[Avengers and MCU] I'll shut down the city lights (2/2)
Previous part.
**
There were distant voices in the gray haze that he floated in, by turns worried, upset, amused. Once, something warm and dry skimmed along the side of his face, light until the pressure increased slightly, enough for his fuzzy mind to realize it was a hand, brushing his hair behind his ear.
He must have twitched, because then someone said, “Shh, you’re okay, Buck.” And it was a herculean effort because his eyelids felt like they weight a metric ton, each, but he managed to blink open his eyes.
His tongue was also like a lead weight, but the match of face to name was instant this time, and he slurred out, “…Steve?”
Steve’s smile broke like the sun past clouds. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You remember me now?”
He had to think about it, it was hard to focus. His head felt like it was floating and disconnected from the rest of him. “…mission,” he murmured. Steve was his mission. “AIM?” that seemed right, yellow beekeeper suits = Advanced Idea Mechanics, in the part of his brain that tracked relevant intel.
“Apparently, you hauled me out.”
“…you’re heavy,” he agreed. Steve’s laugh sounded very far away, and his eyes were closed again without his say-so. It faded, along with everything else, back in the gray.
--
Steve was still there the next time he was awake, sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He looked disproportionately happy about seeing him conscious. There was an empty cot, separated from Bucky’s bed by a nightstand. The positioning seemed odd, he wondered if there was another patient in here before.
Steve told him earnestly: “Clint’s sorry about the Hulk tranquilizer.”
That really explained everything, from why it took him down so hard and fast to why he still felt like a mile of bad road despite all of his knock-off super soldier enhancements. “No wonder the Hulk’s always angry,” he murmured back.
Steve adjusted the bed so he didn’t have to waste energy sitting up, and gave him water and the clipboard with his sundry list of ills to read while peppering him with questions on how he was feeling. “I’ll call the nurse,” he said, getting up, “and let them know you’re awake, for good this time.” Steve grinned. “Last time you fell asleep mid-conversation.”
Sometimes it was hard to think of anything outside of mission objectives, sometimes when the Soldier was first and foremost in his mind, he didn’t even really like Steve. But occasionally - happening more and more often, he was alarmed to note - it was just so easy to smile back at Steve and reply, “If Barton’s really sorry, maybe I should ask him to try testing the tranq on you next time, and see how well you stay awake.”
Steve chuckled and went to summon the nurse. Bucky read through the clipboard for his afflictions - seriously, he thought all the hospitals would’ve upgraded to digital screens already, but at least it was easier to flip pages with his metal hand rather than swiping at a touchscreen.
The delivery was dated but the data was succinct and mostly legible: side-effects of being dosed with tranquilizers meant for something a lot stronger and bigger than him; badly sprained left ankle that should have been healed by now but wasn’t, most likely because he was putting Steve’s not inconsiderable weight on it on top of his own; the usual plethora of bruising and lacerations that came from being in an exploded room; moderately severe concussion that had already fixed itself. Not listed - the twinge at the join of flesh and metal of his left shoulder, the vaguely upsetting memory of not remembering Steve.
The nurse came in within a few minutes and fussed over him in a more professional manner than Steve had, checking his IVs and the monitors, asking him if the air cast for his ankle was comfortable. “You’re healing nicely, Mr. Barnes.” She told him cheerfully. “The doctor will check in on you when she comes on shift, and you’ll be home in no time.”
“…ah, thanks.” He remembered to say. The nurse nodded and turned to Steve.
“Captain Rogers, there was someone outside to see you,” she said apologetically. “The same aide as before…? He was very insistent.” She looked a little hesitant. “I can have security remove him if you’d like, sir…I just didn't want to disturb the patients.”
Internal alarms started going off at the look on Steve’s face - Captain America’s public smile immediately made a reappearance but he could tell that it was fake. “Of course, Sandy,” it wasn’t surprising that Steve had already checked her nametag and known what to call her, “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll go take care of it right now. It’s probably nothing.”
Steve paused at the door, “Bucky, I’ll be right back.” He promised.
“Scram, punk,” Bucky told him, because he knew what Steve’s riled-by-a-bully face looked like, and there was no stopping him then. Steve was riled as hell right now and trying his hardest to hide it. Too bad Steve was an awful liar. Steve managed a weak smile for him before ducking out.
After Steve and the nurse both left, he shut off the monitoring machines before he disconnected the various tubes, clips, and IVs stuck to him. The army and then Hydra had basically removed every iota of body shyness from him, but he was still pleased that he was basically in scrubs instead of some of the backless gowns that he’d seen around. Flashing everyone his naked ass wouldn’t make for very good covert operations.
