Chapter Text
Prologue
Reality: Fallen SHIELD, Ascendant HYDRA Earth
Captain James Barnes didn't know why he had expected his counterpart to look any different, as only a few days had passed since he had last talked to him. That conversation had only been a courtesy call – a simple message to let his counterpart, Sergeant James Barnes, know that someone from Steve Rogers' team was potentially crossing over to their reality.
He had preferred it only be Natasha Romanov who crossed over to their reality, but he supposed that he should have expected Steve to tag along. Even with the somewhat joking quip made by Steve about needing a vacation from being on the run, he had seen that the man needed more than just a moment to rest.
Yet, they had needed the help, had needed the expertise, as the operation had required the deception and duplicity of a majority of HYDRA's players not knowing that the Black Widow had been killed in Siberia. The loss of Madam Ophelia Hydra, Director and head of HYDRA had been keenly felt around the world, but the death of her super-soldiers had not been.
It was a gamble that Peggy had played – and for a while it worked. Many areas that had been under HYDRA control were now freed. SHIELD had moved in, but kept their distance from the governments, knowing that their presence was not entirely welcomed – not when people viewed them as similar to HYDRA.
When he and Daisy had crossed to the other reality a few months ago, it had been a dose of cold water thrown upon both of them. It was a reality free from the machinations of HYDRA and SHIELD, and it both frightened and awed him. Then, they had been thrown back in time. The reality of a war without end, of an ideology between two entities that could never compromise in that other reality, was a sobering reminder of their own reality.
At the present though, he wiped away his current train of thoughts, focusing back on the call that he had made. He didn't make the calls to his counterpart often, as his own duties usually kept him quite busy. Occasionally, a message would be left for him from his counterpart on the other side, and he would reply and leave his own message. Most of the things they discussed were related to memories and experiences in the past – a comparison of their lives lived, if he was feeling generous.
But there had been only one time in which his counterpart had used the line that the other reality's Wakanda had generously (and secretly) set up to specifically request aid. That had resulted in him and Daisy time-traveling to an incredibly dangerous time period in the other reality, just to prevent their own timeline here from unraveling as well.
The static on the other end of the connecting call dissolved, and his counterpart appeared. He saw him spare only a glance at the screen on the other end before continuing to work on whatever small gadgetry was strewn about the table. It was nighttime in Wakanda, judging by the harsh desk lamp shining upon him, and the fact that this was one of the rare times he was talking to his counterpart face-to-face.
“Nightmare?” he asked, even though it was the most obvious of reasons why his counterpart was up and answering the call.
“Hürtgen Forest,” came the short answer.
The silence that fell in between them was not comfortable at all, but this call in particular was not about their usual discussions. “Steve has been having nightmares,” he stated, getting right to the point.
He saw his counterpart continue to work on whatever he was working on with that lone arm and hand of his for another few moments. However, Sergeant Barnes' movements were slowing down as he saw him absorb the words, until he was sitting completely still at the table, staring at nothing in particular on the table.
“How long?” came the quiet question.
“Romanov said that its been on and off for the better part of a few months. Seemed to have become more frequent since his return from your reality's 1984. She's taken to gagging him at times, just so he doesn't bite through his tongue. Can't do anything about the noise though.”
He fell silent for a moment, running his hand through his hair, as he tried to will away the scene that he had walked away from only a few minutes before. “He doesn't remember his nightmares when he wakes up. At least he claims not to. What did you or the other Commandos do to help him through this, in the field?”
“He didn't have nightmares back then,” came the even quieter answer. “He had bad dreams. We all did, but it wasn't full blown screaming that kept everyone up.”
Another pause, another bout of silence, this one even more uncomfortable than the first, but he didn't let it linger long enough to just shut the damn transmission off. No, there was also another reason why he called, and it was to finish the last conversation they had had. He had only let it go then, because of his sudden undercover assignment, but no more.
“You need to tell him that you're doing better,” he bluntly stated. The last time he had worded it, it had been in a question of rationale, of a reason to justify.
“No,” came the equally blunt answer. “We're both now suffering from nightmares. That does not qualify as 'better', pal.”
He knew that he could threaten to out the fact that his counterpart was doing better; had had whatever programming HYDRA had implanted within him removed by Wakanda scientists. He could do so, but he didn't. He had been witness and had heard the underlying reaffirmation of the promise between his counterpart and Steve all those months ago.
He had also seen the exhaustion, the fatigue that pulled at his counterpart – the want for a small measure of peace and quiet. Wakanda honored the request of his counterpart for a place to stay – a haven of quiet that was sorely needed for a soldier who just wanted to stop fighting.
He knew and understood his counterpart's hesitancy and stubbornness in not letting Steve know that the commands, the programming that HYDRA had buried into his mind were gone. He knew that if he were in his counterpart's shoes, he might have done the same. But he was not his counterpart; the mirror that was cracked, and the mirror that he hated to see himself reflected in. The time to hide, and to not want to cause trouble for Steve was over.
His counterpart – not Sergeant Barnes, but just plain and simple James Buchanan Barnes – needed to be there for Steve.
The irony was not lost on him, as he remembered that over a year ago, his counterpart had stated through actions rather than words that he needed to be there for Stevie when she had been at death's door. He remembered being picked up by his uniform and unceremoniously booted out of the ops planning room. He couldn't reach over and into the screen to do the same – to drag his counterpart to this reality – but he had to try with words.
“Stop being a coward,” he stated. “You're both going through shit right now that's got a lot of people worried. Romanov and the others on his team, they can only do so much for him. They haven't seen the shit both of you've seen and done during the war. If my Director Carter's stories about the war are anything to go by, I'm betting that Steve is reliving whatever battles you're living through – including Hürtgen Forest. You need to be there for him.”
