Chapter Text
He thought he’d never see this place again. He’d hoped he’d never see this place again. He stood still against the brutal cold, unable to take his gaze away from the derelict structure. Bits of grey and black peeked out from beneath the ice.
He really hated Siberia.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t be there long--get in, find it or determine it’s not there, then get out.
He drew in a long, deep breath of the icy air and moved forward, his boots crunching against the unforgivingly cold terrain. He knew the path in. It was the same path he and Steve had taken on their way out after barely defeating Stark. The compound wasn’t particularly safe for any occupant, so he'd need to be careful and prepared to make a fast escape.
He made it to the doorway, which was, remarkably, still standing. It was open, doors long gone, leaving only a black gateway to the interior that seemed to taunt him.
The memories came suddenly, and he stopped just before setting foot inside. His breath caught in his chest, his lungs frozen.
Five bodies, a single bullet hole each. He could’ve been one of them.
That chair. The pain. The scorching of his throat. The sound of his own screams battering through his skull.
The cryochamber. The white-hot flash of pain as every cell in his body froze, so brief he barely remembered it. The agony of defrosting, regeneration. Disorientation. Pain. More screaming.
Seventy years. This had been his home for most of those decades – for more years than he’d been alive before he’d been turned into a Winter Soldier.
He closed his eyes.
I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James Bucky Barnes.
He opened his eyes, his back straight and tense, and forged steadfastly into the darkness.
Once inside, his eyes took barely a moment to adjust to the darkness. Light spilled in from the doorway, casting strange shadows around the twisted pieces of metal and broken glass that littered the floor. He wasted no time, his eyes scanning the building. He remembered the layout well. If the information was here, it would most likely be in one of two places.
He glided forward, stepping carefully around the rubble, and headed to the stairs.
As he passed through a doorway, something stopped him. He held his breath, head cocked. Listening. He heard nothing, but he definitely felt…something. The softest hint of a vibration in the bottoms of his feet, snaking almost imperceptibly up his calf, into his thigh.
Impossible.
He was almost certain the source of the vibration was below him. He moved with soft footsteps, his head cocked, listening, but he heard nothing. The compound was silent. Still, he felt the vibration.
He took the stairs down, then stopped at a closed door. He listened, but still there was only silence. He placed one hand softly on the metal, and there it was. The vibration. Subtle. Barely perceptible.
He touched the lever, his hand curling around the cold metal, and pushed it down. A click penetrated the silence, and he pushed. The door creaked inward.
He was exposed, in a bad position. He hadn’t heard anyone. He still didn’t, but if anyone was lurking around, he’d be an easy target. Swiftly, he entered, hugging the wall. The room was dark and empty except for a hazy light spilling in from another doorway across the room. The door had a small, square pane of glass that seemed to pulsate with a soft glow.
“Eto pochti gotovo.”
Bucky suddenly felt the cold deep in his gut. The man’s voice had come from the other side of the door.
Russian.
Hydra.
It had to be.
He had a decision to make, but little time to ponder his options. The smart thing to do would be to get the hell out of there as quickly and quietly as possible, but he’d lose the chance to find out if the formula for the serum Hydra used on him was still here, within these cold walls, waiting for the wrong person to find it.
If it was, it needed to be found and destroyed.
And that left the matter of who was here and what they were doing. The stakes were too high. If they had found the serum….
There was only one real choice. He’d come this far. He had to complete the mission. His mission. And if one of Hydra’s heads was rising again, he couldn’t let them use that serum on others.
His right hand went to the holster at his side. He unhooked it, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the gun. It wasn’t much in terms of firepower, but it would do the job if necessary. He pulled the firearm out of the holster and held the gun down at his side, his finger on the trigger.
As he moved forward toward the closed door, one self-berating thought sprang to the front of his mind.
Why the hell hadn’t he told Sam where he was going?