Before he absconded the room, he took the status clipboard hooked on the door, marked the next block down and flipped off the lights. Hopefully he would be long gone by the next time a nurse checked in on him.
--
When Steve got riled, the only options were to wade in and either help or do damage control, or get out of the way. The Soldier would have voted for removing himself from the path of destruction - the asset had no pride and it didn’t injure any sense of self or worth to admit that the Captain was a formidable opponent. Bucky Barnes had made it habit of wading in for too long to count, and it was one of the damn things that stuck.
Still, he took the five minutes to raid the men’s locker room by the nurses’ station. Anyone looking for J. B. Barnes would be expecting a man in scrubs and barefoot with an air cast, not someone in a hooded jacket, jeans and boots.
He vaguely wondered what got Steve’s het up, because the other man was usually even-keeled unless something tripped his sense of fairness and justice. He hadn’t been around long and he kept out of the spotlight with extreme prejudice, but it was enough to see the parade of crap that the Avengers had to deal with on top of saving the world. Bucky guessed that some top brass was probably butt-hurt about the raid on the AIM base, because the armed forces and the law-enforcement usually liked to claim jurisdiction and Steve had no tolerance for alpha-male posturing when people were being hurt. He stepped on more toes that way than he did by actually dancing.
There was an occupied conference room at the end of the floor, by the elevators and emergency stairwell. He thought it was empty because the door was open and it was quiet, but a familiar voice disproved that theory.
Steve’s voice was arctic steel. “The answer is still no.”
An unfamiliar voice rose: “Captain Rogers - “
And at the same time, another familiar voice - Stark - cut in, “Nope, you don’t want to do that, brigadier general, sir.” The last word was positive dripping, gushing with distain. “Captain’s spoken, and the team’s behind him. Door’s right over there, don’t let it hit you on the way out.”
The Soldier paused, out of sight from the people in the room but in position to see into a part of it from the door, pretending to fiddle with his phone. The general in question was in full dress uniform, covered with medals and accolades. He cut an imposing figure with his iron gray hair and stubborn jaw, towering over the others because he was standing, braced over the conference table with a dark scowl. In contrast, the Avengers in attendance were in post-mission chic with clothes more appropriate for a day of lounging in the house than in a hospital. Banner was even in flip-flops.
The incongruous tableau didn’t make the combination of Steve’s cold tone and Stark’s implied fuck you seemed any less foreboding.
“That man is a bloody terrorist and a stone-cold murderer,” the general replied venomously. “His kill list is longer than my arm, and that’s not counting the collateral damage, including women and children. He’s a threat to national security and a walking time bomb. And you want, what? To let him keep wandering free? Play the superhero game? Treat him like he was innocent of all wrongdoing? That’s not your call to make, Captain, just because you happen to wear a flag. The country demands justice, and I won’t stop until we get it.”
Steve got to his feet in a deadly uncoil that the Soldier was more used to seeing from Natasha. Bucky was starting to realize that the general was talking about him, but that fact seemed only vaguely interesting. More alarming was the realization that Steve had gone miles past mere anger and was currently firmly in the land of enraged. “You will take that back, right now.”
And that was the tone that Steve took while facing down bullies, gangsters, Nazis and Schimdt, right before he started swinging.
He could see the general’s face and the sneer was triumphant, as if he wasn’t about to get punched in the face. “Or what, Captain America? What credit do you have left, now that you’ve dismantled all of our tools to keep the country safe? What’s to stop us from taking you in for your crimes against the country?”
The Soldier was unmoved but Bucky’s head was spinning. He could only see Steve from the back and his friend took the words without a flinch, but this was…this was wrong. Steve fought bullies and Bucky helped him. In no universe was Bucky ever the reason Steve got bullied.
Before he could march into the room and rearrange the general’s face (which wouldn’t solve anything but would go a long way toward making him feel better), Stark cut in with his usual impeccable timing and desire to hear his own voice. “The Avengers,” he said snappily, shrugging at Steve. “Pretty sure you already bit more off than you can chew with Cap, but you come after him, I’m sure everyone else in the room - and a certain alien prince from Asgard - would take exception.”
Natasha folded her hands in front of her. Clint scratched the back of his neck. Somehow they managed to convey petrifying menace.
Bruce’s voice cut through the tension like a whip, mild but terrifying. “I think it’s best that you go, now. I’m starting to feel a little angry.”
