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Chapter Text

Oh God, no thank you, Ava thinks, and engaging her helmet, immediately fades from view before she can enter the lunch room. Sometimes Ava's condition - her curse; one way to put it - ends up being a gift. Such as avoiding trouble or worse, small talk. 

It's not like she'd want to go back to a cell again. But there's times when you turn a corner and come upon a room of people you just don't have the energy to deal with or weather a conversation, trying to act normal like everyone else. It's tiring. Even when you mostly like them well enough.

So when Ava hears Alexei's booming laugh, followed by Walker trying to talk over him about some military story or another and the clink of plates in the kitchen, all hopes of a quiet lunch go out the window. 

So Ava takes the easy way out - hardly what she was trained to use her powers for, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Ava slips right past the open door, even walking right through Yelena on her way up to join them.

It's actually a new record for staying intangible by the time she makes it several floors down. Ava even manages to hold it a few seconds longer, even when her skin prickles like someone's holding a brand centimeters from it or the wash of colors threatens to blind her, and her head pulses with the warning of a coming migraine. Just to be sure.

Until it becomes too much, and Ava comes out, lungs burning and eyes blurred, to lean against a door frame as she catches her breath and waits for her legs to stop buckling.

The sound of metal and then flesh hitting a reinforced punching bag finally makes it through the fading ringing in her ears. Straightening up, Ava wanders over towards the balcony nearby, and looks down. 

James Barnes has his back to her as he gives the punching bag the beating of its life. If it were a human target, it'd have a hole punched through the rib cage as easily as a knife going through butter, but something like this was supposedly made to take even Captain America's strength -

The punching bag goes sailing with a screech of metal as it's punched right off the reinforced bolts in the ground. It slams into the wall with an explosion like a mini bomb of sand and leather went off.

Barnes stares at it for a long moment. Just stands there, a light sweat along his shoulders, and yet for some reason he seems almost small just then. Or maybe like he'd been the one to get punched.

Ava's head tilts, resting her elbows on the railing. Everyone else I get. We're all screw ups, done plenty of terrible things for money or country, then asked for more. But Barnes? He's the odd one out. (Besides Bob). Had more of a future, if you didn't count the Congressman thing.

He doesn't pick up another bag. Instead, Barnes drags a hand over his face, straightens up… Then looks right up at her. 

Barnes looks exhausted, dark rings under his eyes like he hasn't had more than a couple hours of sleep. And even a super soldier needs some, but it looks like he's running on fumes. Despite this, it seems it hasn't affected him as much as he thought; as if sensing she was there long before, he turns. When he catches Ava watching, all he does is jerk his chin to the mat,  inviting her to join him for training without a single word.

Ava comes silently down the stairs, feeling a little like she'd glimpsed something she wasn't supposed to see. Whatever this was all about, she's taking it to the grave.

Barnes picks up a set of firearms modified to fire darts designed to deliver an electric shock - no messy wires to get tangled up in and multiple shots (useful) - from a nearby table. Once she joins him, Barnes passes her a dagger, which Ava hefts and settles into a comfortable grip. He's very quiet. Doesn't seem put off by the fact she's quiet too. Ava likes that already about him.

Not too heavy or light, but not the blunt weapon she'd been expecting. Not afraid to train with real weapons with someone he doesn't know, Ava realizes. She's always been particularly fond of daggers: elegant and silent.

They take several steps back from each other. Barnes falls into a crouch, while Ava's helmet comes up and the visor comes online instantly. She hefts the knife. Ready.

There's no signal. Just the shift in Barnes' weight.

He's much faster than he looks, crossing the mat so quickly that Ava has to dance backwards in order to avoid the darts shot her way, followed by the menacing hum of Barnes' metal arm as he swipes at her. Trying to get her off balance, force the fight on his terms immediately. The arm bounces off the knife she brings up to deflect it, with Barnes nearly robbing her of it before she catches him in the side with a knee.

Barely enough to wind him. But enough to make him to let go.

Ava might not be trying to kill, but she's not taking all that much care to avoid drawing blood. It's clear Barnes is holding back; granted, it comes with being able to kill a man if he isn't. And even then, fighting him isn't easy even if she manages to counter him. Technique only carries you so far against someone with the serum and decades of HYDRA training.

He would've won if Ava had been above fighting dirty, which she isn't. Fighting dirty just means fighting to win.

She phases.

Bill called it 'quantum shifting', but Ava preferred her term for it. Phasing feels like stepping off a high dive board and into ice water each time. Or maybe stepping off the edge of a skyscraper. Your lungs go up in your throat and your heart freezes. It feels like floating in a spectrum of colors you've never seen. It's both parts exhilarating and terrifying.

Then Ava's back in the proper world, settling into something like a dance. She manages to disarm Barnes of the tasers, but he's swerving just as fast to dodge the charge she sends his way, a punch scraping the air right above her as she ducks and phases again. She phases and emerges, landing blow after blow.

(Ava leaves him a single long slice right along his cheekbone as a souvenir, neat as an artist's signature. Or a reminder that maybe the serum isn't enough in this day and age. )

Again, she phases out, and easily side steps the backhand, flowing around him like a dance. Barnes' back is the perfect target to phase back in at and neatly slam her boot into the back of his knee.

But even then the alarm bells go off; because at the last moment when Ava started phasing tangible, Barnes looked right her way before she'd even solidified. As if hearing the shift of air and energy preceding the quantum landing.

Barnes already lashing out quick as a viper as he turns to absorb the blow. Quicker than Ava's ready for, terribly quicker than she can move. He drags her by the ankle, crashing Ava into the mat with the air knocked out of her, and before she can phase, he lunges over her so terrifyingly fast she almost misses him move, with a metal hand gripped tight on the visor and neckband, clawlike, right over where the main circuits are. It gives a threatening whirr, like he's holding himself back from shattering it.

Ava freezes, suddenly unsure she'd beat him to the punch after all. If she can get the jump on him again.

The dagger she'd been holding clatters to the ground, Barnes' blood staining the mats. 

"I could've taken a couple Widows back in the day. You would've been a royal pain in my ass though," Barnes says softly as he rises then offers her a hand. It's… gentlemanly of him. For a former HYDRA asset. When Ava clasps his hand, he lifts her as easily as if she weighed nothing. 

With a mechanical hiss, her helmet releases. Ava brushes at the sweat dampening her temple with one hand, and catching the fresh towel Barnes tosses at her with the other. Her heart's races, her lungs burn, but it's the good kind that comes from a good sparring session.

Barnes isn't even out of breath, but he takes one of the benches, then pats the seat next to him. Ava joins him after a moment, suddenly unsure of herself and not liking it. 

Fighting is easy. Missions are (mostly) easy. Sitting and talking with someone isn't. Avoiding it is why she's here in the first place.

Barnes glances at her and offers a tentative, weary smile. "You put up a hell of a fight. Though the suit's the weak spot for you. If someone knows about your abilities, if they're quick enough, they might anticipate where you're coming from and take it out."

"Yes, well, I might actually end up disintegrating for real if I don't have the suit on during a quantum shift," Ava points out dryly. "I'd like to avoid that.

"Oh."

The silence that falls is painful. Barnes suddenly finds the mismatched hands settled on his lap quite interesting. Not at all what she expected from the Winter Soldier.

"I used to be good at this stuff," Barnes mutters to himself.

"Don't worry. I don't have much to compare it to."

Barnes snorts, and shaking his head, sprawls back against the wall, flexing his knee to work it after the kick she'd landed on him. Anyone else would've been sent to a hospital. But Barnes just rotates it a couple of times and then he's good as new.

Ava can't help stealing a glance at the long cut she'd left on Barnes' face, at the way the skin is already knitting itself together right in front of her eyes. Honestly, it's creepy. It's so unsettling that Barnes catches her staring before she can look away fast enough.

 At least Barnes does the polite thing and pretends he didn't see it.

"So…" Ava says quickly, uncomfortably, grasping onto the safest of small talk like it's a lifeline. "I suppose you've got something fun this weekend. Maybe fireworks or-"

"I'm not really feeling the whole Fourth of July thing these days."

"Bad memories?" 

Although she doesn't know him well, even Ava can catch the flicker of sadness that Barnes tries to cover up. "Something like that."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Ava says and starts to get up; better to give him space before she stumbles upon more of his private business.

"No, it's… It's fine. You're good. I'm just not great at talking."

Ava sits back down again. "And yet you ran for Congress."

Barnes winces. "It felt like a good idea at the time."

"Seems like a poor choice of a job, especially considering the target it puts on your back."

"I guess it helps that everyone already dug up all the dirt on me after Project Insight," Barnes replies. "It's not as interesting the second time around. Well, maybe not to everyone." which isn't entirely true: Ava had seen a couple news clips of Barnes trying to talk about a bill he was trying to push, only to get drowned out by reporters latching onto his past; whether it be as the Winter Soldier or Captain America's friend, anything but what Barnes was trying to get done. Drama and gossip is what gets headlines, after all.

"Sounds like a lot of planning and talking about problems, but not much doing," Ava says. "But maybe it was worth a shot. Better that than being Valentina's clean up. Out of all of us, you tried to be better."

"We've all done bad things, Starr. Every one of us. It doesn't mean you're always going to be -" Barnes starts.

"At least you had an excuse," Ava says, even when Barnes grimaces. She meets his gaze steadily. Laying her cards out, make Barnes see her for who she is. "I just wanted to live so badly I'd do anything. For anyone. It didn't matter how low or who the target was. I wanted the pain to stop."

Barnes sighs. "I get it. I might not agree with it but I get it."

Really? Did you feel the same way before HYDRA broke you in?  wonders Ava. Before that spark was snuffed out?  Had he clung to the same thought while he waited for rescue - kicked and fought and bit? She tries to picture him ever being the same man she saw in the grainy Youtube clips or the Smithsonian. So clean-cut even during World War II, with a dazzling smile, pretty grey eyes and a mouth that sat between a smirk and a pout. Anyone could picture Bucky Barnes sauntering about like he owed the town. Certainly charmed a room when he walked in and left broken hearts on the way out.

The man that now sits next to Ava might as well be someone else entirely. Like he's running on fumes or just instinct, doing things only because it had to be done. She can't imagine him really getting what she's saying. Barely even imagines him really living.

Ava leans forward with her elbows on her knees, no longer able to meet Barnes' eyes. Suddenly she's as tired as he looks. "I thought I'd stop once I got the cure. Turn over a new leaf, maybe try living like a normal person."

"But here you are," Barnes finishes.

"I didn't even really need the money anymore," Ava admits, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. She didn't even really need to take that last mission in the vault. Easy to save money when your options for life and travel were few.  

"For some reason I don't see you being the retirement type."

Ava only shakes her head. "So why do you keep going? Stay in the fight?"

"Figured I'd try doing things the right way, the legal way, instead of shooting a problem. Turns out it didn't fit," Barnes shrugs. "I can't exactly go into retirement either. I got a cat and she has expensive tastes. Pick your poison."

Ava's mouth quirks faintly. "So what you're saying is you don't know what else to do with yourself. It's all you know and you happen to be very good at it. "

"Sounds familiar."

The silence that falls between them isn't entirely uncomfortable this time around.

"A friend told me once that with enough work, patience and kindness to yourself, even folks that've seen hell can come back from it. Maybe even make a home for themselves," Barnes says slowly as if trying the words out. Much like he doesn't entirely believe them but he's willing to try. "You just don't think it's you."

Ava brushes the hair that had started to fall towards her eyes and straightens up, thinking it over. For some reason, now she feels…at peace with it for the first time. "People like us will never have a place in society. But if we're doing something good, something for the right reasons, that actually matters - maybe I can live with it."

"Maybe we all got more in common than you think."

[Present Day]

[Ava Starr]

"I've seen prettier war zones than this," John Walker whistles, turning over a half-melted, half-frozen corpse with a boot. Half of it crumbles into dust while the other half stays put like a grisly ice-cube, one that just happened to neatly freeze the scientist's face in a look of raw terror. "If it wasn't Bucky, I'd say he's a goner. I'm giving him fifty-fifty."

"Wow, Walker, I thought you liked him," Yelena says somewhere over Ava's shoulder as she and Alexei pick through the wreckage. "I'd hate to see what you have to say about someone you disliked."

"He's not the worst. What he is, is the top sharpshooter on the team and our most experienced asset. It'd be a big hit."

"A little birdy told me it might be more."

John's voice goes sharp. "Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Ava can practically feel the faintest little smirk on Yelena's face.

It's better Bob isn't here to see this. This world isn't for someone like him, Ava thinks, and leaves them to it so she can walk the room's perimeter, hand resting on the pistol holstered at her hip. 

John's not entirely wrong. Ava's seen plenty of… messes as an operative. But even this is enough to make her stomach turn. It's clearly an off-the-books lab, and apparently this is what happens when several unsanctioned experiments go off at once. Ava steps carefully over several more bodies, some practically glassed into obsidian, the others sizzling puddles, noting the strange yellow uniforms on several of the more intact ones, mingled with others that look more rag tag but somehow more organized. 

Almost in formation. In fact...

Ava turns and crosses over to where there might be - ah hah. There's another squad fanned out to the side as if caught flushing out a target: not exactly all in uniform but certainly unified. She's seen it before. Even trained with them in it. One of STRIKE's maneuvers. Valentina's work or someone else?

"And we're certain he was here?" Ava pipes up, privately hoping Barnes wasn't.

"He turned his comms off a mile away and we found his tracker in a dumpster a block over," Yelena answers, swiping a finger through ash mingled with human remains on a wall to get a better look. Ava's lip curls when Yelena wipes it on her fatigues. "Then we have big explosion in fancy lab that no one knows about. I would bet - not all my money, but some - that he had a part in it."

"Barnes doesn't seem the type to break from a mission's parameters."

"You know, you'd think that," John says. And doesn't add anything more helpful when Ava quirks an eyebrow at him to go on. Helpful. So helpful. 

So Ava turns to the sensible one in the room, which is Yelena. "Are we not worried he might've been killed?"

"I don't see a body, do you?"

"No. But what's to say he wasn't vaporized?"

"He survived fall from moving train. He's luckiest man alive," Alexei adds. 

