere.

What if he forgot everything he’d learned without the notebook to remind him?

He wouldn’t let himself forget. First stop he made, he would buy a new notebook and record everything again. And he’d add what he learned from Rogers. A little more knowledge about who he had been was the only thing he got out of this disastrous trip.

Was what he’d learned worth the trouble? So he knew he liked to dance and make funny faces in photos when he was a kid. That wasn’t useful information.

He had to admit there was something else he got. The warmth that came over him when he laughed with Rogers, as though they really were old friends despite his memory problems, still resonated somewhere in him. He couldn’t bring himself to regret experiencing that, even if it cost him. If only he could remember— if only he wasn’t a fugitive assassin…

There wouldn’t be any more of that. Rogers was deluded in thinking there was any hope for things being even a tiny bit like they used to be. That disappointed him more than having to relocate. But it was the truth.

The red tail lights of the car ahead reappeared, although he still couldn’t see the actual vehicle. Was the fog finally lifting?

He’d be on his way soon enough. Fleeting emotions didn’t matter. Staying hidden was paramount. If anyone captured him, the best option was prison. The worst was being forced to work as an assassin again. No, the worst was being experimented on again, so that what had been done to him could be reproduced. Rogers might think he could prevent that, but he was wrong.

Instead of chasing a futile dream, he should have accepted he was incurable. He wouldn't make this mistake twice.

Slowly, the outline of the car in front of him emerged. The fog was dissipating.

Something moved through the mist above the road. He peered through the windshield, uneasy. Was that a drone overhead? The Avengers surely had more than one. Had Rogers caught up with him?

As the fog broke up, a small dark object dropped from the sky, heading straight for him fast. It was too murky to tell if it was a drone or a grenade or something else. Expecting the windshield to shatter, he gripped the car door handle, ready to roll out.

A raven landed on the hood.

He let out a breath, almost laughing. He really was paranoid sometimes.

The bird hopped forward, stopping well clear of the moving wiper blades. A second raven landed next to it. Both birds’ eyes were fixed on him. This was a bit weird.

The first raven squawked, then squawked again, then squawked a third time. It took several seconds to realize he was hearing English words, muffled through the glass.

“James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. The Winter Soldier.”

He stared at the birds. Had everything Hydra did to his brain finally broken it for good?

The first raven flapped its wings. “Captain America Steve Rogers has summoned us to aid you.”

What did Rogers do?

Chapter Text

The final entry in Bucky’s notebook was the day before he went to see Novak. Steve flipped through the rest to make sure he didn't miss anything.

He felt somewhat guilty for reading it without permission. But Steve needed clues as to where to resume the search if Bucky didn’t come back. Hugin and Munin might not find him. Or he could refuse to go with them. What would they do if that happened? Fly around him cawing until he gave in?

The book's pages were mostly legible despite being stained with blotches of smeared ink. It was all in English, except for occasional words and phrases in different languages, which Steve looked up online. However, in some places the writing was so frenzied Steve had trouble deciphering it. More than once, Bucky had torn through the paper with his pen.

Reading Hydra’s account of what they did to Bucky had been hard enough. Reading Bucky’s reactions to it was even harder. Steve turned back to one passage that haunted him.

When I hear the code words, my mind narrows down to a tiny point. Nothing exists except whatever they tell me to do. Not even me. No past except whatever they need me to know for the mission. No future except the mission. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. All I have is the gun in my hand and a target to point it at. All I am is the squeeze of the trigger. I have no name.

Could anything cure this, even magic?

Closing the book, Steve set it on the desk and looked out the window. Today the water was calm. Sam stood on the balcony, piloting the drones, just in case. Steve feared Bucky had already left the country.

When Sam came inside, Steve asked, “Any luck?”

“I’ve seen two pods of dolphins, some teenagers smoking pot in a cove, and an old man swimming naked in the sea. But no sign of our missing person. You find anything in the book?”

Steve explained that it seemed Bucky had been mostly in Europe following the Battle of the Triskelion. “The most recent entries have a few Romanian words in them.”

“So if the ravens don’t find him, we start there.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“This trip has taken a turn.”

Sam sat in the armchair. “Do you think whatever Thor’s associates can do will work?”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll think of something else.” Steve had no idea what that might be but he couldn’t — he wouldn’t — give up.

“What if he doesn’t want to try whatever our feathered friends have in mind?”

“You were the one advocating for Asgardian tech.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t expecting bird wizards. I figured Thor would build a machine or something. Do you think Bucky’s desperate enough for inter-species magic?”

“He might be.”

“Even if he doesn’t want to go along with this, we can’t leave him on his own while we figure out how to deprogram him.” Sam’s tone was professionally neutral. “It’s not good for him or anyone else.”

Bucky had scribbled I will not kill over and over throughout the book. “I agree he shouldn’t be left to deal with everything alone. But if he was going to kill anyone, it would be Novak. He didn’t. I don’t think he’s a danger to anyone else as long as no one attacks him.”

“I was more thinking endlessly searching for him is also not good for you. But considering all the wanted lists he’s on, what are the odds of no one ever attacking him?”

“That’s why I want to get to him first.”

In the final entry, Bucky wrote I wish there was someone to help me. Steve hoped Bucky could trust him enough to let him help. And he hoped he could help— that this plan to use magic wouldn’t just drag Bucky into more trouble.

Wanting to work on something and not sit around moping, Steve opened his laptop to a map of Romania. He and Sam discussed where to look for Bucky in the country, which neither of them had ever visited. Unfortunately, Bucky didn’t mention any identifiable landmarks in his notebook.

They were interrupted by a bang that almost took the door off its hinges.

“Rogers!” Bucky shouted.

Steve rushed to open the door. Bucky stood in front of him, scowling.

Before Steve could say anything, Bucky pushed past him into the room. “There are ravens following me— talking to me! They won’t go away!”

There was tapping on the window. Sam said, “Birds are back."

“I can explain,” Steve said. “The ravens are here to help.”

Bucky stared at Steve. “I can’t tell if I’m crazy or you’re crazy.”

“Could be both,” Sam offered.

—

“So what do you think?” Rogers said.

He wasn’t sure what he thought. For most of the past hour, the ravens had been talking. His head was spinning. He gripped the edge of the bed where he sat, feeling like he was hanging on to reality.

The birds made him nervous, constantly hopping and flitting all over the room. At one point, the one with all its feathers intact landed on the bed very close him. He had to stop himself from reaching out and knocking it off. The other one kept its distance. Currently, both were perched on top of the TV.

Rogers sat in the chair by the table; Wilson in the armchair. All eyes — four human, four bird — were on him, waiting for a response. He kept his face down, not liking being stared at.

Finally, Rogers said, “Would you mind if we had a few minutes alone?”

The ravens agreed. Wilson opened the balcony door and went outside with them, stepping over the drones parked there. He was slightly pleased with himself for evading all of the spy machines on the way back to the hotel. He hadn’t lost his touch.

When the door was shut, Rogers said, “Buck?”

He rubbed his face. “This is a lot to take in.”

“It is."

Not knowing what else to say, he began. “Let me make sure I understand everything.”

“Okay.”

“You went to Thor — the God of Thunder Thor — for help. He sent you his father’s, uh, emissaries. They think they can free my mind from Hydra control with Asgardian magic.”

“Yep.”

“The plan is to use runes to open a gate to some kind of space that exists outside our reality, where living things can’t exist in physical form. But our minds can travel there while we’re asleep through this gate. Being in this space is not exactly the same as regular dreaming, but from the point-of-view of anyone there, it’s indistinguishable. So they call it the dream space or the world of dreams. And here, you can— interact directly with your own mind.” This was the part he understood least. The ravens tried their best to explain, even guiding Rogers through writing out equations, but he still didn’t really grasp it.

“Everything in your head gets projected out into the space. I don’t get the math. But the bit that’s important to us is you can use the dream space to break spells.”

“Does what Hydra did to me count as a spell?”

“Hugin and Munin think so. They said the line between magic and science isn’t as sharp as we modern humans think.”

“Well, the mind control is activated by words. I guess it fits.” He’d let the ravens look over his Hydra file. (The birds spoke Russian.) This whole situation was so surreal, he didn’t have the will to argue. “So I’m supposed to lie in the middle of a circle of runes and go to sleep. Once I’m in dreamland, I should be able to break the control the code words have over me. And maybe access the memories from my old life too, if they’re still in my brain somewhere. If they’re not, then…”

Rogers looked so uncomfortable he didn’t finish the sentence. Whether he’d get his memories back had been a point Rogers questioned the ravens on. The answer was a definite maybe.

“You’ve got all the basics.”

“This is assuming I succeed. If I fail, I’ll just stay the way I am now. And if things get messed up bad enough, I might end up in a coma or dead.”

“My job will be keeping that from happening. If things go wrong, I pull you out and close the gate.”

“I can't believe you're seriously talking about magic."

“If it works, does it matter what it is?”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Bucky, I know Asgardian stuff is difficult to get a handle on at first.”

“It’s not the Asgardians. As ridiculous as all this sounds, it may work. The problem is me. This plan hinges on me overcoming my programming. I can’t do that. That’s the whole problem.”

"You’ve fought it before. You’re fighting it right now. I mean, technically you're supposed to be killing me. Right?”

"That's different."

"Different how?"

“I didn't stop myself on purpose. Something just snapped in my head. It’s not a matter of willpower. Hydra still has their hooks in my brain. I’m a bomb waiting to go off.”

“So we’ll find a way to defuse it."

"You're really serious about this."

“I am.”

“Why are you trying so hard to save me? I don’t even remember you.”

“You know, before I went to stop Hydra from launching the helicarriers, I was thinking about my mother’s funeral.”

“Why?”

“At the time, I was grieving. I felt like I was completely alone in the world. But I wasn’t because you were there. I tried to push you away, thinking I had to be strong and do everything by myself, but you weren’t having it.”

“You feel like you owe me.”

“A bit. But it’s more than that. You don’t remember us being friends, but I do. I can’t help worrying about you. Not knowing where you were, how you were doing, if you were hurt or in trouble, was driving me nuts.”

He felt like he needed to throw Rogers a bone. “I’ve been doing all right.”

“Really?”

“I have a place to stay.”

“You do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Is it an okay place?”

“It suits me fine.”

“I have a hard time imagining you living in the woods.”

“It’s not in the woods.”

“But you’re in hiding.”

“There are places to hide other than the woods, you know.”

“So you’re in a town? A city?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Rogers, who stopped fishing for information about his location. “I’m surprised nobody’s recognized you.”

“I keep a low profile.”

“Nobody thinks it’s weird you wear long sleeves and gloves all the time?”

“People assume I dress like this because I’m a heroin addict.”

“What? Why?”

“I look like I’m always cold and trying to hide track marks.”

“How do you know this?”

“Workers from addiction outreach programs occasionally try to talk to me.” Rogers still looked slightly shocked. “The first time someone offered me free clean needles, I was really confused. But it’s a perfectly good cover.”

Shaking his head, Rogers said, “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’m not leaving you to suffer alone. I’m not having it. You have to let people help you when you need it. I’m still figuring that out for myself. But it’s true.”

He looked out the window. A drone was hovering near Wilson while the ravens flapped their wings and chattered. They seemed to be enjoying the demonstration.

“So once I’m in the dream space, what happens? The birds were kind of vague about that.”

“You should be able to identify what was added by Hydra and neutralize it.”

“But how? What do I actually do?”

Rogers looked at the notes he’d taken. “That depends on the particular ‘architecture of the individual dream space’ and the ‘representational figures’ that populate it. ‘Familiar people, places, and objects are often used to make sense of and impose order when in an altered state of consciousness.’”

“So if my Hydra programming manifests as, say, a giant octopus, I can shoot it dead?”

“I guess.”

“I am good at shooting things.” The ravens had also been vague about how he would know he succeeded. They insisted there would be a “sign.” Like everything else in the dream scape, this sign was different for everyone. It could be anything. He wished there was one concrete, clear thing that he could expect in this process.

Would he have another moment like the one on the helicarrier? A moment of shock, confusion, and knowing that something had happened to him but not knowing what or why or how. That had been terrifying.

“Bucky, you don’t have to decide right this second. Take some time to think.”

He doubted the ravens would wait around for days while he made up his mind. This whole idea was ludicrous. How could he be considering it?

There was also the question of what happened after. Rogers wasn’t going to let him just walk away, even if he never so much as glared at anyone else for the rest of his life.

But if this worked, Hydra could never touch him again. No one could. His mind would belong to him alone. He couldn’t reject even a remote possibility of being free. Some risks had to be taken. Even if he ended up in prison after, it would be worth it.

“When do we start?”

“No reason not to start now.”

—

Wilson volunteered to get supplies for the ritual. One raven went along for the trip. (Was that Hugin? God, he had a hard enough time remembering the names of people he met, now he had to remember names of birds.) The other (Munin?) stayed to teach Rogers to draw runes.

His task was to ‘ritually purify’ himself, which meant taking a hot bath. That was easy. Finally getting clean after his dip in sea water felt good. The other part of the purification process was ‘calming and focusing his mind,’ which was difficult. He swung back and forth between certainty that this would fail and desperate hope it would succeed.

He had been away from Hydra long enough now that he could imagine a life of not being forced to obey them. To an outside observer, he hadn’t done much in that time— just survived. But he’d been teaching himself how to live on his own. He wasn’t bad at it.

However, he struggled to imagine getting his pre-Hydra memories back. For him, memories beyond the previous 18 months meant confusion, pain, and violence. He knew he’d had good experiences in the past — Rogers’ photo album was proof — and he’d like to remember them. But what if everything that had happened to him since ruined those old memories, like sewage spilling over that album? What if he didn’t have enough room in himself, so to speak, for good memories? Did he deserve to have those good memories back? Rogers had done nothing but be kind to him, but still the urge to murder the man lurked in the depths of his mind.

Even if he remembered every single moment of his past life, he would never be that person, Bucky Barnes, again. Steve Rogers was inevitably going to be disappointed.