Faced with five people who looked fit to kill, the general straightened with ill grace and an ugly look in his eyes that said this wasn’t over. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?” he asked Steve.
“Yes,” Steve answered immediately. “And the answer won’t change no matter how many times you, or anyone else, asks it.”
He had heard enough. Marching past the door - making sure that the general got a good glimpse of his face and he threw in a wave with his metal hand just to be sure - he casually opened the emergency exit doors and set off the fire alarm.
The general and his staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to chase him openly in the crowd that was starting to steam out into the hallway, toward the stairs. Once he hit street level, it would be short work to lose himself in the multitude.
No one bullied Steve on his watch, especially not because of him. The Avengers have Steve’s back and will keep him from doing anything too stupid. The United States Army and any other takers can just try it.
The Winter Soldier was a ghost story…and it was time to disappear again.
--
Once he was half a city away, he went to requisition supplies. He made sure that the security cameras had a clear view of his face when he did his shopping with one of the cards that Stark had on file under his name. Strolling out with his head down and the bag on his arm, he matched his pace and fiddled with his phone just like all the other shoppers. The various dummy payments he was scheduling should show a trail all the way up into Canada in the next two weeks, and while he didn't believe that the Avengers would fall for it (especially Natasha), he would bet the government suits would.
Just to cement the illusion that he was making a grand escape out of the country, he went ahead and meandered around, making appearances at enough places with cameras to give anyone who's looking a trail to follow. He made sure he was seen on cameras at the transit bus station as well - Jarvis might have done the facial recognition and notified everyone in less than an hour, but he was sure no one else had Jarvis. Stark wouldn't need the AI to do the extra work - Bucky had been unconscious and at the Avengers' mercy often enough that he was almost positive that there was a tracker in his metal arm.
After that, it didn't take that long to set up his new burner phones. He bought a ticket to New Jersey from an actual attendant instead of the automated ticket machine, and stashed his Starkphone on the bus when they started letting people in thirty minutes before boarding. It was easy to duck into the bathroom and swap out the clothes he had liberated from the hospital with the new ones he bought at the store. He popped open one of the hidden panels in his arm and took out the nano-mesh SHIELD loved to use for disguises - one for his face and one for his too-conspicuous metal hand.
The man that stared out at him in the mirror was older, with narrower eyes, a few deeply lined wrinkles, and heavier brows. He tucked his hair under a beanie and left, tossing the old clothes in the first dumpster that he passed once he was out.
The Soldier bought a train ticket to Virginia. Some part of him - memory or just whim, thought ironically: Go west, young man.
So he did.
--
The government mooks were probably watching the Avengers' communications, insofar as Jarvis would let them. He would occasionally send texts, right before he wiped the phone he used and sent it out of country.
As he was driving through Indiana, he sent to Natasha: Check in my sock drawer, your 'sorry I tried to kill you multiple times' present is there.
To Barton, in Oklahoma City: I was not sore about the knife throwing contest, you won on a technicality.
To Steve, with the last of his burners, right before he left Tucson: I know I’m wasting air but don’t be an idiot. I’m not the hill you should die on.
I won’t let you.
**
Six months later found him in southern California; even though he was feeling more and more like the Soldier and Bucky Barnes were the same person, sometimes the night still haunted him with the cold. It was the tail end of winter, but the days were sunny and the breeze was gentle and mild.
It was still too cold for most native Californians at the beach, but he didn’t mind it. Compared to Russia, compared to the cryo chamber, the water was nothing worse than brisk and the sun beating down on his head was warm, through and through. There were a few others, closer to the parking lot - a bunch of college students with sun umbrellas and a huge cooler, a mother with two kids, but they were far off and the surf drowned out all other sound. It was peaceful.
He should’ve known better than to think that where the universe could hear him.
There were footsteps behind him - so far behind him that anyone without enhanced hearing probably wouldn’t have noticed. The scuffs on the sand and the occasional splash was barely noticeable over the sound of the waves, but he had spent the last half-year dodging various domestic and international intelligence agencies. Sure, it might be just another beachgoer taking his or her own walk along the waterline…or they might’ve finally given up on Canada and Europe and started looking closer to home.
(The FBI noticed Natasha taking a trip to Europe a few months ago and followed; he honestly wasn’t sure if she did it to mess with them or if she had really managed to track down the phone that he texted her with all the way to Edinburg. Either way, it was impressive.)
