Chapter Text
"Is it just me? Or am I right that this is nuts?"
"It's just you," Clint responds, because he's a jerk. He lets his arrow fly, waits a second then grins. "Ha! That's another twenty points."
"Twenty? What the hell for? My grandma coulda' made that." Bucky sights through his rifle scope, tracking the guy who looks like he got mugged by an army surplus store after having sex with a nail salon. He's too scruffy to be real military but fights too well to be some random escaped experiment—the Avengers have fought enough of those to tell the difference, thanks—and he and 80 of his asshole pals are organized enough to be an army, except for how they all went nuts all over New York for no reason. At least nothing Bucky can figure.
This mook, for example, is strutting around the fifteenth floor of an office building, waving his gun at a bunch of terrified office workers. It looks like he's holding them all hostage, except he hasn't tried to talk to the police even once. All he's done is shoot people. The SWAT team waiting to go in said he killed four civilians as soon as he got up there. They know that because he didn't care if anyone used their phones to call 911. Which makes no fucking sense.
Neither do the four dead people Bucky can see crumpled on the floor next to their desks. They all were sitting with their hands on their heads, like good prisoners. The dickhead shot them anyway.
Bucky waits until the mook dickhead with the big, green insect thing on his arms crosses right in front of the window, far enough away from the civilians that they won't even get too much of his brains spattered on them when Bucky shoots him through the back of his head.
"Ten points," he murmurs as he pulls the trigger, because unlike some people he has no need to exaggerate. He smiles grimly as the guy drops. It doesn't make up for the people he murdered, but at least there's a little less evil in the world. Bucky likes that.
He's got a hell of a lot of red in his ledger. He knows he won't ever be able to clear it, but once in a while he can even it up a bit. It's something.
"Don't sell yourself short. That was at least twelve," Clint says. He's got his arm back ready to pull an arrow from his quiver, eyes searching the streets far below them. But there're no more targets. "Huh. Looks like we got 'em all."
Bucky grins at him. "This is Winter Soldier. The target has been neutralized. Repeat, the target has been neutralized. You boys can go in anytime," he reports to the SWAT team. He waits for the acknowledgement (he can do without the thanks) then switches the channel to the one only used by the Avengers. "Sector twenty cleared." He still thinks it's kind of amazing that the radios are tiny enough to fit in their ears, but it's way more convenient than the backpack radio transceiver Gabe carried around, though his was homemade and way more powerful than what the regular Joes got. Gabe would've loved this one.
The middle of a mission's a hell of a time to get sentimental, so Bucky just shunts it to the side like he does with all the stuff he doesn't like thinking about. He promises himself that he and Steve can drink to the Howling Commandos once all the guys with the green centipede things on their arms are rounded up or dead.
"Too slow, Frozeneye. So sorry," Tony says with dizzyingly fake remorse. Bucky can hear Run to the Hills by Iron Maiden blasting in the background and smirks to himself. Tony's been introducing him to all his favorite bands. Iron Maiden's pretty good. "Team Airstrike would like to report that they have kicked all your asses and already cleared all our sectors. We've delivered our centi-prisoners and are currently assisting with evacuating the wounded. Because we're just that awesome."
"Team Winter Hawk dropped eight targets in six minutes in sector twenty. It took longer than that for us to get here. So we still rule," Clint says easily. He grins at Bucky as he slides the arrow back into his quiver and folds his bow. "And we still have the coolest name."
Bucky stands up and shoulders his rifle, clapping Clint on the shoulder. "Nice going anyways, fellas," he says to Tony and Sam. He just shrugs when Clint rolls his eyes. They head back inside the building, going down to street level.
"You mean, 'fucking awesome, dudes'," Tony gleefully corrects him. "Come on, Bucky. It's the new century. Get with the lingo."
"Tony," Sam says. He sounds exactly like he's spent the entire day with him.
Bucky says, "How 'bout I get my foot so far up your ass that you'll taste rubber?" to Tony in Russian. Let his robot suit translate it for him.
He can hear Natalia smirk in the background. "Team Green Widow has cleared all our allotted sectors and Hulk and I are assisting with subway evacuation. And Tony, you don't want to know what he said."
"Too late," Tony sighs dramatically. "And I have to say, I'm disappointed by your attitude, Bucky. Here I am, trying to impart my cultural expertise—"
"Knock off the lip-flapping, Tony," Steve says, and Bucky can hear the grin in his voice, though it's obvious he's running. Wherever he is, it's closed-in enough that there's a slight echo. He's either inside or on a narrow street somewhere. "I'm in sector 12, in pursuit of a centipede."
"Ooh, I see what you did there," Tony says to him, but then he does actually shut up.
"My sectors are also clear," Thor booms over the radio, loud enough that Bucky winces despite how he and Clint are clattering down the stairwell. "I am aiding the warriors of the National Guard in freeing people from a collapsed building, but I can come to you if you require assistance, Captain."
"Thanks, Thor, but I'm fine," Steve says. "I do have a feeling this guy's trying to lead me into an ambush, though. Stand by…"
"Think he's really fine?" Clint says to Bucky. They're physically closest to Steve's position, though any of the flyers could probably get there faster if they really pushed it.
"Sure," Bucky says.
They both speed up anyway.
By the time they're back out on the sidewalk they can hear on their radios that Steve's in a brawl. He was right about the attempted ambush: the centipede he was chasing led him into a residential area full of old, rundown buildings and narrow alleys. Steve was expecting it when two more centipedes jumped out at him. He sounds only slightly strained in Bucky's ear as he tells them, and more like he's having a hell of a good time getting his licks in. There aren't that many people outside of his team who can give Steve much of a fight.
"You sure you're fine?" Sam asks. "We can be there in, like, six minutes."
"We're closer," Clint cuts in. He and Bucky are jogging now. Not exactly worried, not exactly taking their time. He checks his watch. "ETA, five minutes."
Bucky hears Steve grunt, but he can tell it's with effort, not pain. "I'll be here."
And then there's the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. And then there's nothing on the radio except silence from Steve and everyone else calling his name.
Bucky and Clint run.
They get to the alley two minutes later. Bucky sees a stranger in black armor that looks like his used to, with the same fucking face mask he hated because he couldn't breathe in the damn thing. And a metal arm with the Hydra symbol painted on the shoulder where Bucky used to have a red star. It's like looking at a fucking mirror from when he was the Asset, except this asshole's got close-cropped black hair and dark brown eyes.