There was a knock on the door. Rogers said, “We’re ready.”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

This was his last chance to change his mind. Escaping again was possible but would be difficult. The bathroom window was too small to fit through so he’d have to knock the wall down. He couldn’t go through the caves again. There was no storm to slow down Rogers. And Wilson had five freaking drones now.

As weird as the idea of using Asgardian magic was, it was preferable to spending months or years with another set of scientists who thought they could bend the world to their will poking around in his brain. He knew these were friends of Rogers, who vouched for them, but he simply could not trust them.

He would see this through. Whatever happened after, he’d worry about it then.

Closing his eyes, he slowly inhaled and exhaled steam. This was another mission. He knew what he had to do. He could deal with any problems that came his way. The worst that could happen to him was dying. That was better than being back under Hydra control.

When he was as calm as he could get, he dressed in clean clothes Rogers loaned him and emerged from the bathroom.

The furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving a clear space on the floor covered by white cloth. In the center, a large oval ring of runes had been drawn in black paint, with one empty space. Inside was a pillow and a blanket.

One of the ravens — he was pretty sure it was Munin — said, “Behold the Eye of the Raven, the entrance to the world of dreams beyond the Nine Realms.”

The design did kind of look like a giant eye.

Wilson had a tablet in one hand and a wrist cuff in the other. He held the cuff out to him. “This will monitor your vital signs.”

“Where is that from?”

“The quinjet’s first aid kit.”

“Is this necessary?”

“Since we won’t be able to talk to you, we need some way of keeping track of how you’re doing.”

One of the ravens — Hugin — said, “It is safe to use within the circle.”

Shrugging, he put it on.

Now Rogers came up to him, holding a brush and a jar of ink. Wet hair stuck to his forehead, indicating he had bathed too.

“Ready?” Rogers asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He held out his right hand, holding it steady with his left, and Rogers drew a rune on the back. The brush tickled his skin. (The ravens said it would normally be on the left but the symbol would be null if drawn on a prosthesis, even a high tech one.)

Rogers had a rune on the back of his left hand marking him as the ‘gatekeeper.’ His job was opening and closing the circle and protecting the physical body of the person inside. (This would be the perfect time for enemies of anyone doing this to strike.) The ravens had said the gatekeeper had to be from the same species as the dreamer, so they could not do it.

He wasn’t worried about anyone attacking him while he was asleep. He did worry about what would happen once he was all alone in dreamland. What if he didn’t remember what he was supposed to do?

The image of himself shooting a giant octopus popped into his head. It was silly but memorable. He focused on it, fixing it in his mind. Kill the octopus. Destroy Hydra’s control over me.

When the rune was done, Rogers said, “Everything’s set.”

Part of him still couldn’t believe he was really doing this but he might as well get on with it. He stepped into the circle and laid down on his back. He adjusted the pillow under his head and pulled the blanket over himself.

Rogers painted the final rune, completing the ring.

A burst of blue light flashed through the symbols. The rune on his hand was warm. The scene around him remained unchanged. Wilson sat in the easy chair. Rogers stood over him, smiling slightly. “Bucky, you can do this. You're going to be okay. We'll be here when you're done."

He nodded and closed his eyes. The ravens said this process usually only took a few hours, 24 at most.

What if he couldn’t fall asleep? Only yesterday, he’d slept for most of a day. That was usually enough to keep him going for four or five days. To get more comfortable, he shifted on the floor—

He couldn’t move his arms or legs. Looking down, he saw bindings made of blue energy around his wrists and ankles. He pulled on them with all his strength. They didn’t budge.

Smirking, Rogers said, “Didn’t I tell you? The procedure is irreversible. You may have escaped us for a while but you can always be re-programmed.”

There were men in white coats surrounding him, fiddling with machine controls and sharp metal instruments. The air smelled like ozone.

He screamed, “No!”

He jerked awake.

It was dark and quiet in the hotel room. He was alone, lying in a circle of symbols that glowed blue. His arms and legs were free. Rolling into a crouch, he crept to the window. Outside was a broad plain covered in snow with mountains in the distance. It looked like not a single human being lived within a thousand kilometers.

That was wrong. Someone did live here. This was the home of the Winter Soldier, who slept frozen and buried under stone.

What was he doing here?

He remembered— he had a mission. Kill the octopus. Destroy Hydra.

Quickly, he checked his gear. Rifle in hand, submachine gun in the holster on his back, two pistols, four knives, four grenades, kevlar vest. He touched his face, feeling the reassuring presence of the mask and goggles.

He was ready. He stepped out of the room into the vast, cold expanse of Siberia.

Chapter Text

Steve hadn’t expected Bucky to fall asleep within seconds of lying down. He stood at the edge of the ring of runes, not knowing what to do with himself.

Sam went to the table and opened a large paper bag. He and Hugin had bought food as well as supplies for the ritual. Since Bucky wasn’t allowed to eat beforehand (to prevent him from throwing up while lying down, not for any magic reason), Sam waited until he was asleep before getting everything out. He set down paper plates with peanuts, dried figs, and slices of smoked sausage for Hugin and Munin, who began pecking with gusto.

Holding out a wrapped sandwich to Steve, he said, “This could take a while. You should eat.”

Steve took the offering and sat on the edge of the bed. “How’s he doing?”

Glancing at the tablet connected to the cuff Bucky wore, Sam said, “Heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen are all in the normal range for REM sleep.”

Steve wished he could help fight whatever nightmare Bucky had to confront. But there was nothing to do now except wait.

—

Hard snow crunched under him as he approached the rocks that concealed the main entrance to the Hydra Siberian Facility. There were no guards outside, which was typical. Men with guns standing around what was supposed to be a random rock formation in an uninhabited area would be suspicious.

He walked unhurriedly, rifle held relaxed in the crook of his arm with the muzzle pointed down. No one opened fire. They knew him. They thought they could control him. Despite being masked, he kept his face expressionless. He didn’t even dare actively think about what he was about to do. Just kept walking, like he was returning from a mission.

When he reached the heavy blast doors, he entered the security code. As soon as the doors opened wide enough, he pulled a grenade from his belt and threw it inside. Stepping around the rock, he heard a panicked shout from within, which was cut off by an explosion.

Shouldering his rifle, he entered the base. Three guards were dead. Another two lay wounded on the floor. A sixth was drawing his gun. He killed that guard first, then finished off the others.

He went to the elevator and forced open the doors. The car was stopped halfway to the lowest level. Dropping onto the top, he ripped open the emergency hatch. Inside were two white-coated scientists, who looked up, surprised. He shot them both in the head.

The car began to travel up. He needed to go down, so he tore the floor apart. By the time he landed at the bottom of the elevator shaft, an alarm was blaring.

He peered through the small window in the steel doors. There were a dozen guards running toward his position. He broke the thick glass and threw another grenade. The light from the explosion shone through the opening, momentarily illuminating the inside of the elevator shaft.

Before the smoke and dust from the blast fully cleared, he pushed the doors open and emerged into the hallway. Four guards lay dead. Survivors who had been close to the explosion were disoriented and made easy targets. Quickly, he picked them off.

When he finished shooting, he heard heavy boots stamping toward him. An even larger group of guards was moving along the corridor at the top of the flight of stairs in front of him. That passage lead to the chamber where the Winter Soldier was kept, which was exactly where he needed to go.

This facility was heated by steam. Exposed pipes ran along the walls throughout the structure.

The rifle was out of ammunition so he dropped it. Pulling the machine gun off his back, he leaped up the stairs and fired at the steam pipes. A line burst, filling the hallway with heavy mist. With his enemy unable to see, he pulled both his grenades and threw them. He dropped back down the steep staircase just before the double explosion tore through the corridor above.

He climbed the stairs again, firing as soon as he reached the top. With all the mist and smoke, nothing was visible. But that didn’t matter because he wanted to kill everyone here. At least one guard was alive and able to shoot back but couldn’t see anything either. Bullets streaked around him, one ricocheting off his left shoulder. He focused his fire in the direction they came from. After a few seconds, there was no more return fire.

Proceeding down the hall, he turned into a short corridor with a semicircular ceiling. On the other end was a massive chamber, which was at the bottom of a missile silo. But there was no missile housed here.

He was home.

This was the heart of the base. Here were the tools Hydra used to control him: the cryo tank, the memory suppressing machine, and the code book. He stood at the threshold, listening for more guards.

A voice said, “I am extremely unhappy with you.”

Alexander Pierce. He charged into the chamber, firing.

He was in the bank vault in Washington, DC. Tight restraints circled his arms. His weapons were gone— so were his mask and goggles. Bright lights shone in his eyes. He closed them involuntarily.

Pierce leaned over him. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused? If Hydra didn’t desperately need the Asset back right now, I’d put you down like a rabid dog.” Stepping back, Pierce ordered, “Wipe him.”

Another voice said, “Sir, this may take some time.”

“I don't care how long it takes. Make him follow orders. His first one will be to kill Steve Rogers."

He struggled against his bonds but they held. The machine started up, power thrumming through it. Electricity crackled above his head.

He screamed.

—

Sweat beaded on Bucky’s forehead. His chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths. A low groan reverberated in his throat.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked.

Sam put a plate of walnut cake down on his lap and checked the tablet. “He’s stressed.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“His heart rate and blood pressure are elevated but not in the danger zone.”

“Is that thing accurate for super soldiers?”

“I’m comparing him to the bio profile for you.” Sam showed Steve the screen, which had Steve’s name at the top. “Bucky’s stable. We’ll know something’s physically wrong when this thing starts beeping.”

Steve nodded. He moved to the edge of the ring, careful not to touch the runes. “C’mon, Buck. It’s just a dream.”

—

The machine began to lower over his face.

Hydra was taking him back. There was no escape. They would make him kill Steve Rogers and God knew how many other people. Coming here was a terrible mistake.

Wait.

How did he suddenly end up here? He’d been about to enter the chamber at the bottom of the Siberian base. Also Alexander Pierce was dead.

This was a dream.

Nothing around him physically existed. It was all so lifelike — the explosions, the bullets, the blood — it had swept him up. He forgot he was dreaming. Worse, he forgot what his true purpose was: getting Hydra out of his head. It was about more than killing their personnel and blowing up their base. In the real world, he could do that for years but it would never free his mind.

He didn’t understand how it worked, but in this strange dream world, if he kept fighting, he could win.

First, he had to escape this machine. Closing his eyes, he fell silent and slowed his breathing. Electricity sparked above his head, distracting him— he shut the noise out. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t even really sitting in this chair.

He focused on the left restraint. The plates in his arm shifted to give him more leverage. The muscles in his back and core tensed. Putting all his power into it, he moved his arm.

The bond broke. Raising his fist over his head, he smashed the machine’s face plate. The electricity died.

“Sedate him,” Pierce snapped.

Technicians came at him with needles. Still seated, he grabbed the one on the left and hurled him into the one on the right. The two men crashed to the floor. Then he broke his right arm free and stood up. The techs attacked again. He evaded them both, then seized one with each hand and slammed them into each other so hard their skulls fractured.

Pierce backed away towards the vault entrance. “The Asset is no longer controllable. Eliminate him.”

The STRIKE team jogged into the room, assault rifles raised, and surrounded Pierce. Rumlow stopped by Pierce’s side. They opened fire.

He moved faster than he could in life, jumping and twisting, dodging or deflecting every bullet. Freeing himself from the machine gave him confidence, which in this dream world gave him extra power.

When the guns were empty, he rushed the shooters. Rumlow pulled Pierce out of the way. Two of the team were dead, their necks snapped, before the counterattack began.

A knife came at him from behind. He turned so it hit the metal part of his back. Reaching behind him, he grabbed an arm and drove the man attached to it into the floor head first. The knife fell. An electric baton came toward his metal arm. He turned again so it hit the flesh of his torso. The shock hurt but not nearly enough to stop him. This attacker he elbowed in the face hard enough that bones crunched. Wrenching the baton away from the second man, he thrust it in the face of a third attacker who jumped on him from behind. The man’s arms went limp. He shrugged him off.

He grabbed the fallen knife and, with blade and baton, went to work.

A few minutes later, everyone except Rumlow and Pierce were dead.

Rumlow fired a pistol at him. Bullets ricocheted off his left arm and hand until there weren’t any more. He hurled the knife. It pierced Rumlow’s right eye up to the hilt. He fell dead.

Pierce stared at him, more angry than shocked. “How are you doing this?”

He stepped forward to seize Pierce. The man threw a small metal disc that latched onto his forearm.

His arm shorted out. He hated these things.

With his right hand, he caught Pierce, who looked him in the eyes. “Even if you kill me, you’ll never be free.”

His response was breaking Pierce’s neck.

The electric disk continued sparking. Yanking it off, he moved his arm. It still worked.

He collected weapons from the fallen STRIKE team. The guns were empty, but he acquired a couple extra knives and another electric baton.

Everyone in the bank vault was dead. The machine was silent. If he had more grenades, he would blow the place up. But he didn’t, so he left.

Passing through the door brought him back to Siberia. Instead of the main chamber he’d been about to enter before Pierce arrived, he stepped into the observation area, where the Hydra assassins who received Howard Stark’s version of the serum had once been tested against him.

The rectangular space was enclosed by metal bars on three sides. The fourth, on the far end opposite him, was reinforced glass. Behind the glass stood Karpov, the red code book in his hands.

The door behind him slammed shut.

“Longing.”

He froze, cold nausea washing over him. He could kill Karpov but he couldn’t fight the code words. He had to run, to hide, but he couldn’t make himself move.

“Rusted.”

His eyes fell on the book. Everything here symbolized something. He didn’t know exactly what each item or each person represented, but he knew this book was important. It might be the key to the success of his mission.

He couldn’t run. The book had to be destroyed or this was all for nothing.

“Seventeen.”

He forced himself to advance. He could break the glass with two, maybe three blows. Then he would kill Karpov and destroy the book.

Would this be over once he did that?

“Daybreak.”

Something slammed into his back, knocking him forward. Stumbling, he managed to stay on his feet and turned around.