There was no real way to look back without letting his tail know that he was made. His hood was already up, but he wasn’t in any other disguise. The false face and the human hand that the nano-mesh generated had worked like magic, because anyone after the Winter Soldier knew that there was a metal arm involved. Take that away, he was just a man of average height and average coloring out of millions of people in the city. But it was uncomfortable to wear everywhere and now that he wasn’t just a mindless killing machine, he liked his little creature comforts.
A choice he was regretting now. Not that he thought he would have any trouble with the stalker - if they wanted him dead, they would’ve sniped him already - but he was trying the whole live-and-let-live thing, Hydra notwithstanding. If this tail was from Hydra, hopefully the fact that this stretch of the beach was not entirely deserted was enough of a deterrent until they reached somewhere with less potential witnesses.
It turned out to be not up to him after all. The footsteps sped up, and then broke into a light jog, whoever it was making no attempt to be quiet as they came up on him from behind. He kept his shoulders loose but fingered the knife in his pocket. Before he could decide whether or not to pull it, the footsteps stopped, thankfully at least five feet away from him.
A heart-stoppingly familiar voice called out, “hey.”
He would know that voice anywhere.
The smart thing would be to keep walking - let Steve think either he got the wrong person (unlikely) or let Steve know that he didn’t want to talk. Then again, his memory was still mostly Swiss cheese and he still knew that Steve wouldn’t let it go at that. His feet stopped without conscious input from his brain anyway, and he frowned down at them. Traitors.
“Hey,” Steve said again, sounding a little bit closer but still out of knife-range. Smart man. “Hey, I’m looking for this guy; he’s kind of a stupid, overprotective jerk. Have you seen him?”
He turned with a scowl and looked Steve over with the intensity of his glare set on ‘high’. The bastard was immune; in fact, Steve looked like he was torn between beaming and bursting into tears. “Oh, don’t try your puppy eyes on me,” he snapped. Steve tried to look contrite for a second before his expression flipped back to overjoyed. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought I gave everyone a pretty obvious ‘Fuck off’.”
Steve’s expression turned obstinate. “You had your bell rung hard enough that you forgot me during a mission, and disappeared from the hospital half an hour after you woke up without so much as a by-your-leave, with Hydra, the US Army, and who knows what else, wanting your head on a pike. Forgive me for thinking you might end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
He tried to not feel guilty at the wretched look on Steve’s face. “You’re always so dramatic,” he muttered. “I was fine.”
“And then you send me that text.” Steve took a deep breath. “At the hospital. You overheard.”
Suddenly, he felt too tired to mock Steve’s failure at forming a complete sentence. “He wasn’t wrong, Steve.”
“He was wrong, and so are you.” Steve declared, jaw set. This was Steve Rogers, planting himself next to the river of Truth. “I will die on your hill as many times as it takes for you to see that it’s worth it.”
Bucky could feel a migraine coming up - it always did, when he had to argue with Steve. His track record was not so great, there. “It’s my hill,” he said, “and if I say you can’t die on it, you can’t.” He shook his head, “We’re not five, and it’s a moot point, Steve. General dickhead was right, whether you want to admit it or not. You can try to fix me, but you can’t fix what I did.”
“I’m not trying to,” Steve replied. “Only you can do that, and only if you want to. But you’re stupider than I thought if you think I’m not going to help. Until the end of the line, we promised.”
Bucky rather thought they’d reached the end of the line a long time ago, ran out of tracks and had gone on to crash and burn. But that would be an overly dramatic way of thinking about it, and Steve would disagree anyway. He would think they were still on schedule, homeward bound. “I…you’re so stupid.” He said, helplessly, and already knew that he was going to give in.
Steve closed until they were only a step apart. “Natasha really loved those ceramic knives, you know, and Clint complains about not having decent competition at the range anymore. Tony misses you.”
Bucky had to snort at that. “You mean, Stark misses my arm.”
Steve chuckled. “Yes, but he misses you because he says I’m intolerably mopey when you’re not around.” He shrugged, “I kind of bummed around in his workshop a lot, asking Jarvis to run facial recognition on most of the Eastern seaboard. Would you knife me if I try to hug you?”
“What is with you people and hugging?” Bucky asked rhetorically, but let Steve squeeze him with his tree-trunk arms. Steve replied by ducking his head lower and trying to burrow into Bucky’s sternum, the way he used to fit before the serum, before everything. “Hate to tell you this, pal, but you’re about two feet too tall for that now.”
It came out muffled because Steve was still pretending it was 1943. “Come home with me,” he said.
Even though he still didn’t remember everything, he did remember this: Steve would ask, and he would say yes. It would be no different this time. “Fine,” he said.