If he thought he’d have any cell signal here, in Siberia, in this bunker, he’d text him now. Someone needed a heads up that the Bunker wasn’t abandoned. With his metal arm, he pulled the cell phone from his vest and quickly glanced at the display.
No signal. Just as he’d thought. Quickly, he tucked the phone back into his pocket. His right hand still gripped the Glock 19 at his side. Silently, he moved forward. His steps imperceptible. He reached the doorway, took a breath, and quickly peeked through the glass, hoping luck and timing was on his side and no one inside spotted him.
He caught a glimpse of two figures approaching a small, round platform elevated by legs only a few inches long all around. The pulsating light emanated from what looked like a rectangular, glass box mounted on a metal stand in the center of the platform. The men hopped up, taking positions on opposite sides.
“Gotovo za tri sekundy,” another man’s voice said.
Bucky didn’t see that man, but the voice told him he had three seconds for them to do whatever they were going to do, and he also had at least three men to deal with.
He had no time for a plan, but he did have the element of surprise. That was all he had. He used it. He burst through the door, gun raised in the direction he’d heard the voice. He raised his metal arm in front of him, the only shield he’d have against gunfire.
He spotted the third man at a control panel in the corner of the room. The guy was older and wearing civilian clothing – a black jacket and white shirt. The stranger reached for something, then raised his arm.
Bucky fired, his aim true – through the right shoulder, just above the man’s heart. In his Winter Soldier days, he’d have aimed for the head. But he didn’t know with absolute certainty who these men were. He assumed they were Hydra. But if he killed them without knowing for sure, it might end up being another mistake to haunt his dreams.
And it would violate Rules 1 and 2 in a big way. He could almost hear Dr. Raynor’s voice in his head.
Don’t do anything illegal.
Don’t hurt anyone.
Technically, he’d already violated both rules.
He kept the two men in the periphery of his vision and spun when he saw movement from one of them. They were armed, guns raised, bullets fired.
Bucky’s metal arm took the impact, and he fired the Glock, hitting them both. Both fell off the platform.
Bucky exploded into a jump that had him on the platform in a second. A gunshot rang out, and he saw the man at the control panel firing at him. He ducked, raising his metal arm in defense. A couple of rounds bounced off it. One sliced the outside of his flesh arm.
He grimaced. Sometimes not killing people really sucked from a tactical standpoint.
Bucky fired back, putting a bullet in the man’s chest. It may or may not be fatal, but he couldn’t afford to play nice. Not anymore.
As the man fell, the gun he held fired a few more times. The bullets whizzed past Bucky, the cadence of their thuds upon impact indicated they hit metal.
An explosion of light so intense it seemed to burn filled the room. Bucky’s eyelids slammed closed of their own volition, and he dropped down, hitting the metal surface of the platform. His ears rang. The room spun.
After a few seconds, his senses came back to him. Silence greeted him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The room was dark, except for the box. Whatever was inside still pulsed, but just faintly.
Bucky blinked and pushed himself to his feet. The room swayed and a vibration much like an electric current rattled his insides. His vision blurred, and his metal arm morphed. For a moment, it was chrome. Then black and gold again. He shook his head and took a couple of deep breaths to clear the disorientation and buzzing from his skull. His eyes scanned the dim room. The control panel in the corner was gone. The platform remained, but the men he’d shot were gone.
He hopped quickly off the platform, searching the room. It was clean. No blood. No dropped weapons. No bullet casings. His Glock was nowhere to be found. The control panel that had been in the corner had vanished.
Impossible.
Bucky looked back at the glowing rectangular box on the platform. His stomach twisted. Whatever was going on, it was very, very wrong.
He needed to do a bit of recon. The transparent box was bolted to the platform, and he didn’t think ripping up something with that kind of unknown firepower was a smart move. He moved to the door and opened it, stepping back into the empty room.
Only it wasn’t empty. Crates and boxes filled the small room, coated with a fine layer of coal dust.
What the hell…?
He surveyed the room. A shelf on one wall caught his eye and stole his breath. His eyes locked on the items sitting neatly on the shelf midway up the wall.