A blonde woman smirked at him. He recognized her.

There were now five people in the room with him— the other Winter Soldiers.

“Furnace.”

His mind raced. If he went for the glass, they would pull him off before he broke it. Even he couldn’t throw a knife hard enough to break through and kill Karpov. The others were unarmed. But even so, a five on one fight against super soldiers would be hard to win. And he would never beat them before he got his mind taken over. He needed time.

Taking in everything around him, he noticed a fire alarm on the wall through the bars of the door he’d entered. If he couldn’t hear the words, would they affect him?

“Nine.”

With no other good options, he bolted for the alarm.

The Winter Soldiers attacked. He didn’t need to beat them— he just needed them out of his way for a moment.

The bearded one tried to tackle him. He veered to the right. The man shot past him, trying to grab his legs but unable to get a hold, and crashed to the ground.

“Benign.”

The bald man came up on his left. He caught this one on the chin with his metal fist, momentarily stunning him, and continued forward.

The other two men rushed him at once. He leaped up and over them.

“Homecoming.”

He landed in front of the barred door, aiming his left fist at the locking mechanism. If he didn’t break it one blow, he wouldn’t get a chance for another. The footfalls of the other Winter Soldiers were right behind him.

The lock broke. The door burst open. He reached for the fire alarm.

“One.”

A flying kick came at him from the right. He caught it and flung the woman into the wall. Putting his metal fist through the glass, he triggered the fire alarm.

High pitched shrieking filled his ears, drowning out the final word.

There was a pause. The woman stood up. The others watched him, waiting to see if he was under control now. For a second, he wondered the same thing himself.

His thoughts refocused. Kill the other Winter Soldiers and Karpov. Destroy the book. He was free.

He drew a knife and a baton, activating the latter.

The fight began.

—

Steve felt like he was in a hospital waiting room. He’d gone through several cycles of sitting on the edge of the bed, where he was now, and pacing. Sam sat in the armchair with his legs stretched out, reading on his phone. Occasionally he paused to check Bucky’s vital signs on the tablet.

Bucky continued to be stable but stressed.

The ravens had settled on the table. With their wings pulled in tight around their bodies and their beaks resting on their chests, they looked asleep. However, their eyes were open.

The runes painted around Bucky still glowed blue, the color of a gas flame. If Steve looked at them for too long, he felt sleepy. He wasn’t sure if that was residual magic affecting him or if he was tired or if it was both.

He could go out on the balcony for fresh air. But what if something went wrong while he wasn’t paying attention? Instead, Steve stood up and began pacing again.

—

The fire alarm continued wailing.

Exhausted, he knelt on the floor. The other Winter Soldiers were dead: one broken neck, one slashed throat, one severed femoral artery, one disembowelment, and the last one bludgeoned to death. He doubted he would have won this fight in the real world.

One of the others had gotten a knife away from him and stabbed him in the left side. He was pretty sure the blade deflected off a rib instead of puncturing an internal organ. (He was also pretty sure at least one rib was broken.) The blood had now slowed to a trickle. Sharp pain radiated through his right wrist. His back, head, neck, hips, and right shoulder ached from being thrown around, punched, kicked, and beaten with a length of bar broken off one of the cell walls.

He reminded himself he was dreaming. His injuries weren’t real. But they certainly felt real. Still, he could be in worse shape.

Standing up (his knees hurt too), he approached the glass. Karpov remained on the other side, his lips moving. He looked away from Karpov’s face. No one ever had him try to lip read the code words but he didn’t want to risk it.

It took four blows to shatter the glass— he was tired. Karpov’s mouth opened again. He didn’t know if the man was repeating all the code words or just the last one. He grabbed the Colonel by the throat, squeezing hard enough to choke off speech.

Karpov kept hold of the book until he died. It dropped to the floor, landing on the spine so the covers opened.

The pages were blank.

He picked the book up, thumbing through it. There was not a single mark inside. It was a fake. Where was the real one? Frustrated, he tore the empty book to pieces.

He found smooth wall where the vault that housed the book should be. Punching it only broke off chunks of concrete. There was nothing inside. Next, he went to the records room, pulling box after box of files off the shelves. When he was done, there was an ankle high pile of papers on the floor but no book.

Anger and fear rose in him. It didn’t matter how many Hydra agents he killed if he couldn’t get that god damn book.

However, there were other things he could destroy right now. He entered the central chamber. No one stopped him. He wasn’t suddenly transported somewhere else. Straight ahead was the memory suppressing machine. He wasn’t sure if this was necessary, but he was damn well doing it.

He smashed the chair to pieces. Tore a long metal rod out of it and used that to smash the pieces into smaller bits, breaking all the monitors too. He went to the cryo tank and wrecked that, shattering the glass, yanking out the pipes and cables, tearing down the lights. His wounds hurt, but he kept going. Even if he still had a gun, he wouldn’t have shot up anything. He wanted to tear it all apart with his hands.

Once everything was destroyed, he stood in the wreckage, leaning on the rod and breathing deeply. At some point, the alarm had stopped. He only noticed the silence now. Something like satisfaction came over him. Even the pain from his injuries seemed duller.

“Do you feel better, Sergeant Barnes?”

He whipped around, hurling the rod. It struck the wall centimeters from the head of a short man wearing a bow tie and round glasses.

The man didn’t flinch. He merely looked at the rod protruding from the wall. “You should be careful, Sergeant. You could hurt someone.”

Dr. Zola.

—

Over two hours into the process, the color of the runes changed.

Steve rubbed his eyes in case they were playing tricks on him. But the runes were different, a darker blue bordering on purple.

He began, “What—“

Loud beeping from the vital sign monitor cut him off. The ravens roused themselves and landed close to the runes to inspect them.

Steve stood over the birds. “What’s happening?”

Tablet in hand, Sam came to stand by him. “It looks like Bucky’s having a panic attack.”

Hugin announced, “Something else has entered the dream space.”

“What do you mean, something else?” Steve asked.

“Another intelligence. An intruder.”

“What kind of intruder?”

The ravens cawed to each other for a moment before Hugin answered, “We do not know.”

Steve forced his voice to remain level. “You didn’t warn us this could happen.”

“We have never seen it before.”

“You said I was the only one who could enter the circle.”

“You are the only one who can enter, from here. ”

“So where did this intruder come from?”

“We do not know that either.”

Bucky groaned and shifted in his sleep.

Steve decided. “We’re waking him up.”

Munin spoke. “If you wake your friend before the soul binding is broken, it will be dangerous to attempt this process again. Most can tolerate it once. But every time one alters one’s own mind, it causes damage. The adverse effects are cumulative.”

“Understood.” The serum might counteract that. Of course Bucky would probably not want to try this again…

That was a problem for another time. Grabbing the paint, brush, and sketch of different runes, Steve knelt on the cloth and drew another symbol beneath the one that had completed the ring.

The new rune flickered with orange light, which died immediately. Bucky rustled within the circle but remained asleep. The original runes still glowed dark blue-purple.

The ravens cawed loudly.

Steve dropped the paintbrush. “What’s happening now?”

“I believe whatever has joined him won’t let him awaken,” Hugin said.

“There has to be some other way to get him out of there. Can I go in after him?”

Hugin consulted with Munin for several moments in raven speak. “That might be possible.”

“What do I do?”

“We cannot guarantee success. You may become lost, or fail to find your friend, or fail to return,” Hugin said.

“You will be another intruder,” Munin warned. “The dream space adapts to the minds of those inside it. Your presence will affect things, whether you intend to or not. You may be increasing the risk to the one you would save.”

“Would it be less risky to leave him alone with whatever is in there with him?”

“That I do not know.”

“Then I’m going to help him.”

“I cannot say you lack courage,” Munin said.

The ravens formulated a plan to get Steve into the dream space. But a new gatekeeper who stayed on this side of reality would be needed.

Sam said, “There’s no other humans here, so I guess that’s me.”

“You okay with this?” Steve asked.

“Well, I’m not going to ask one of the hotel staff to do it.”

Hugin said, “There is less risk to Samuel. And we will be here to advise him. However, you, Steve Rogers, will be on your own.”

Sam said, “I’ve done more life threatening things.”

Steve drew two more runes: on the back of his own right hand, the same one that was on Bucky, and on Sam’s left hand, the one marking the gatekeeper. Both of the symbols on Steve’s hands tingled.

Munin said, “We do not know how going into the dream space will affect you, or how much control you will have within.”

“Duly noted.”

“Good luck,” Sam said.

Steve nodded. “Thanks.”

He stepped into the circle. The ring of runes crackled neon blue. Air charged with energy prickled his skin. The tingling in his hands intensified until it burned.

Steve lay down next to Bucky and closed his eyes, worrying he was too keyed up to fall asleep.

A symphony of city sounds roared in his ears: the shoes of a throng of pedestrians striking the pavement, a bell ringing as a shop door opened, the rattle of a passing streetcar.

If Steve didn’t know he was dreaming, he would swear he was physically in the Brooklyn of his childhood memories. He could smell the city. But he noticed it wasn’t exactly the same. In the distance rose Avengers Tower. That hadn’t been built yet. Also it was in Manhattan.

This was no time to get distracted. Steve had successfully arrived in the dream space. And he felt fine— ready and able to fight whatever was threatening Bucky, whether it was Asgardian, Hydra, or something else. His surroundings looked they did when he was a kid, but he wasn’t a scrawny boy who couldn’t defend himself or anyone else anymore.

First, he needed to find Bucky. He looked up and down the street, unsure which way to go. Would Bucky be here?

Catching a glimpse of himself in a barber shop window, Steve looked down at his body.

He was short and skinny.

Steve swore.

Chapter Text

Pulse racing, he stared at Dr. Zola, who, as in life, appeared innocuous and mild-mannered, even timid.

He inhaled, calming himself. Of course Zola would appear. The Winter Soldier Project began with this man. But there was no reason to panic. This was simply one more manifestation of his Hydra programming to kill.

Drawing a knife, he rushed forward. Zola looked at him, unperturbed. As he got close enough for a killing blow, the doctor vanished.

He turned and saw Zola standing across the room. Smiling slightly, Zola said, “You are not the only one who can control this space, Sergeant Barnes.”

How did Zola move like that? Why was Zola talking like he knew where he was?

“You’re just a representation of my programming,” he said, reminding himself.

“I assure you, I am much more than that.”

“This is my dream, my mind.”

“Your mind has not been your own for a long time.”

“You’re not real.”

“What is ‘real?’”

“You’re dead.”

“I know.”

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I have access to everything in your memory. My body died in 1972, but I continued on afterward, my consciousness preserved on a super computer.”

He hurled the knife at Zola. It missed. He never missed. It was as though an invisible hand batted the blade away before it hit its target.

“That will not work,” Zola said. “The others you have encountered so far were purely constructs representing parts of your Hydra programming. However, I am Arnim Zola.”

“You’re not Zola.”

“I am not Zola the man, nor Zola the consciousness. But I am an impression, shall we say, of him left in your mind. And he made a very deep impression on you.”

“This is impossible.”

“Something that has happened cannot be impossible, Sergeant Barnes.”

“How?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself. My working theory is that the Tesseract, which powered the machine I first used on you, laid the groundwork. I suspect the Tesseract energy released during our sessions together helped embed a cognizance of me so deeply in your consciousness that it became a part of you. The mental trauma you experienced may have also facilitated this process. Now that we are in this space beyond the limits of physical reality, I have been able to manifest as a separate being. Unfortunately, I have no way of testing my theory, at least not yet.”

“You’re saying the Tesseract— let Zola live in my head somehow?”

“As I said, I am not the original Zola. But that is a correct, if grossly simplified, understanding. I am a shadow of him that has survived within you, although that phrasing is more poetic than scientific. I was created in his likeness, so I possess the same characteristics: intelligence, curiosity, patience. I began to wake up when you entered this realm, and I have been observing — seeing what you see, remembering what you remember — and learning about my surroundings ever since.”

His pulse raced even faster. This couldn’t be happening. But why would he think something like this up? This whatever it was did say exactly the sorts of things Zola would say. If this was real, how was he supposed to kill Zola? How much control did Zola have? Could Zola kill him?

He asked, “Why are you here?”

“I revealed myself to reclaim my lost property.”

“I will never work for Hydra again.”

“You won’t be working for Hydra. You’ll be working for me.”

He turned and ran.

—

Steve wasn’t completely shocked at having his old body back. Sometimes he did dream about being small again. But he couldn’t afford to be weak now. How could he get his strength back? If only he had a dream version of the serum…

He’d gone through training in New Jersey but he’d been given the serum in Brooklyn. If he found the lab, he might find serum. Steve took off running.

This rendition of Brooklyn was disorienting. The place smashed his recollections of the ‘20s, ‘30s, and early ‘40s together into an uncanny mix. Stylish flappers in fringed beaded dresses and clubmen with slicked back hair in sharp tailored suits walked arm in arm past destitute people in ragged clothes waiting in line for a soup kitchen and young military recruits in uniform looking to have one last good time before shipping out. On top of that, the geography kept shifting. Steve would turn a corner and be on a different block than expected.

He lost count of how often he changed direction before he saw it: an ordinary storefront with the unassuming name Brooklyn Antiques. Opening the door, he went inside.

The elderly woman who guarded the entrance wasn’t there. The shop was empty and unnaturally quiet. No sounds from the street were audible, as though on entering Steve had been cut off from the rest of the city. He called out but there was no response. In a corner, he spotted a set of dishes that had belonged to his grandmother, a weird detail for his brain to throw in.

Steve opened the secret door and followed the passage, becoming more tense as he went. There should be guards at their stations and scientists walking around. He’d even feel relieved to see Colonel Phillips.

Arriving in the lab, he realized why no one was here. The place had been destroyed and abandoned. The Vita-Ray Chamber and all the banks of instruments that went with it were twisted hunks of metal. Vials that would have held the serum lay smashed on the floor.