And then this new Hydra Asset says, "I'm sorry" and he's going to kill Steve and Bucky is so consumed with rage that it's like he's got that mask on again, like he can't breathe. And he knows that yeah, maybe they scooped this punk out of a snowbank too. Maybe he didn't ask to be made into a walking weapon either. But he shot Steve and now he's going to gut him, and Bucky doesn't give a shit who this Asset was. He hurt Steve and he needs to die.
He needs to die. Bucky shoots his Glock's entire magazine at him. The Asset deflects the bullets with his metal arm, but he doesn't see Clint's arrow.
It should've dropped him, but if he's like Bucky then he's souped-up on knockoff super soldier serum, so it's no surprise when he just rips the arrow out of his side and jackrabbits for the nearest building.
Bucky's still vibrating with rage but now that the threat's gone he can look at Steve, and Steve is a fucking mess. He's got blood all over his face and his left leg looks like Hydra's new plaything went nuts on it with a pickaxe. There's blood everywhere and for a second it's like Bucky's standing somewhere else, watching himself scream Steve's name in a voice he doesn't even recognize.
(And he doesn't know how Steve got hurt so bad, and why he wasn't there to protect him. He should've been there, and now Steve is on the ground and he's bleeding…)
Then Steve shouts, "I'm all right! Go! Go!"
Steve sounds like he got his bell rung but good, but he's awake and talking and Bucky blinks and he's back inside his body. But the new Asset is almost to the top of the fire escape.
Bucky takes off after him.
Whoever this sob-story used to be, he's fast. Even wounded, he's leaping rooftops like he's got Sam's wings. Bucky's running like crazy but he's an entire building behind.
He's going to catch up, though. The guy's faltering, clutching his side when he's not using both arms to jump. Five rooftops away from the alley he drops his facemask. Bucky glances at it as he goes past. There's blood inside. There are more little spatters of it here and there on the concrete and tar, dropping from the Asset as he runs. He's still a building ahead when he almost lands short, barely catching himself so he can somersault onto the roof. This time he only runs to about the middle of the rooftop before he turns around and lifts his handgun.
Good, Bucky thinks. He's itching for a fight. Rage is still burning through him, red as blood behind his eyes. It doesn't feel quite right, doesn't fit, like there's someone else with him egging him on. Almost like he can see another man out of the corner of his eye. He's wearing a dark blue jacket, olive drab pants. Same dark brown hair and blue eyes, except his eyes are iced over with fury.
But Bucky ignores it, because this barely-human fuck hurt Steve, and nobody does that. It's the one thing Bucky has to keep him going since Steve rescued him from Zola's lab. He loves Steve, and it's his job to protect him. It doesn't matter if Steve's bigger than Bucky now, or if he can finally hold his own in a fight. He still doesn't watch his own back enough, still lets his big, stupid heart lead him around and get him into trouble. So Bucky watches his back like always, only now he does it with a sniper rifle. His aim's even better than it used to be.
Protecting Steve keeps the rage away. It keeps Bucky from thinking about Zola and how he leered at him behind his glasses, or all the shit he pumped into Bucky's veins until James was just screaming and screaming and screaming—
Bucky wakes up skidding off the roof.
Except, he wasn't out. He remembers deflecting the bullets, remembers the Asset saying, "What are you?", breathless with shock and the blood filling his lung. Bucky remembers tackling him to the tar, shoving his left arm across the guys' throat with all his weight behind it. He remembers realizing that this Asset has two metal arms and being grabbed and getting thrown. He knows why his left side and his right arm hurt.
But he doesn't remember it like he was there. He remembers it like he was watching someone else.
Doesn't matter. What matters is that he's back on his feet with a knife in his hand before the Asset can do more than drag himself to standing. He's hunched over with both his hands holding his side, panting with exertion and pain. He's not fast enough to stop Bucky from driving him into the wall of the stairway cupola, and the Asset's head cracks so hard against the concrete that for half a second his eyes go blank.
It's almost long enough for Bucky to shove his combat knife into the Asset's eye, but he comes to, gets his hand up to block it then crushes the blade. He shoves Bucky's arm back and it fucking hurts, but Bucky kicks him in the leg and gets him down with his left hand clamped around his throat. And this time Bucky makes damn sure the bastard isn't getting up again.
"I'm the Winter Soldier," he snarls at him, answering the question. "And I'm the one who's going to kill you."
The Asset's eyes are huge, and Bucky can see that he doesn't understand, that something's missing in his head where their machines ripped it apart. Bucky recognizes it. He remembers it: how beneath the certainty of the mission he was as lost as a child in the dark. This man is lost too.
He needs help, Bucky thinks. I shouldn't do this. I don't want to do this. But his hand is still tightening around the Asset's throat, and his struggles are weakening and he's going to pass out soon and then he'll die. And Bucky's not letting go.
He's kind of fighting with himself and kind of not, because he came after the Asset to kill him and that's what he's doing, even though he doesn't want to. So he's not paying enough attention and he doesn't see the little metal bug until the Asset slaps it onto his left arm.
He doesn't see it, but he can feel it like a needle going in, like his arm has real muscle and nerves and the tiny machine is stabbing it. He grabs at it immediately, but just before he can yank it off it beeps, and suddenly his left arm is dead and then—
God, the pain—
The pain. The pain. The pain is every muscle clenching like animal teeth around his bones and he screams until he can't breathe. And he's in the chair again and they're tearing him to pieces and there's lightning inside him instead of blood. Nothing left of him but lightning and pain, and he can't move and he can't breathe and he reached for the banister and missed and he reached for Steve's hand but the handle broke and he's falling and falling and falling—
There's another man on the roof with him. Bucky knows him, with his dark blue Howling Commando uniform and his eyes like ice. And Sergeant Barnes reaches out his hand and says, "C'mon, James. Bucky needs you."
James is quaking from fear. But he wipes his eyes and reaches back.
"How seriously should we take Steve saying he doesn't need help?" Sam asks over his radio. He smiles at the nurse as he hands him the little girl from his arms. Her wrist is broken, but she was way more interested in getting carried by a 'real life superhero', and she's all smiles and gushing conversation as the nurse nods and smiles back at her.