A hard plastic face mask. Goggles. A tactical, bullet-proof vest.
This can’t be.
He’d seen the room like this only once before, during his time as the Winter Soldier. It was used for storage but rarely accessed. Most of the stuff placed here was excess equipment or old records, even the Winter Soldier gear.
They’d get torn off or damaged, but Hydra always had replacements. Every new mission. Every new target. They’d suit him up and send him off.
Move, he told himself. He needed to move.
But his eyes remained fixed on the mask and goggles, and his feet refused to budge.
Now, damnit!
He swallowed and closed his eyes, then forced his feet to start moving. When he opened his eyes again, he was at the stairwell door. He listened, but again there was only silence. He pushed on the door and stepped into the stairwell. Soft lighting cascaded over the unforgiving metal rails and stairs.
The bunker was active. It had electricity.
The sound of Russian voices suddenly bounced through the stairwell. The men sounded frantic, panicked. Bucky spun around, heading quickly back into the storage room. If he was where he thought he was….
If this was…
It couldn’t be.
He grabbed the mask, goggles, and tactical gear and suited up. He put his jacket and gloves on over the gear to cover his updated metal arm.
When he emerged back onto the staircase platform, it was as the Winter Soldier—an identity he’d buried not so long ago.
I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James Bucky Barnes.
If he repeated it enough, he was sure he’d eventually believe it.
The sharp clatter of hard footsteps rang through the stairwell. Bucky stiffened just as two men rounded the stairs and slammed to a stop in front of him. One was a soldier, the other wore a white lab coat. Their eyes widened in surprise. The soldier’s right hand went to the firearm at his side.
Bucky stared at the soldier, hoping he looked sufficiently robotic, his gaze unyielding and his arms still at his sides. “Gotov podchinit'sya.”
Ready to comply. The words almost caught in his throat.
A flicker of confusion crossed the guard’s face, but his hand eased away from his weapon.
“We need to get out of here,” the scientist hissed in English.
Bucky recognized him as Dr. Samuels, an American Hydra agent. He often saw the man hovering over him in his nightmares.
Bucky took a breath but remained still, waiting for orders. He had no idea what Hydra was up to, but he needed to find out, and his best chance at doing that was as the Winter Soldier.
“I told you he would come back to the nest,” the soldier said with a smirk as he glanced at Dr. Samuels. His eyes immediately went back to Bucky, scanning his face, a hint of superiority in his expression. “Get us out of here.”
Bucky turned around and, with the two men behind him, complied.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“So much for Hydra being disbanded!” Sam shouted as he barrel-rolled mid-flight to avoid a twisted chunk of flying shrapnel.
Steve Rogers spared a glance at the Falcon as he hunkered behind his shield, pushing forward against the onslaught of bullets from the automatic rifle pointed in his direction.
Cut off one head, two more will take its place.
“Disbanded, not dead,” Natasha yelled as she fired off two rounds into the chest of the guy shooting at Steve. “These must be stragglers.”
“Stragglers!” Sam shouted. “Some stragglers!” He swooped higher. “We have more company!”
Steve looked up at Sam and followed the line of his friend’s gave. “Great.” An armored vehicle approached. “What are they after?”
It was chaos. After the destruction of the helicarriers and the release of the secrets Hydra and SHIELD held, there was a period of chaos, then quiet. Steve used that time to search for Bucky, but so far his old friend was living up to his reputation as a ghost.
Then, suddenly, Hydra raised its head. Natasha had gotten a heads up from one of her sources while she was working on reinventing her covers. She and Sam had followed Steve’s lead and intercepted the drop. Now they were in this mess – gunfire on public streets, civilians in the way. He had to stop this before people got killed. He hoped no one already had.
Unfortunately, as the armored car screeched to a halt, Steve knew that stopping this small war in the middle of a street just outside of Atlantic City was not going to be easy. At least the area was less populated than New York City or D.C.