In the middle of the dais, surrounded by broken glass, was the body of Dr. Erskine, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

Many times, Steve had dreamed of this and woken angry and guilt-stricken. He felt the same now. His hope of finding a working lab, of finding Dr. Erskine alive and well, was foolish. It wasn’t what he saw in his own dreams.

He left the lab.

Outside on the street, a dark-haired woman in uniform stood with her back to the shop. Even from behind, Steve recognized her instantly. His heart jumped. He’d never seen her before in such a lifelike dream. And she would be willing to help him save Bucky like she had in real life.

Running up to her, he called, “Peggy!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Peggy!”

She still didn’t turn. He touched her arm. Peggy startled, looking at him in confusion.

Dread knotted his stomach. “Peggy, it’s Steve.”

Frowning, she said nothing.

Hope fading, he said, “We had a date to go dancing.”

Peggy continued staring at him. Did she even recognize her own name?

A car horn honked. She turned towards the noise and didn’t look back, as though she had already forgotten he was there.

There was nothing Steve could do except walk away.

—

He didn’t know what was going on but he needed to get away from Zola.

He slammed his fist on the control panel to open the roof of the missile silo and scrambled up the catwalks lining the structure. He listened for the footsteps of guards pursuing him but heard nothing. Had he killed them all? Could Zola not make more?

Cold gray sky lit by weak sunlight appeared above. Every second, he expected the roof to close on him, yet it remained open.

From below, Zola called, “It doesn’t matter where you run. I will find you.”

A final leap and he was at the top and through to the outside.

When he landed, it was night. He rolled and stood up on a high rooftop in the middle of a city. Across a narrow alley sat an apartment building, which took him a second to recognize. He was looking down at where Steve Rogers had lived in Washington, DC. He’d shot Nick Fury from here.

He didn’t know where he was going but he didn’t want to be here. He kicked open the door leading into the building he’d arrived on.

And he was at the top of a staircase in front of a wall with a mural of a battle scene, men on horseback with axes and swords slaughtering those on foot. He’d killed in this place as well.

Running downstairs and out the door, he came to a deserted rural highway. He knew this place too. It was outside Odessa. If he stayed here, would Black Widow eventually drive up with a nuclear engineer in her car? Not wanting to find out, he jumped off the nearby cliff.

Everywhere he went was a place the Winter Soldier killed someone.

Zola could probably find him in any location associated with Hydra. But he didn’t have anywhere to go that wasn’t tied to that organization, except the apartment in Bucharest.

He kept going through murder scene after murder scene, trying to get to the one place where he might be able to regroup and figure out what the hell was happening— where he might have enough control to make a stand and kill Zola.

—

After leaving Peggy, Steve walked for a couple of blocks in shock before coming to his senses. The ravens warned him the dream scape would affect him in unexpected ways. That Peggy wasn’t real. She was a manifestation of his fear that one day she wouldn’t recognize him at all.

He put that aside. Bucky was real and in here somewhere, alone and in danger. The clock was ticking. Steve still had to find some way to get himself in fighting shape.

In dreams, sometimes Steve went back and forth between sizes. He’d never consciously tried to change himself but maybe he could. Ducking into an alley next to a newsstand, he closed his eyes, willing himself to be Captain America.

When he reopened them, the shield hung on his arm. But he was not any bigger or, given how heavy he found the shield, any stronger. He tried again and managed to get the costume, the original 1940s combat version with a handgun on the belt. Even though it was sized to fit him, he felt ridiculous in it.

Again and again, Steve tried to get his dream self to match his real world self with no luck. Why wasn’t this working? Bucky might not recognize him like this, a thought which struck Steve as ironic. This was the version of him Bucky had known the longest.

That was the problem, Steve realized. He couldn’t shake off the instinct that this was how Bucky remembered him, even though that wasn’t true anymore. With this new insight, Steve tried to get his muscles back.

He still failed. Steve swore under his breath. How was he going to save Bucky like this?

His eyes fell on Avengers Tower, looming over his old neighborhood in the wrong place and time. The Tower was here because it was important to his life, despite not matching the real world location.

It hit Steve— physical laws on Earth didn’t matter here. He hadn’t been able to change his body, but he did change his clothes just by thinking about it. Surely he could do other things. And he still had all the experience he’d learned from over the years as Captain America and an Avenger.

He had never backed down from anything when he was this size. He wouldn’t start now.

Steve set the shield on his back. He would find some way to do what he had to do. But first, once more, he needed to find Bucky.

—

Finally, he landed somewhere he hadn’t killed anyone. But it wasn’t his apartment. It was Novak’s hospital room.

The bed had been adjusted so Novak could sit upright. He rasped, “I told you, you can be reprogrammed, Soldat.”

“Shut up.”

“Your return to Hydra is inevitable.”

This time, he strangled the old man.

“You haven’t changed your ways after all.” Zola stood in the corner by the window. “You cannot escape your nature.”

“This isn’t my nature. I wasn’t born like this. You made me this way.”

“It makes no difference. This who you are now.”

He picked up the oxygen tank and threw it at Zola. It hit the window instead, breaking glass. He fled the room.

Outside was the Carpasian beach. What did he have to do to get to his apartment? He was ending up everywhere except where he wanted to go.

As he ran along the shore, an idea came to him. When he woke up in the dream hotel room, there had been runes on the floor, just like there were in the real hotel room. Did that mean the two versions of the room were connected somehow? If so, he might be able to contact Steve Rogers from there.

Thinking about it, he was surprised Rogers hadn’t already woken him up. That’s what Rogers was supposed to do if things went wrong.

Doubt seized him. What if Rogers had lured him to this dream scape to get rid of him? He would be gone, along with all the problems he could cause for Rogers. Maybe Rogers saw him as one of the last bits of Hydra to be dealt with, but didn’t want to kill him because of their old friendship. Or because Rogers wanted to keep his hands clean.

It seemed logical. Part of him was ready to believe it. But he’d spent enough time talking to Rogers, he couldn’t accept it without proof. The man was genuinely convinced they were friends, or that they could be.

No, Rogers must not know what was happening. How could anyone have expected the Tesseract-powered ghost of Zola to show up?

He ran towards the hotel hoping find a way to communicate with the outside world.

—

Steve had ideas about where to look for Bucky. His problem was reaching any of those places.

He hopped on streetcars. He took the subway and boarded the ferry. He borrowed a car left double parked in front of a deli. But nothing he tried got him out of Brooklyn. It was like the borough stretched forever in every direction. In dreams, he was usually content to wander around the place he grew up. Now, he needed to leave and he couldn’t.

Finally, Steve stopped, frustrated. His back muscles ached from supporting the shield. This had to be in his head— he looked small, so he was imagining himself to be weak. It was still annoying.

Leaning against a wall, he noticed where he was. In front of him stood the building he and Bucky lived in after his mother died. He felt a powerful draw to the place. Steve figured he might as well go inside. Running around the streets wasn’t getting him anywhere.

He walked down and down and down an endless corridor, never reaching their old apartment. Steve shouted Bucky’s name but got no answer.

When he tired of walking again, he stopped to rest, taking the shield off. He wished Bucky were here. But he was certain his friend was in a far more dangerous place. There were many to choose from: the Hydra factory in the Alps, Siberia, the bank vault in Washington, DC, that Steve and Sam had searched after the Battle of the Triskelion, and probably more he didn’t know about. How could he get to any of those places when he couldn’t even get to their old apartment?

He tried different doors lining the hall, pulling as hard as he could, but they remained shut. So he could open and close the dream circle but couldn’t open a damn apartment door. Being the gatekeeper wasn’t doing him any good.

An idea came to Steve. Slipping off his gloves, he saw the rune marking him as the gatekeeper was missing. He’d been so preoccupied with being small again he hadn’t noticed. Remembering the design, he traced it on the back of his hand.

The door closest to him cracked open, then closed. He repeated the motion. Again, the door opened a few inches and shut again.

He searched his pockets and utility belt for a pen or pencil. There was nothing to write with but he did have a pocketknife. Holding his left hand still, he lightly scratched the symbol into the skin. Lines of blood welled up.

When the rune was complete, the door opened and stayed open. On the other side was blue sky. He didn’t immediately recognize the location but it was somewhere outdoors, somewhere not Brooklyn.

Steve put his gloves back on, picked up the shield, and went through.

—

He broke down the door to the hotel room. There was no sign of Rogers, Wilson, or the damn birds.

“I was hoping you would lead me here,” Zola said. The man stood on the balcony, looking in through the open glass door. “I wanted to see these runes for myself. To think beings who look like ravens set all this up. Fascinating creatures. I would enjoy studying them.”

Zola stepped into the room.

He ran back through the splintered doorway.

Bright light filled his eyes. The smell of disinfectant burned his nose. He lay on his back on a table. Heavy straps crossed his body from his upper arms to his ankles. He blinked, his eyes watering.

Zola’s voice came from close by. “I told you, Sergeant Barnes. You are not the only one who can control this space. And I am tired of chasing you.”

“Where am I?”

“I did a very good job suppressing your memories if you don’t remember this place. This is where we first met. See?”

The light turned off. When his vision cleared, he saw a section of a warehouse outfitted to be a makeshift laboratory. But he didn’t see too much of it, both because he couldn’t move his head very far and because his attention was focused on a machine that looked like a giant drill above him.

He understood its purpose without being told. Chills ran through his body. He knew this place, although he couldn’t recall details. All that was left in his memory was a visceral fear— the opposite of what he felt with Steve Rogers.

There were clicking noises from knobs and switches being worked. “What are you doing?”

“Before, I said that you will work for me. It is more accurate to say you will become me.”

“No…”

“It’s perfect. My intellect combined with a body that is an effective union of man and machine— a body I crafted. And which has already been enhanced by the serum, allowing me to possess superior physical abilities without the risk of anything like what happened to Schmidt.”

“This will never work.”

“Many people have told me my plans would never work. They were invariably wrong.”

He had to escape. It wasn’t only a matter of freeing his own mind anymore but of stopping Zola from running around in the world. As a super soldier, the man could cause havoc.

“I won’t let you do this.”

“You have no say in the matter.” Zola’s face appeared, looming over him. “This never would have been possible if you hadn’t entered this place. You wanted to free yourself. You ended up freeing me. You have only yourself to blame.”

—

Steve emerged onto the helicarrier, the sky visible through transparent sections of the hull. Why was he here? Was Bucky here?

“Bucky?” His voice echoed in the enormous aircraft. Air currents brushed against him.

“Steve?”

He whipped around. Bucky stood in front of him in Winter Soldier gear, face exposed.

Something did not seem right. “You know me?”

Smiling, Bucky said, “Of course I do. You’re my best pal. How could I forget you?”

“Buck—“

Bucky’s face changed. “You’re the one who made me into this.”

With murderous eyes, the Winter Soldier charged. Steve ducked behind the shield. There was a clang as the metal fist struck it. The force bowled Steve over. He fell from the catwalk and landed on a gangway, barely keeping hold of the shield.

“You didn’t even think to look for me! You left me for Hydra to find!”

Steve scrambled backwards as Bucky jumped down after him. “I didn’t know you were alive! If I thought there was any chance you were, I would have gone after you.”

Bucky stalked toward him. “After all the times I saved your ass, you abandoned me! Your mother had to stitch up my arm after I got in between you and Jim Murphy.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything, Steve.”

Bucky didn’t remember. Now Steve was sure this wasn’t the real Bucky. It was Steve’s own fear talking to him. It still hurt to his core to hear.

Steve reached the edge of the gangway. There was nowhere to go but down.

“I remember you ditching me to go to the recruiting center the night before I shipped out.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. Apologizing to a phantom was useless but he couldn’t help it.

“You didn’t care that I was already half crazy when you asked me to join the Howling Commandos. You just wanted to be a hero, to show up your old pal in front of your new friends.”

“I never wanted to show you up. I just wanted to be as good as you.” Steve needed an escape route. He tried to remember what he knew about the helicarrier— there was a set of cargo doors on the underside. Focusing on those, he touched his left hand. He wasn’t sure if he needed to do that, but it might help.

“When you thought I was dead, you didn’t think about retrieving my body?”

Below, the massive doors began rumbling open. “Believe me, I wish I had done that. I wish I had caught you even more.”

Bucky lunged. Steve leaped off the gangway as the doors widened over the Potomac River.

“This is all your fault!” Bucky screamed. “I hate you!”

Steve plummeted through the enormous carrier. He had to get to Bucky. All he’d done so far was lose time to his own issues. Wherever Bucky was, whatever was happening, Steve needed to be there now before it was too late.

As he passed through the cargo doors, he closed his eyes, bracing himself to hit the water below. When he opened them, the river was gone. Below lay a vast dark forest with mountains in the distance, where tall smokestacks belched noxious clouds. Spotlights lit up the perimeter of a massive industrial complex.

This was the Austrian Alps and the Hydra factory. God, was Bucky back here? If Steve landed in the woods, as slow as he ran right now, it would take forever to get there.

He was dreaming. He couldn’t do things he normally could do, but he could also do things he normally couldn’t. Steve was already in the air. Why not fly? He’d flown in dreams before without an Iron Man suit or wings.

Focusing on the buildings in the distance, he willed himself to remain airborne. Gradually, his fall slowed. Just above the treetops, he stopped moving down and began moving forward. His arm ached from the weight of the shield but he ignored it. Wind ruffled his hair.

Steve soared toward his destination. If he remembered right, there was an exterior window in Zola’s lab.

—

Zola said, “Now there is one last thing I need to complete my plan. Where are your memories?”

“What memories?”

“Your memories of your past before I began working with you.”

“You didn’t work with me. You worked on me.”

Zola waved a hand, dismissing the point. “Where are your memories, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Are you joking? Those memories are gone. You destroyed them.”

“I did not destroy them. I merely stored them in a place where they would be out of the way.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It was difficult to thread the needle of preserving the aspects of you we wanted to keep and maintaining control over you. I felt that total memory obliteration would destroy your utility to us. I wanted you to be malleable but still capable of the limited independent cognition necessary for completion of your missions.”