"If you can call that luck," Ava mutters. 

"I'm with Alexei on this one. A little blast isn't going to take out a super soldier, Ava," John says. Ava kind of wants to shake John in that moment; a little blast?! This place looks like a massacre! Is she the only one bothered by all this? "Trust me. Bucky's probably running around, hunting down more of these labs. Big sore spot for him. Last time Bucky went rogue, he got himself and Sam mixed up with a criminal. Actually broke the guy out of prison so they could go after people trying to make another serum."

"So you're saying his judgement might be clouded."

"I'm saying it could be personal."

"Same thing," still, Ava's not quite willing to let it go. She can't be the only normal one here about Barnes' disappearance, can she? Because if he survived at all, there's another possibility besides Barnes' going on a hunting expedition. It's like something's needling up her spine. Something that's saved her skin before. Ava waves to the corpses nearest her on the ground, the ones that have 'former STRIKE' practically written all over them. "Something doesn't feel right. Those ones in yellow - they're clearly part of the security for the lab. But these ones? They're STRIKE. Or were."

"HYDRA's gone if that's what you're getting at," and yet, now John sounds uneasy. 

"That's what everyone thought the first time."

"Let's say HYDRA survived. Fine. Targeting a former Congressman and an Avenger right now is too bold even for HYDRA. They can't risk a high visibility target if they're trying to rebuild in secret," Yelena says, settling into business quickly. Which is something Ava finds she quite likes about her. The only other sensible one here. "The last thing HYDRA command would want is eyes on them so soon. They are like cockroachs. They don't do well under a light."

"What if they weren't here for the Winter Soldier at first?" Alexei interrupts. All eyes turn towards him. "What if the Winter Soldier and HYDRA were both after this lab, but happen to run into each other? The field agents take their shot then, for fame and glory."

Even John looks troubled at that. Now he frowns down at the bodies as if maybe wishing he could beat the truth out of them or something. "Judging from some of the guys on STRIKE, I could see that happening. Shoot first, think later. Opportunistic jackals."

Yelena closes her eyes against the group and the carnage they're standing in. It almost looks like she's counting to ten, but if Ava were to guess, maybe running through her options. When she does open her eyes, she seems calm, steady and remote as a glacier. "Here's what we're going to do. We split up to cover more ground but we travel in pairs. If it is HYDRA - or anyone else - no one's getting jumped, and -"

"I'll head the in-field tracking team," John says so quickly that Ava wonders if Yelena was onto something after all.

"And I'll go with John," adds Ava.

Yelena looks like she's fighting a headache at them jumping ahead, and only smothers it out of sheer willpower. "Yes, good, tracker team is settled. Alexei and I will head back to the tower after we finish with the scene, see what we can drum up. I want a good look around before the clean-up crew arrives. And not a word of this to Valentina."

(To be continued?)

Chapter Text

[Past - The Watchtower]

[John Walker]

John really was planning on treating that whole thing with Bucky as a one-off. Just like Barnes wanted. One-and-done. Simple. No messy emotions. Even if Bucky's got a load of issues swirling around in that head of his that no amount of therapy's gonna fix.

Lucky for Bucky, even John sometimes knows when to keep his mouth shut. Knows even better (sometimes) when you had a good thing going. So he pretends like he didn't hear Bucky calling for Steve, even if it sent a dark hot flush through him or the way he seemed like he'd half sunk into the past like a warm blanket. (And if it gave John jerk off material for the rest of his life, that's a bonus.)

It must score points though. Hell, Bucky's halfway decent to him once get back and John's got a pep in his step. Hell yes for team building.

One and done. That's what John figures as they're coming off a rescue mission weeks later, which ended up with him tearing open an armored truck like a sardine can with his bare hands to get the civilians out, while Bucky kept his six clean of hostiles. Now John can practically feel the grime caked onto him like a second skin, itching to be scrubbed off. The good thing about Yelena taking charge is that she gets to deal with the debriefs and the lion's share of paperwork. Maybe letting someone else be the leader isn't so bad after all.

First stop: the shower.

The only warning he gets is Bucky slipping to his side like a shadow, dragging John off with a fist buried in his jacket. Away from the showers before John can open his mouth. All it takes is John catching that fierce, hungry Look in his eyes and intoxicating scent of arousal reeking from Bucky, and he knows better than to ruin things. 

John shuts up and, dick giving an eager throb against his fly, double-times it. Turns out the shower can wait.

John's back still smarts from where Bucky crashed them both into the supply closet, with a mob jabbing into his lower back and dick already straining against his underwear, raring to go. They're in pitch blackness again; this time Barnes reached up and shattered the bulb before he'd let the door shut after them, plunging them into darkness so absolute that even John's enhanced vision doesn't help.

Then Bucky had fallen to his knees, spreading John's fly open with shaking hands like a dream made real.

Metal fingers curl around his cock and free him from his underwear, and then a molten mouth sinks down onto him.

John actually loses time in the slick, hot velvety mouth working him open or the little gasps for breath Bucky drags in before he dives back in, his own moans coming rough and hard. Barnes sucks cock like he was made for it. Mismatched hands curl along John's hips as his head bobs, long hair tickling at John as his cheeks hollow and he slides him in so deep that John can't help grinding deep along his hot tongue just to chase after tight heat.

He'd be worried about choking anyone else. But not Barnes. Because the guy takes it like a champ. Doesn't choke once, it's like he doesn't even have a gag reflex, not even when John's hands tangle into thick hair and he goes with the hands urging at his ass to use him. Rocks forward in deep, fierce strokes to fuck deep inside.

Did you do this for Steve? John wonders dazedly, growing even harder at the thought as plush lips clasp at his cock and cheeks hollow around him; either Bucky blowing Steve or maybe the fact that Bucky's here doing it for him instead. Judging from how Bucky gets anytime Rogers gets brought up, apparently not. 

Steve didn't see what he had in front of him. Such a waste.

John groans thickly into the darkness, shaking as he comes so hard down Bucky's throat that the guy probably doesn't even have to swallow. Feels a lot like his brains have been sucked right out his dick, and the only thing keeping John up is the wall at his back. 

He feels and hears Bucky getting unsteadily to his feet. Feels the way Bucky's desperately hard against his hip. Guy's got it so bad that it has to hurt.

"You uh, want me to - " starts John because he's not that much of an asshole to leave Bucky hanging.

A metal hand covers his mouth, shutting off the offer as Bucky slots himself up against John like a living wet dream instead, head tucked against the crook of John's neck as he just… clutches at the straps on his uniform and ruts against him, desperately driving his cock into one uniformed thigh. God. John's hands roam greedily all over him, sneaking up inside the undershirt just to feel the hard muscles working as he strains against John, working himself as single-mindedly to release as John had.

If only John could see him. He's gotta be a work of art when he's riled up. 

It doesn't take long. Warm heat suddenly stains his uniform as Bucky gasps. This time Bucky mostly strangles off Steve's name before it really gets out when he loses it, but not all the way.

John wraps his arms around him as the other man shudders against him, quaking in the throes of coming hard, and doesn't say a word.

[Present - Several Blocks From AIM Lab]

[John Walker]

He could've sworn Barnes was just supposed to dig into the rumors popping up in the intelligence community about some of these labs. Not jump the gun and actually engage without the rest of the team. Maybe they're not the actual Avengers. Or even the Howling Commandos. But John had thought they really had something starting here.

You're supposed to be the more reasonable one here, Buck, John finds himself thinking as he and Ava look for signs of Bucky's passage. He sure as shit didn't walk all this way. So what were you doing?

The fact Bucky just tossed his tracker and ear-comm like so much trash instead of pocketing it or destroying them feels like it was a spur of the moment decision. Like he saw a sudden opportunity, but for whatever reason, wanted it kept to himself. Even away from the rest of his actual team. And he probably would never have done that when he'd been part of the Commandos. Probably only played nice when Rogers was his CO.

So that leaves him and Ava sniffing after his trail.

…Which is still a helluva lot better than sticking around the lab. For one, it reeks. And two? The last thing John wants to do is deal with Valentina. Let her become Yelena's problem. And Ava's better company than you'd think once you got used to her. Really knows her spy stuff and seems content to let John be the battering ram. Even if the spy shit takes longer than John likes.

Ava fiddles with something on her phone, waiting for the not-exactly-legal app she and Yelena had been working on to link up to whatever cameras are in the area. So not legal. As long as they don't get caught, John also doesn't really give a damn. Desperate times and all. John keeps a lookout while he waits.

He just wishes Ava could hurry it up. The longer they're here, the colder the trail gets. What Bucky had said back on that other mission, about being a serum sample if captured? Yeah. He hasn't stopped thinking about that. And now Bucky's missing.

Seems it's bothering Ava, because she swipes at something on her screen, tapping her foot while she waits. "So why do you think he did it?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" 

Ava huffs, blowing the messy hair falling into her eyes. "Grumpy today, aren't we?"

John gathers his patience. It's a work in progress. But he's trying. "Sorry. Look. I'm not Bucky's keeper. The thing is, I've seen him split and take matters into his own hands if he thinks doing it the right way won't bring results quick enough."

"That… Zelmo thing? I think I heard a little about it on the news."

"Zemo. And yeah, he roped me and Sam into the whole mess," which John still thinks could've gone better if they'd done things his way. But if he'd admit it to anyone, maybe… maybe John could've also handled it better. Shown more understanding and a willingness to listen. Seeing as it cost him his family already.

"Checking to see if he had contact with Sam would be a start - ah, here we go," Ava says and tilts her phone his way. John catches her wrist and brings it closer as he leans down for a better look.

The screen is covered in multiple different camera angles from all around, some shittier quality than others - one's pointed at a wall, great - but they do show Barnes coming this way hours ago, strolling in with an oversized hoodie and a ratty backpack. Just ambling along with the sparse foot traffic, which looks about as shady as he does. As he gets closer to the lab, Bucky slips into an alleyway and ditches the hoodie, starts arming himself like he's expecting some fireworks. Then he vanishes.

"You see him actually leaving the lab?" asks John, deep down already knowing the answer.

Ava messes around with her phone some more, going quiet as she speeds through the feeds and watches awhile. Finally she pauses it. "No. But I saw at least two blind spots near where the upper wall was completely blown out. Maybe Barnes could've left that way. Some of the cameras weren't pointed all that great."

Which they'd already checked on the way here, only to find no body or even any blood. Hell, you'd think there'd be at least some rubble, but it's so clean that it sends the hairs up the back of John's neck. Like it just vanished into thin air. Fucking weird.

"And you believe that?" 

"I don't have any proof. But my gut says he didn't," Ava replies. Now she directs them down the road, twisting and turning as she glances up and down from her phone as she reverses the path Bucky took until she pulls up to an abandoned factory. Place looks like it's been closed down since the Sixties, the metal shutters rusted to hell, but also dropped down tight. John prods at a track in the rust that looks recently shorn off. Like the shutter was opened recently.

"Do the honors?" 

John grins. "Be my pleasure, ma'am."

It's nothing to break the lock and lift the heavy gate, sending it with a squeal all the way up the track and into the ceiling. John steps aside. "Ladies first."

Ava smiles, one of those rare little ones that peek out. "Aren't we chivalrous, Captain."

Pleasure thrums warm in John's chest, which is stupid because the gate was pretty damn light in his opinion. And she could've just walked through it. It's nice to be appreciated though.

There it is.

John whistles as he sees what's inside while Ava scopes out the rest of the place. One of Bucky's prized positions, one beaut of a motorcycle that looks part-deathtrap, part metal monster. Expensive and kitted out. Custom. Not something you'd leave lying around. Maybe Bucky had counted on coming back once he finished what he was out here for. Or at least, you'd figure he'd have given it away. This thing's his baby. "If this was planned as a one-and-done, you'd think he'd leave his favorite bike at home. Anyone could've found this.

"Maybe not all of it went to plan," Ava says, coming up at John's back so silently that he nearly has a heartattack. Jesus! She really could work in a haunted house if the spy gig didn't work out. "We need to turn Barnes' place over, see what he was really out here for."

And before John can do anything, Ava takes over Bucky's motorcycle, straddling it so easily and settling into the driver's seat that it's pretty clear it's not her first rodeo. John's not even gonna embarrass himself in front of her trying to figure out driving the thing. 

That and she seems to have figured out getting it started without the key; Ava leans in, her arm phasing into the machinery and after fiddling around inside, has the motorcycle roaring to life so loudly John can feel it in his chest like a dragon bellowing.

"You ever ridden a motorcycle before, John?" Ava practically shouts over the engine. When John shakes his head, she pats the seat behind her. "I promise it won't bite. But I'd hold on tight if I were you." 

[Present - AIM Lab]

[Yelena Belova]

If there's a very valuable skill Yelena's polished over the years, it's working well under pressure. Especially when a clean-up crew is on the way. She pulls on full-finger gloves.

The main rule is: you want to take as much as you can but not so much that it raises suspicion. Which means knowing what's the most important thing to take. What's the most important thing to destroy traces of. What you leave behind. There's nothing more suspicious than a scene that's too neat.

You'd think a scene like this would be limited. Not so much work. Only, as Yelena scans the lab and this time ignores the bodies, she finds the opposite problem. The problem is there's just enough that survived the blast that it's like being set loose in American candy store with a million American dollars. And if she takes too much, it'll be noticed. 

At least she can always blame anything funny on this mysterious Maybe-Hydra team. Sometimes it's very convenient not being first on the scene.

Yelena rushes for a computer sitting in one of the few real offices; higher up stuff, not the open space desks or workstations. Administrators or lead scientists.

The first thing she does is delete any footage from today and everything after from the servers, with the only copy sitting in a mini USB driver she stuffs into her hair, ruffling it up to cover the wooden holder Natasha had made for her that looks like a barrette. No time to watch it yet, but she can guess from the bodies how long ago the explosion was. 

To anyone looking at it, it'll look like the whole thing took the cameras offline. Even the ones not as close to the blast. 

Next is running through any files that look like it might be interesting enough to catch Bucky's eyes. And failing that, whatever experiment caused the main explosion.