**end
**
There were distant voices in the gray haze that he floated in, by turns worried, upset, amused. Once, something warm and dry skimmed along the side of his face, light until the pressure increased slightly, enough for his fuzzy mind to realize it was a hand, brushing his hair behind his ear.
He must have twitched, because then someone said, “Shh, you’re okay, Buck.” And it was a herculean effort because his eyelids felt like they weight a metric ton, each, but he managed to blink open his eyes.
His tongue was also like a lead weight, but the match of face to name was instant this time, and he slurred out, “…Steve?”
Steve’s smile broke like the sun past clouds. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You remember me now?”
He had to think about it, it was hard to focus. His head felt like it was floating and disconnected from the rest of him. “…mission,” he murmured. Steve was his mission. “AIM?” that seemed right, yellow beekeeper suits = Advanced Idea Mechanics, in the part of his brain that tracked relevant intel.
“Apparently, you hauled me out.”
“…you’re heavy,” he agreed. Steve’s laugh sounded very far away, and his eyes were closed again without his say-so. It faded, along with everything else, back in the gray.
--
Steve was still there the next time he was awake, sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He looked disproportionately happy about seeing him conscious. There was an empty cot, separated from Bucky’s bed by a nightstand. The positioning seemed odd, he wondered if there was another patient in here before.
Steve told him earnestly: “Clint’s sorry about the Hulk tranquilizer.”
That really explained everything, from why it took him down so hard and fast to why he still felt like a mile of bad road despite all of his knock-off super soldier enhancements. “No wonder the Hulk’s always angry,” he murmured back.
Steve adjusted the bed so he didn’t have to waste energy sitting up, and gave him water and the clipboard with his sundry list of ills to read while peppering him with questions on how he was feeling. “I’ll call the nurse,” he said, getting up, “and let them know you’re awake, for good this time.” Steve grinned. “Last time you fell asleep mid-conversation.”
Sometimes it was hard to think of anything outside of mission objectives, sometimes when the Soldier was first and foremost in his mind, he didn’t even really like Steve. But occasionally - happening more and more often, he was alarmed to note - it was just so easy to smile back at Steve and reply, “If Barton’s really sorry, maybe I should ask him to try testing the tranq on you next time, and see how well you stay awake.”
Steve chuckled and went to summon the nurse. Bucky read through the clipboard for his afflictions - seriously, he thought all the hospitals would’ve upgraded to digital screens already, but at least it was easier to flip pages with his metal hand rather than swiping at a touchscreen.
The delivery was dated but the data was succinct and mostly legible: side-effects of being dosed with tranquilizers meant for something a lot stronger and bigger than him; badly sprained left ankle that should have been healed by now but wasn’t, most likely because he was putting Steve’s not inconsiderable weight on it on top of his own; the usual plethora of bruising and lacerations that came from being in an exploded room; moderately severe concussion that had already fixed itself. Not listed - the twinge at the join of flesh and metal of his left shoulder, the vaguely upsetting memory of not remembering Steve.
The nurse came in within a few minutes and fussed over him in a more professional manner than Steve had, checking his IVs and the monitors, asking him if the air cast for his ankle was comfortable. “You’re healing nicely, Mr. Barnes.” She told him cheerfully. “The doctor will check in on you when she comes on shift, and you’ll be home in no time.”
“…ah, thanks.” He remembered to say. The nurse nodded and turned to Steve.
“Captain Rogers, there was someone outside to see you,” she said apologetically. “The same aide as before…? He was very insistent.” She looked a little hesitant. “I can have security remove him if you’d like, sir…I just didn't want to disturb the patients.”
Internal alarms started going off at the look on Steve’s face - Captain America’s public smile immediately made a reappearance but he could tell that it was fake. “Of course, Sandy,” it wasn’t surprising that Steve had already checked her nametag and known what to call her, “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll go take care of it right now. It’s probably nothing.”
Steve paused at the door, “Bucky, I’ll be right back.” He promised.
“Scram, punk,” Bucky told him, because he knew what Steve’s riled-by-a-bully face looked like, and there was no stopping him then. Steve was riled as hell right now and trying his hardest to hide it. Too bad Steve was an awful liar. Steve managed a weak smile for him before ducking out.
After Steve and the nurse both left, he shut off the monitoring machines before he disconnected the various tubes, clips, and IVs stuck to him. The army and then Hydra had basically removed every iota of body shyness from him, but he was still pleased that he was basically in scrubs instead of some of the backless gowns that he’d seen around. Flashing everyone his naked ass wouldn’t make for very good covert operations.