He’d forgotten how much Zola loved yammering about his brilliant ideas. Zola had especially enjoyed having other scientists around to listen to him in Siberia. “What do you want with my memories?”

“Since I will be inhabiting your body, I require the space for the memories I will make for myself. And I don’t want any lingering ties to your old life. If I had known your attachment to Steve Rogers was strong enough to form a crack in your conditioning, I would have taken the risk of excising your memories from the start.”

“Even if I knew where they were, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Zola sighed. “I wanted to give you a chance to do this the easy way. But I see that I will have to find them myself.”

The man hit a switch. The machine started up. Electricity crackled.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, he forced himself to stay focused. When Pierce had tried this, he freed himself. He could do it again. Zola had control in the dream scape, but so did he.

He concentrated on his left arm. The plates whirred and shifted until the strap across his wrists broke. With his hands free, he ripped off the straps across his chest and legs. He reached into his vest for his remaining knife with one hand and for Zola with the other. Zola stood so close— he imagined sinking the blade into his heart.

As his hand closed on Zola’s arm, the man vanished again. He plunged the knife into thin air.

Heavy metal bars dropped onto him, pinning him to the table again. The knife dropped from his hand. He tried to break the bars, or to push them up enough to wriggle out from underneath, but they didn’t budge.

“I see you haven’t entirely lost your fighting spirit even after all these decades.” Zola was on the other side of the table from where he had been. “But you cannot defeat me. Your fear of me gives me strength.”

The machine thrummed loudly. Sparks shot along the end, which began dropping down toward his head. He thrashed but wasn’t strong enough to break these new bonds.

Zola would wake up in the hotel. No one would suspect a thing. With this body, he could kill Rogers and Wilson. Zola was right— this was all his fault. He should have accepted that he would never be free and remained in hiding. Now Zola could use him to take over the world, like the bastard always wanted.

Over the noise of the machine, he heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by a loud thump.

He craned his head in the direction of the noise. Beneath a smashed window a kid in a Captain America costume was sprawled on the floor.

Zola said, “Summoning a construct of Captain America to save you won’t work, Sergeant.”

The kid stood up, holding a red-white-and-blue shield that looked like the real thing. He said, “I’m not a construct, Zola. I’m Steve Rogers.”

What the hell?

Chapter Text

Zola said, “Captain Rogers.”

Steve drew his gun and fired.

The bullet hit Zola in the chest. He staggered, a shocked expression on his face, and collapsed on the floor. Blood soaked through his white coat.

Then Zola vanished.

Surprised, Steve searched for Zola. The man was gone. Apparently when you killed someone in the dream scape, they disappeared.

Holstering his gun, Steve rushed to Bucky. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Bucky did not respond. His eyes were fixed on the machine closing in on him. Steve had only seen this apparatus once but remembered it too well. This time, it was in action, sparking with electricity.

Steve felt his lack of strength as he pulled ineffectually on the bars pinning Bucky down. The shoulder that had taken most of the impact when he crashed through the window throbbed. Raising the shield as high as he could, he brought it down on the restraints.

The metal didn’t break. What the hell was this made of?

“As I was saying before you interrupted, Captain Rogers, welcome to my laboratory.”

Steve drew his gun as he turned but Zola wasn’t visible anywhere. He shouldn’t have assumed the man was dead. “Where are you?”

“I am right here.”

The voice sounded distant and tinny. Steve spotted a small radio on a desk across the room. His instinct was to smash it but he stopped himself. This was Zola’s communication device. He needed to find Zola himself and destroy him. One bullet hadn’t done the job but he would keep trying until he succeeded.

Zola said, “Your shield will not do you much good. The new machines I have created here are extremely durable. I have put a little of myself, as it were, in them.”

“How are you doing this?”

“In life, I had a much deeper understanding of physics than you are capable of, Captain. I have developed a similar understanding of the laws governing this place.”

Steve knew he’d hurt Zola. If he hadn’t, Zola wouldn’t be hiding. The man didn’t want to get shot again. “You know, Zola, I personally dislike you even more than the Red Skull. He was a sociopathic megalomaniac but he wasn't a coward.”

“Trying to goad me into revealing myself will not work. Unlike you, I am capable of risk assessment.”

“Seems to me like you’re just too afraid of getting hurt to fight for what you believe in.”

“I am perfectly willing to fight for what I believe in. I prefer to choose methods where I win.”

Bucky began screaming. The machine had made contact.

The hair on Steve’s neck rose. He returned to the table and hit the machine with the shield. Just like the bars, it withstood impact from vibranium.

Desperate, Steve said, “Why are you doing this? Bucky’s no use to you anymore. Let him go. If you want to torture someone, do it to me.”

“As tempting as that idea is, this is not about merely causing pain.” The disembodied voice increased in volume to be heard over the screaming. “I must thank you, Captain Rogers, for suggesting Sergeant Barnes use Asgardian science neither of you understands. You made my emergence possible.”

“Your emergence?”

“Once I am done, the Winter Soldier’s body, which is the equal — and in some ways the superior— of the one Dr. Erskine gave you, will be mine.”

“What?”

“But my plans do not end there,” Zola continued. “Once I have returned to the world, I shall experiment with the rune equations of the ravens to harness the full power of the dream scape. There is so much untapped potential in a place where one’s thoughts become reality. It could make all my designs possible in ways even the Tesseract never could.”

Steve's mouth went dry. What could a diabolical genius do with unrestricted access to a magical realm?

Nothing, if Steve had anything to say about it. “I’ve stopped you before twice. I’ll stop you again.”

“What you’ve done is fail, again, to keep your closest friend from falling into my hands.”

Bucky’s screaming stopped.

Steve looked at him. Slowly, the machine lifted away from Bucky. The electric hum slowed and dropped to a lower pitch but didn’t stop. This made Steve even more anxious. Had Bucky been re-programmed?

Zola said, “I now have everything I need to achieve my goal.”

The wall on the other end of the lab shimmered like a reflection in water, then vanished. What looked like an underground bunker appeared— a room with a low ceiling, plain concrete walls, and no windows or doors.

The bunker was empty except for a tall metal tank. Glass in the door was frosted over. Steve shuddered when he realized why this looked familiar.

With a creak, the tank opened, revealing a machine inside. Cables and wires with electrodes were attached to the motionless body of a man. A crown-like mechanism fit on his head. The left arm was missing below the elbow. From the stump hung a tattered piece of blue cloth.

This couldn’t be who it looked like. It was a trick of Zola’s. Or Steve wanted to see the Bucky he had once known so badly his mind created this.

Steve asked, “What is this?”

“The last remaining piece of James Buchanan Barnes.”

—

The pain stopped.

His head felt fuzzy. His ears rang. His vision was blurry.

Electricity buzzed on the edge of his hearing. Blinking, he cleared his eyes. When he could see again, he turned his head, which made it swim.

A few feet away stood the kid in the Captain America costume. He was surprised to still be seeing this phantom. Zola was not visible. As his brain re-focused, he remembered the gunshot, Zola falling, the kid leaning over him with terrified eyes. He knew those eyes.

This wasn’t a figment of his imagination. It was Steve Rogers, who had somehow found a way into the dream scape. Why the hell was Rogers so small?

He heard Zola say James Buchanan Barnes.

Lifting his head, he saw the lab now opened into a concrete bunker. In it was the original cryo chamber Hydra had built for him, back before the massive facility in Siberia had been constructed.

But this tank wasn’t exactly the same. The old one had been not much more than a freezer with reinforced metal. This contained a machine. And inside the machine was a man. It would be better to say the machine grew out of the man, like a fungus on a dead tree, a mass of steel and wires that writhed like a pit of snakes.

He had seen this before in his dreams.

Rogers asked, “What do you mean, the last remaining piece of Bucky?”

Zola’s voice crackled with static. Was he speaking over a PA system? “His memories. Once I have destroyed them, I will have total control over this super soldier body.”

He inhaled sharply. Zola had been telling the truth— those memories still existed. But they wouldn’t for much longer.

As far as he could tell, he was still in control of himself but he was trapped. And Rogers was in no shape to fight. They had lost.

Clearing his throat, he called, “Rogers.”

Rogers looked at him with uncertainty. “Bucky?”

“Get out of here while you can. Go back and get rid of my body before—”

“No.”

“This is about more than you and me now. We can’t let Zola get free.”

“We can stop him together.”

“Please. We were friends. Do this for me.”

“This fight isn't over, Buck. You're not dead yet. Neither am I.”

Why did Rogers have to be so god damn stubborn?

Rogers positioned himself on the threshold of the bunker and raised his shield. “You’re going to have to go through me, Zola. That’s not going to be easy for you. You’re not any bigger than me.”

“I’m not ‘going through you,’ as you so charmingly put it. Sergeant Barnes is.”

The bars that had been holding him down were released.

“Sergeant, kill Captain Rogers.”

The compulsion to finish his mission to kill Steve Rogers roared in his head. He sat up.

Fear filled Rogers’ eyes.

Gripping the table to keep from lunging at Rogers, he said, “No!”

He was surprised the word came out. But how long could he hold himself back with Zola urging him on?

—

Steve said, “Bucky, don’t listen to him.”

The edge of the table crumped under Bucky’s metal hand. He closed his eyes, straining. “Get out of here,” he repeated.

“Fight it off as long as you can,” Steve said, turning and entering the bunker.

Zola’s voice followed. “I wonder, Captain— if you die here, will your physical body die as well? After all, you are not supposed to be here. Whatever safeguards apply to Sergeant Barnes won’t necessarily apply to you. Of course, if you do survive, I will finish you off later.”

Steve put the shield on his back and began yanking cables and wires out of the tank, surprised at how easily they tore off. This equipment must be old and fragile. If Steve had his strength, he would move the entire chamber, open a door, and stash it somewhere safe. Then he’d return and finish off Zola. But Steve couldn’t move the tank so he had to free the man — or at least what looked like a man — inside.

The cables pulsed like there was blood running through them, but the man looked barely alive. His skin was cold and a grayish tone that worried Steve. Bucky’s memories were in bad shape. Steve hoped removing them from the tank didn’t destroy them.

The sound of metal tearing made Steve turn. Bucky had gotten up off the table, ripping a good chunk of it off with him. He stood still, his muscles rigid with the effort of holding himself in place. Through gritted teeth, he said, “I can’t do this much longer.”

“Almost there,” Steve said. The last piece of the machine holding the man in place was the crown. Reaching up, Steve gripped it and pulled. Blood welled up where the sharp edge of the metal bit into his fingers.

Zola said, “All this effort is for nothing, Captain. You cannot escape.”

“Watch me,” Steve said. With a grunt, he broke the crown.

The man tumbled forward. Steve caught him, almost falling over himself. Seizing the man under the arms, he dragged him out of the bunker.

Bucky had dropped to his knees. The fingers of his left hand flexed, breaking tile. He shot Steve a murderous look — for a moment, every inch the Winter Soldier — before turning his face away. “Hurry,” he said.

Steve headed for the closest window, figuring it would work as an exit. He didn’t think he’d make it all the way to the door of the lab. He touched the back of his left hand while concentrating on somewhere safe he could bring Bucky’s memories.

The window opened. Through it, Steve glimpsed the streets of Brooklyn— his territory. The glass began rattling as though someone were trying to force the window shut.

“Kill him!” Zola ordered.

Bucky didn't move.

Steve reached the exit and got in position to heave the unconscious man through.

“Behind you, Rogers!” Bucky shouted.

Without looking, Steve whirled, showing his shielded back to whatever was coming at him. A blast struck the vibranium, knocking him into the brick wall. Steve turned his head.

Zola had reappeared, holding an Arnimhilation 99L assault weapon, which he had created to disintegrate humans. Steve thanked his lucky stars that the shield still held up against it in the dream scape.

The scientist prepared to fire again. Steve couldn’t cover himself and Bucky’s memories with the shield. He needed to neutralize that rifle.

Leaping up, he ran forward. He wasn’t as fast as he should be but Zola wasn’t far away. By the time Zola pulled the trigger, Steve was past the end of the barrel and knocked the rifle aside. The blast struck the wall. Chunks of brick littered the floor.

He and Zola fought for control of the gun.

—

Steve Rogers was the craziest person he had ever met. He watched Rogers launch himself at the rifle, certain the man was about to get obliterated. But Rogers got hold of the gun. Zola was now struggling to keep hold of it.

The urge to intervene to kill Rogers threatened to overwhelm him. But he felt another impulse as well: to intervene to save Rogers. That was what he wanted. But he didn’t trust himself to do it so he stayed where he was.

If there was anything that could kill Zola, it was the 99L. If Rogers took it from him—

Zola wrested the rifle out of Rogers’ grip but the two were too close together for him to safely fire it. So Zola swung it at Rogers like a club. The gun struck the edge of the shield on Rogers’ back and broke in two.

So much for that chance.

Taking the shield off, Rogers tried to hit Zola with it. But Zola kicked him in the leg and Rogers stumbled. The shield flew out of his grasp, rolling and landing under Zola’s desk. Rogers tackled Zola and brought him to the floor, where they wrestled awkwardly.

Who would win this fight? Zola, being stockier than Rogers, had a weight advantage but didn’t use it well. The scientist may have access to the Winter Soldier’s memories but he clearly couldn’t properly apply that fighting experience for himself. Rogers knew how to grapple but lacked the strength to pin Zola for long. He concluded they both had even odds of winning.

He had to do something. But what? Zola seemed unstoppable. The man could bend the very space around him to his will: teleporting to safety, dissolving walls, summoning deadly weapons out of thin air. Rogers’ bullet should have pierced a lung but it didn’t even slow Zola down.

Rogers elbowed Zola in the face. Blood spurted from the scientist’s nose.

Wait— why wasn’t Zola teleporting away? Why had Zola’s rifle broken so easily upon contact with the shield when the other objects Zola conjured in the dream scape didn’t?

Looking closer, he saw the bloody patch on the white coat had increased in size. The gunshot was slowing Zola down. The man must be too weak to teleport or to create vibranium resistant metal. Opening the hidden memory bunker probably took most of the strength Zola had after being wounded. He clearly hadn’t planned on having to fight Rogers himself.