As she waits for the data to transfer, Yelena speed-pries through all the desks she can, like a beagle digging up a rabbit warren, even though she doesn't have a hope of combing through everything she'd really want before the clean-up crew gets here.

She comes up with several folders too, taking photos of as many as she can before she puts those back. One folder gets stuffed down the tactical vest, already brimming with knick-nacks and gear because if there's nothing Yelena loves more, it's function, pockets and best of all, functional uniforms with plenty of functional pockets. A few notes are jammed into pockets, but she's careful not to overstuff it. Nothing to look obvious. Checking herself in the glass, Yelena's pleased to find she looks no different than usual.

Lastly, Yelena also makes sure to delete all traces of the inventory and files. Make it much harder for them to see what's missing. For all they know, it was the unknown attackers who did it.

"Alexei!" Yelena calls out. "Come quick! I need you!"

Alexei comes barreling in, fists clenched and looking around for the fight they arrived for and never found, clearly looking for something to tear apart. "What is it, what's wrong?!" 

"Not you. Your jacket. You got even more pockets," Yelena tells him and drags him closer by one of the chest straps, pushing a thick packet into his hands. Shaking his head, Alexei obliges and stuffs them down the front of his uniform jacket, patting them into place.

Considering the bulky fit of Alexei's uniform, it doesn't look like anything's squirreled away In fact, it just makes Yelena lean even more towards getting them all bulkier uniforms than the skin-tight ones everyone loves so much. It'd be much more practical.

"Alright, go on, keep watch." 

While Alexei leaves the administrator's office and heads back toward the main doors, Yelena snags the other USB drive. This gets tucked into her bracelet, the little holder looking only like a little hourglass charm, and hunches over the keyboard, fingers flying over the keys. Quick, quick, quick. Now to delete any signs she was there at all

"Valentina! We did not think to see you!" booms Alexei's voice so loud that Yelena's ears ring from across the lab. "It is very, very ugly scene, as you can see! One for the ages!"

Shit! Yelena silently slides the drawer back in place and stuffs the gloves back into a waist pouch. That's all the time they have.

Yelena swipes a clipboard, double-checks that the info on it isn't too important (financial figures on assault rifles, a request for upgrades and packs of very expensive cigarettes) and strolls out of the office in no particular hurry. 

Valentina looks a little like she lost her hearing too. She winces, leaning back from where Yelena can see her around Alexei's side, where she's paused at the door where the odor of death, ozone, and all kinds of bodily fluids hit her nose. Even Valentina looks green for a moment, swallowing hard as she fights the urge to get sick at the smell alone while the clean-up crew swarms in to set up shop. She manages though, but her look only sours as she gets closer to Yelena and Alexei; if anything, the smell has had time to sink into their skin, hair and clothes. 

Probably not helped along by the fact that Yelena had wiped some of the remains on her pant leg.

"Ugh, what a mess," Valentina grimaces as she gingerly steps through corpses or strange goo bubbling on the ground. Her expensive high heels actually skid in one suspiciously human-colored puddle; she only ends up saved when Alexei swoops in and catches her arm. She pats Alexei's hand, which makes Yelena want to break her fingers. As if Valentina hadn't tried to have them killed earlier. "Ah, yes, thank you, dear."

'Dear'. Pah! Too bad Alexei didn't let her eat shit in the puddle.

Yelena schools her face into one of bored curiosity, covering up the scowl with the world's best poker face. And she learned from the best. This might as well be yet another day on the job.

Valentina straightens and, looking like she's trying to hold her breath as much as she can, rests her hands on her hips as she surveys the grisly scene. "So. Do we know exactly what AIM was working on here yet?"

"A little of column A, a little of column B. Whatever shadow organizations decide is flavor of the month for taking over the world."

Valentina levels a look at Yelena that's thoroughly unimpressed. So Yelena plays it a little less thick and a little more honest. Just enough of the likely truth mingled in. "It's hard to tell when everything's melted together. But we think another party tried to steal AIM's proprietary secrets. Maybe to sell on the black market. Things got nasty." And Yelena hands Valentina the clipboard, which she scans.

"Always down to money. So short-sighted," Valentina rolls her eyes at the thought. Probably tells herself she's doing something noble. If it helps her sleep at night. She skims through the clipboard but it doesn't catch her eye too long. "These idiots could've taken out half the city with this reckless stupidity." Shaking her head, Valentina's attention turns to Yelena. "Have you found anything interesting yet? I thought Barnes was supposed to check in this morning."

Double shit. Yelena thinks fast. "He took off as we got here. Said it couldn't wait."

And that's it. When nothing more comes, Valentina raises an eyebrow impatiently. "And? Did he share with the rest of the class?"

"Does the Winter Soldier seem like the sharing type?"

Valentina pinches the bridge of her nose. "Sergeant Barnes seems like the type who would report in and do things properly. He actually knows the chain of command."

"He must be following big lead," Alexei says, saving Yelena. "He will hunt down more labs like Winter Bloodhound and flush them out."

"Jesus Christ," Valentina mutters. "This is why we wanted only one asset, not a team. Fine. If he turns anything up, let me know. As for you two, I want you in a meeting with me ASAP."

For a hideous moment, Yelena wonders if they might get searched after all or worse, she already suspects. Valentina is smart enough to trust no one.

"Me and Yelena will get cleaned up, then we come debrief," Alexei nods. Yelena lifts her arm to give a tentative sniff as if just noticing the smell. What? Sometimes you get nose blind on the job.

It happens to waft even more of the foul odor in Valentina's direction. Strong enough to make her eyes tear. Valentina's nose crinkles, the green tinge returning. "Please do. I don't want you getting that… stench all over my office. See me the moment you're finished."

Normally one to stay on scene, even Valentina doesn't last that long. She practically retreats like she can't bail quick enough, leaving them with the clean up crew working around them. Yelena can practically feel all the stolen information burning a hole in her pockets.

Yelena eyes the clean-up crew with a frown, who are all in some seriously heavy duty PPE that looks like it's blocking the fumes out. "...Do you think we should be breathing this stuff in?"

Alexei waves it off with a deep laugh as they begin to pick through the mess towards the door, leaving the crew to it. "A little smell never hurt anyone. Do not worry, Yelena."

God, maybe she should worry. Sometimes Alexei forgets he's the only one with the fancy serum.

[Present - Unknown Location]

[Brock Rumlow]

Short hair doesn't fit the asset, Brock Rumlow thinks as the Madripoor video clip plays on his phone again. How the hell're you supposed to get its attention right if there's nothing to grip?

Still. It's one of his favorite videos, partially because there's something intoxicating about watching the Winter Soldier emerge like he's been waiting there all along for the light of day. Especially when he gets sicced on Selby's bar like a rabid dog let off the leash. It's almost as much of a work of art as it is watching the Soldier realize there's nothing he can do when the chair's restraints come down on his limbs.

(Rumlow kind of hates that Sokovian prick for putting his hands on the asset, for even pretending like he's a handler…. although you also had to admire the guy for doing what HYDRA couldn't: bringing down the Avengers. Anyway, he pretends that asshole isn't there.)

The burn scars all over Rumlow still throb like a bitch sometimes. Through sheer force of will, Rumlow doesn't scratch them while he waits for the new heads of HYDRA to hurry the fuck up as the video call drags on like molasses. All talk. No action. Figures.

"The asset's gone too long without calibration to be worth restarting the program," the broad from the Eastern Seaboard was saying. She spread perfectly manicured hands, the only part of her visible in the spotlight cast on the table, her shadowy form tilting its head. "We would be essentially starting from zero. We don't have the funds to even consider new equipment or staff for such an endeavor. And for what? To be beholden to such tight windows before the asset starts to malfunction? It's wasteful. Personally I think it was wildly inefficient to begin with. It was nothing but Zola's pet project."

"What funds we have needs to be focused on recruitment and training," pipes up the prissy accent from the newest lead. Some upstart from England. "I don't even know why we're discussing this. It's a dead end."

"I disagree. The Soldier may still have some use, and if he can't be returned to previous working condition, he can still bring my team results," Dr. Watkins says, the phlegmy cough giving him away despite the fact he's in shadow too. It's sad this old pencil-pusher is the closest thing to an ally that Rumlow has. But at least Watkins has been around from the start. Rumlow's seen him back a couple times as part of the Asset's R&D: they were the ones responsible for any upgrades HYDRA wanted on him, or any new procedures, upgrades to the chair and cryo. Rumlow also knows for a fact this guy's never seen even a second of combat. 

But the stuff Watkin's wing is working on; that's the real reason Rumlow joined up with him. It's got promise. Maybe Pierce rubbed off on him after all.

"You're sentimental."

"Of course not!" Dr. Watkins' shadowy shape stiffens and turns a little, glaring off to the right. "The Soldier is a unique piece in the technology my division is working on. If our theory is correct, he could be crucial in making it have a practical application."

"Last I heard, Doctor, your research had stalled out."

Rumlow barely hides a grin. Turns out not all their intel is good, or they'd have already known about the raid he and Watkins set on one of AIM's facilities. Carried out right under their noses.

"Hardly. It only needs more time, but we're close, so close," blusters Watkins. 

"Time is something we don't have. You know this, we've been over it before - "

"You've been awfully quiet, Rumlow," the Mexico cell leader suddenly says as if hoping to catch Rumlow sleeping.

That's because Rumlow doesn't run his mouth just to hear it run. Or let everyone see his cards. Rumlow shrugs. "Far as I see it, the asset was and still is one of HYDRA's greatest problems right now. He knows too much. The Soldier would've been put down already if I had my way."

"He's too much in the public eye to do that," Eastern Seaboard reminds him. Like anyone needs it. Fucking Congressman? Come on. What a joke. 

Someone else with a thick accent slips in. "Forget the expenses. It is not worth potentially exposing any of our cells to the world."

"Then we're settled," Eastern Sea Bitch says like she's got any real authority. "Better that we focus on other projects that don't have half the risk," and she can't resist adding, "or need so much babysitting. Hail Hydra."

Grunting his own 'Hail Hydra' to go with the chorus among the video call, Rumlow closes out the meeting quickly.

Rumlow tosses his phone onto the desk. "Pussies. Buncha fuckin' cowards. The only one with any sense is Watkins."

It wasn't as if Rumlow liked sitting in this chair with the rest of the new Heads on a video call. It's just that no one else competent or with balls actually stepped up to the plate. So he did. 

Even though Rumlow would've liked nothing more than to personally carve some good old revenge from Cap, Rogers is gone. Wilson's practically untouchable while he's parading around as Captain America. Maybe Walker could've been brought into the fold earlier if you played your cards right. Now Rumlow isn't so sure.

And the asset? 

The fact that the Winter Soldier's still running around, playing at being a person…

It's a goddamn waste, Rumlow thinks. The Soldier in his element was as beautiful and lethal as a panther you'd tamed to your hand and only your hand. And the weapon had practically been there since HYDRA's inception. Just didn't seem right for HYDRA to revive without the asset there.

…Maybe he's a little sentimental.

Shame Pierce got killed. If there was anyone who had a vision for HYDRA, it was the Director. The only one who played it smart, the only one who could get the other HYDRA heads under heel, the only one who was bold and cunning enough to bring HYDRA into a new age, and the only one besides Rumlow who really knew how to handle the asset. Who actually saw his potential. Pierce looked at the big picture and knew when and how to aim the asset. 

These pussies wouldn't know their own dicks if they were holding it, much less know what to do with the Soldier.

Rumlow leans back in his chair and waves in the man who'd been waiting patiently for the meeting to end. One of the old guard and one of the only men who Rumlow trusts with his life. Jack Rollins made it out of what Rumlow's decided to call Project Shitstorm, but just like Rumlow, not in one piece. Turns out having a whole helicarrier take out the building you're in doesn't do wonders for anyone's health, because Jack had come out missing an eye, several fingers and a leg below the knee.

"You get Watkins what his team was asking for?" Rumlow asks.

"Not all of it. There was a complication," Jack limps over to Rumlow's side and holds out the tablet carefully, the gaps where his fingers had been making it awkward. Must hurt like a bitch still. Jack's straight face doesn't even crack at the edges. "We managed to get some samples and retrieve footage from the lab though. There's something you're gonna find interesting."

Rumlow takes the tablet and presses PLAY. If he had eyebrows left, they'd be climbing higher and higher.

It's from the view of one of his agent's body cams. Shaky but clear enough to tell that everything's going to plan as they start the mission. They move like such a well-oiled machine that it sets a swell of pride in Rumlow's chest. It's a simple enough mission: move through the building, prevent any alarms, neutralize the scientists and guards, make for the vault at the back of the main lab. Child's play.

That is until the Winter Soldier practically peels himself from the shadows of the side room like a nightmare, stalking towards the vault as well, only icy eyes latch onto the first squad just turning the corner… and somehow the bastard immediately pegs them as HYDRA, because instead of slipping away, the asset forgets all about the wishy-washy kumbaya BS Wilson's always spouting off. The asset immediately fires at his squads and Rumlow's teams suddenly shift the mission instead onto the Winter Soldier; capture or kill.

If it weren't for the Soldier suddenly rearing his head and fucking up everything, all the AIM staff would've been neutralized long before one of them raised the alarm. So in the chaos, of course one of the scientists has the lifespan of a roach, because he manages to hit the alarm before a bullet finds his skull.

What happens next is what's professionally known as a Clusterfuck of Biblical Proportions.

AIM security shows up in droves and begin firing at both the Soldier and Rumlow's men, and unlike his teams (who are goddamn professionals), aren't too careful about where they're firing. Or mindful at what they're sitting on. If any of their scientists had been left alive, they probably would've warned 'em. 

Bullets ping everywhere, hitting people and worse, several prototypes and jars, tearing open delicate equipment full of god-knows-what. Several green fires go up in gouts and splatters, as well as crimson ice hissing out in lances, black lightning dancing along the room and melting everything it touches. Then suddenly…

A violent flare of blue-purple light, almost like a star exploding, completely whites out the screen.

Rumlow stares down at the suddenly black screen with only the time and status bar left. Huh.

"So did the Soldier get offed or what?"

Jack pauses then shakes his head. "I don't think so. The team closest to the blast was wiped out instantly. But the agents at the blast's edge have begun reporting in from different locations around the globe. We think the blast itself somehow scattered them."