Before he absconded the room, he took the status clipboard hooked on the door, marked the next block down and flipped off the lights. Hopefully he would be long gone by the next time a nurse checked in on him.
--
When Steve got riled, the only options were to wade in and either help or do damage control, or get out of the way. The Soldier would have voted for removing himself from the path of destruction - the asset had no pride and it didn’t injure any sense of self or worth to admit that the Captain was a formidable opponent. Bucky Barnes had made it habit of wading in for too long to count, and it was one of the damn things that stuck.
Still, he took the five minutes to raid the men’s locker room by the nurses’ station. Anyone looking for J. B. Barnes would be expecting a man in scrubs and barefoot with an air cast, not someone in a hooded jacket, jeans and boots.
He vaguely wondered what got Steve’s het up, because the other man was usually even-keeled unless something tripped his sense of fairness and justice. He hadn’t been around long and he kept out of the spotlight with extreme prejudice, but it was enough to see the parade of crap that the Avengers had to deal with on top of saving the world. Bucky guessed that some top brass was probably butt-hurt about the raid on the AIM base, because the armed forces and the law-enforcement usually liked to claim jurisdiction and Steve had no tolerance for alpha-male posturing when people were being hurt. He stepped on more toes that way than he did by actually dancing.
There was an occupied conference room at the end of the floor, by the elevators and emergency stairwell. He thought it was empty because the door was open and it was quiet, but a familiar voice disproved that theory.
Steve’s voice was arctic steel. “The answer is still no.”
An unfamiliar voice rose: “Captain Rogers - “
And at the same time, another familiar voice - Stark - cut in, “Nope, you don’t want to do that, brigadier general, sir.” The last word was positive dripping, gushing with distain. “Captain’s spoken, and the team’s behind him. Door’s right over there, don’t let it hit you on the way out.”
The Soldier paused, out of sight from the people in the room but in position to see into a part of it from the door, pretending to fiddle with his phone. The general in question was in full dress uniform, covered with medals and accolades. He cut an imposing figure with his iron gray hair and stubborn jaw, towering over the others because he was standing, braced over the conference table with a dark scowl. In contrast, the Avengers in attendance were in post-mission chic with clothes more appropriate for a day of lounging in the house than in a hospital. Banner was even in flip-flops.
The incongruous tableau didn’t make the combination of Steve’s cold tone and Stark’s implied fuck you seemed any less foreboding.
“That man is a bloody terrorist and a stone-cold murderer,” the general replied venomously. “His kill list is longer than my arm, and that’s not counting the collateral damage, including women and children. He’s a threat to national security and a walking time bomb. And you want, what? To let him keep wandering free? Play the superhero game? Treat him like he was innocent of all wrongdoing? That’s not your call to make, Captain, just because you happen to wear a flag. The country demands justice, and I won’t stop until we get it.”
Steve got to his feet in a deadly uncoil that the Soldier was more used to seeing from Natasha. Bucky was starting to realize that the general was talking about him, but that fact seemed only vaguely interesting. More alarming was the realization that Steve had gone miles past mere anger and was currently firmly in the land of enraged. “You will take that back, right now.”
And that was the tone that Steve took while facing down bullies, gangsters, Nazis and Schimdt, right before he started swinging.
He could see the general’s face and the sneer was triumphant, as if he wasn’t about to get punched in the face. “Or what, Captain America? What credit do you have left, now that you’ve dismantled all of our tools to keep the country safe? What’s to stop us from taking you in for your crimes against the country?”
The Soldier was unmoved but Bucky’s head was spinning. He could only see Steve from the back and his friend took the words without a flinch, but this was…this was wrong. Steve fought bullies and Bucky helped him. In no universe was Bucky ever the reason Steve got bullied.
Before he could march into the room and rearrange the general’s face (which wouldn’t solve anything but would go a long way toward making him feel better), Stark cut in with his usual impeccable timing and desire to hear his own voice. “The Avengers,” he said snappily, shrugging at Steve. “Pretty sure you already bit more off than you can chew with Cap, but you come after him, I’m sure everyone else in the room - and a certain alien prince from Asgard - would take exception.”
Natasha folded her hands in front of her. Clint scratched the back of his neck. Somehow they managed to convey petrifying menace.
Bruce’s voice cut through the tension like a whip, mild but terrifying. “I think it’s best that you go, now. I’m starting to feel a little angry.”