Rogers was trying really hard but couldn’t finish Zola off alone. But together maybe they could do it.

How many bullets from Rogers’ gun would it take? He wanted something to do the job faster, giving Zola no chance to escape. Searching the room, his eyes fell on the machine. Electricity still sparked on the end, waiting for somewhere to go.

On his hands and knees, he cautiously moved toward the fight. If he went too quickly, he might lose control. He kept repeating I do not want to kill Steve Rogers.

Rogers straddled Zola, who clumsily tried to roll to knock Rogers off. The two of them punched each other. As he approached, Rogers spotted him. For a second, their eyes met. There was uncertainty in Rogers’ face.

He tilted his head toward the machine, hoping Rogers understood.

He could grab Rogers and throw him into the machine—

No.

Rogers nodded, his uncertainty vanishing. The next time Zola hit him, he let himself fall over. Zola scrambled up and kicked Rogers, who protected his head with his arms. If Zola had been an experienced fighter, he would have instinctively recognized such an obvious feint.

He grabbed Zola and picked him up.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” Zola said.

Shrugging off the command, he carried Zola to the table, holding the man down with his metal hand. Zola struck his wrist and forearm with weak blows.

“No!” Zola shouted. He couldn’t recall ever having heard Zola sound frightened before this moment.

Pointing the end of the machine at Zola’s face, he pushed it down. When it made contact, an electric bolt arced like lightning. His eyes closed involuntarily. The brightness shown through his eyelids.

Zola screamed. The scent of burning flesh filled the air. Electricity roared like a house on fire.

He wasn’t sure how long this went on. Eventually, Zola stopped screaming.

The machine powered down, the sparks dying. When he opened his eyes again, Zola lay still on the table. The eyes were open wide, the face contorted into a pained expression.

“Bucky?” Rogers asked from somewhere to his right.

He let go and backed away, not taking his eyes off Zola. Without him holding it down, the machine had lifted back up.

Rogers came to stand beside him. “Is Zola dead?”

“I think so.”

“You okay?”

He nodded. The command to kill Rogers had receded back to a whisper he could ignore.

“You’re bleeding, Buck.”

He checked the stab wound in his side. “That’s dried blood. The skin’s closed up. Are you hurt?”

Rogers had retrieved the shield and propped it upright against the floor to lean on. The thing looked huge against his small frame. “It’s nothing I can’t walk off.”

“So this is what you were like before the serum?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe you got into fights like this. I almost think you like getting punched.”

A grin spread across Rogers' face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.”

They stood by Zola’s body, watching for any sign of life.

He asked Rogers, “How did you get here anyway?”

“The ravens noticed some other ‘intelligence’ was intruding on the dream scape. Since I’m responsible for getting you out of here in case of emergency, I came. But how the hell did Zola get here?”

“A piece of Zola survived in my head all this time. Coming here brought him to life.”

“How was that possible?”

“He thought us both being around the Tesseract did it.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I had no idea things would go like this.”

He shrugged. “Nobody did.”

“You okay?”

“I’ll be better once we're out of here.”

“Me too.” After a few more seconds, Rogers said, “I think he’s dead this time.”

“Looks like it.”

“Let’s go.” Rogers touched the back of his left hand. The door to the lab, past Zola’s desk, opened. The window he’d opened earlier had closed.

“How do you do that?”

Rogers pulled his glove up to show off the rune scratched on his left hand. “I’m the gatekeeper.”

The man from the tank — the construct representing his memories from his old life — still lay unconscious on the floor. He supposed this was the real Bucky Barnes, the original, at least what was left of him. What were they going to do with these memories? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want to leave them here. He hoisted Bucky Barnes onto his shoulder and stepped through the door with Rogers.

They were in Siberia.

“I wanted to go to Brooklyn,” Rogers said.

He couldn’t believe it: in front of them was the vault for the code book. Why couldn’t he find it before? Had Zola been hiding it from him somehow? Did he need to find his memories first?

The important thing was he’d found it. He hated the book almost as much as the chair. The idea of destroying it made his heart rate speed up.

Setting Bucky Barnes down, he said, “We’re here because there’s one more thing I need to do.” He explained to Rogers about the code book.

“You think destroying this book’s the last step?” Roger asked.

“I hope so. But I don’t know where the keys are.” He pointed to the lock on each side.

“Maybe we don’t need them.” Rogers touched his left hand. The vault remained closed. Frowning, Rogers repeated the motion. “I can’t open it.”

He stepped into the alcove and pulled on, then punched, the doors. Rogers loaned him the shield, which didn’t so much as leave a dent. They tried blowing the vault open. All the explosives they could carry from the armory left the doors sooty but intact.

Frustrated, he banged on the metal. “If only we had some way to make keys.”

Rogers said, “Zola made the machine back at his lab. The restraint bars, too.”

“Did he have a factory somewhere?”

“I don’t think you need a factory to make things here. All this,” Rogers knocked on the wall, “is from inside your head. You created it, just not on purpose.”

“You’re saying I could create something on purpose.”

“Why not?”

“How?”

“When I arrived, I didn’t have the shield. But I concentrated on it and it appeared.”

“It just popped into existence?”

“Right on my arm.”

If Rogers could make a replica shield, he could try to make two small keys. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Holding out his hands palm up, he closed his eyes and willed a pair of keys to appear in them. After several moments of nothing happening, he muttered, “I can’t do it.”

“Zola said he put a little bit of himself into the things he created. I think I put a little of myself into this shield without realizing it just because it’s so closely linked to Captain America. If you found a personal connection to the keys, it could work.”

“What kind of connection?”

“Focus on what you want the keys for, not just the keys themselves.”

For him, the keys meant freedom. Closing his eyes again, he focused on that. Yet his hands remained empty.

Rogers was right. He should be able to create the keys. God damn Zola’s ghost could make things. Why couldn’t he? Was the problem that he’d been built to destroy? That part of his mission in the dream scape had been successful. But now that he had to create to finish the job, he couldn’t do it. And how was he supposed to put ‘himself’ into anything when he didn’t have much of a self? All he had were bad memories, hyper alert senses, and a metal arm.

He opened his eyes and looked at his left arm. This metal was part of him. There was no forge to melt it down, but if Rogers was right, one wasn’t necessary.

Closing his eyes once more, he concentrated. Imagined his left hand softening, melting, changing shape. The plates in his arm shifted as though he were pushing against a great weight. He held still, his hands clenching. In his mind, out of the molten metal formed two keys, silver, cool, and solid.

He could not fail, not after coming so close. Waking up in the same condition he’d been in would be unbearable. His freedom, his mind, his life depended on this.

A weight settled in his left hand. When he opened it, two keys sat on his palm.

The hand looked whole and undamaged. Did it feel lighter, or was he imagining that? Shocked, he said, “I did it.”

Rogers smiled.

They each took a key and turned them on the count of three. With a soft hiss, the door opened. The code book was inside. He took it.

This was the real thing, every page filled with writing, equations, and diagrams. He never read it but he had glimpses inside when Karpov used it.

Rogers dug matches out of a pocket. He took them and lit one. Holding the book by a corner in his left hand, he touched the tiny flame to it until the fire caught. Smoke curled from the burning pages. They watched the book turn to ash in silence.

After the last of the book crumbled from his fingertips, he and Rogers looked at each other. “Is it done?” Rogers asked.

“The ravens said there would be a sign when it was.”

The ground shook— an earthquake. Concrete broke and metal buckled. The building was collapsing.

He grabbed Bucky Barnes. Rogers tapped his left hand. At the end of the hall, a door that in the real world lead to Karpov’s office opened. He didn’t have time to look at what was on the other side as he pulled Rogers out of the way of falling rubble.

They ran through the door.

Chapter Text

Steve staggered across the threshold as the Hydra facility collapsed behind him. The door slammed shut, cutting off the earthquake. Panting, he leaned against a wall.

He was in a rundown studio apartment that he did not recognize. At first glance, the place looked abandoned. The windows were covered in newspaper. The kitchenette had peeling wallpaper and broken tiles. A living room wall had a large gouge in it. Yet the kitchen was stocked with food, dishes, and cookware.

This was where Bucky lived.

Bucky moved past Steve and set the man from the tank on a bare mattress on the floor. Steve noted Bucky wore the clothes he had on when he arrived at the hotel with the ravens: jeans, red shirt, brown jacket, black gloves, black baseball cap.

“How is he?” Steve asked, tilting his head toward the unconscious man.

“Alive.”

“So this is your place.”

“It is.”

“Does it really look like this?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s living situation was better than Steve expected. Despite needing repairs, the apartment wasn’t bad. It was spacious and seemed solidly built. The furniture was shabby but looked comfortable. Two exterior doors set on perpendicular walls indicated this was a corner unit with a balcony wrapping around. If the windows weren’t covered, there would be plenty of sunlight.

When the Howling Commandos set up in abandoned buildings during the war, they always covered the windows to protect themselves from snipers. That’s what this apartment was to Bucky: somewhere secure to rest until it was time for the next mission. In his heart and mind, he was still at war. Steve knew that feeling well.

Exhausted and hurting, Steve sank into the armchair by the mattress. Until he and Bucky were back in the real world, he had to keep going. At least the chair was indeed comfortable.

Steve said, “Well, the Siberian base collapsing is a sign destroying the book worked. And you’re back in normal clothes.”

Looking down at his outfit, Bucky said, “Yep.”

“But you’re not convinced you succeeded.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Do you feel different?”

“No.”

“Do you want to kill me?”

“No. That’s gone.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“I expected to wake up when my programming was gone. But we’re still here.” He glanced at the man on the mattress. “I think it's because of him.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head. “I can’t believe my memories were here all along, just locked away so I couldn’t get to them.”

“Why didn’t Zola destroy them years ago?”

“He was afraid it would ruin my usefulness as an assassin.”

“I see.”

“You must be thrilled. This is exactly what you wanted, me remembering.”

“I thought you wanted to remember.”

Bucky looked toward the gouge in the wall. Steve wondered if he’d done that on a bad day.

“We found the memories.” Bucky pointed to his head. “But they’re still not in here.”

“Maybe we need to wake him up.”

“It might be better to leave him in the past. Keep the two of us separate. Then you can keep your memories of what he was like intact.”

“This isn’t about what I want. I mean, yeah, I would love to be able to talk to you like we always did. ‘You remember when…’”

Peggy was the only other person left who knew Steve before the serum. She wouldn’t live much longer. Steve pushed that thought away.

“Look, I’m going to give you my two cents. If you leave things as they are, you’ll never really know what happened to you. I can’t imagine dealing with the things I’ve experienced — the serum, the war, waking up in a strange new world — without knowing who I was before and why I made the choices I made. And I’ll also point out there’s two of you and one body. It’s probably a good idea to work things out before you wake up.”

“You think I could end up with a split personality— him and me?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point.”

“Maybe he should have the body.”

“Do you really think that?”

“It’s probably not fair to make someone wake up and find out he’s been an assassin for seventy years when he can’t remember that.”

“You think he’s been unaware all this time?”

“I don’t know. But I had no idea he was still buried deep in my head.”

“Buck, I’m not worried about keeping my memories ‘intact.’ They’ll be there. I’m worried about you.”

“You really think I’ll be better off remembering.”

“I do. You won’t have to rely on third parties to tell you about your own life. You’ll know.”

Bucky knelt at the edge of the mattress and looked at the man lying on it. “It would be good to remember something other than Hydra.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll wake him up. If I can figure out how.”

Several moments passed in silence. Steve remembered Bucky poking him in the shoulder to get up for work when he managed to sleep through the alarm clock, which was more often than he liked.

Finally, Bucky reached out and jabbed the unconscious man in the shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Bucky Barnes opened his eyes.

—

He jumped back so far he hit the wall. He hadn’t expected poking Bucky Barnes to work.

Rogers dropped out of his chair onto the mattress. “Bucky?”

“Steve?” Bucky said hoarsely.

“It’s me.”

Bucky squinted at Rogers. “Really?”

“It’s me.” Rogers’ face lit up. There was no trace of the uncertainty or caution Rogers had when looking at him.

“So the serum finally wore off.”

“It didn’t— never mind.” Rogers squeezed Bucky’s shoulders. Being touched did not make Bucky Barnes try to kill Steve Rogers.

Feeling like a third wheel, he looked around the room at nothing in particular.

“God damn. I feel like shit. What happened, Steve? Did I get shot?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Frowning, Bucky took a few moments to answer. “We went to intercept Zola’s train. It was a trap. And—“ his voice dropped. “I fell.”

“You did.”

“Am I dead? Are you dead?”

“No, Buck. We’re both alive. You survived. But you’ve been unconscious for a long time.”

“How long?”

“The war’s over.”

Bucky exhaled. “Thank God. We won, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“So why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Rogers glanced at him. He shrunk back into the corner but there was nowhere to hide. Bucky looked in the direction Rogers had and met his eyes.

“What is this?” Bucky asked.

“There are things I need to explain—“

“Where are we? Who is he?”

“Listen to me, Bucky—”

Bucky tried to sit up and fell over. Leaning on his right elbow, he stared at the stump of his left forearm. Eyes wide, breathing fast and shallow, he mumbled, “Hydra found me. Oh, God. You’re not Steve. You’re Hydra.”

He stepped forward and knelt on the floor, out of arm’s reach but close enough to look Bucky in the eye. “Hydra doesn’t have you.” He tried to sound reassuring but wasn’t certain he managed. “They did find you after you fell from the train. But you escaped. Right now you’re in a dream.”

Bucky stared at him. “I’m dreaming?”

“Yes.” The more complicated explanation could come later. “Hydra can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Zola?”

“Dead.”

“You’re sure?”

Rogers said, “I watched him die.”

Bucky glanced between him and Rogers. “You’re not Hydra?”

He said, “I swear, we’re not.”

“Buck, you and I, we’re sharing a dream. I am Steve.”

“Prove it.”