"And the trackers?"

"Half of them came back online. And more importantly, the groups closest to the Soldier ended up in the same location. Most of them survived. "

Rumlow switches to an app running in the background which brings up a global map. Red dots light up, several in bumfuck nowhere, by themselves or in pairs. Even one sad bastard out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and another in Antarctica, both of whom Rumlow already writes off as dead. Jack leans forward to indicate a large set of dots clustered in… "South America?" 

Flipping back to the video, Rumlow drags the PLAY bar backwards just to watch the explosion again, tracking the asset specifically this time. Rumlow watches the weapon take down several agents with such grace that it's honestly breathtaking, executing them with no extra effort than is needed. The Winter Soldier is still in there somewhere. And he makes killing an art form.  

It's too bad AIM's goons showed up. Of course it all goes to hell. 

The explosion starts again on-screen. Rumlow pauses right before the flash overtakes the screen and zooms in on the blurry shadow with the metal arm. The asset was near the edge of the explosion too, near the biggest group of his men. It looked like Soldier was in the middle of being thrown backwards by the force of the blast right before the explosion ends up destroying the camera next.

"Check in with all the groups for any signs of the Soldier. If they survived, so did he. Then get me my gear and a flight. I'm bringing the asset in myself," Rumlow decides. Better to see to this personally, actually make sure it goes to plan. Besides. He's bored shitless of all this desk work bullshit. "And make sure these clowns don't fuck up HYDRA while I'm gone."

Jack's smile is so faint that it might as well not be there but he nods, and turning, limps out. The door swings shut after him.

Well. I got a couple more minutes. Brock grabs his phone, and thumbing the screen back on, brings up the video of the Soldier massacring the shit out of Selby's bar again, savoring the tight swoop in his stomach and the stirring in his dick as he watches the asset effortlessly put someone into the table. Imagines he can practically hear the poor bastard's spine shatter in tune with the electric whirr from the Soldier's arm.

Too bad the idiot didn't bother filming it in landscape mode. Or with the sound on. Asshole.

[To be continued?]

Chapter Text

[Present Day - ?????]

[Bucky Barnes]

The first thing Bucky registers is the gentle plip-plop, plip-plop of rain against the window. The second is how rock hard the old couch under him is, but then again it doesn't matter much when Bucky's so damn beat he can't move a muscle anyway even if he wanted to. It can't be the two jobs he's barely juggling. Maybe it's life in general.

Hell. Bucky doesn't even have it in him to kick his boots off.

Steve ignores it as he comes into view, putting his things down on the table and taking in his friend sprawled out on the cushions. The hand-me-downs still make Steve look like he's drowning in them, all slender and fine angles and sharp nose. He looks perfect. If it weren't for the look on Steve's face as he sits on the couch next to him.

"Hey…" Bucky swallows hard against the oddly familiar metallic taste on his tongue as Steve peers at him, smoothing Bucky's hair back. He looks worried. Why does he look worried?

Steve lets the touch linger along his cheekbone before he rises and, walking past Bucky's head to the kitchen, disappears from view. "Maybe you need to take it easy."

Bucky means to say that money doesn't grow on trees and they got bills to pay. Only, his throat feels thick. Hoarsely, Bucky barely manages; "I still got stuff to do."

"I don't know, Buck," Steve says as if from far away. "You don't look so good."

Plip-plop, plip-plop. 

Vibranium fingers spasm at his side like a dying spider. Thick wetness trails from the corner of his mouth.

Plop. 

A fat water drop hits his cheek, Bucky's skin twitching under the splash. The metal panels along his arm weakly shiver.

Plip-plop, plip-plop.

Under the rainfall, there's something Bucky barely picks up like he's underwater; something nearby keeps making a raspy wet sound he can't place, followed by a little animal sound of pain. Wheezing.

Plop-plop-plip.

Bucky's eyes slide open, only the world's so bright that he's dazzled by it, so intense that it sends a wave of dizziness through him. He nearly drifts away again… if it weren't for the growing pain from all over. Bucky's eyes squeeze shut as another waterdrop slides down feverish skin, catching on something tacky dried on his temple. His head throbs.

Grey eyes flutter open again. This time Bucky fights to keep them open as his head lolls on the rock he's propped up against, blinking owlishly upwards. Almost reluctantly, the world swims into focus. A grey sky stretches overhead, bloated with dark clouds that threaten a real storm and framing it is the canopy of a lush green jungle sprawling out in every direction instead of the lab. An office chair hangs from some of the stranglers netting the trees. A workstation sits embedded in a tree trunk next to it. That might even be half a fluorescent light jutting up from the jungle floor.

The hell?

Bucky realizes just then where the wet raspy sound is coming from: him. Suddenly the metallic taste swarms up his throat and Bucky jerks where he's sprawled, choking on the thick blood that floods up. Bucky has to turn his face to the side so he doesn't drown on it as it froths into his mouth, explosively splatters his chin and clothes as each breath rattles in his chest like it could be its last. The only thing keeping him upright is the rock at his back, despite the sudden waves of agony with each convulsion, all radiating from…

…from…

Panting, Bucky's eyes slowly.

track. 

down.

Lifting trembling hands, Bucky hovers them above the bloody rebars protruding through his chest and lower torso. 

"F-fuck," Bucky gasps. It's part of the lab's wall he's braced up against ... and impaling Bucky is the wall's exposed rebar. It's keeping him pinned like a butterfly to the concrete, his blood lazily winding down the spirals on the surface. He must've crashed into them during the explosion.

Two thick bars. Both of which at least narrowly missed his heart and - Bucky restlessly shifts his boots, though he has to stop at the throb of agony that sends up his body as it shifts around the metal - missed his spine at least. Explains the wet, rasping coughs or the rattling. Bucky grinds his teeth against it. Through the same discipline HYDRA beat into him, he forces himself to take stock of the situation. Doesn't take long. It's bad. Real bad.

Can't even tell from the serum how long he was out. Bucky only has the shit HYDRA version, which doesn't hold a candle to what Steve or Walker got. The serum looks like it's struggling to sweep house with so many injuries, especially when he's got several feet of metal protruding from him that the serum's healing keeps trying to close flesh on or eject. The sheer amount of blood soaking into the concrete and dirt around him is worrying, just as much as how weak he feels.

The Winter Soldier always finished the mission, even half-dead on his feet. But the asset also had HYDRA support to back him up, keep an eye on his six, and there was always medical staff swooping in once the Soldier returned to base. The asset was just too big of an investment to lose.

Now Bucky's in some jungle without backup. And if he was thrown here, who's to say the rest of the HYDRA squads didn't make it? Who's to say they're not somewhere in the rainforest hunting him?

Have to get free before there's company, Bucky blearily thinks, head drooping. It's a fight staying awake. Serum's not gonna heal like this.

Bucky's vision blurs and threatens to fade out, but then another bloody cough rolls through like wave, the fierce pain dragging him back anyway. 

He wraps both sets of hands on one of the bars - the longest one first, the one in his chest. Even the angle's bad, too awkward to take it off easily. But if he can shorten the bars, it'll be less of shitshow dragging himself free.

As if he was about to take a shot, Bucky sucks in a slow, measured breath to calm himself. Focus. Pain's nothing. Pain's an old friend. Order through pain. 

Gritting back the pained whimper, Bucky begins to twist and pry at them, jostling the wounds all over again as his body shifts around the rebars. It's all Bucky can do to muffle the tortured sounds bubbling up his throat. He doesn't even have a good angle to just rip them free, not without damaging himself worse. So he takes the slower way, twisting and pushing at them, trying to force it so the new weak points are a couple inches from his chest. It's slow-going, too slow, Bucky shuddering with each bloody hack.

Getting the first bar twisted off feels like it nearly kills him. 

Order through pain, Bucky tells himself and readies himself for the other rebar, metal fingers wrapping around it. Order through pain.

The second bar feels like an eternity before it finally twists off. Bucky barely manages to drop the rebar next to his hip before the agony flares so great that the moan comes out bubbling and red. Blackness rushes up for Bucky again and drags him back under. 

[Present Day - The Watchtower]

[Yelena Belova]

The meeting with Valentina is like navigating a minefield. Luckily Yelena already has experience navigating minefields.

Still, Yelena only lets herself actually breathe once she's back at the Watchtower and away from Valentina.

Time to get to work. Making herself comfortable, Yelena plugs both USB drives into her laptop and waits for the data to transfer. Which hopefully won't take ages, but she's also good at keeping busy. While she waits, Yelena begins to spread out all the files she'd lifted, arranging them roughly by subject. This is the worst part of any job: so dull and time consuming compared to field work.

But between her and Alexei, it's better she takes the hit.

"Um. What's going on?" a soft voice drifts in from behind her.

It doesn't startle her anymore: the way Bob seems to appear and hover like a shadow, always at the periphery of everyone's life, unsure still if he's allowed into whatever's going on. Without lifting her head, Yelena hooks her ankle around the free stool's leg next to her and drags it out for him.

Taking the invitation, Bob settles in next to her, drawing a leg up and hugging it. Yelena darts a look at him; Bob's dressed for pure comfort, a soft cable knit sweater that she gave him as a birthday gift and sweatpants that practically say 'I-haven't-left-the-house-in-several-days'. Comfy.

Maybe she should've switched to sweatpants too. Sweatpants make everything better.

"Bucky decided he felt like a solo fishing expedition instead of his assignment," Yelena answers. Better to rip off the Band-Aid. Bob likes Bucky well enough, but then again, Bob seems to like most people. When Bob stares at her blankly, Yelena tacks on. "He took a detour and now he's missing."

Bob bites his lip and toys with the edge of his shirt sleeve. "Is… is there anything I can do to help?"

Yelena's first impulse is to brush him off. After all, Bob's… Bob. He's no spy. He doesn't know what to look for. So he'd only be underfoot. And besides, she'd be doing him a kindness; the stuff in these files might be… messy, especially to someone like Bob.

But the fact is that Bob's one of them. He's her friend (Yelena won't ever admit it out loud), of course he'd worry because he's a decent person, and most importantly, he's part of the team. It doesn't matter if he's not out there in the field. He'll always be one of them. Even if Bob can't exactly fly them everywhere. Yet.

(Bob just needs some training, that's all.)

In reply, Yelena picks a folder bristling with all kinds of goodies and slides it over in front of Bob. "I hope you like reading. We have a lot of digging."

[Past - John Walker's Quarters, The Watchtower]

[John Walker]

That time in the supply closet isn't the last time either. John knows better than to bring it up, seeing as he likes his head where it is, thanks. He also doesn't push Bucky for round three, four, or five. 

Better the guy picks and chooses his battles. So Bucky's the one who initiates, sometimes at the weirdest times and for no goddamn reason. John gets it - gets post-mission, when adrenaline and post-combat nerves are high. But then you had times when Bucky saw John in the kitchen, hair unkempt and beard a little wild, when you're starting the day without nearly enough coffee. Bucky had kind of just froze, practically undressed John with his eyes, turned on his heel and left.

Then later that day, Bucky dragged John into one of the floors that the construction crews hadn't finished yet. For 'training exercises'.

Whatever excuse Bucky needs? John's just along for the ride. Along for the ride and enjoying the hell out of every minute. 

Maybe they got a good thing going here.

John's hand tangles in Bucky's hair, and this time, Bucky indulges John on it. Probably because he's too far gone with John opening him up on his dick like he's trying to win a gold medal.

John kind of loves Bucky growing his hair out; makes it even easier to get your hands through the soft strands, or drag Bucky's head back like this, all so he can suck a series of bruises onto the column of Bucky throat as he spreads the other man open under him and stuffs him full of every inch, hips pulsing as he drives the head of his cock against that spot that has Bucky keening and his cock drooling precome between them.

Like always, it's dark in here. So John can't see the look on Bucky's face, but he imagines that handsome face gooing slack, pleasure spasming across it every time he's fucked open. Hearing that moan ratcheting up, John leans over him, muffling the filthy sound as he captures his lips, the kiss slow and soft in contrast to every thrust that shakes the bed under them. Bucky's mouth opens so sweetly under his that it makes John's heart ache.

John tries to do better by Barnes. Tries to be a little gentler or take more care, only Bucky doesn't want it. It's like the guy doesn't believe he's allowed some creature comforts or a gentler hand. 

(So John bullies Bucky into it sometimes. If that means getting him onto John's bed instead of making do with the floor or a wall, or actually using plenty of lube and taking some extra time, then fine, he's a bully.)

Heels dig into John's back, over the belt he left hanging open, urging him on as Bucky fucks himself back on his dick with John's fly rasping against his ass. Bucky moves under him like a dream. His back arches as he works his hips, ass eagerly swallowing John down until he's balls deep, clasped by heat so tight that John feels dizzy with want. Feels a little like he's going out of his mind with how his body swallows every inch.

Blunt fingernails dig into the meat of John's ass as it rolls against him ,fingers kneading at the muscle working there while his metal fingers grip bruises into a broad shoulder. John's thrusts go deeper, rougher, he's so, so close - and when John reaches out to pump the cock jutting painfully up from Bucky's lap, working the hot shaft with fingerless gloves in rough strokes that he knows now that Bucky can't get enough of, he can tell Bucky's riding that knife edge too.

John lets out a startled grunt as Bucky suddenly heaves under him, flips them so quick that John groans as he's jostled free, only for Bucky to pin him down and fingers angling him upwards, sinks him back inside in one fierce, molten slide that drags out a string of swears as Bucky rides him so ruthlessly that John probably wouldn't have noticed the tower coming down around him.

Bucky's lips have started to go slack under with each brittle groan driven out of him as he plunges down onto him, which John takes full advantage of to sooth over the aching sounds coming out of him with soft brushes of his lips and hands stroking along his flank and whispered encouragement.

For some reason that's what finally does Bucky in. 

John swallows up the sob that wells up as Bucky grinds against his stomach as he starts to come apart all over John's hands - and after a moment, John follows after. With a wounded sound, John buries himself deep in several last, desperately graceless thrusts, cock lurching as he spills deep within his ass.