Faced with five people who looked fit to kill, the general straightened with ill grace and an ugly look in his eyes that said this wasn’t over. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?” he asked Steve.
“Yes,” Steve answered immediately. “And the answer won’t change no matter how many times you, or anyone else, asks it.”
He had heard enough. Marching past the door - making sure that the general got a good glimpse of his face and he threw in a wave with his metal hand just to be sure - he casually opened the emergency exit doors and set off the fire alarm.
The general and his staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to chase him openly in the crowd that was starting to steam out into the hallway, toward the stairs. Once he hit street level, it would be short work to lose himself in the multitude.
No one bullied Steve on his watch, especially not because of him. The Avengers have Steve’s back and will keep him from doing anything too stupid. The United States Army and any other takers can just try it.
The Winter Soldier was a ghost story…and it was time to disappear again.
--
Once he was half a city away, he went to requisition supplies. He made sure that the security cameras had a clear view of his face when he did his shopping with one of the cards that Stark had on file under his name. Strolling out with his head down and the bag on his arm, he matched his pace and fiddled with his phone just like all the other shoppers. The various dummy payments he was scheduling should show a trail all the way up into Canada in the next two weeks, and while he didn't believe that the Avengers would fall for it (especially Natasha), he would bet the government suits would.
Just to cement the illusion that he was making a grand escape out of the country, he went ahead and meandered around, making appearances at enough places with cameras to give anyone who's looking a trail to follow. He made sure he was seen on cameras at the transit bus station as well - Jarvis might have done the facial recognition and notified everyone in less than an hour, but he was sure no one else had Jarvis. Stark wouldn't need the AI to do the extra work - Bucky had been unconscious and at the Avengers' mercy often enough that he was almost positive that there was a tracker in his metal arm.
After that, it didn't take that long to set up his new burner phones. He bought a ticket to New Jersey from an actual attendant instead of the automated ticket machine, and stashed his Starkphone on the bus when they started letting people in thirty minutes before boarding. It was easy to duck into the bathroom and swap out the clothes he had liberated from the hospital with the new ones he bought at the store. He popped open one of the hidden panels in his arm and took out the nano-mesh SHIELD loved to use for disguises - one for his face and one for his too-conspicuous metal hand.
The man that stared out at him in the mirror was older, with narrower eyes, a few deeply lined wrinkles, and heavier brows. He tucked his hair under a beanie and left, tossing the old clothes in the first dumpster that he passed once he was out.
The Soldier bought a train ticket to Virginia. Some part of him - memory or just whim, thought ironically: Go west, young man.
So he did.
--
The government mooks were probably watching the Avengers' communications, insofar as Jarvis would let them. He would occasionally send texts, right before he wiped the phone he used and sent it out of country.
As he was driving through Indiana, he sent to Natasha: Check in my sock drawer, your 'sorry I tried to kill you multiple times' present is there.
To Barton, in Oklahoma City: I was not sore about the knife throwing contest, you won on a technicality.
To Steve, with the last of his burners, right before he left Tucson: I know I’m wasting air but don’t be an idiot. I’m not the hill you should die on.
I won’t let you.
**
Six months later found him in southern California; even though he was feeling more and more like the Soldier and Bucky Barnes were the same person, sometimes the night still haunted him with the cold. It was the tail end of winter, but the days were sunny and the breeze was gentle and mild.
It was still too cold for most native Californians at the beach, but he didn’t mind it. Compared to Russia, compared to the cryo chamber, the water was nothing worse than brisk and the sun beating down on his head was warm, through and through. There were a few others, closer to the parking lot - a bunch of college students with sun umbrellas and a huge cooler, a mother with two kids, but they were far off and the surf drowned out all other sound. It was peaceful.
He should’ve known better than to think that where the universe could hear him.
There were footsteps behind him - so far behind him that anyone without enhanced hearing probably wouldn’t have noticed. The scuffs on the sand and the occasional splash was barely noticeable over the sound of the waves, but he had spent the last half-year dodging various domestic and international intelligence agencies. Sure, it might be just another beachgoer taking his or her own walk along the waterline…or they might’ve finally given up on Canada and Europe and started looking closer to home.
(The FBI noticed Natasha taking a trip to Europe a few months ago and followed; he honestly wasn’t sure if she did it to mess with them or if she had really managed to track down the phone that he texted her with all the way to Edinburg. Either way, it was impressive.)