“When we roomed together, Mrs. Kaminski from down the hall would bring us food every Sunday because she worried about me being too thin. Your favorite was her tomato rice soup.”

(He’d had tomato rice soup and liked it.)

“That’s right. But if you’re really Steve, how can we be sharing a dream?”

“It’s new technology.”

“Is it from Stark?”

“It’s from another friend of mine you haven’t met.”

“Steve, what year is it?”

“2015.”

“Twenty— oh, God.”

“It’s a lot to take in. I know.”

Bucky attempted a grin. “We better have flying cars.”

“They’re still working on that.”

“Did the serum ever wear off?”

“Nope. I just look like this for the dream.”

Bucky looked up at the ceiling. “God damn hell, I’ve been in a coma for seventy years. Wait. Am I still in a coma right now? Is this the only way we can talk?”

“Kind of.” Rogers shifted, looking uncomfortable. “You didn’t spend all that time unconscious, Buck.”

“What did Hydra do?”

“They made you work for them.”

“Doing what?”

Rogers clenched his jaw.

“Doing what?”

“They made you kill for them.”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“It happened.”

“No! It’s not just a matter of principle, or Hydra being the other side. I’ve seen what they do to people with my own eyes. They did it to me. I would never work for them.”

He interrupted, “Hydra altered your brain and nervous system to make you obey them. That’s what Zola had started when you were his prisoner the first time. When he got his hands on you again, he finished the job.”

“This is a nightmare— just a nightmare.” Bucky closed his eyes. “When I wake up, you two will be gone.”

He pressed on. No matter how ugly the truth was, Bucky had to understand. “They named you the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky squeezed his eyelids tight. “I need to wake up.”

“They gave you a metal arm. Look.” Pulling off his gloves, he held up his left hand. “Look.”

Bucky opened his eyes. He stared at the metal hand, horrified.

“You asked what I am. I’m you in 2015.”

“Is this true?” Bucky asked Rogers.

“It is.”

Bucky Barnes passed out.

—

Steve patted Bucky’s face, trying to revive him.

“I could have done that better,” Bucky— other Bucky— Winter Soldier Bucky said. (This was getting confusing.)

“There’s no good way to break this kind of news,” Steve said, recalling how SHIELD tried to ease him into the modern world gently, only for it to backfire and end with him even more shocked.

When Bucky opened his eyes, he asked, “Why can’t I wake up?”

“You will,” Steve said. “But we have things to do first.”

“What would we have to do in a dream?”

Gradually, what happened to Bucky after he fell from the train was explained: the long years in Siberia, meeting Steve again, the destruction of new Hydra, Asgardians and their magic, the dream realm, Bucky’s memory of Zola becoming a separate consciousness, Zola’s defeat. Steve was surprised how much Winter Soldier Bucky talked. Although it was mainly his story to tell. Steve added comments when necessary.

Staring at his current self, Bucky said, “So we’re kind of two halves of a whole? He doesn’t remember anything except being a Hydra assassin and I don’t remember being a Hydra assassin.”

Steve said, “That’s the gist of it.”

Bucky gestured to the metal hand. “And I have that on my body.”

“You get used to it,” Winter Soldier Bucky said.

“I’m not sure I believe this,” Bucky said. “I sure don’t want to believe it.”

Steve said, “I’m sorry. But it’s all true.”

“You’re telling me my life’s been a horror story for seven decades. I fell off a train and survived because I’d already been given a dose of super soldier serum without knowing. I was captured again. And the same freak who experimented on me the first time grafted a creepy mechanical arm onto me, then messed with my brain and forced me to murder people for Hydra. I ran into you, said, ‘I can’t kill my best friend,’ and escaped.” He paused, taking a breath. “Now I’m an amnesiac hiding and hoping I don’t get caught by what’s left of Hydra. Did I miss anything? If there’s some bad news you forgot to mention, I don’t want to hear it.”

Words echoed in Steve’s head: “You didn’t think about retrieving my fucking body! This is all your fault! I hate you!”

Bucky said, “I wish I’d died falling off the side of a mountain like a normal person.”

Steve looked away. He tried to tell himself Bucky didn’t mean that. But if all this had happened to him, he’d probably feel the same.

Winter Soldier Bucky said, “Rogers. Somebody else is here.”

Standing up, Steve held the shield in front of him. A dark shape was visible through the newspaper on the balcony door next to the refrigerator.

“Do I have to kill Zola again?” Winter Soldier Bucky muttered.

The Winter Soldier smashed down the door and entered the room.

Both Buckys said, “What the hell?”

The one who’d attacked Steve on the helicarrier had returned. Exposed face full of rage, the Winter Soldier came straight at Steve and yanked the shield from his hands.

Winter Soldier Bucky tackled the assailant. They both slammed into the wall.

Bucky grabbed Steve and pulled him across the apartment. Steve was surprised he’d managed to get up. “There’s another version of me? Why is it attacking us?”

“This one’s not really you.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s my nightmare.”

Winter Soldier Bucky and his opponent fought for control of the shield. Debris from the broken wall rained across the room as it was struck repeatedly.

“We need to get out of here.” Bucky took a step and fell to his hands and knees. “Go. I’ll just slow you down. Go!”

“Not without you.” Touching the back of his left hand, Steve opened the other balcony door, revealing a New York street.

“Is that Brooklyn?” Bucky asked.

For a moment, Steve wanted to simply go home with Bucky — the one he remembered and who remembered him — and stay there. He didn’t even mind being skinny again. All he had to do was help Bucky across the threshold.

But if he never woke up, what would happen to Bucky in the real world? Would he be lost forever alone in the dream scape? Or would he wake up and be left to navigate a world hostile to him without his strongest ally?

Steve couldn’t abandon him for a dream, no matter how tempting.

However, looking at the city gave Steve an idea for how to end this fight. He put one foot through the door. Being half in his section of the dream scape and half in Bucky’s made him dizzy.

Shouting to get the Winter Soldier’s attention was unnecessary. He immediately looked at Steve and released the shield. Caught off guard, Winter Soldier Bucky stumbled back with it in his hands. Using the metal arm, the Winter Soldier punched the shield upward. The edge hit Winter Soldier Bucky in the face. He reeled and fell.

Steve bolted through the door with the Winter Soldier behind.

On the street was a parked taxi. He opened the rear door and jumped in, sliding across the seat to the opposite side. The moment the Winter Soldier was in Brooklyn, Steve touched his hand again and closed the gate back to Bucky’s apartment. The Winter Soldier reached into the cab for him.

Steve opened the door behind him and rolled through. He landed on the floor of Bucky’s apartment and kicked the door shut.

Winter Soldier Bucky was back on his feet, shield on his arm. “Is he gone?”

Carefully, Steve cracked open the door, revealing an ordinary bathroom. “Yeah.”

Bucky stood, leaning heavily against the wall. “Are there any other ‘me’s we need to worry about?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That was a neat trick with the doors.”

“I wish I could have escaped from people chasing me in real life like that.”

“I wouldn’t have had to bail you out of trouble all the time.”

Steve went in for a hug. It was weird feeling only one hand against his back. But hugging his best pal after seventy years apart was indescribable.

Bucky collapsed.

Struggling to hold him up, Steve called his name.

Winter Soldier Bucky helped get him back on the mattress. He lay still, eyes closed, breathing hard. Sweat beaded on his face, which was so pale he looked like he’d been drained of blood.

Worried, Steve touched his forehead. It was cold and clammy. “Buck, you hear me?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

Silently, Steve cursed himself. He let his emotions get the better of him and accidentally summoned the Winter Soldier. Bucky, already in bad shape, hurt himself trying to protect Steve during the attack.

Wisps of white smoke — similar to dry ice melting — curled around Steve’s hand. It took a second to register that the smoke was coming from Bucky. What the hell?

Winter Soldier Bucky drew in a sharp breath.

Bucky opened his eyes and held up his hand, looking at it. Smoke trailed off his fingers. “Steve, I know this is a dream but I don’t think this is a good sign.”

Steve looked to Winter Soldier Bucky. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

The blue began draining out of Bucky’s coat, the black out of his hair. He was slowly turning transparent— fading away.

“We need to do something,” Steve said.

Winter Soldier Bucky said, “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. The machine he was in was keeping him alive. Maybe he can’t survive on his own long term.”

Bucky said, “You saying I’m dying?”

“No,” Steve said.

“Yes,” Winter Soldier Bucky said.

“Should I flip a coin to settle this?” Bucky asked.

Steve said, “We will stop this.”

“How?”

After a pause, Winter Soldier Bucky said, “The only thing I can think of is for you to combine with me.”

Steve opened his mouth to say, ‘So do that’ but Bucky cut him off. “That means— what? I get absorbed into you? I become you?”

“I understand if you don’t want that. I don’t want to be me either.”

“Those are my choices? Be a mind-controlled Hydra assassin or die?”

Steve said, “He’s not mind-controlled anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not,” Winter Soldier Bucky said.

“Pretty sure,” Bucky said.

“We’re running out of time.” Steve pointed to each Bucky in turn. “If you lose him, you’ll never remember anything. And you’ll disappear forever.”

Winter Soldier Bucky said, “I can’t force him to do this if he doesn’t want to. I can’t.”

Steve wanted to shout and shake Bucky— both of them. If they joined, Winter Soldier Bucky would have his memories back. And the Bucky Steve had known would survive in some form. It was win-win.

But he did understand what Winter Soldier Bucky meant. Since Original Bucky had started talking — even arguing — Steve felt that he was more than a construct representing old memories. He was Bucky’s past self. He was awake and aware and had a say in what happened to him.

They were still running out of time. The more smoke curled into the air, the less of Bucky there seemed to be. The outline of his body was starting to blur.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“It’s weird seeing the old you. I was just getting used to Big Steve. It’s good, though.”

Steve focused on Bucky as though if he looked hard enough the fading would stop. “It’s good to see you too.”

“I don’t mean to take off and leave you. But if I do this, I’ll remember— horrible things.”

“You will. But you’ll remember everything else too. If you don’t do this, all that will be lost. You’ll be lost.”

Bucky looked at his modern self. “Is this what you want?”

Winter Soldier Bucky glanced away, then back at his past self. He nodded slightly.

“Steve, I’ll see you when I wake up. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

For a moment, they looked at each other. Smoke drifted toward the ceiling. Steve fought the urge to try to contain it, to try to hold Bucky together. He couldn’t hang on to the smoke any more than he could hang on to time.

Bucky said, “I’m not ready to die just yet. I’m curious what 2015 is like.”

Steve’s heart hammered with joy. “It’s— indescribable. You’re in for a lot of surprises.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both.”

“So what do we do to combine?” Bucky said.

Winter Soldier Bucky asked, “You’re sure about this?”

“No. But I have to decide before I go up in smoke.”

“Give me a second to get ready.”

Smiling, Steve bent down and hugged Bucky again. He was still solid enough for that.

“You know, Steve, I’m still wondering if this is a just a really weird dream— a regular, one person dream.”

“We can talk about it more when we’re awake.”

Winter Soldier Bucky crouched on the mattress. “Ready?”

Steve released Bucky from the hug and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bucky said.

“Okay. We’re keeping things simple. This should work.” Winter Soldier Bucky touched Bucky’s forehead with his right hand. “I remember.”

Bucky gasped, eyes wide. Then he rapidly dissolved into nothing, like fog blown away by wind.

Steve’s empty palm dropped to the mattress.

Winter Soldier Bucky pitched forward onto his hands. He looked at Steve, alarmed, his entire body rigid.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

Before Bucky could answer, the building rumbled. The wall of the apartment exploded outwards.

A dark whirlwind pulled Bucky into the sky. He cried, “Steve!”

Steve reached for him but he was gone. The wind died as quickly as it had come, leaving Steve alone in the ruins.

Chapter Text

Bucky knew where he was before he opened his eyes.

Wind whistled in his ears. Cold seeped into his body from the frozen ground. Far above on a mountain ridge, beyond his sight, he knew there was a train track.

Opening his eyes, he looked left. The snow underneath his metal arm was red. No blood ran from any wound yet he felt weak. All his strength was gone.

Was he dying?

He did say he’d rather have died after falling from the train. Did this otherworldly land of dreams bring him back to this ravine to grant that bitter wish? Bucky supposed it was too late to take it back.

Seventy years, a lifetime, he spent serving Hydra. The return of his memories answered the question of who he was but not the question of how he was supposed to live with himself.

Maybe the answer was he wasn’t supposed to live with himself. If he had died back then, the people he killed would have continued living. Dying on this mountainside now was a sort of cosmic justice.

A scattering of snow flakes drifted on the wind. Would he remain trapped here on the edge of life and death until his body in the real world expired? Did it matter? This was the price he would pay for his crimes. There was no point continuing to struggle. He would never find redemption.

Bucky felt sorry for Steve. No one else would mourn him. He couldn’t mourn himself. He wasn’t worth it.

There was nothing to see except icy snow and cloudy sky and his own body, a tiny speck in an endless frozen landscape. Closing his eyes, he lay unmoving, thinking of nothing, waiting to slip into darkness.

He couldn’t say how much time passed before he heard a distant echo. “Bucky!”

It sounded like Steve. His eyes opened. Was he imagining this?

The voice continued calling for him, growing louder, closer. Then he heard footsteps crunching in the hard snow.

“Bucky!”

Turning his head, Bucky saw a small figure, stooped like an old man, slowly jogging toward him. The shield was dragged behind on the end of a long strap.

It was Steve.

He slid to a stop next to Bucky and collapsed, his breath coming out fast in thick, white clouds. Cold, dry air was always hard on his lungs. Bucky was surprised Steve made it here. He should know by now to never underestimate Steve’s stubbornness.

“Sorry it took so long. The closest doors are up at the Hydra factory. I came through there and followed the train track through the mountains.” Steve paused to catch his breath. “We’re going to get out of here. I just need a minute.”

For a few moments, the only sounds were the wind and Steve gasping for air. He touched Bucky’s shoulder. “Talk to me, Buck.”

Bucky opened his mouth but his voice stuck in his throat.

“You hear me?”