When they finally come down together, Bucky doesn't let himself savor it long. If you don't fuck his brains out, Bucky apparently wasn't the type to enjoy the whole package, sink into bliss and stay there. Panting, Bucky rolls off him - John hisses through his teeth as his cock drags free from tight, clutching heat, and has to resist  the urge to push Bucky down and thrust back inside - and flops over onto his back. 

They lie there shoulder to shoulder, nice and easy, chests heaving as the last thrums of pleasure fade. 

"John," starts Bucky quietly after the sweat's cooled on them. His voice still has that incredible breathy rasp he gets after a really good lay, the one that makes John's dick twitch like maybe there's a round two coming.

John closes his eyes. He already knows where Bucky's going with this. Maybe clocked it before Barnes ever did. Maybe he'd even hoped he could show Bucky differently though. Try to learn some patience, compassion, and prove to Bucky he was trying to be a better man than he was before. 

Then again, you could be the best man in the world and you'd still never measure up to Rogers' ghost. 

John opens his eyes to the dark room. "Yeah."

"We should stop," Bucky says slowly. "I can't keep doing this anymore. "

John's proud that he manages to bury the hurt with the rest. "Like I said. It was fun while it lasted."

[Present Day - Bucky's Apartment]

[Ava Starr]

It would've saved them a trip if Bucky had taken up in the Watchtower like the rest of them. Of course, if he had, Ava would've missed the chance to ride his motorcycle halfway across town. It really is a work of art. And John doesn't fall off either, even if he looks frazzled after. The way his hair looks like a bird's nest is almost… cute.

John has it combed back by the time they stop in front of the door, which is the neatest she's ever seen him look. Maybe Walker can clean up nice when he wants to. 

John eyes the heavy metal door - steel and sleek in the name of style - and rolls up his sleeves. "Alright, I can either take the door down or try to pick it-"

Ava rolls her eyes and doesn't wait for him to finish the sentence. Just pops the helmet and phases through the door itself so she can unlock it, favoring John with a flat look.

"Always with the hammer approach," Ava sighs, turning away so she can stroll through a loft that looks surprisingly fancy. Much nicer than she expected of Barnes. Very neat and expensive, though it has a side of 'depressingly sterile' to it that Ava's not fond of. Very modern but cold. Besides the cat tree and well-used scratching post she nearly runs into when she rounds a corner.

So Barnes wasn't making it up. She thought he was teasing, yet here it is; a litter box, a set of food and water bowls. It's hard to imagine him with a kitten tucked into his arm, rolling cat toys around, or cleaning up a hairball. It's really hurting her image of the Winter Soldier, Hydra's Ghost.

And Walker's not with her. Ava doubles back to find that John hasn't moved from the threshold, instead just looking about that place but also… not really. Almost like he zoned out a little.

Ava's eyes narrow. There's something eating at John. And it has to do with Barnes.

"John."

No response.

"John," Ava says sharply. John starts, blinking. Ava tilts her head. "You zoned out. What's going on?"

"Uh, nothing." 

"What's going on with you and Barnes?" Ava repeats; she isn't about to let him squirm out. Yelena left that little thread, which Ava decides to pull on. Call it a hunch. "This can't be the first time you've been here."

John makes a face. "Actually, it is. We're not like that."

Ava makes a very noncommittal sound that's practically dripping with disbelief and bordering on patronizing, which of course has John bristling as he steps into the living room.

"So then… you're sure this isn't personal?" Ava prods.

John snorts. "It's not personal."

"Really."

"It's done anyway," John grits out.

Oh. Ava's look softens. She drops it even when Walker roughly shoulders past her.

The laptop is the first thing to come up with, just sitting out on the kitchen counter. Then the phone left behind on the coffee table. If only all missions were this easy. Then again, it wouldn't be any fun if they were.

A password line pops up on both the laptop and phone. Not something Ava can use her powers to bypass, though maybe she won't have to. On a hunch, she tries the same set of numbers on both devices. 0704. It had come up that day she'd sparred with Barnes, and seemed to have some sort of bittersweet meaning to him. So.

John looks offended when it actually works. "Bucky gave you his password?"

"Oh please," Ava rolls her eyes and pointedly ignores the jealousy. "It was a lucky guess."

Half BS. John huffs an unhappy sound through his nose and stalks off to search for anything more, disappearing into Barnes' office, feathers too ruffled for the moment.

Well. Time to start digging through Barnes' personal affairs, which she certainly has no compunctions about! Ava drags the laptop closer.

The first thing Ava finds is that Barnes had contacted several associates (she can barely imagine the man with actual friends) about the cat, received spam from a pizza joint, several emails from Congressman Gary (she reads these at first with great interest which quickly fades to boredom), and a photo album that had been left open of Barnes with Captain America, looking a lot more happy than she ever pictured him. They look grainy and a little wrinkled, like they were old timey photos scanned in. Who knew Barnes could beam like that?

Ava's suddenly grateful that John's busy with the other rooms. (She closes the folder out, then on second thought, buries it several folders deep. No need to bring it up to John)

Leaning back, Ava calls down the hall. "Anything good?"

"It's weird in here," John calls back. "Way too clean for an office. Most people love hiding stuff there, but it's like something out of a catalogue. There's nothing even stashed in the overhead panels. I'm checking the bedroom next."

Ava can't even imagine what that must feel like, considering he and Barnes aren't a thing anymore. Apparently not enough to merit inviting home. Owch.

Next is the phone. First thing Ava thumbs to are the texts, which she skims through. Sometimes people say juicier things here than normal e-mail. But Barnes seems… kind of boring. Responsible. No good gossip, not even on his team members. 

When it seems suspiciously quiet, Ava gets up and wanders over down the hall, where she finds John hovering outside Barnes' bedroom with an uneasy look.

"Jesus. It doesn't even look like Bucky's ever really lived here," John says. It looks immaculate and the bed so neatly made that it's hard to believe it's ever been slept in. "Like he didn't see the point of setting up shop if it's not home."

Ava suddenly doesn't know what to say to that. She licks her lips, hoping she's on the right track. "If it helps, I don't think Barnes intended not to come back from the lab." When John looks at her flatly, Ava adds, "He made plans for someone to care for his cat and a date for him to get her back. And there's this…"

John squints down at the phone Ava holds up, at the chat window she'd been scrolling through. "Huh. So Bucky was in the middle of trying to sweet talk Sam about the whole New Avengers thing again."

And slowly wearing Wilson down from the looks of it. Maybe even batted those baby blues at him. There's a lot you can do with a pretty face.

"They're supposed to get dinner in a couple days. Fancy Thai place across the city," Ava finishes. 

John's jaw works as if trying to reconcile what's in front of him and he shakes his head. "Yeah but there's something else going on here. I mean, Bucky just seems down, you know? More than usual."

Then he stills, gaze sharpening at something in the bedroom like he caught a scent of something. And before Ava can say anything, John makes a beeline for Barnes' bed and, pulling out one of his knives and kneeling at one corner, pulls up the covers and begins slashing open the mattress.

Ava joins him as John slips a little pen light between his teeth- he does love his pockets and pouches, almost as much as Yelena -  and leans down to look inside. He must see something, because John makes a triumphant sound and reaches elbow-deep to rummage around.

Ava raises an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Corner didn't look properly tucked in per regulations. Bucky's old military, so -" 

Ava can practically feel the military stories coming on. "So you found something?"

He certainly does: several bristling packets of notes and folders, which she's handed, while John flips through several others.

"I never pictured him as the science nerd type," John comments.

Because that's what greets them. Here Ava expected maybe something on new guns or weapons, maybe even something about HYDRA, but there's little of that here. It's research. Research into what happened after Thanos' invasion. Research into the effects of the Blip. Research into the Infinity Stones. Research into the reaction to the revelation that sorcerors existed. Research into anything on the wreckage from the giant ship that had hovered over the Avenger campus.

Focused on possible technological theories. The later half of the notes looks like it's focused mostly on technological advancements, followed by documents amassing every company backing any and all research on it.

A very scattershot approach, but its clear Barnes seems very interested in what might happen in the aftermath of the Invasion. After all, the world leaped forward in advances after the Battle for New York.

Barnes couldn't be the only one thinking that either. 

"We'll comb over the place one more time to be safe," John says. "But we need to get this stuff to Yelena."

[Present Day - Deep In the Amazon]

[B. Matthews, HYDRA Team Lambda]

At least I'm not the only one here, Matthews tells himself as he winds his way through a forest that's too dense and too damn humid, clutching his rifle against his chest. Feels like he can barely catch a breath, and worse, he's already soaked to the bone. Like the rest of the team, he'd been dressed mostly in street clothes, all so they could make their way towards the AIM lab without drawing too much attention.

Now his clothes are sticking to him, clammy and too hot, instead of the fatigues he'd kill to have right now. Probably getting malaria or something. But at least I'm alive.

Unlike Bradley: when Matthews had rolled over onto his back, once he'd gotten his breath back, it was to find Bradley- or half of him - sticking out of a tree. The other half Matthews found several yards away.

"We found five more - Moore, Johnson, Cooper, Miller, and Warner. Warner's leg needs looking at. Cooper and everyone else are still combat ready." The radio hooked to Matthews' chest crackles again, the other guys' chatter coming in and out filling the heavy air among the trees as everyone continues checking in. It actually helps soothes his nerves, just as much as the tracker still blinking on his belt. "Over."

"Copy. Got one injured, but will send coordinates for rendezvous. Boss says help's on its way. Over."

Thank God. The radio falls silent again or maybe it feels like the thick air filled with strange birds calling swallows it up. Matthews keeps his finger hovering over the trigger and his eyes on a swivel.

It's a mile in when Matthews first sees it and he slows. Part of the rainforest looks like it got caved in as if suddenly bombarded by something big. Big chunks of concrete and soggy papers litter the ground, beakers and other science equipment scattered around. One of the steel desks had landed on poor Davis and killed the sorry bastard before he could pay Matthews back for the beers. 

Matthews follows the trail with his breath held, turning to follow the path of destruction along the ground until…

"Fuck! " Matthews nearly shits himself in terror, snapping the rifle up instantly, the breath shorting out of lungs already breathless from the humidity. Only a couple heartstopping feet away is the Winter Soldier himself, a shadow swimming to life through the thick mist coating the ground.

…Only he's not… moving? Matthews finally saw with his own eyes how fast that SOB was when the asset started mowing down the other squad like they were nothing. So why isn't he dead by now?

After several long, heart pounding moments, Matthews slowly creeps closer, breathing so hard that it thunders in his ears. The sweat popping all over him has nothing to do with the humidity as he practically hugs the rifle to him like a security blanket.

The Soldier's lying in a boneless sprawl like a marionette with the strings cut, slumped over with his head hanging and arms lying at his side. Matthews dares another foot closer, which is when it becomes clear why the asset hasn't lunged at him. Hard to do it when you've been impaled on rebar, with so much blood soaking into his clothes and the ground that it looks nearly black.

Matthews inches even closer. Then another. Nudges one of the Soldier's boot with his, with no response. Finally he dares to get so close as to press the gun barrel hard against the asset's temple. All it would take is a single squeeze of the trigger. 

Still nothing. 

Matthews sucks in a shaky breath and lowering his gun, kneels in front of the asset so he can fist his hand in the long hair plastered over his face. Bracing himself, Matthews jerks his head up by his hair.  There's no fight in the Soldier, head lolling and eyes closed. The asset's boneless, gone utterly limp and his bloodied face gone slack, his skin deathly pale like he'd practically vomited all the blood out. The only sign that he's alive at all is the thin, shallow breaths rasping between parted lips.

Christ. Maybe it's finally something the Winter Soldier doesn't come back from. 

Letting his gun hang from the strap, Matthews reaches for the radio. "I got the asset located. He's down, but his condition looks critical. I'm at coordinates -"

It suddenly cuts off with the sound of metal slicing through the air as a section of rebar buries itself through Matthews' throat. Anything else he'd had to say ends with a wet gurgle and a thump as Matthews pitches over.

[Deep In the Amazon]

[Bucky Barnes]

In that frozen instant where HYDRA agent had started to turn towards the flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye, Bucky caught a glimpse of himself in the man's goggles. He doesn't even recognize himself anymore. Doesn't think his team-mates back home would. The reflection there looked half-wild, eyes feral and blood frozen on teeth bared like he's about to rip the nearest throat out. 

There's nothing more dangerous than a cornered animal.

The burst of energy dries up again. Bucky sinks back against the stone with a groan, shuddering around the rebar while static threatens at the edge of his vision now that he'd practically torn himself open stabbing the man. Gotta get up. His head starts to loll again.

The radio crackles to life. "What's that, Matthews? Repeat coordinates. Over."

Bucky jerks like someone tossed ice water on him, opening eyes he hadn't realized drifted shut. 

"Repeat, Matthews. Over," the voice demands.

It doesn't sound like it's just a couple agents here and there Bucky can pick off, but an organized group. Probably in better shape. Gotta get up. Gotta get moving. Staying here to be captured by HYDRA isn't an option. He can't stay here. Get up, get up.

Bucky braces himself and begins to drag himself off the rebar, strangling off the scream that wants to bubble up.

[To be continued?]

Chapter Text

[Present Day -  Deep in the Amazon]

[Bucky Barnes]

Twilight's begun to fall over the jungle, the last dying light struggling to cling to the trees when Bucky finally staggers.

Can't be this winded already, Bucky pants. Metal fingers scrape off the bark from the tree trunk as he catches himself, thighs burning and heart pounding in time to the pulsing in his skull.

Hydra made sure of it when they put the asset through tons of stress tests, including how long he could operate without rest, or with moderate injuries, and then they'd even figured out how far the Soldier could go on a mission if the wound was lethal to anyone else. Turns out it's a lot, so long as STRIKE was ready to retrieve the asset.

Now Bucky leans against the tree trunk instead and gingerly touches the edge of the wounds left by the rebar. It's been hours since he dragged himself free, so the serum should've closed them by now.

Only metal fingers come up bloody and Bucky's vision blurs at the edges. It's still sluggishly leaking, like the serum's struggling to knit them back together.

Gotta keep going. Can't stop.