“And do what?” came the biting reply.
“Talk to him. Help him get through this. We only needed Romanov for a mission here. We didn't want Steve to be here, but fuck if I know what's happened to him since he's returned from 1984. He insisted on coming here. He said being in this reality was a vacation, goddammit--”
“What aren't you telling me, Captain?” his counterpart cut in, his voice and tone taking on a rather sharp and dangerous quality.
It was different from the 'monster' that he had heard and seen before from the first time his counterpart and Steve landed in this reality. The tone was not the coldly threatening one that he had come to associate with his counterpart – the assassin that was the Winter Soldier. No, this was wholly different – in that it sounded incredibly protective. The tone promised grievous harm on anyone, be it ally or enemy, who hurt Steve Rogers; and that the target would never know when or what harm was to befall them.
“There's a mission we're about the execute. I'll leave the data packet and details with those at the silo, but suffice to say, there may be a potential snag associated with the mission. It's something that we can work around, but we could use your help – specifically with your skill set. You don't even have to announce your presence to the team, or even let Steve know you're there. It would be a simple in-and-out for you.”
He saw him press his lips together, thinning them for a few moments before quietly asking, “What else aren't you telling me?”
“We encountered another reality traveler. I suspect that this traveler is having some undue, negative influence on Steve, but I'm not allowed to do anything about it.”
“Allowed?” his counterpart asked, giving him a dubious look. “Since when the hell did you ever obey orders? Who the hell is this traveler?”
“Need to know,” he stated. “It'll be in the packet at the silo.”
His counterpart stared at him, incredulity clearly in his eyes for dangling that kind of bait in front of him. “Let me guess: this traveler fucked up your mission that you requested Romanov for,” his counterpart stated with quite a sarcastic tinge in his tone.
Were he not used to his counterpart's prickly personality that now seemed to be a permanent fixture whenever they 'talked', he knew that he would have reacted differently to the statement made. “Long story short, we've 'enlisted' the traveler's help in this upcoming mission.”
“So then why the hell do you need me?”
“You're a super-soldier with a very specific skill set. You figure it out.”
* * *
48 hours earlier...
The mask was loosened from the man's neck; probably done so by the lone burly enemy operative who had gotten a surprise jump on him. Other than that, Steve could see no other sort of injury upon their mysterious shooter-turned-ally. However, he wasn't sure if he could call the sniper, or whatever he was, an ally. It had only been a few minutes since the man had blown all of their covers to kingdom come.
“Who the hell are you?” Steve heard his counterpart demand. Stevie was not the only one who had a gun pointed at the man – every person, save for Daisy, had a weapon of sorts aimed or brandished in the stranger's general direction.
Yet, even in the dim lighting of this rooftop battleground, the man suddenly dug his hand into the loosened fold of the mask. Steve couldn't help but grimace slightly as the memories of the Red Skull doing the same thing, came rushing back. The mask was removed and dropped to the ground, but the lighting afforded little to no other visual verification of the identity of the man. All any of them could discern was that the stranger's hair was dark, and not light as his mask had shown. It was only the two steps that the man took forward that finally allowed the light to play upon his face.
Steve felt his stomach turn to ice, as someone behind him let loose a heartfelt expletive. Standing before the six of them was Bucky, except that it was not Bucky as Steve knew. This iteration of James Buchanan Barnes, looked exactly like his counterpart in this other reality – short hair and all.
“LMD? Clone?” Daisy blurted out, as Steve saw her hands shake a little. “Cuz the Framework was all sorts of freaky shit--”
“Not a LMD,” the man that was not his reality's Bucky, nor apparently this reality's Bucky, stated. “Guess you can say that I'm from another reality.”
There was a familiar a touch of arrogance in the man's tone as Steve saw him shake his head slightly, before lifting his left arm up slightly and pulled out the knife that was embedded into the palm of his hand. The glove came with it as well. In what dim lighting there was in this place, Steve could see the gleam of silver reflecting the light – a mechanical left hand upon this other reality James Barnes.
An uneasy chill swept over Steve, though he did not understand why just staring at this other reality Bucky was causing that feeling. Even as the knife and glove clattered to the ground, Natasha was already taking a step forward, her gun pointed unwaveringly at this other incarnation of Bucky. Steve tensed, his guard raised in reaction to Natasha's actions.
“What do they call you?” she demanded.
“Natalia--” the man began, his tone a mixture of surprise, relief, and puzzlement.
Natasha's gun going off in the single shot she unleashed seemed louder than normal to Steve. Daisy flinched, while the others held themselves steady with their weapons still pointed at the man who had blown their covers. For a split second, the uneasy feeling in his stomach seemed to grow ten-fold as he saw the man standing in front of them glower ever so slightly. There was clear anger in his eyes – anger that Steve had seen in Bucky's eyes before, during the war – but there was also a profound pool of sadness.
The shot that Natasha had made was a deliberate miss though, as the bullet only scraped across the sleeve of the man's clothing – right across the apparent metallic deltoid muscle of the left mechanical arm. Even in the dim lighting conditions, Steve could feel a frown work down his lips as the fabric ripped and folded down slightly. Rather than the blood red star branded on the arm, there was a white star surrounded by both a blue and red concentric circles. It looked like a small illustrative replica of the shield.
“The Winter Soldier,” came the quiet, reluctant answer that sounded a little too even and too eerily calm in Steve's ears.
“One last question, Barnes,” Natasha stated, taking another step forward, her gun now pointed directly at the man's forehead. “Спутник.”
~*~*~*~