The doors to the armored vehicle opened. Sam and Natasha were already honed in on the target. A man stepped out. He had short hair and was dressed in tactical gear and a leather jacket.
But it was the face mask and goggles that captured Steve’s gaze and stopped him cold in the middle of the intersection. The masked man seemed to stare at Steve, but his eyes were hidden by the goggles. His gaze only hovered for a second, then he reached up and removed the mask and goggles, meeting Steve’s eyes directly.
The world around Steve faded, replaced by the painfully familiar face a few yards in front of him.
“Bucky.”
Gunfire rang out around him, but Steve stood motionless, staring at Bucky, the man everyone else called The Winter Soldier but who Steve had watched fall from a train after taking a shot meant for him. He was vaguely aware of Natasha and Sam playing interference amid the rain of bullets.
“Steve!” Natasha’s voice jarred him out of his shocked stupor, and he threw the shield at one of the two men near Bucky. The other aimed his gun at Steve.
Bucky swung around and grabbed the muzzle of the gun with his metal hand as it fired. With his right, he punched the Hydra agent square in the chest, sending the man flying a good 15 feet away until he slammed into a parked car, setting off the alarm.
Sam dove into a third man at the rear of the vehicle, taking him out.
Three more men emerged from a black sedan, all with automatic rifles. Steve forced his attention on the task at hand – stopping these Hydra agents and protecting any civilians in the area. He had to get this fight somewhere less populated or put an end to it quickly.
“Mommy!” a little girl’s voice rang out.
Steve spun toward the sound. The child was crouched near a beige minivan. He had no idea where she’d come from or whether she’d been in the car. Over the hail of bullets, he heard a woman scream. He visually scanned the area and spotted the woman running from around the corner. She was exposed, as was the little girl.
He couldn’t get to either of them in time. “Sam!”
“I’m on it!” From above, Sam dove toward the mother and daughter.
The Hydra agents noticed, too. Steve watched in horror as one of them fired directly near the little girl, drawing Sam in faster, as the other targeted Sam.
Sam would be too late, and he was now exposed.
A blur of dark gray sailed across Steve’s vision. Bucky landed in front of the little girl. His arm swung out, and a small object flew at the mother, taking her off her feet and sending her reeling onto the sidewalk. Bullets bounced all around Bucky, but his body shielded the little girl. He kept his left arm out, and though it made a pitiful shield, it did the job remarkably well.
But not well enough, and he wasn’t covered from his right side.
Steve watched, horrified, as bullets hit their mark. Bucky’s body jerked once, then twice.
“Bucky!” Steve shouted, running, and threw the shield at him.
Bucky twisted and deftly caught the shield with his right arm. A brief scream erupted from his throat, but that was the only sign of the agony the maneuver had caused him. Instantly, the shield was doing its job, and he huddled behind it with the little girl.
The onslaught continued as the Hydra agents now seemed focused on Bucky. Bullets ricocheted off the buildings and cars around him.
Sam moved in, and Bucky stood up suddenly with a yell.
“Sam!” The familiar voice carried loud and firm over the sound of gunfire, and from Steve’s vantage point, it looked like Bucky actually locked eyes with Sam. With one sweep of his left arm, Bucky sent the little girl flying 25 feet into Sam’s arms.
Sam veered to the right, getting his charge out of the area. Bucky moved toward the mother, but Natasha beat him to it. She glanced at Bucky briefly, and Steve saw a flicker of confusion on her face. That was all he had time for. His shield rocketed through the air toward him, and he raised his arm in reflex, catching it effortlessly. His eyes darted back to Bucky.
The two armed Hydra agents focused their gunfire on Bucky, but the Winter Soldier was already moving at a brisk pace – too fast for anyone else who’d taken those kind of hits. The only indication of his injuries was his right arm held closely around his side.
Bucky grabbed a parking meter with his left arm and, with a scream, yanked it out of the cement and sent it flying toward one of the gunmen.