Not when Bucky can't seem to shake the tail on him. Although there's no one in sight when Bucky glances over his shoulder, if he strains all his senses to listen…There. It's only a faint crackling whisper on the air, but he can just barely make out the radio chatter of the squads in the far distance, and steadily headed his way.

Bucky clutches the rifle like it'll help keep him up. They're too organized and spread out to pick them off. The gun'll be too loud - last resort. Not enough rounds for everyone.

But running ahead of them's only putting it off. Bucky can see the plan: run the target to the ground like a wolf pack trailing after, waiting for Bucky to tire enough to secure or kill him. It's what he would've done if he'd had a target like this.

Gingerly slinging the rifle back along his shoulders, Bucky makes a decision; gritting back the pain, Bucky begins to haul himself up the tree as night swiftly falls on the rainforest.

[Present Day -  The Watchtower]

[Yelena Belova]

One of the worst things about trawling through stolen intel is how much time you lose. It's why she usually lets other people do it. When Yelena had looked up last, it was a nice afternoon; perfect for doing anything else but be cooped up with data.  

So somehow, without her knowing, it's already late night when Yelena leans back and stretches. The day completely gone. Poof. Just like that. Leaves you feeling cheated, even if you know this is important work.

The only thing that saves it when Alexei returns bearing an armload of goodies - mounds and mounds of takeout that smell so good that Yelena thinks she'd topple a government or two as a thank-you.

Problem is Alexei's distracting Bob. Who's not going through the material anymore. Yelena nearly drops her fork when Alexei smacks the counter with a thud that echoes through the metal. 

"No, no, no, that's not what happened to Captain America! He is not the type to retire like normal person. He's Captain America! He's on a secret mission on the moon."

"The moon - oh come on! Where'd you hear this?" Bob says around a mouthful of rice. Yelena eyes the curry sauce on his spoon, which looks dangerously close to dripping on his sweater. Her fingers twitch, itching to do something about it. It was a very expensive sweater. And maybe stop talking with his mouth open. It's gross.

"Everyone is saying it, so it must be true."

"Well, I heard he went back in time," Bob offers.

"Pah!" laughs Alexei. "There is no such thing as time travel. You are on the internet too much."

"There wasn't such a thing as aliens a couple years back, look what happened!"

Yelena's only half-listening as she closes a file that seems like a dead end, barely enough to eavesdrop. She snorts. "If there was such a thing as time travel, why not just stop Thanos from ever getting the stones? Besides, the US government would have that kind of technology by now if it existed. That's why I don't think there's such a thing as time travel. It's not the movies."

"Well, that's what I believe. Makes more sense than the moon. I mean, what's there that's worth all the effort? And what's Cap good for up there that a bunch of scientists wouldn't do better?" Bob says stubbornly. "Time travel makes more sense."

Yelena just shakes her head, hands Bob a napkin and points at the fork, and opens up a new file. Whatever Alexei says fades out, because Yelena suddenly hesitates.

'Operation Slingshot' sits in a crisp, large font next to the AIM logo at the top. This one has very recent updates to it. 

What follows isn't easy to sift through. A lot of technical, sciency stuff that's outside Yelena's wheelhouse, but seeing as they don't have anyone here with useful brainy skillsets like Tony Stark (Yelena's certainly not calling in help, they could be in Valentina's pocket), it's up to her to power through it. Thunderbolts only business.

From what Yelena can make out, it's something about moving an object quickly from one location to another. Maybe like Ava. Or maybe something else. The science stuff goes over her head most of the time. But it's almost like AIM was trying to figure out how to make something stable and portable. Maybe even for personal use by agents. Very useful. Very dangerous in the wrong hands. And judging from the file, not ready for live test subjects.

Yelena opens up the video footage from the security camera and watches it again with a fresh eye. All those people at the edge of the blast. Not a single sign of them outside. The same went with the furniture and wall.

"Geez, Yelena, you look like you're going to a funeral," John says as he and Ava exit the elevator, armed with a box.

Yelena waves them over, making space for them to spread out their findings. "Any news about Bucky?"

"No sign he made it back to his place. But we found this," Ava says, dumping the box's contents onto the last free space on the counter.

Bob and Alexei lean in over her shoulder as Yelena spreads out what looks like a mess of magazines, news articles, photos, several scans from databases that likely weren't authorized, and several pages of notes written in Bucky's painfully neat handwriting. She expects to find Bucky digging into HYDRA, maybe to finish the job.

Her eyebrow raises, because it's not that at all. It's a lot of different subjects, but they all stem from Thanos' invasion. 

Yelena fishes out several series of photos buried under the magazine's articles. All of them show people exiting sparkly yellow circles, and if she squints enough, she can make out that the place these people are coming from doesn't match the battleground at all.

Yelena flips through several more photos - aerial shots from news crews and others that had rushed to see what was going on - and the yellow energy circles appear again. Some of them are shit. Some are pretty good. In the chaos, there's people dressed in robes with their hands out to them as if directing the energy rings. Or keeping the weird circles open. Underneath the stack of photos are several article clippings that read "Sorcerers Are Real. The End of Religion as We Know It?", and then another one that says "Wizards and Aliens: How to Live Your Life In a Changing Landscape, "Magicians: No Longer a Party Trick" and "Has Asgard Sent More Gods?"

Her gut already sinks but Yelena impatiently waves off the questions from John and skims through Bucky's notes about the matter: mostly what he'd observed that day, and how he'd traveled from Wakanda to the Avenger Compound in seconds…

Looking more and more grim, Yelena goes back to the file on the computer. Is this what Operation Slingshot was trying to replicate?

"Where did you get all this?" Yelena asks. She spreads the next pile out, which has a lot of different stuff to say about 'Infinity Stones'. The notes focus a lot on a Tesseract and a 'Time Stone'.

"Barnes had it stashed away like a squirrel," Ava answers. 

Alexei looks at the mass of research, clearly impressed. "I didn't know the Winter Soldier was so good at this. Why would he not share with us?"

"Maybe it's personal," Bob says. Something in Yelena perks up at that. It feels important. 

Yelena's attention turns to the bullet point list Bucky had made about those Stones Thanos had, and a rough list of what they did on the battlefield. Yelena next speed-reads the list of companies Bucky had made. AIM being one of them. Several others Yelena knows for a fact are shell-within-shell companies. Maybe he figured these companies might be developing weapons or something and needed to be stopped. But it's too big of a job for one person. Alexei's right. Why not involve the team? 

"Did you notice anything different about Bucky recently, John?"

Yelena can already tell John's about to lie before he does when the fist at his side clenches.

"Buck's not exactly an open book," John replies. "I guess he just seemed quieter than normal. Guy's not exactly a chatterbox to begin with."

Ava's eyes narrow, mouth pursing as she also side-eyes John before she and Yelena share a look. He really thinks he can lie to a spy? Like nobody pegged John and Bucky sleeping together? It was obvious. Yelena kept quiet because sometimes she's polite.

What if Bob's onto something? Yelena wonders. Suddenly what Bob had said earlier doesn't seem silly. What if this is personal? What if this had to do with Rogers?

There's even more info scraped together about this 'Time Stone' and time travel than the sorcerer thing. Some of it looks very official, very government, and very redacted. A chill needles down Yelena's spine. Steve Rogers' name pops up several times in these; almost as if what really happened to him had been covered up.

"What if Bob's right?" Yelena says. "And if there's portals and time travel, who's to say someone won't try to replicate it?"

"I thought the stones were gone. And this magic stuff; I doubt a bunch of wizards are going to work as a company consultant and spill their trade secrets," John points out.

Yelena hates that she has to go down this road, her stomach sinking. "I don't know how someone would do it. But anyone could look at this and want to develop an artificial way to do the same thing. This is any government's wet dream."

"And that's not starting on trying to synthesize even a fraction of one of the stones," Ava finishes unhappily. "There was all kinds of wreckage lying about. I'm sure people went digging around."

"So you think Bucky discovered AIM was making grounds towards copying this stuff and wanted to stop it?" Bob asks, dinner entirely forgotten.That doesn't feel like the whole picture. 

"Maybe. Or he meant to steal it for himself."

Yelena has to step outside after that, the air feeling closed in and hot suddenly.

The more Yelena looks at it, the more it makes sense. Maybe one of the experiments from Operation Slingshot went off with the others. That explains why there's no sign of rubble out on the street, blood, or remains. Why everything seemed to vanish into thin air.

And that's only the one company. What's worse is the idea of a company trying to figure out time travel and succeeding. Operation Slingshot looks like child's play if someone else figured out how to manipulate time. Say someone without too many morals. Yelena has seen the average person, and she wouldn't trust them with that kind of power. She trusts governments and shadow agencies even less. They're the same thing with a different coat of paint.

Alexei finds Yelena seated on the steps that lead out into the balcony, overlooking New York as it lies glittering all the way past the horizon. Now she can't help looking at it and wondering what other companies out there were working on this stuff - and actually getting close? 

It feels like they've discovered they might've been sitting on a time bomb all along.

Alexei settles next to her with a grunt, pretending like his knees crack more than they actually do. He always seemed to take up any room he walked into. Sometimes even seemed to swallow up the air in it because he's so big and loud. But Yelena knows him better than that.

Alexei's big mitt of a hand settles on her shoulder as he leans over. "This is bothering you. More than just Winter Soldier disappearing."

"What if you could time travel? If you had that kind of power, what would you do?"

Alexei looks out over the millions of lights twinkling below as he considers it. "So much. Maybe I wouldn't let our family get torn apart for glory. I would turn the plane around, make them fly us somewhere else. Who knows? I could find us nice, big cabin and you two grow up as normal girls. Very boring but normal."

Yelena swallows the lump threatening at the back of her throat. "That would be a good start."

"And I would not let Melina teach you driving this time around. She can't park parallel and she passed that to you," Alexei adds, smiling when that earns a weak laugh out of Yelena, which fades off as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, Alexei's hand slipping off.

Why couldn't people just stick to normal weapons? You did enough damage with those already. It was good enough. Simple enough.

"I would've stopped Natasha from joining the Avengers," Yelena says after a long moment. "Maybe she'd still be alive if she'd been with us instead of them."

That's why this sort of thing should be destroyed. She'd use it for selfish reasons too.

[Present Day -  Deep in the Amazon]

[Brock Rumlow]

They have limited time to nab the asset before the closest military agency sniffs out their presence. The Amazon's one hell of a haystack to search but even Rumlow would like to keep HYDRA off the radar.

Just not enough to miss this opportunity.

"What's the situation, Coop?" Rumlow asks the moment his boots touch the ground, the light from the transport illuminating him. Behind him, the fresh men he'd brought spread out to secure the area, turning on NVG as they disappear into the night, while other agents began unloading the crates from the transport and a couple medics see to the injuries. Under Rumlow's command, his men swarm into action.

Cooper's got a big gash on his forehead, but if it hurts, he's pushed past it as he salutes. "We followed Matthews' tracker, but it looks like the Soldier got him first, sir. Matthews' weapons were gone too."

So the Soldier was operational enough to arm himself. "And the asset?"

Cooper hands Rumlow a phone with a badly cracked screen as if someone landed on it. But not so busted that Rumlow can't make out the photo someone had taken of the site the asset had last been reported in. Matthews' body lay in a heap with rebar through his throat - a real shit way to go - but the main focus is on a large section of wall, with a large splash of blood staining the concrete, rebar and dirt. Not even the rain could hide the evidence in time. Rumlow squints, at what might've been a boot mark in the mud leading away.

It's a lot. It would've killed anyone else but the asset.

Rumlow hands the phone back. "So he's in bad shape but armed. Where is he now?"

"We managed to track the Soldier this way but we lost his trail," Cooper says, pointing out west but it's kind of vague. "I'm worried that if we don't find him quickly, he could slip through. And the dogs aren't going to be much help out here. There's too much to confuse them."

Wiping the rain from his eyes, Rumlow turns and waves over several men, directing them to leave the first of several unassuming crates next to them. "I don't think we'll have to worry about that."

"Commander?"

Rumlow unlocks the crate with a thumbprint, which opens with a hiss and waves for him to take a look. Cooper leans in and picks up one of the new prototypes resting inside: a wrist band and a pair of goggles which look almost spider-like. He cocks an eyebrow at Rumlow.

"Watkins' people sent us a couple of early Christmas gifts. This beauty tracks vibranium signature trails," Rumlow grins a shark's grin. "I'd say the asset's on borrowed time."

[To be continued?]

Chapter Text

[Present Day - The Watchtower]

[Yelena Belova]

Ava's stolen Yelena's seat when they return, hunched over the laptop as she watches the security footage with John hovering over her shoulder. Yelena's attention lingers on John especially. It's clear he hasn't seen the video either. He's very still, while the color looks like it drained out of his face.

When he looks up, Yelena pretends she wasn't eyeing him and seeing as Ava can't be bothered to give her stool back, she settles for perching on the counter while Alexei drags in another chair.

"Whatever all these other projects were, it's pretty clear Barnes is in over his head," Ava says after watching it through one more time, this time going frame-by-frame during the explosion. "So how do we find him?"

Everyone suddenly looks to Yelena like she's the one with all the answers. Her heart sinks through the floor; like a Black Widow ever actually really led a team in the field. 

"Well, he did the smart thing and ditched his tracker. So that's a dead end."

"If there were previous non-human tests done for Slingshot, maybe we could dig through the files more. They must have a record of how far the previous tests' range was," Ava offers. 

Yelena could kiss her for that: Ava's the easiest one out of all of them to get onboard. "Which means going to Valentina. There's no doubt she had the entire lab combed over by now."

"I don't see why we have to ask nicely," Ava says. "I could infiltrate her office."

"She'll have safeguards against you."

"So what's the play?" asks John impatiently. "Sitting on our ass?"

"I thought you said this wasn't personal."

John's eyes narrow at Ava. "It's not, Ava. But we can debate this 'til kingdom come or we can actually do something. And we all know Val isn't the right call."

For once, Yelena doesn't know what to do. Killing a closely guarded target is easy. Child's play. She could do it in her sleep. But leading a team? Yelena can already feel this escaping her, like a mission where you didn't know the intel and found out right in the middle how screwed you were.