"I never take anything Steve says seriously." Tony lays the girl's mother down gently on a gurney and the nurse lets the girl ride with her mother into the building. The woman broke both her legs protecting her daughter from falling debris. They're far from the worst injured, though, which is why Sam and Tony volunteered to fly them to a hospital far enough away from the attacks that it won't be overburdened. "But he sounds okay, so…" Tony shrugs as they both leap back into the air.
They leap into the air. That will never get old for Sam. His Falcon suit (Mark 3 of the Stark suits) does, actually, have laser-guided missiles like Tony promised. But even better is how easy it is to maneuver and get off the ground. Tony proudly told him that it uses a variant of his own repulsors, though they're dependent on Sam's wings for balance instead of his hands.
Sam just loves them.
He also loves being an Avenger, but that is very dependent on all of them being whole and breathing, so he asks Steve, "You sure you're fine? We can be there in, like, six minutes."
Clint says he and Bucky are closer, and when Sam looks at Tony, Tony shrugs. They're both turning to head back to their sectors and evacuate more people when they hear the gunshot. And Steve stops responding.
"Oh fuck," Tony says, vehement as a prayer. He turns in the air and speeds up so much that Sam can barely keep up with him.
J.A.R.V.I.S. has Steve's coordinates and they're both going so fast now that Sam can feel the heat where the engine of his wings are strapped to his back. If he keeps this up he's going to be burned, but he just makes a mental note to tell Tony later and keeps going.
When Sam hears Bucky over the radio screaming Steve's name, he's sure that's it, Steve's dead. And then he hears Steve saying that he's all right and Sam's so relieved he almost drops out of the sky.
"God damn it, he really needs to stop doing that," Tony says. He's panting with adrenaline. "Clint, what's happening?"
"Steve got shot," Clint says uselessly. Sam's got his mouth open to ask for details when Steve himself comes on.
"I was shot at by a Hydra assassin. But he missed."
"Where did he shoot you?"
"I'm in the alley."
"Yeah, okay, I'm guessing head, then," Tony says. "Clint, tell me what the fuck happened to Cap so I can let the paramedics know."
"I'm all right," Steve says. "You need to help Bucky. Bucky went after him."
"I don't need help. I've almost got him," Bucky says suddenly over the radio. He's breathing hard, and Sam can hear the steady pounding of his footsteps.
"We'll help Bucky, don't worry," Sam says to Steve. He's automatically fallen into the voice he uses to talk people down from panic attacks. Steve's not panicked but he definitely sounds out of it. "Tony's already scanning for him. But we need to know what happened."
"He was shot in the head from the top of a five-story building," Clint fills in. "If the guy was even half as good as me Cap would be dead. But he just lost a chunk of his ear. He's definitely concussed, though. He also has a broken nose and a split cheek and one hell of a laceration in his thigh. But the assassin didn't get the artery."
"I'm all right," Steve says again. "Are they going to help Bucky?"
"Yes, we are going to help Bucky," Tony says. "I'm scanning for him right now. J.A.R.V.I.S. says the paramedics are about four minutes out. Nat, don't let our favorite rage monster squish them. You know how protective he gets."
"I'm keeping him well away," Natasha says. She sounds a little out of breath and behind her it's obvious the Hulk is smashing things in the background. "Steve," Natasha speaks right to him, "if you can hear me, I know you're trying to get up. Stop moving or I'll kill you."
"You heard her, right, Steve?" Clint says. He makes a frustrated noise. "I can't believe I thought she was exaggerating. Cap, if you don't stay still I swear to God I will beat you unconscious."
"I'm all right," Steve says. "Is Bucky okay?"
"He's kind of adorable like this," Tony says. Then he points. "There he is." He swoops down and speeds up without warning, so that Sam's forced to scramble to keep up with him.
But now Sam can see Bucky as well, though only barely in the fading daylight. Bucky and the assassin he's pursuing look like ants from this distance. Smaller, actually. They're just tiny dark shapes on a dark grey background. He can't believe how fast they've been able to move in such short a time. They're running along the rooftops, jumping from one to the other. It's amazing to watch, actually—that kind of phenomenal, inhuman grace and strength and speed. Sam winces unconsciously when the microscopic man in the lead almost falls, but he manages to roll onto the roof and turn to face Bucky as Bucky leaps after him.
The fight, what Sam can see of it as they close the distance, is short but brutal. Someone nearly gets tossed off the roof and Sam knows it's Bucky by Tony's shout of alarm. Afterwards Tony has to convince Steve that Bucky's all right several times, but by then they're almost close enough for Sam to see the fight without needing artificially enhanced vision.
"Um, Rocky over there's not actually going to kill him, is he?"
"No," Sam says with complete confidence, despite how he still can't see what Tony's looking at. Bucky has killed, as recently as today, but never arbitrarily. Never when he doesn't have to. "He's just—"
"Oh, shit," Tony says suddenly. And then Bucky starts screaming.
Of course the comm goes insane, but Sam ignores it. He pushes his wings until the harness is painfully hot against his back. When they get to the roof Sam catches a glimpse of the assassin—his metal arms and black armor, and the Hydra symbol on his visible shoulder like they don't give a damn if he's seen—but Bucky is still screaming in agony and when the assassin runs and jumps for the next roof Sam just lets him go.
Bucky's writhing like his muscles have gone haywire, except for his left arm which isn't moving at all. It looks like every few seconds he's in some kind of spasm, like he's being electrocuted. Sam doesn't know how he's able to breathe.
He lands just behind Tony, who wrenches his helmet off and drops it, then drops his metal gloves with a flick of his wrists, leaving his gauntlets on but his hands bare. He never takes his eyes off Bucky and the tiny, innocuous little metal bug that's obviously what's completely incapacitated him.
"Bucky, can you hear me?" Tony says to him. "It's Sam and Tony. We're right here and we're going to get you out of this, okay? Just hold on." Tony's snatching things out of his suit from compartments Sam didn't even know were there. Sam recognizes the multi-tool, but the other stuff is so alien to him it could've come from Asgard. "You may have to hold him down." Tony says.