Steve took out the other with his shield.
A helicopter arrived on scene, and suddenly more gunfire erupted, but this time directed at Bucky.
“NO!” Steve bolted into a sprint toward his friend.
Bucky was gone, around the corner. Sirens screamed and police cars screeched to a halt all around.
Steve slid to a stop as he turned the corner where Bucky had gone. His gaze searched the street, the bridge, the cars, but there was no sign of his friend.
Natasha arrived, breathing heavily. “The little girl is safe with police. EMTs are checking on her mother.”
Sam dropped out of the sky to land next to him. “What the hell just happened?”
“I think….” Steve paused. He wasn’t sure he dared say it and risk it not being true.
Sam shook his head. “He spoke to me like he knows me and not because he tried to kill me twice.”
“He remembers,” Steve whispered. He has to.
“Then why was he with Hydra agents, Steve?” Natasha asked, ever the suspicious spy.
Steve glanced at her. It was a valid question. “I don’t know.”
“I know that look in your eyes,” she sighed.
“I’ll do a sweep of the area,” Sam said.
“You and I better make nice with these cops before they decide to arrest us,” Natasha told Steve.
~ ~ ~
Bucky dragged himself to shore. The air was cold. It felt like the beginnings of winter. His right side ached. His right arm was on fire. He rolled onto his back. He’d slipped out of his jacket and gloves in the water since it did nothing to help his buoyancy, and now he had only a long-sleeved shirt on and his tactical vest. Getting out of the vest wouldn’t be easy in his condition.
With a grimace, he unbuckled the side and pulled it off. His arm screamed. The pain in his right side made him dizzy. He looked down at the damage and lifted his shirt. Blood and sand made the wounds virtually invisible, but he could make out two bullet holes in his side, just beyond the area of protection provided by his vest. He’d felt them hit, and he suspected the angle was a bad one. There was no exit wound that he could find for either hole, so the two bullets had to still be in his abdomen.
He pulled out his phone from a pocket on his left leg and glanced at it. A “No Service” message greeted him from the top of the screen. About all he could do, probably, was call emergency services. At least the phone had survived his dip in the ocean.
He shook his head. He still sometimes had a hard time with all the technology. As the Winter Soldier, he’d been aware of it, but he hadn’t used it on a daily basis. It had been a tool, like any other tool.
Unfortunately, calling for an ambulance wasn’t the best option for him at the moment. Thankfully, the phone did give him one useful bit of information: the time and date.
It was November 2, 2014, 4:21 p.m.
He dropped his head back to the sand and tucked the phone back into the pocket. With a grunt, he forced himself to his feet. The holes in his right side screamed in protest. He had no time to waste.
Whatever Hydra was planning, they had already put it into motion. He’d only gotten bits and pieces from them during the drive, and he’d just blown his cover.
Steve.
Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips.
Things were crap. He was in over his head. Time travel wasn’t in his wheelhouse. That was Stark’s area, or Banner’s. He was just Bucky Barnes, a kid from Brooklyn who’d had his brains scrambled too many times.
He was out of his league. He needed help.
He forced himself to start walking. He knew he was a mess and could only imagine the image he projected to bystanders. Several yards away, he saw people milling around. A young man and woman had already noticed him. He was getting curious stares. He needed to lay low until nightfall.
‘Rule number 1. Don’t do anything illegal.’ He heard the Doc’s voice in his head as he thought about his next move. He needed transportation.
Of course, he’d broken rule number one a hundred times over when he was making amends, but the Doc never needed to know that. He suspected, however, that she actually did know and was simply good enough to pretend otherwise.
At least he hadn’t hurt anyone…much. Until today. Or, rather, until ten years from now when he’d stupidly decided to check out a lead on the super soldier serum by himself. He’d thought it would be a cake walk and the hardest part would be getting in and out of the country undetected.
At least Hydra in 2014 had kindly given their prized asset a ride back to the states.