But keeping the team together, that seems important. Just as much as keeping a cooler head. This isn't how they worked under the Red Room: say what you wanted about them, but there was no in-fighting among the Black Widows. Just cold, hard efficiency that would be really useful right now. 

Yelena closes her eyes, counts a quick one-through-ten and takes in a deep, measured breath like it'll save her sanity. "I don't want to involve her either, but we don't have the resources or enough intel. And we have to hope that Bucky's a useful enough asset that Valentina would prefer him alive than write him off."

John's scoff is so obnoxious that Yelena'd really like to punch him in the face. "So. It's nothing then. No tracker, no idea where Bucky is, just a theory he got portaled somewhere."

Bob holds up his hands. "Hey, let's calm down and just walk through this and maybe-'

"Not now, Bobby," John sneers. "How about you let the professionals talk?"

Bob jumps when Ava suddenly jerks to her feet, sending the stool crashing to the ground. "So what's your big plan then? Seeing as you have all the answers. It's too bad you didn't have them before you ruined things with Barnes."

The entire room goes so quiet that you could hear a whisper clear across New York. Oh shit. John's gone very still as he gapes at Ava, eyes wide, and looking a lot like Ava stabbed him in the back.

Ava's face has gone still, stone cold, spine straight: she's sticking to it, while John's has rapidly taken on an angry flush. His jaw grinds so hard it's a wonder if he doesn't crack his teeth and at his side, his fists clench, shaking with rage. 

John's voice comes painfully tight, like he's barely restraining himself from lashing out. "...I'm gonna see about getting transport. Better than whatever the hell you're doing here."

He storms out, a bundle of barely held back violence and anger that could've gone much, much worse, and practically sucks the rest of the air out of the room when the elevator door closes after him. Ava stares after him, the fury burning so hot that Yelena hopes to God she doesn't follow him just to get the last word.

"Prick," Ava snarls and stalks out the opposite way.

Quickly Alexei gets up to go after her, but not before giving Yelena's hand a squeeze. "I'll talk to her."

"Thanks, Alexei," Yelena groans and buries her face in her hands. What the hell just happened?

[Present Day - Deep in the Amazon]

[Bucky Barnes]

By the time the rain finally comes pouring down, Bucky had managed to tuck himself in amongst the branches, hidden from view by the dense leaves and so high up that no one can hear him. Even that doesn't feel like anywhere near enough. It'll never be enough when you have several HYDRA squads actively hunting you. 

Rifle cradled in his hands, Bucky wedges himself up against the branches, into a spot good enough that he's not in danger of falling out of. Just an hour. Even a couple snatches here and there just to heal. 

Sleep sneaks up on Bucky, but when it does, it's the kind that leaves you drifting in a daze, feeling half-awake and not sure you ever even dozed off in the first place. Bucky drifts like that, curled in on himself and eyes half lidded as the deluge pours over the jungle in a roar of water so loud that he can barely hear the animals, much less himself breathing. It's easy to lose time like that, to sink into the dull throb of half-sleep while the serum works its magic.

Bucky's eyes suddenly snap open when a strange, electronic whine slices through the slashing rain.

He only has a split second to leap out into open air; the tree explodes out from under him with a massive boom and blaze of fire as a grey disc impacts the trunk.

In that moment, there's nothing else but instinct. Time seems to slow down. Every ache and stab of pain fades off. Bucky's mind empties out. Everything goes crystal clear.

He's falling but it's second nature to twist in a graceful arc, bringing the rifle up as he shifts his weight mid-fall and takes aim. The rifle's report echoes through the jungle in quick succession, the muzzle flashes blindly bright in the pitch black, each bullet blowing the brains out of the frontline agents swarming up under the tree. Bucky empties the entire magazine.

Then time ramps back up. Bucky manages to twist and land in a neat roll, springing up on his feet as two soldiers come charging up, flinging a razor net at him, the anchors open. Before the anchors come down, Bucky ground-scrambles right out of the last corner, like some nightmarish shadow slipping along the underbrush and right up into the two agents that got too close.

It's as easy as breathing to send the combat knife in twin arcs, slicing the soldiers open from crotch to sternum and spilling their guts. It's so up close and personal that he can make out the startled horror in their eyes even in the dark.

Their buddies all come down on Bucky at once from out of the darkness. Stun buttons, knives, pistols. One baton cracks against the side of his head, sending Bucky stumbling for a moment, but the stars swimming in his vision aren't enough to throw him off. HYDRA's training made sure of it. He's moving through the crowd, all brutal, lethal grace as he takes them out one by one, and at every opportunity, Bucky arms himself. Takes guns and knives, everything he can use. Turns them on the owners at every single opportunity as blood splashes splashes all over him. Bucky fights like he's the devil himself.

With a kick hard enough to cave the man's chest in, Bucky sends an agent flying through the press of bodies, and takes the opportunity to empty both pistols into the crowd while they're disoriented. With each muzzle flash, he can tell he's thinned the second wave out.

Only now Bucky catches a glimpse of the wave coming behind those ones. There's more men coming, so many men that they might actually swarm him with sheer numbers. More coming from all directions, like they corralled him while he'd been out. But there's a part in the northern wing of the net with less men. Bucky lifts his fist, to bring it down on the closest man's skull. It's the best chance he's got to-

A high-pitched whirring sound hurtles at his back like a banshee shrieking, right before something suddenly flies into his metal arm and violently drags Bucky off his feet to go flying several yards.

The breath's knocked out of him when Bucky slams hard into a large tree, the bola winding several times around the trunk, pinning his entire arm to it. Prongs emerge from the orbs to anchor deep into the wood. 

Bucky lunges to rip it free of the bark, but instead suddenly cries out in pain when an electrical charge immediately ripples down the cables and straight into his left arm. His fingers spasm and go dead as the interior circuits short out, fire lancing through his nerves.

The charged bola keeps sending electrical shocks pulsing through him. White hot pain flares through his chest and skull, the taste of it in his throat and teeth as Bucky convulses against the tree trunk, all combat focus shattered as the teams converge on him, guns pointed like a firing squad.

Black spots swim in front of Bucky's eyes. Mercifully the electricity dulls down to a steady series of jolts like someone dimmed a switch, but he can barely move , hanging by his arm as Bucky shakes his head, too dazed to focus at first as a dark shape illuminated by the flames from the tree strolls up through the wall of men around him.

Bucky's heart freezes in his chest as the shape sharpens into features he's always known like it's been branded in his soul.The most dangerous thing in this clearing. Rumlow hands off the launcher to one of the agents like he's done with an old toy, because now he found a better one. 

Rumlow strolls up to Bucky so easily you'd think he was taking a walk down a block instead of hanging back like the other agents. Every other soldier here radiates fear. But not Rumlow. Never Rumlow.

Static fills Bucky's mind, fills it with nothing but animal fear, rage. No. No. Nononononono.

The moment Rumlow's in range, Bucky slashes at him in  wild swings aimed at his belly, his throat, anywhere he can rip him open, disembowel him, vicious and almost too fast for the naked eye to see. Rumlow doesn't jerk back. He doesn't have to, when he can read the asset like an open book. Just keeps coming, seeing the slashes before Bucky can land them and easing out of the way.

On one nasty stab aimed at his heart, Rumlow's ready. He's the one who taught the Soldier that particular move, so it's nothing to neatly sidestep it and force the knife from Bucky's grip - only to drive it right into Bucky's shoulder. Bucky arches under him with an agonized sound, the pain threatening to blind him when Rumlow brutally twists it, blood flooding Bucky's mouth as he bites his tongue.

Rumlow's grin comes vicious, all teeth. "You're letting me down, солдат. I thought you'd make this harder!" 

The last thing Bucky remembers is the stun button crackling to life right before Rumlow jabs it into the base of Bucky's skull.

[Location: ?????]

Awareness comes back in stages. His body is a ball of agony.

Where? How long…?

"ETA to landing?" Rumlow's voice bleeds in, so familiar through the darkness that for one moment, Bucky forgets where he is. Who he is. Wonders what their mission is, who the target is. Engines thrum under his thighs and against his back, filling the air with a loud, ever present thrum under your skin.

"Thirty minutes, sir."

"Make that ten. And get me another sedative. This one's about to wear off."

How long was I out? Bucky wonders groggily, head hanging and chin resting against his chest. The first thing to come back is his left arm, plates shifting like they got a mind of their own as they recalibrate, though something sounds wrong with the inner mechanisms. Something grinds. Metal fingers won't close all the way into a fist. Can't move either arm, even when he strains. 

Bucky's eyelids feel like they're weighted down. He can only catch glimpses here and there through the window; there's no sprawl of endless jungle anymore, but a desert dotted with lights, including a large cluster shining brightly like a diamond in the far distance. Bucky's eyes slip shut again.

He loses more time.

Each breath presses in too close, too moist, hot and stale against his skin. Through sheer force of will, Bucky finally drags his eyes open with a startled sound when he finds a muzzle fitted to his face; it's pressed closer than the original one, holding his jaw shut so he can't even talk.

"Well, well, sleeping beauty's up," Rumlow's got his feet kicked up on the seat next to him, lounging there as he watched Bucky come to. He jerks his chin at the muzzle. "Better get used to it. I don't need anything outta you but compliance."

The silence that meets Rumlow is stony. Bucky grunts, straining against the cuffs attached to his upper arm and wrists, at the ones holding his ankles secured against the wall. 

"Good luck breaking those. We had 'em made for Rogers," Rumlows says, sounding so perfectly normal, like he's hanging out with an old buddy over lunch. Except for when he kicks one of the ankle restraints, the metal ringing. "He's not coming for you, you know. Didn't come for you the first time either. Kind of a shit track record if you ask me."

Even though he can't talk, Bucky makes such a furious sound that it'd make anyone else bolt. Rumlow only smirks. Then quick as a viper, he lunges across the aisle, pinning Bucky hard against the wall, knocking Bucky's head back against the wall, while one hand grips his throat dangerously tight.

"What's that? Use your words, солдат."

Bucky's breath comes ragged, eyes wide. The muzzle cuts into his skin. His throat works under Rumlow's grip, which squeezes even tighter, forcing Bucky's breathing into short rasps which suddenly breaks into a cry of pain when Rumlow sinks his other fingers into the stab wound and watches Bucky writhe against the restraints, trying to get away as fresh blood wells up to stain Rumlow's gloves.

Rumlow stares at the dampness in Bucky's eyes like he just got a world class show, before he leans in close, stubble scraping against Bucky's cheekbone as he whispers. "Maybe Steve didn't have a use for you but HYDRA always will."

[Present Day - The Watchtower]

[Yelena Belova]

Yelena has never frozen like this before. Even when there wasn't an actual plan, at least she could do something. Real action. Now she sits here, feeling small, useless and hating every minute of it. 

But John's (mostly) right. They're fumbling about in the dark: even if Yelena thinks they've figured out what probably happened, it doesn't actually help them find Bucky. Assuming he wasn't killed, he could be anywhere! Yelena likes to operate on the worst case scenario: that Bucky's bad off somehow and they don't have all the time in the world. Better to prepare for the worst and hopefully get something less worse.

Bob's watching her with a look of worry when Yelena finally drags her hands away from her face. She can't even muster putting on a strong front for him, rubbing at the space between her eyebrows. "That was pretty bad."

"I'd say about rock bottom, yeah," Bob says, then he does that thing he always does when he's looking like he's got something to say and wondering if it's a good idea to open his mouth, eyes darting at her, then away, and back. It's very frustrating.

"What? "

"I don't know…it's a bad idea."

"At least it's one! Spit it out."

Bob does this nervous fidget at the hem of his sweater like he's planning on pulling some threads out. Sighing, Yelena reaches out and covers her hand with his, his hands stilling under the gentle touch. 

"Well. I mean, I don't know if it'll even work. And it's really dangerous."

"Bob," Yelena says flatly when he trails off like he's already given up on the idea. At this point, she'll listen to anything. But the dithering's trying her patience. "We Widows have ways of making anyone talk. And I mean anyone."

Bob chuckles nervously which fades off as he squints at her. (She's only half joking)

"I was just thinking that maybe there could be a way to find Bucky. Without Valentina," Bob says as if figuring out each step out loud. "It just means. We'd…we'd maybe have to step into the Void."

Yelena stiffens. "You remember what happened?"

Bob shrugs. "Some. Enough, I guess."

"What about the Void getting out?" Yelena has to ask. Because if it's between him or Bucky, she already knows the call to make. Sometimes you just had to cut off an asset if a mission was too far compromised. Even if Bucky's one of the more decent people she's met. He'd understand.

Now Bob shakes his head. "So far he's not as loud. But it's like there's whispers in there now, besides just him. Sometimes I hear things - I'm not going crazy, Yelena - like its conversations from somewhere else. So… maybe we could travel through the rooms or… or something."

Which isn't exactly a vote of confidence. Yelena thinks it over. It's a gamble. And she trusts Bob just enough to try.

"I've worked with less. How do we start?"

Bob takes her down to one of the floors that the construction crews hadn't finished yet. Tarp flaps in the cold wind like skin hanging off a carcass, while all the light from the upper floors never makes it down. It's dark down here, lonely with only the company of the city's lights below; just dust and equipment left by the contractors. Other than that, there's no sign of life down here. A shell of humanity. Supposedly it'll make it easier for Bob to open up the darkness.

Rubbing at the goosebumps prickling along his arms, Bob returns from checking the place out; apparently finding it'll work just fine, "You ready?"

No, Yelena wants to say, heart pounding suddenly with fear. Instead, she holds out her hand. "Yeah."

Bob's hand wraps around hers, warm and strong. 

There's no swirling energy circles or anything fancy to mark it happening. Just, one moment you're in the Watchtower. Then the Void: you suddenly appear there as if the sound suddenly vanished and your stomach dropped out from under you, with a rushing sound flooding all your senses. When Yelena's stomach does a very threatening flip, she can't help but wonder for a second what happens if you throw up in the Void.

Luckily it passes. Bob's standing next to her, fingers still tangled with hers, and a little part of Yelena relaxes. If she can ignore the faint report of a bullet further off in the dark forest. It isn't real, Yelena reminds herself. Definitely not real.

It feels real. 