Sam nods then ditches his wings and goes to Bucky's other side. He puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders and does his best to keep him still without having to put any weight on him. "There's some kind of robot attached to Bucky's arm. It's hurting him somehow but we're getting it off," he says into the demands for information over the radio.
Bucky's not screaming anymore, but Sam's sure it's because he can't breathe well enough. His blue eyes are wide and wild but he's not looking at anything.
"It's okay, you're going to be all right," Sam says. Bucky doesn't react.
"Okay, here we go." Tony's pretty much just talking to himself. He touches one of his very unfamiliar tools to the robot, presses a button and a crackle of electric blue light flashes over the bug. The rounded back splits down the center and Tony makes a little pleased 'a-ha!' noise. He drops the Asgard thing and swipes up his multi-tool, then leans so close to the little bug he's practically grazing it with his nose. Then Bucky nearly breaks Tony's face for him when he arches through another surge of pain. "Hold him down!" Tony says.
Sam leans a little on Bucky's shoulder. "Sorry." He doesn't think Bucky can hear him.
"Great." Tony eases his multi-tool inside the bug and twists. But instead of it going dead or dropping off Bucky's arm, the bug whips out a tendril thin as a strand of hair and latches onto Tony's gauntlet. Then it reels itself onto his arm. "Uh-oh."
Bucky goes limp like he's just died, but now Tony's saying, "shit, shit, shit," and kind of rolling on the rooftop as he tries to get the bug off his arm. He grabs at it but it shoots out a second filament and traps Tony's left hand against his right. "Fuck!" he yelps, then, "Owowowowow!" obviously in pain, but Sam has no idea what the little robot's doing.
Then Tony's eyes widen and he yells, "J.A.R.V.I.S—!" But the lights flickering around his gauntlets go out. Then Tony falls back and starts screaming just as loudly as Bucky did.
"I am attempting to shut down the armor, but the robot is overriding," J.A.R.V.I.S. says, and meanwhile Tony sounds like he's in hell.
Sam dives for Tony and tries to yank the fucking thing off him with his hands, but he can't budge it. He grabs his Steyr pistol to shoot it, but even at point-blank range like this, Tony's moving so much Sam's frightened he's going to hit him in the head.
Then Bucky's there, wrapping his arms around Tony's head and using his own body to both protect him and hold him down, and Sam shoots the bug about two hundred times. It's nothing but a smoking little stub of wires when Bucky grabs it and throws it away. It skids across the roof and topples over the side.
Bucky doesn't get off Tony as much as shove away from him to roll heavily onto his back. They both lay there, chests heaving.
"Well, that sucked," Tony rasps.
Bucky wheezes into a weak laugh, and then Tony starts laughing, and for some reason that makes Bucky laugh harder, until he grimaces and wraps his arms over his stomach.
"Ow. Ow. Fuck, don't make me laugh," Bucky says, which of course just makes Tony laugh more and that starts Bucky laughing again.
Sam blinks at both of them. He can't help smirking a little too, but even if they're both high on endorphins that doesn't mean they're all right. Unless this isn't endorphins. "That thing didn't drug you, did it?"
"I wish," Tony says. And that is apparently the funniest thing anyone's ever said ever, going by the hilarity interspersed with Bucky's fervent swearing.
Sam reports back to the team that both Bucky and Tony are alive and mostly well, though he might need help getting them off the roof. And maybe to a hospital.
Nat replies as cool and steady as always, but he can still hear the depth of relief in her voice. She tells him that Steve's also going to be fine, and that he's on his way back to Avengers Tower. Sam's about to ask her what happened to the hospital, when he remembers Tony going on about his fully-staffed medical suite. Turns out that includes an MRI scanner for Steve's head and an operating theater ready to sew his leg back together. Convenient.
Clint's still with Steve, though he admits he took Steve's radio away out of self-preservation. But he promises to let him know Bucky and Tony are fine.
Thor offers to help with the heavy lifting and Sam promises he'll let him know. Neither Thor, Clint nor Natasha seem terribly surprised that Tony and Bucky are killing themselves laughing in the background. Sam finds that surprisingly reassuring.
"Howard, ease up before I croak," Bucky gasps. "Fuck. I feel like I've been on a three-day bender." He looks over at Sam with what seems like a lot of effort. "What the hell happened?"
"Well, you just called me Howard, Mr. Barnes," Tony says. His smile's even weaker, this side of angry. He hates it when Bucky calls him 'Howard'. "Hi. I'm Tony Stark. Somewhat-less-than-beloved offspring off Howard Stark, though way better looking. You may have heard of me, considering we've been on the same team for, oh, about a year?"
"Sergeant Barnes," Bucky says pointedly. He lifts his hand to shake, mouth quirked apologetically. "Pleased to meet ya, Tony. That's some pretty sweet armor you got there."
Tony lifts up enough to blink at Bucky's hand, then just rolls his eyes and flops down again. "Thanks," he says dryly. "Yeah, It's peachy-keen. Killer-diller, even." He makes a lethargic peace sign. "Buy war bonds."
"Do you remember what happened?" Sam asks Bucky.
Bucky blinks at him. "You're not Gabe." He's not smiling anymore. It's completely dark now; the only real light is coming from the reactor in Tony's suit, casting everything in a kind of washed-out blue. Bucky's pale eyes look frosted over and alien.
"My name's Sam," Sam tells him, slow and calm. Nothing like the way his heart is suddenly rattling in his chest. "Sam Wilson. We met a little over a year ago. Do you remember?"
"Yeah. Sure." Bucky nods slowly, like things are clicking back into place. His mouth quirks up a little. "The coffee guy." He looks at Tony. "You're Iron Man. I call you 'Howard' sometimes to piss you off. And I'm…" He stops, and in the light it's impossible to tell what emotion flickers through his eyes. "I'm the Winter Soldier."
"Got it in one," Tony says. He grimaces as he levers himself off his back so he's sitting. "Now for the bonus question: do you remember how you got here?"
Bucky lifts his left arm, turning it back and forth like he's examining it in the light. It doesn't look like it's moving properly, but it's hard to tell. "I fell."
"You mean, when he stuck you with Hell's electronic ladybug?" Tony says.
Bucky looks at Tony, then he gives his head a quick shake. "Yeah. I mean, after. Before, I was chasing someone with two metal arms."
"Do you remember why?" Sam asks.