He patted the phone in his leg pocket and wondered if he could find a Wi-Fi network to map out the drive from Atlantic City to New York City.
He found an isolated spot beneath the bridge and huddled beneath it until nightfall. His thoughts turned to the little girl and her mother. They reminded him of another mother, another little girl. He swallowed hard against the memory. He wished someone had been around back then to stop him.
When night fell, he found a motorcycle and broke Rule number 1 again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“It was Bucky.”
“Maybe,” Tony said. “Or maybe this was some weird plot to mess with your head. Ever think of that?”
“It was him.” Steve met Tony’s gaze head-on.
Steve knew the other man was trying to be practical, just looking out for him and the other Avengers, but none of them knew Bucky like he did. He couldn’t expect them to think of Bucky any differently than as the Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra.
“He really is a ghost,” Sam chimed in from the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. “I swept the entire area until it got dark. He’s gone. Again.”
Natasha’s voice intruded softly. “I’m sorry, Steve.”
Steve looked over at her. She was seated on a barstool near the kitchen counter, facing him. Her eyes held a genuine sadness.
“He saved that little girl.” Steve looked around at his three friends. “He was shot. He’s injured. That wasn’t a ploy.”
“Okay, let’s say he’s legit,” Tony grabbed a can of nuts from a cabinet, popped it open, and tossed a few in his mouth. “Why did he run?”
“Helicopters. Police. Gunfire.” Steve walked toward the window of the Avengers' tower, gazing out into the darkness, scanning the ground below. He somehow hoped he’d see Bucky. He knew it was a wishful fantasy. “I don’t know why he was with Hydra, and I don’t know for sure why he ran, but I do know he’s hurt, and he needs our help.”
Or my help, Steve added inwardly, still not sure whether his friends would be helpful or harmful where Bucky was concerned.
“It’s late,” Natasha sighed. “We should get some sleep.”
“There’s a situation,” Clint’s voice interrupted.
Steve turned around and saw Barton standing in the middle of the room.
“We have a guest.” Clint gestured toward the front of the building.
The Avengers moved as a unit toward the large window on the other side of the room. Steve spotted the visitor immediately--a sole point of light from what looked like a motorcycle headlamp pierced the darkness, heading their way. It was moving quickly, and soon Steve could just barely make out the rider, hunched over the handlebars as though he were barely hanging on.
He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he was pretty sure he knew who it was. He hoped with everything he had, anyway.
~ ~ ~
Bucky brought the motorcycle to a stop about 50 feet from the front door of the Avengers' compound. He knew there were cameras and what he assumed to be an extraordinarily high-tech security system thanks to Stark. He eased himself off the cycle, groaning as he swung his leg off. He’d managed a very poor bandage job on his side wound. He’d done nothing for his arm. It was healing.
But even with his enhanced healing abilities, he knew he was in rough shape. He’d lost a lot of blood, and driving hours in the darkness while bleeding all over someone’s motorcycle hadn’t helped him. He needed nutrition, hydration, and sleep.
Slowly, he approached the front door and took stock of the visible security measures – four cameras and several security lights. One of the cameras swiveled toward him.
~ ~ ~
“You won’t need that.” Steve eyed the firearm in Natasha's hand.
She checked her weapon before putting it back in its holster.
“I know he’s your friend, Steve, but we can’t be sure.”
“Hey!” A voice rang out from the security monitor. All eyes turned to the screen in the wall.
Steve smiled. It was Bucky, standing at the entrance, looking straight into the camera. His arms were held up at his sides, palms facing the camera. The hunch of his shoulders and dark stain on the front of his white shirt made it evident that he was injured and in pain.
“I’m here to see Steve Rogers!” Bucky’s canned voice filtered from the display. Then, his voice got low, almost imperceptible. Steve doubted anyone else could make out the words. “I really hope he’s here, because if he’s not here, this is not likely to go well.”
Steve rushed out of the room.
“Damnit, Rogers!” Tony’s voice rang out behind him.