He nodded.

“I can’t carry you out of here, Bucky. Can you move?”

He tried to sit up. His body didn’t respond. He could curl his fingers and toes and move his head but was too weak to rise.

Getting up with a grimace, Steve grasped Bucky’s arms.

He wanted to shout, “Stop! You’ll hurt yourself” but the words wouldn't come.

Steve pulled. Bucky slid a few inches until Steve’s feet broke through the frozen top layer of snow and sank in to his ankles. He stumbled, dropping Bucky’s arms. The ravine echoed with Steve swearing.

Finally, Bucky managed to whisper hoarsely, “Steve, go.”

"No."

"Just leave me."

"Bucky, either we both leave or neither of us does.” He sat back down, looking stubborn and exhausted. “We’re going to have a hell of a time getting out of this canyon.”

“I didn’t choose to come here.”

“I know.” Steve sighed deeply. “Bucky, I’m sorry I didn’t catch you. You were always saving me and the one chance I had to save you, I failed.”

“It wasn’t the only chance you had to save me. First time worked pretty well.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to join the Howling Commandos.”

“Like I was going to let you fight Hydra without me.”

“Maybe I couldn’t have caught you but I could have found you. I told myself I’d come back for you once the war was over, once Hydra was defeated. I should have just done it. I should have suspected Zola was up to something. I saw his lab. I knew what scientists like that could do to a human body.”

There was another voice on the wind. Bucky was shocked to hear himself.

“You ran off to save the world and left me! Not just to die— to become a monster. Do you have any idea what they did to me after you were gone?”

Steve turned all around, searching for the source of the voice. But the Winter Soldier did not appear in the snow.

“When we were kids, I never expected you to protect me because you couldn’t! But then you became the big hero. And you couldn’t help me when it counted? What the hell kind of friend are you?”

The words ricocheted off the rock walls.

“Not a very good one,” Steve muttered.

“I forgive you,” Bucky said. “I forgive you, Steve.”

Gradually, the echos faded. The angry voice said no more. Tears sprung up in Steve’s eyes. He wiped them off his raw, chapped face.

Bucky said, “You can’t stay here. This isn’t a place for you.”

“It isn’t a place for you either. I meant what I said. Either we both leave or neither of us does.”

Realizing Steve was serious and not just trying to motivate him to move, Bucky couldn’t think of anything to say except to repeat, “You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“What about your life?"

“What about it?”

“What about the Avengers?”

"Tony and Natasha can run things without me.”

“Steve, you can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not worth all this.”

“I decide what things are worth to me. Okay?”

He looked Steve in the eye. “You don’t know everything I’ve done.”

“You killed people. I know.”

“And you don’t care?”

“You were forced to do it. Even if you weren’t my best pal, I can’t judge you for things you couldn’t control.”

“Hydra chose the targets but I pulled the trigger.” He stared up at the gray sky, steeling himself to say what was necessary to make Steve understand. “Howard Stark didn’t die in an accident. I killed him. I forced his car off the road. Then I fractured the bones in his throat to mimic a collision impact. I killed his wife the same way. Maria Stark wasn’t even a target but she was there, so she died.”

“Bucky…”

“After I killed the Starks, I took what Howard had in his trunk back to Siberia: a new super soldier serum. I helped Hydra make more Winter Soldiers. They were even worse than me.”

Steve looked alarmed. “Where are they?”

“In cryostasis. They were too aggressive and unstable to control so they were never used.”

“That wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I know. But I did it.”

“Bucky, I already knew about the Starks.”

“How? That wasn’t in my file.”

“Zola hinted at it when I found his bunker. He was very chatty for a guy who died in 1972.”

“So you’ve known all this time?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t told anyone else?”

“I needed to be sure it was true.”

“Howard was your friend, Steve. And I killed him. His son is your friend.”

“You’re my friend too.”

Bucky shook his head. “You still want to help me.”

“Of course I do.”

“What do you think will happen if I come back with you? Is Tony going to pay for lawyers for the man who killed his parents? Oh, he’ll find out. There are Hydra files on the Internet now. People will put two and two together eventually.”

“Even without Tony, we can manage. There are people who owe me favors, Buck. I will call in every one of them to make sure you’re treated fairly.”

“If you help me, Tony will hate you. Maybe he’ll fight against you.”

“Tony will be hurt and angry. He may hate me for a while. But I will work things out with him. He’ll come to understand that you didn’t choose to do what you did.”

“If he doesn’t?”

“Then he doesn’t. Look, I’m not trying to make the two of you be buddies. I just want to keep things from boiling over. Let me worry about Tony.”

“People will think less of you for protecting a Hydra assassin.”

“If every single person in the world thought I was wrong about this, I wouldn’t care.”

“You might have to choose between being Captain America and me.”

“Do you think I’d choose the shield over you? Bucky, I thought you knew me better.”

“I know you well enough to know you make really stupid decisions sometimes.”

“Nothing will keep me from doing whatever I can to help you. I’m not budging on this.”

“What if the government wants me to work for them?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Do you think you can stop them?”

“If you’re world famous, you can’t be a secret assassin anymore.”

Out of arguments, Bucky said nothing.

Steve asked, “Bucky, do you want to stay here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It’s a straightforward one. Do you want to stay here rather than go back to the real world?”

“Why would you think I want to stay?”

“You keep making excuses for why you can’t leave.”

“I’m not making excuses.”

Steve shifted position in the snow. “You know, nobody asked me if I wanted to be revived after being in the ice for decades. I wouldn’t tell anyone else this but— if anyone had asked, I’m not sure I would’ve said yes. Bucky, you have a choice here. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. But if you think you need to stay to punish yourself for things you’ve done, or to make my life easier, you don’t. Whatever you decide, I’ll stick with you. It has to be what you want.”

“Are you trying to reverse psychology me into leaving?”

“No. I’m serious.”

“How can you suggest this?”

“Back in the day, I chose to fight Hydra. That was basically choice for us both because you weren’t going to leave my side. I think it’s only fair that now you get to make the choice and I’ll stay by your side.”

“What’ll happen to our bodies if we stay?”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe they’ll put them in the Smithsonian.”

“I don’t want to stay in this god-forsaken canyon.”

“So we go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s two options: stay or go. What could be simpler?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Steve.”

“Half the time, I’m not sure I can do something until after I’ve done it.” Steve changed position again, getting up on his knees. He looked extremely cold. “I get it. Guilt, fear— it freezes your blood. But if you let your blood stay frozen, let the guilt and the fear stop you, it’ll kill you. You can’t live with ice in your veins.”

“Sometimes you’re right to be afraid. Sometimes things go even more horribly wrong than you can imagine.”

“Yeah. But sometimes you gamble and things go right. Bucky, look around.” Steve gestured to the sheer rock walls caked with ice and the acres of snow. “The alternative to taking the risk is this for the rest of your life.”

“You really think I’m worth saving?”

“Hell, yes. You were always one of the best people I ever knew. When I went to battle as Captain America, the person I was trying to live up to was you. I know it’s not going to be easy, on you especially. But you are absolutely worth the fight.”

Tears slid out of the corners of his eyes. “Steve, you’re wrong about not being a good friend. Ever since we were kids, I admired you for standing up for yourself, even if it got you punched. You always got back up when you got knocked down, literally.”

“If you don’t get up, people kick you. That really hurts.”

“You think you can do anything you set your mind to, obstacles be damned. No matter how ridiculous or far-fetched what you want to do is. And you make other people think they can do the same.”

“I never did anything alone. I’ve always had good people backing me up. You won't be alone in this."

Steve stood and extended a hand. Bucky took it. New energy and power — new hope — poured into him. Beyond inspiring words, Steve was somehow lending him the strength to escape this lonely, frozen abyss.

He got to his feet and put an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

—

Steve stood at the bottom of a rock wall. It was a long way up.

“You’re telling me you flew down here?” Bucky sounded dubious.

“It was more like gliding. When I thought I was in the right place, I jumped off the train track. Landing was bumpy but I survived.”

Bucky looked like he thought Steve was finally losing it.

“What? People fly in dreams.”

Focusing his thoughts — up up up — Steve bent his knees and jumped.

He landed in the snow, lost his balance, and rolled a few feet. Sitting up, he said, “Taking off from the ground is a lot harder.”

“Try clicking your heels together three times and saying, ‘There’s no place like a Hydra base.’”

“I don’t have the right shoes.”

Brutally tired, Steve wished there were closer doors. During the trip to the ravine wall, Bucky had to carry the shield as well as push Steve up the steeper inclines with a hand against his back. And after they made it up to the train track, they faced a long, miserable trek to the base.

Bucky said, “Let’s walk through the canyon. There’s a village around here somewhere. I remember passing through it with the Soviet soldiers who found me.”

“Do you know which way to go?”

After taking a long look towards both ends of the gorge, Bucky said, “No.”

Steve was at the furthest end of his limits. The bitter cold sapped what remained of his strength. He reminded himself it was impossible to get frostbite in a dream. (He hoped.) If they got lost wandering around, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last.

He must have looked as bad as he felt because Bucky said, “The only other option is climbing out. I’ll carry you.”

The wall was encased in ice and studded with thick frozen stalactites hanging from rocky outcroppings. “You think we can make it?”

Bucky held up his left hand and curled his fingers. “I got an ice breaker.”

Climbing the sheer, slippery cliff was going to be a lengthy, laborious process. In his current state, Steve wasn’t sure he could hang on to Bucky’s back all the way to the top. He wished he was in a body with strength and stamina now even more than when he’d had to fight.

But they had to get out of here somehow. Steve hauled himself up, trying to rally his spirits. His eyes fell on the outline left from his fall in the snow.

An idea popped into his head. With his fingers, he drew a door, then stood back and, hoping he wasn’t too exhausted to do this, touched his left hand.

A portal opened onto the beachside hotel room in Carpasia.

Sam sat on the edge of the armchair, looking anxious. Bucky lay asleep on the floor in the center of the rune circle, Steve next to him. Two ravens perched on the windowsill.

Bucky said, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

The door was big enough for them to pass through together. Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and they both stepped into it.

The first thing Steve was aware of was being able to breathe easily. The second was Bucky gasping, “Steve?”

He sat up. “Bucky?"

Hugin and Munin cawed.

Bucky pulled Steve into a hug.

“Welcome back,” Sam said.

—

It was dawn when Bucky hiked with Steve up into the wooded hills above town. He needed to be certain his programming had been neutralized. There was only one way to prove it.

They walked until they found a small clearing in the trees. From here, there was a sweeping view of the ocean below. The early light gave the world a blue tint. Birds were singing.

Steve said, “This looks like a good spot.”

“You know, this does remind me a little of Fort Tryon Park.”

“You remember that?”

“You were the one who wanted to go up there to sketch. Then you spent the entire time complaining it was too cold to draw.”

“I forgot my gloves.”

Peering over the cliff, Bucky said, “You can chuck me over the edge if you need to.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“We don’t know for sure this worked.”

“Even if it didn’t, I’ll be the one in control of the Winter Soldier. Do you think I’d tell him to hurt anyone, especially myself?”

“Of course not. It’s just— God, I don’t want to do this again.” Steve touched his shoulder. Bucky nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

He sat crosslegged on the dewy grass. A cold salt breeze blew over him.

Steve held up a piece of paper on which were written ten words in Russian, along with their phonetic pronunciations. On the walk up the hill, Steve had practiced saying them (out of order, to be safe) under his breath. Hearing it sent chills down Bucky’s spine.

Clearing his throat, Steve began.

He tensed, shivering uncontrollably. His breathing quickened. He fought the urge to run, digging his hands into the earth to hold himself in place. The electricity pulsing through his body wasn’t real— it was just a sense memory.

This was merely a test. Hydra had been all but annihilated. Zola was dead.

“Did you really think you could escape, Sergeant Barnes?” Zola chided him.

The machine lowered toward his face. Electricity sparked within it.

“No matter where you go, you will always return to me.”

His heart hammered in his chest. Zola was right. There was no escape. He would never be free until he died.

“Hey.”

Zola looked over his shoulder. A gunshot rang out.

The scientist crumpled to the floor. The machine powered down. His restraints opened. He sat up.

A man stood over Zola’s body. He wore a blue coat and held a revolver in his only hand. This man could have been his twin brother.

Shaking his head, the man said, “Here I am rescuing you, and you’re the super soldier with all the fancy weapons and two arms.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He blinked. The meadow, the pale sunlight, and Steve came back into focus. What was that? Had he slipped into a dream?

“Bucky?” Steve asked.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

Smiling slightly, Steve crumpled the paper in his fist.

Bucky put his hands over his face as what had happened began to sink in. The code words didn’t work.

“I’m free,” he whispered.

“You’re free.”

Tears broke and streamed down his face. He didn’t even try to hide them.

Steve knelt on the ground and hugged him.

—

After the long night, Steve, Sam, and Bucky needed a few hours of regular sleep.

When Steve woke, he found a raven feather on the desk. He tucked the parting gift into his bag. He’d have to thank Thor again. (And ask if there was anything he needed to know about this feather. He didn’t want to be surprised by more magic.)

With Sam in the other room and Bucky still asleep, Steve stepped out on the balcony. It was early afternoon. Golden rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. On the beach, some kids were throwing a neon green frisbee.

Steve picked up his phone and paused, finger hovering over Tony’s number.

Honestly, Steve was nervous. This was going to be a difficult conversation. But Bucky was right. The Winter Soldier killing Howard and Maria Stark would come out eventually. The only way to salvage this situation — to salvage the Avengers — was to explain everything now.

Tony was a scientist. In time, he could come to understand the extent of what Hydra did to Bucky — he could come to understand that it wasn’t Bucky’s fault — if Steve was honest with him, if they could talk things over calmly in person.

Once before, Steve had pushed off something he didn’t want to do— finding Bucky’s body. That had resulted in horrible things. To paraphrase Natasha, he only acted like he was fearless. He needed to get over this fear. Otherwise things were going to be even worse — for Bucky, for himself, for Tony, for everyone — later.

He called Tony.