"Sure." Bucky nods. "The son of a bitch hurt Steve." Suddenly he sucks in a breath, then bolts up so that he's on his knees, though it's obvious by his face how much it hurts. "Steve! Is he all right?"
"He's fine," Sam says quickly. "He's fine. He needs an operation to fix his leg, and the docs will need to make sure his head's okay, but he's going to be fine."
"I want to see him," Bucky says. He climbs painfully to his feet, leaning heavily on the cupola just behind him.
Sam stands up too, moves closer to Bucky in case he has to steady him. "Of course. But you need to take it easy. You're body just went through a hell of a lot of stress."
Bucky nods, arms wrapped around his torso. His left arm definitely isn't working right. "I'm just sore," he says. "I've had worse."
"You've had worse," Tony parrots numbly. He was putting his tools away but now he's stopped dead, staring. "You've had worse? That thing was on me for, like, thirty seconds and I would've gleefully gnawed my arm off to make it stop. What the hell happened to you that was worse?" Tony's eyes are wide with horror, glistening like black water in the dark.
Bucky shrugs, but if anything he holds himself more tightly. "They used the chair for punishment, sometimes. Whichever buncha' assholes had my chain. Like that, I mean." He jerks his chin a little towards Tony, Tony's arm where the robot latched onto him. "That kind of electricity stuff."
"Jesus," Tony says, still just as wide-eyed, staring up at Bucky. "For how long?"
Sam can see Bucky swallowing. "'Few hours, depending on how sorry they wanted me to be." His voice is gravelly, but then he lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders, drops his hands into fists at his sides. "Don't matter. I'm alive and they ain't, and that's all I care about. That and getting off this fucking roof so I can see Steve."
Tony visibly yanks himself back from whatever awful place his mind went. "Yeah, sure. Good idea." He shoves his tools away into his armor, then twitches his fingers and his gloves fly back onto his hands. He stares mournfully at his helmet until Sam picks it up and hands it to him.
Tony puts the helmet on with the facemask up, and his armor glows blue along the joints as it powers up again. Tony's sigh of relief is audible as J.A.R.V.I.S. takes some of the effort of getting him to his feet. "No offense, Buckaroo, but you don't look like you could get off a mattress by yourself right now." He takes a step closer, spreads his arms. "What do you say, princess? Your chariot awaits."
Bucky scrubs his face with his right hand. "I think I'd rather jump." But he looks up grinning, even if it's obvious he's embarrassed as hell. "All right, Honey. Fly me to the sidewalk."
"Oh my God." Tony looks at Sam in mock amazement. "Did he just use a pop culture reference from after 1945?" He turns back to Bucky. "I'm so proud. At this rate we'll get you quoting The Simpsons by the time you're 130."
Bucky smirks. "Eat my shorts, dickwad."
"Did you hear that, Sammy? Our little baby's becoming a man." Tony pretends to wipe a tear, then flips his facemask down. He spreads his arms again. "Hop up, sweetheart. You know the drill, arms around my neck. Don't choke me or I'll drop you."
"Jackass," Bucky says, but he slings his arms around Tony's neck and endures the bridal carry down to the sidewalk.
Sam grabs his wing harness and tugs it back on, wincing as it rubs against the burns he'd completely forgotten. He makes another mental note to tell Tony.
He sees Bucky's goggles when he turns on his harnesses' built-in light. One of the lenses is cracked, but Sam puts it around his neck anyway to bring back to him. They still remind him unpleasantly of the ones Bucky wore over his facemask when he was Hydra's Asset. Sam only got a glimpse of him in that getup, but he can still remember how frightening Bucky looked like that, more like a machine than a person. A clearly deliberate choice of Hydra to intimidate their targets as well as conceal their assassin.
The man who nearly killed Steve and Bucky tonight looked eerily similar to the way Bucky did, when he was still a weapon who didn't remember he'd ever been a man.
"Hey, Sam! You coming or what?" Bucky shouts at him from the street.
He leans far enough over the edge of the roof so Tony and Bucky can see him. "Sorry. Just thinking. Bucky, did that guy you were after have a facemask?"
"Yeah. He ditched it about twenty roofs back."
"Thanks." Sam looks in the direction Bucky and the assassin were running from, but it's too dark to see anything. And right now his priority is getting Bucky and Tony back to the tower. He's especially concerned about Bucky, who Sam is sure is in way worse shape than he's letting on.
All the Avengers ignore their limitations. Even Sam, though at least he's aware it's a bad idea when he does it. But it's a toss-up between Natasha, Bucky and Clint who's the worst. Steve soldiers on because before the serum he had no choice, and after because he still thinks he doesn't. Bruce will quietly work himself to death trying to assuage his guilt over what the Hulk's done. Tony constantly pushes himself past his endurance because it's the only way to get his brain to shut up. And Thor is a warrior prince whose ideal fate is to die in battle.
But Natasha, Bucky and Clint were brutally punished for reacting normally to pain.
Sam thinks he's glad it's only Bucky who got injured of the three of them as he jumps lightly to the street. Needing to wrangle Clint and Natasha too would be hell. "We'll need to come back for it," he says. "We might be able to use it to track him." He hits the button that folds his wings tightly to his back. They'd fit nicely under a trench coat like this, if he had one, but at least they won't get in the way.
"Way ahead of you, Sherlock," Tony says. He points at his ear, buried under his suit helmet though he's put the faceplate up again. "My special friends at S.H.I.E.L.D. redux are on it like cute on a kitten. They're coming in their super-stealthy talking SUVS even as we speak."
"Swell," Bucky says. "Can they give us a ride?" The fact that he's even willing to ask shows just how tired he is and in how much pain. A year ago he wouldn't have said anything at all, though, so it's still progress, Sam figures. Even if it's miserably obvious how hard Bucky's trying not to hobble.
Sam sighs inwardly, then goes over to him and lifts Bucky's left arm across his shoulders. "I know you can make it on your own," he says quietly to him, "but you don't have to."
Bucky doesn't entirely freeze up, but it does take him a second to start moving again. "Yeah, okay," he says.
Tony scoffs at Bucky's question, then winces. "Ow. Believe me, Elsa, the last thing you want is to owe Coulson any favors. I can have a car sent for us." He's hobbling as well, despite J.A.R.V.I.S.'s help. "But I'm thinking taxi. It'll be faster."