There was no real way to look back without letting his tail know that he was made. His hood was already up, but he wasn’t in any other disguise. The false face and the human hand that the nano-mesh generated had worked like magic, because anyone after the Winter Soldier knew that there was a metal arm involved. Take that away, he was just a man of average height and average coloring out of millions of people in the city. But it was uncomfortable to wear everywhere and now that he wasn’t just a mindless killing machine, he liked his little creature comforts.
A choice he was regretting now. Not that he thought he would have any trouble with the stalker - if they wanted him dead, they would’ve sniped him already - but he was trying the whole live-and-let-live thing, Hydra notwithstanding. If this tail was from Hydra, hopefully the fact that this stretch of the beach was not entirely deserted was enough of a deterrent until they reached somewhere with less potential witnesses.
It turned out to be not up to him after all. The footsteps sped up, and then broke into a light jog, whoever it was making no attempt to be quiet as they came up on him from behind. He kept his shoulders loose but fingered the knife in his pocket. Before he could decide whether or not to pull it, the footsteps stopped, thankfully at least five feet away from him.
A heart-stoppingly familiar voice called out, “hey.”
He would know that voice anywhere.
The smart thing would be to keep walking - let Steve think either he got the wrong person (unlikely) or let Steve know that he didn’t want to talk. Then again, his memory was still mostly Swiss cheese and he still knew that Steve wouldn’t let it go at that. His feet stopped without conscious input from his brain anyway, and he frowned down at them. Traitors.
“Hey,” Steve said again, sounding a little bit closer but still out of knife-range. Smart man. “Hey, I’m looking for this guy; he’s kind of a stupid, overprotective jerk. Have you seen him?”
He turned with a scowl and looked Steve over with the intensity of his glare set on ‘high’. The bastard was immune; in fact, Steve looked like he was torn between beaming and bursting into tears. “Oh, don’t try your puppy eyes on me,” he snapped. Steve tried to look contrite for a second before his expression flipped back to overjoyed. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought I gave everyone a pretty obvious ‘Fuck off’.”
Steve’s expression turned obstinate. “You had your bell rung hard enough that you forgot me during a mission, and disappeared from the hospital half an hour after you woke up without so much as a by-your-leave, with Hydra, the US Army, and who knows what else, wanting your head on a pike. Forgive me for thinking you might end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
He tried to not feel guilty at the wretched look on Steve’s face. “You’re always so dramatic,” he muttered. “I was fine.”
“And then you send me that text.” Steve took a deep breath. “At the hospital. You overheard.”
Suddenly, he felt too tired to mock Steve’s failure at forming a complete sentence. “He wasn’t wrong, Steve.”
“He was wrong, and so are you.” Steve declared, jaw set. This was Steve Rogers, planting himself next to the river of Truth. “I will die on your hill as many times as it takes for you to see that it’s worth it.”
Bucky could feel a migraine coming up - it always did, when he had to argue with Steve. His track record was not so great, there. “It’s my hill,” he said, “and if I say you can’t die on it, you can’t.” He shook his head, “We’re not five, and it’s a moot point, Steve. General dickhead was right, whether you want to admit it or not. You can try to fix me, but you can’t fix what I did.”
“I’m not trying to,” Steve replied. “Only you can do that, and only if you want to. But you’re stupider than I thought if you think I’m not going to help. Until the end of the line, we promised.”
Bucky rather thought they’d reached the end of the line a long time ago, ran out of tracks and had gone on to crash and burn. But that would be an overly dramatic way of thinking about it, and Steve would disagree anyway. He would think they were still on schedule, homeward bound. “I…you’re so stupid.” He said, helplessly, and already knew that he was going to give in.
Steve closed until they were only a step apart. “Natasha really loved those ceramic knives, you know, and Clint complains about not having decent competition at the range anymore. Tony misses you.”
Bucky had to snort at that. “You mean, Stark misses my arm.”
Steve chuckled. “Yes, but he misses you because he says I’m intolerably mopey when you’re not around.” He shrugged, “I kind of bummed around in his workshop a lot, asking Jarvis to run facial recognition on most of the Eastern seaboard. Would you knife me if I try to hug you?”
“What is with you people and hugging?” Bucky asked rhetorically, but let Steve squeeze him with his tree-trunk arms. Steve replied by ducking his head lower and trying to burrow into Bucky’s sternum, the way he used to fit before the serum, before everything. “Hate to tell you this, pal, but you’re about two feet too tall for that now.”
It came out muffled because Steve was still pretending it was 1943. “Come home with me,” he said.
Even though he still didn’t remember everything, he did remember this: Steve would ask, and he would say yes. It would be no different this time. “Fine,” he said.
**end