"Dressed like this?" Sam says.
"It's New York," Tony responds easily. "They won't even notice."
Bucky smirks, then winces just like Tony did. "Some things never change." He and Tony share a grin.
Tony stops walking and his suit unfolds off him and then refolds into a suitcase. Tony looks instantly even more miserable without the suit, but he gamely picks up the case of armor and limps along with them.
"Maybe you should fly back and meet us at the tower?" Sam says.
The look Tony gives him somehow manages to be both wistful and withering. "I may not be Captain Awesome, but I can get to the corner to hail a fucking taxi."
"Can you even lift your arm?" Sam asks mildly.
Tony actually tries, before he drops his free arm and winces. "Fine. You can hail the fucking taxi."
"Don't make me laugh," Bucky says.
Steve is still in surgery by the time they get back to the tower, though J.A.R.V.I.S. says he's going to be back to his usual amount of red with the white and blue in no time. Tony can totally get behind that. Bleeding out on the pavement isn't a good look for anyone.
Tony still feels like hell in a handbag, but Stark Industries has access to some pretty awesome experimental painkillers, and he helps himself to a couple as soon as he and Bucky stumble into his workshop. They'd go down even better with a couple fingers of whisky, but Tony's trying to be all responsible and shit these days. He just has three glasses of water instead.
He tosses the pill bottle at Bucky, but Bucky's looking at everything like he's never seen the place and turns his back in time for the bottle to bounce off his shoulder blade and onto the floor. Bucky startles and whips around like Tony threw a grenade at him, which would be hilarious if he didn't also snatch the nearest screwdriver off the workbench and almost-but-not-quite come charging at Tony with murder in his eyes. What's even less hilarious is that Tony's a little too certain that the only thing that stopped the Buck there was him being in too much pain to follow through before the reality check cashed.
"Whoa! Whoa. Chill out, Mad Max. It's just me." He juts his chin at the bottle on the floor so he can keep his hands up with the palms facing out in the universal gesture of 'please don't kill me'. "Those are painkillers, that's all. I thought you could use a couple. You know, to kill the pain."
"Oh," Bucky says. He smiles sheepishly and puts the screwdriver down. "Sorry. Guess I'm still a little edgy."
"No shit."
Just then, of course, Dum-E decides it's the perfect time to come charging over to pick the bottle up. Naturally he runs over it instead.
"God, why do I even bother to recharge you? Go. Yeah, over there. Go do something less destructive. No, I don't want a smoothie. Shoo."
Dum-E beeps disconsolately at Tony and trundles off with his claw face all but touching the floor, the drama queen.
Bucky frowns as he watches Dum-E wedging himself into a far corner. "He looks like a dog you just kicked."
Tony shrugs (ow), determined not to feel guilty. "Tough love. He's used to it." The pill bottle is a very, very long way away. They both just look at it. Tony takes a breath. "Hey, Dum-E." And yeah, the way the robot perks up at his name is just way too artful, the little con artist. Bucky is obviously a soft touch and Tony shouldn't let that influence him. He points at the pills. "If you can actually give those to Bucky without dropping the bottle or crushing it again, all will be forgiven."
Dum-E rushes over, then stops about ten feet away from the bottle. He lurches the rest of the distance in painful inches, then plucks the bottle off the floor like it's a soap bubble or something and lifts it so slowly that finally Tony just grabs it out of his claw. "Thank you. Yes, that was marvelous. You're the best robot ever. Sure, you can get Bucky a smoothie. He'd love one."
Tony smiles at Bucky as he hands him the pill bottle. "It might have motor oil in it, but you should drink it anyway." He blinks innocently. "You don't want to hurt his feelings."
Bucky just blinks back at him a couple times like he's deciding where to hide the body, then actually looks at the bottle. "These won't make me high, will they?"
"Not unless you take, like, eight of them at once. Which I'm not saying I did on the grounds that I refuse to incriminate myself." Tony taps the bottle's directions. "Two is a standard dose. I'd recommend four, because you're a super soldier and will probably burn through two in five minutes. And you were all writhy and screamy way longer than I was and, you know, I would've gleefully gnawed my arm off." He lifts his arm an inch and mimes chewing it. "But I know you're only going to take two anyway, so I won't."
"Thanks." Bucky smirks, then opens the bottle with his teeth and shakes two into his hand. It takes him a moment to find the sink (and if he's that tired, no wonder he almost went Michael Myers on Tony's ass), then swallows the pills and chugs another four glasses of water. He's only using his right hand, like his left one is annoying him so much he's decided to just ignore it.
"Great." Tony claps his hands then wishes he hadn't, since the pills haven't quite kicked in yet. "Now that you're hydrated and doped up—kidding!" he adds quickly at Bucky's momentary flash of panic. "Now that you're hydrated and have taken no more than the recommended dose of soon-to-be-FDA-approved painkillers," he amends carefully, "why don't you come over here so I can fix that southpaw of yours?"
Bucky looks down at his left arm like he's seriously forgotten he has one. It's hanging a little weird, like the forearm's over-rotated. Tony's very glad that the prosthetic was designed to be tactile but not to feel pain, because he's sure an injury like that would hurt like hell. Bucky shrugs his right shoulder when he looks up at Tony again. His smile's lopsided. "How 'bout you just cut it off?"
Tony grimaces. "Uh, no. How 'bout I not rip open your brachial artery and have to explain to Cap why his boyfriend bled to death all over my workshop?" He taps Bucky's shoulder, right in the middle of the nifty shield tattoo. "Best I can do is replace the arm, which is awesome enough, believe me. Anything to do with removing the housing is going to require surgery." He lifts his eyebrows. "Is there a problem with the housing or something? Are you in pain? 'Cause I can check…"
"Naw, it doesn't hurt." Bucky shakes his head. He rolls his shoulder and winces. "It just…doesn't feel right."
"That I can fix," Tony says with authority. "Can you put your am on the table?" He sits on the stool next to Bucky. "I need to pick it up to examine it," he says, then waits for Bucky's nod. He lifts the arm carefully, turning it and bending the joints, feeling for hot spots under the metal or places where the segments don't join properly. "I'm pretty sure the robot fried some of the circuits," he says, after asking Bucky to move his hand and the fingers a few times. "I can repair this one, if you want, or I can remove it and give you a new one." He grins. "The new one's fucking amazing. But don't let that influence your decision, or anything."
"'Course not," Bucky says, though his smile almost curves up at both sides. "Sure. What the hell. Let's see the new arm."
"Hey, with that kind of enthusiasm, how can I refuse?" Tony rolls his eyes as he gets up and goes to the extremely well-locked cabinet where he keeps all of the potential arm designs. Basically, engineering Bucky new and improved left arms is Tony's new favorite hobby when he's not working on new armor or wings for Sam or making Clint and Natasha groovier weaponry. Most of the designs don't get out of the holographic stage, but this one Tony's pretty proud of.
He turns around, about to show the arm off with a flourish, but his mouth snaps shut when he sees that Bucky's eyes are closed and he's rubbing his temple like he's got one hell of a headache. His face looks practically grey in the artificial light, like Tony would seriously not be surprised if he keeled over.
"Are you okay? 'Cause you look like you're about to drop dead. Either that or you have a migraine, which according to Pepper is about the same thing."
Bucky doesn't change position except to shake his head. "Just tired," he says. "And I'd fucking kill for a cigarette."
Tony stops, considering. "J.A.R.V.I.S., please confirm for me that Pepper's not going to be back in the country for three more days."
"That is correct, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. says. "Am I to surmise that you are about to do something you would rather she not know about?"
"Got it in one, J." Tony puts the arm down on the table and goes back to the cabinet. He finds the barely-touched pack of Gauloises he bought the last time he was in Paris and that he will insist to his grave are not actually hidden at the absolute back of a shelf behind piles of dangerous-looking junk, and brings them to the table. "J.A.R.V.I.S., standard Pepper Isn't Here Protocol, please."
"Of course, sir." And Tony would swear the A.I. sounds resigned. "I will erase any reference to you finding yet another means to poison yourself from my memory. Though you may wish to make sure you adequately air out the workshop this time."
"Good idea. Thanks, J." Tony grabs a cigarette out of the pack then tosses it onto the table so that it skids into Bucky's elbow. "Smoke 'em while you got 'em."
It's kind of pathetic, the way Bucky perks up at the idea of giving himself cancer. "Hey, Gauloises!" He lifts the pack and pulls a cigarette out with his teeth, then looks expectantly at Tony. "Gotta light?"
"Yup." Tony lights his cigarette with the butane torch on the other end of the long table, then holds the torch for Bucky, who gets the end of his cigarette glowing nicely without catching his hair on fire. Tony shuts the torch off, then sits back on the stool and takes a moment to just enjoy the thick, acid burn of the smoke in his lungs. "I think it's been at least a year since I had one of these. I only smoke when I drink, and I haven't been drinking, so…"
Bucky grunts in commiseration, and blows smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Steve smoked like a fucking chimney when we were going after Hydra. But he wouldn't whenever we were being filmed." He grins. "He wouldn't let any of us light up, either. Said he didn't want to make it look glamorous for the kiddies."
Tony smirks, then accidentally sucks in a lungful and tries to talk at the same time, and ends up doubled over, coughing. "Surprised he knew it was bad for you," he wheezes finally, wiping his eyes.
Bucky shrugs with just his right shoulder again. "Before the serum, he couldn't even be near a cigarette without hacking his lungs up. Guess he never forgot it." He sucks in more smoke, then takes the cigarette out of his mouth and looks at it. "Dernier got me into these. The crazy frog smokes at least two packs a day, when he can get 'em. It amazes me that Hydra hasn't just followed his trail of butts and nailed us all by now." He smiles in a way that would be entirely fond and much less creepy if he hadn't started talking about someone Tony knows is long dead as if he'd just spoken to the guy two minutes ago when they'd set up camp for the night.
Tony swallows. "Uh, Bucky?" He doesn't exactly know what to say when Bucky looks at him with shadowed blue eyes that meet Tony's own and yet don't seem to be focused anywhere near him. He's pretty sure that blurting, 'you're buddy Jacques Dernier is dead' wouldn't be a good choice, though. So he goes with, "you okay?" and hopes to hell that Bucky hasn't fallen so far down the rabbit hole in his head that he won't be able to climb back out.
Bucky blinks and blinks again while the cigarette burns. And then he kind of shakes himself, glances at the red cone advancing on his fingers and stubs the butt out on the work table. "He's dead. They're all dead. 'Cept for Steve and me," he says bluntly. Tony has a bad feeling that he's reminding himself.
"Yeah," Tony says, and the roughness in his throat has nothing to do with the smoke polluting his lungs. He swallows down the 'I'm sorry', because Bucky has to know that by now and what the hell good would it do anyway? Everyone Tony knows has lost people; words and sympathy never bring them back. And Bucky's not the type for sympathy anyway. So instead, Tony stubs out his own cigarette—it's no fun anymore—and picks up Bucky's new arm. "So," he says, trying to make his voice lighter, get them both back to where they just need painkillers and a few hours' sleep and everything will be fine. "Ready to find out what your new wing can do?"
Bucky tries something on almost like another smile, but he shakes his head. "Sorry, pal, but I'm beat. I gotta get my head down."
"Oh, sure," Tony says. He tries to hide his disappointment, especially since if anything Bucky looks worse than he did a few minutes ago: pale and shaky like he's scraping the bottom of his endurance. He stands up when Bucky does, mostly to grab him if he passes out.
"Thanks for the cigarette," Bucky says, and at least his smile's slightly less wan.
"Here." Tony scoops the rest of the pack off the table and slaps it into Bucky's hand. "You might as well take it. Like I said, I haven't smoked in a year or something. And, you know." Tony gestures vaguely at Bucky's chest. "You've got the super soldier healing thing going on anyway, so you probably won't get cancer nearly as quickly as I would."
Bucky grins at the pack. "Thanks," he says, sounding far more grateful than Tony thinks he should for such a little thing. "Sorry to ditch you like this. You can put the new arm on and show me all the bells and whistles tomorrow, all right? I just really need some shuteye."
"Yeah, sure." Tony nods, a little mollified. "I should get some sleep, too." After he calls Pepper so she can hear he and everyone else are all right before she watches the News. But she's in Zurich and won't be awake for another hour. He walks Bucky to the workshop door, trying to be all casual while ready to grab him.
Bucky gets there under his own steam, and the look he gives Tony says he knows exactly what Tony's doing. But he shoves the cigarettes into one of his many uniform pockets and claps Tony on the shoulder. "Thanks, Tony," he says. "You're a good friend."
"Oh." Tony blinks, surprised. He bites back the automatic self-depreciation and says, "Thanks," despite how it feels disingenuous as hell to just accept it. Tony knows he's not a good friend, never has been. Yinsen's unburied ashes are testament to that, if the whole rest of Tony's life wasn't already evidence enough.
But Sam Wilson is a good friend. And one thing Sam's taught him is that when someone gives you a compliment, just fucking take it. So Tony does. And he's not nearly humble enough not to feel pleased with himself at Bucky's smile. Nice to know he did the right thing, for once.
"You too, by the way," Tony adds, hoping it's not too tagged on for Bucky to believe it. "Really. You, uh, I'm glad you're part of the team. And I don't think I've said that to anyone else ever. So, uh, you know I mean it."
"Sure," Bucky says. Now he's grinning like he thinks Tony's an idiot. "Don't get all soppy on me now. I don't want you to start crying or nothing."
Tony snorts. "Screw you, Frosty."
Bucky just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah. You're such a sweetheart." He walks towards the elevators, looking slightly less zombie-like. He lifts his hand in a half-assed wave over his shoulder. "Night, Howard."
"Funny! That's really funny, Buchanan!" Tony hurls after him.
He's still grinding his teeth when he hears, "Sergeant Barnes!" before the elevator doors close.
Bucky waits until he's safely hidden inside the elevator, then leans heavily against the wall with his knees locked so he doesn't end up on his ass on the floor. His head is fucking killing him, has been since Hydra's newest toy nailed him on the roof. His whole body hurts, left shoulder especially, but his head is like someone shoved a white-hot branding iron between his eyes. He's just glad it's not bad enough for the kid to take over.
He wanted to just take four of the damn pills like Tony said, considering two didn't do anything for him at all. But he didn't know what that many would do, and he needs to be sharp, stay in control.
He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the heel of his hand, then checks that there's no one in front of the elevator before he gets out on the floor he shares with Steve. No one should be there, since Steve's recovering from the surgery on his leg down in the medical suite, but you can't be too careful. But Bucky's alone.
Bucky yanks the radio out of his ear and shoves it into one of the pouches on his belt. It's a major hassle getting out of the armor one-handed, but he's done it before, even if it's normally his right arm that's fucked up.
He knows that's not his memory.
He hates that, but he'll use it. Just like he used all the other memories that aren't his to understand what the hell Tony and Sam were talking about. It's hard, though. Maybe that's one of the reasons his head hurts so much. He feels like he's been playing catch-up ball all night, ever since he got that machine slapped on his arm.
Not my arm.
Yeah. Bucky glances down at it, hanging uselessly at his side. It gleams in the light like one of the instruments Zola—
Just looking at the thing makes him sick with revulsion.
He takes his boots and socks off, leaves them strewn behind him with his armor and shirt. He keeps the pack of cigarettes, though, pulls another one while he goes into the kitchen. The whole place is swankier than anything he's ever been in. He's not used to this kind of luxury. It makes him edgy. He wonders how Steve can handle it.
At least there's a box of matches in one of the drawers. He lights up and that's a little better, the familiar heat and taste of tobacco smoke over his tongue. He leaves the pack on the counter. Maybe Steve will want one when he gets back.
"Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S., when is Steve gonna be ready for visitors?"
"Not until the morning, I'm afraid," the robot voice says. "I could request a more precise timeframe, if you like."
"Naw, that's okay, thanks." He takes a long drag on the cigarette, exhales out the side of his mouth as he pads out of the kitchen on bare feet. The combat knife's in the drawer next to his side of the bed just like he remembers leaving it, except for how it wasn't actually him. But all that matters is that it's long and sharp and the weight is right and balanced in his hand. He flips it around a few times, getting the feel of it. It'll do.
The bathroom is tiled in some kind of smooth grey stone and just as swank as the rest of the apartment. The shower's so big Bucky figures half the 107th could've fit in there with room left over. It's as good a place as any.
He goes in and sits with his back against the wall, flipping the knife in his hand. The tile's cool against his skin and makes a scraping sound when the metal of the arm slides against it. Bucky glances up, then scowls around the cigarette at the little boy who's standing in the far corner of the room. "Come on outta there already. You're like How—shit—like Tony's robot. I'm not gonna beat you."
"Do you require assistance?"
"Jesus! Don't do that," Bucky snaps at the ceiling. "I'm fine. I don't require anything, thanks. Can you do me a favor and scram? I thought you weren't supposed to nose around our homes anyway."
"As you say, sir. I beg your pardon. I thought you were speaking to me."
"Don't worry about it. Just, go away. Please," he adds, mostly because of the way the kid is looking at him.
"Of course, sir. Going away now."
"Great," Bucky mutters. The kid has maybe inched two steps closer to him. "Quit looking at me like that. You know I gotta do this."
The little boy shakes his head, messy brown hair flopping all over the place. His blue eyes are huge. "Don't. Don't. It'll hurt."
"Yeah, I know." Bucky takes another drag on the cigarette, knows he's just stalling. "I'm sorry about that. I'll make it quick as I can, okay?"
The kid just shakes his head again. "I want Bucky."
Bucky glares. "I'm right here, you little booger."
Now the kid looks angry. "Not you. The real one."
Well, two can play that game. "I am the real Bucky. You know that as fucking well as I do. Who the hell kept you two alive after…" Damn it, but it still feels like a snake in his guts just saying the name out loud. He swallows. "After Zola got his hooks into us, huh? Who made sure Steve's crazy ideas didn't get us all killed? That sure as fuck wasn't Bucky. That was Sergeant Barnes. That was me."
The kid's little hands are in fists and he's so mad now he's shaking. "I don't want you! I want Bucky! You shouldn't be here! You died! You fell and you died!"
"Yeah, well, I'm here now, ain't I?" Sergeant Barnes snarls, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Then he flips the knife around one more time, and plunges it into his left shoulder where his body's attached to that fucking left arm.