Except something's changed. Bob looks down at her with a look of sheer relief. "So you hear it too?"

She… does. Yelena looks around, but all that greets her is the forest and snow. "It sounds like whispers. That wasn't there before, right?"

Bob shakes his head and tugs at her wrist. "I have a hunch. Just stay close, don't lose sight of me or let go."

Yelena doesn't need to be told twice. Last thing she wants is to get lost here. Tightening her grip on Bob, she trots after him, and tries to ignore Anya's body looking so small in the snow. The forest seems bigger this time as they make their way back toward the mansion's light, but this time, the change into another room happens so gradually that it takes her longer to realize what happened.

The transition is almost gentle. Maybe because the Void hadn't thrown up walls or something to trap them. Maybe it's sleeping. Or at least somewhere else doing God knows what. 

The mansion seems to shimmer into something else: Yelena recognizes it immediately as a street in Morocco. How could she forget? Oksana's already dying on the cobblestone, with herself knelt over her in a panic as Oksana presses red vials into her hand.

"Over there," Bob suddenly says, giving her hand a squeeze. Yelena has to force herself to look away towards where's he's pointing. 

At first, it looks like there's nothing at all in the alleyway.

But then she sees it. 

Yelena's skin goes cold all over, the hairs rising at the back of her neck; at first, she doesn't even understand what she's looking at. It looks vaguely humanoid, monstrous, only made of jittering black wires shaped roughly into a female shape, the wires themselves looking more like shifting liquid. Set where the eyes would be are red glowing coals that swing this way and that as the thing jerkily walks behind the past Yelena, stops to look at her for a horrifyingly long moment, before it goes staggering down the other alleyway, the walls flickering strangely in its wake like several screens. Trailing after it is a distorted whisper of her own voice, muttering about Natasha, about giving a debrief to Valentina, flickers of John and Ava shouting at each other.

It fills Yelena with such a deep, dark dread that she's rooted in place. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Bob watching her.

"What…" Yelena has to swallow against the uneasiness. "What the hell was that?"

"I think it's an echo," is all Bob says at first. Yelena waves her other hand in a 'and?'. Because that's not good enough.

"I mean, I'm not sure. It's just a feeling," Bob says apologetically, and now he tugs her hand again, urging her down another alleyway. Morocco vanishes behind them with a subway in Washington DC seeping in like spilled paint. "Maybe every single person who's ever entered the Void left behind a tiny piece of themselves."

"...You're saying we've all been contaminated?" 

Bob winces. "Well…hopefully not that bad. But these could be remnants left behind by people. So that was yours."

Bob could do a lot to sound more sure of himself. A piece of herself stuck in here forever. A whole damn section of New York, caught like flies in amber. Yelena shudders, nails digging into Bob's hand so hard he makes a little sound. 

"So what happens to the echoes? What about the people outside?"

Bob does that thing where he can't quite meet her eyes. More than normal, that is. "I dunno. Maybe nothing'll happen?"

Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself as much as her? Yelena forces herself not to look down the alleyway, already dreading that her echo might come back, and instead focuses on the mission and definitely not what would happen now that she's back in the Void again. What happens to someone with repeat visits? Or in the long run?  "Right. Let's focus. Bucky. How do we find him?"

"I think it'll come down to his echo. The important thing right now is that there's a connection between an echo and the person out in the real world. Like a thread," Bob powers on when he catches the way her jaw's set. "You saw what happened with yours."

Yeah, she saw glimpses of things she'd seen or done, heard snippets of conversations. Now Yelena's seeing the plan here. "So maybe we can piece together where Bucky is based on what his echo shows."

"That's the idea," Bob replies. "But we shouldn't stay too long. I don't think we want the other me knowing he's got company."

At least it's a start. Even so, Yelena can feel the Void's presence around them like a smothering blanket as they quickly travel through several rooms that they don't linger in. Bob seems certain the Void's attention is either off them or he's sleeping at the moment. If he even does that kind of thing. Yelena imagines it more like a predator that had wandered off for now. You never knew when it might show.

Yelena would prefer not to push their luck. She follows Bob, watching as he listens this way and that, somehow managing to pick apart the mingle of whispers that Yelena now realizes are coming from every single echo stranded here. Like lost souls.

Bob goes still for a moment, head turned towards the right. "I think I can hear his. C'mon, this way."

They make their way deeper into the city. Yelena can't ignore the echoes flitting about, pulling her arms in so they don't touch her, until Bob opens a door to a piano store and they come out onto the shores of Potomac, with the Triskelion burning in the distance and the last of Project Insight's helicarriers in the air and falling, so slowly as if caught in molasses.

Yelena and Bob both draw to a stop. 

Standing on the shore, looking up at the helicarriers burning is another echo. Male, powerfully built. It looks worse than the others, the wires looking as if they were violently convulsing, barely able to keep its form. Maybe in danger of being torn apart at any second. If she squints, she can maybe tell herself it looks like the Winter Soldier.

Bob gives her hand a squeeze but keeps silent when the echo's head drags over to look right at them with piercing red eyes over a black paint score of a mask. Yelena tenses. Can weapons even work here?

Then the figure vanishes. Only to reappear several yards away, walking brokenly down the shoreline. Yelena barely remembers not to let go of Bob's hand at the last second when she urges them both into a run. They can't lose it!

They chase after Bucky's echo, which fades in and out like a ghost, with whispers swirling around it. 

They chase it through several different cities that blend into each other. Through several different rooms that usually end up in a bloodbath. They even pass through a crappy apartment with some skinny beanpole curled up on a sofa, head buried in a sketchbook propped up on a bony knee, which seems at odds with the others, especially when they emerge back into a front in World War II and walk through an active battlefield.

At last, Bucky's echo coalesces in front of a heavy door set in tile. It looks more like something you'd see in a vault. 

This time it doesn't fade out when it pushes the door open. Yelena and Bob trail after it like its shadow, keeping their distance. The echo wanders into what looks like a vintage operating room with a viewing room nestled above,  while dated electronics and equipment from the 40s are scattered around the room. In the center, under a blindly bright light, sits a medical slab with rust colored stains on it and restraints hanging limp.

The echo looks at the blood stains for a long time, before it wanders over to stare at a wall set with several monitors. It stays as if caught by something only it can see, listening to some voice muttering into its ears.

Now the whispers swirling around the distorted shape get so loud that Yelena can actually pick out voices. Some of it's them: John and Bucky pissing each other off. Ava talking about sparring. Then there's the other voices, one talking about Barnes as if he's not there. One of them asks for an ETA and a sedative. That same voice says only compliance is needed. Another sounds like a man calling for help, about to say coordinates before he's cut off. Another voice is saying something about the Soldier being a crucial part of their experiment.

"Do you recognize any of the other voices?" Bob whispers.

Yelena strains to pick them out. Two men, one with a raspier voice that sounds almost vicious, the other nasally and older sounding. She's never heard them before, so she has to shake her head.

Since Bucky's echo seems frozen in place, maybe it's safe to get closer. Yelena sidles her and Bob closer to get a better look at the screens, which were so small and old looking that she hadn't paid them much mind at first. 

They're playing like she imagined 40s newsreels might play.  Or maybe a slide show. But buried in them are glimpses of images that make Yelena straighten. A rainforest at first, with a storm pelting down and lit by the light of a burning tree. Then the AIM lab in the middle of the encounter with Maybe-Hydra which isn't that useful. Glimpses of Bucky with Captain America in some ratty apartment, when the windows crash in and flashbangs get thrown in. Not that useful either.

Several of the screens pick up the same image all at once; the images flicker in and out. But maybe it's enough. Because she's seeing glimpses of a desert seen from the air, bathed in darkness, and a large mass of light further off that's so bright it nearly turns night to day. It seems familiar. So familiar.

I've seen it before, Yelena thinks.

When the scene shutters again, it's closer to the ground - landing near a sweep of mountain that looks distinct enough, with a long stretch of gravel road leading away. When the screen shifts, Bucky's grounded, looking at the packed dirt of a makeshift landing pad then lifting his gaze to what looks like an old abandoned mine: the kind that has danger signs plastered all over that actually meant it.

Yelena almost doesn't notice Bob tugging at her arm at first. She even resists, elbowing Bob in the side as she tries to just will Bucky to pay attention and stop blacking out or something. Info. They need as much info as possible. 

"Yelena," Bob hisses urgently. His grip goes bruisingly tight on Yelena's arm as he pulls her away from the monitors and points at the observation room: where it had been previously lit, now it had gone pitch black, with thick tendrils of the stuff seeping down like smoke, and a lazy, suffocating presence sneaking into the room like a noxious gas. "We need to go. Now."

[To be continued?]

Bonus sketches of Bucky going on the offensive and Yelena's Void echo.

Chapter Text

[Past - World War II -  somewhere in Germany]

[Bucky Barnes]

The last thing Bucky expected in the dead of summer was to be ankle-deep in a muddy sludge, more drowned rat than a soldier, and practically hugging the satchel tucked under his arm like it was the last van Gogh on Earth. Nothing like an evening thunderstorm passing through the area to mark what has to be the shittiest Fourth of July to date.

At this rate, Bucky figures Lady Luck's personally got it out for them. Because when the Commandos set out, it was pretty as a picture - clear blue skies and fluffy clouds, you'd almost mistake it for a perfect summer day if it weren't for the abandoned farmhouses and cottages they passed en route towards the forest in the distance, all of them ransacked, a couple crumbling into ruins. 

But by the time they finally made it past the thick eaves of the forest slowly swallowing up the farmland, the storm practically came crashing down at their backs, thunder rolling after them suddenly like someone gave the signal to spring an ambush.

Then, as if for good measure, the sky decided to dump every inch of rain it'd been saving up for weeks just for the occasion. Dum Dum's cusses when his cigar ends up ruined could peel the paint off every church in New York as the wind sent heavy sheets of rain whipping through the trees, all while Steve just put his head down and steadily led them up to higher ground, just in case.

It's Steve who helps wrangle all the tents up even as Mother Nature tries to string them among the branches, and it's Steve who drags everyone's spirits out of the gutter, even when it got so rough that Monty's stiff Brit upper lip stopped looking so stiff.

After a while, Mother Nature gives up trying to rip the tents from the ground, and just settles for soaking them to the bone. After that, everyone bunks down, except for the sorry bastard who got first watch.

Dum Dum looks a lot like he might bite the cigar in half as he levels sheer murder at Bucky when they draw the last two straws and Bucky dodges that bullet. He can't wipe the smug look off his face fast enough to look sorry for Dugan. 

"Guess you can't win 'em all." 

Snatching the straw from Bucky's hand, Dum Dum stuffs them both into his jacket with a scowl. "You owe me big time, Jimmy. Big time. Gonna be calling in all kinds of favors, just you wait."

Which means Dum Dum's probably going to raid the actually good whiskey Bucky hidden back at camp, squirreled away like he was bracing for winter. Figures Dum Dum already sniffed it out. Fella's like a goddamn bloodhound when it came to booze, particularly free booze. It's all worth it if it buys Bucky a couple minutes with Steve; especially when everyone and their mother wants a piece of Captain America, wants orders and planning from Captain Rogers, so even getting a moment with just plain old Steve is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

When Bucky finally ducks into the tent, it's to find Steve's already got his jacket spread out in what looks like a hopeless attempt to get it dry before morning, now bent over as he carefully works a sodden boot off.

Bucky hesitates, mouth going dry at the strong curve of Steve's back. The jacket didn't exactly keep all the rain out, and the Army's got a real problem with actually getting clothes big enough for a guy built like Steve. Most look a shade too small and barely toeing decency and this one? Holy cow. Bucky can't help but stare. The undershirt practically looks painted on him, plastered to firm planes of muscle like it got poured over him and -

"Holy hell," Steve grunts and tosses his boots into a corner, before flopping down onto the sleeping bag he'd only half unrolled. "Tempted to just call it and sleep like this. I'm beat." 

"Like you couldn't march halfway to Russia without breaking a sweat," Bucky says, quickly looking away from the dangerously nice dip at Steve's lower back, and instead settles for something safer. Like getting own boots off and his bag rolled out. It's the perfect excuse to check on the small package he'd practically protected with his life the entire march. "Besides. If it helps any, I like to think about all the HYDRA goons who got caught goosestepping out in this. They gotta be even more miserable."

Steve's mouth quirks as he fights a grin. "You sayin' I should get by on sheer spite?"

"Works for me."

"I think the docs might have a thing or two to say about that being unhealthy."

"I think the brass would say any motivation's good motivation."

Steve laughs under his breath, and just like that, some of the earlier tension seeps out. Now he stretches in a long, powerful line that Bucky definitely doesn't watch too long, then kicks the last edge of the bedroll out. Good enough. A comfortable lull falls between them, though the rain pattering heavily against the tent fills the silence.

"By the way, you remember what today is?" Bucky finally asks, rolling onto his side and resting his chin in his palm.

Steve actually pauses, looking a little concerned, the same kind as if he'd left a stove back home before he frowns over at him. "Don't pull my leg, I know we're still on schedule for the mission, and we're still due to make it to the target before the SSR links up with us-"

Jesus. Steve, help a guy out. Bucky answers for him by pressing the package into Steve's hands. Nothing special to look at, it's nondescript, with reused paper and wrapped with twine, but Steve sits up suddenly, cradling the gift as if it's more precious than Stark's fancy shield. 

"You didn't."

"I'm not gonna let a war ruin my track record," Bucky says. "Happy Birthday, pal."

Steve's face does this funny thing like several emotions hit him at once and he can't figure out which one it is, so instead he ducks his head, carefully working open the twine and easing the paper apart until….

The sketchbook's small enough to tuck into a jacket pocket or to serve for field notes. It's the nicest one Bucky could find in town, and he'd also taped a couple of pencils - actual colored ones, several in shades that Steve couldn't see before - to the spine to go with it. The other part is a Winsor & Newton watercolor travel set, miraculously without a single disc cracked from the trip.

Steve swallows thickly. "You're telling me you've been lugging this around the entire time. How'd you even swing this?"

"Just used a tried and true secret weapon; bat my baby blues and sweet talk people. You should try it."

Steve huffs. "Doesn't work the same when I do it. Besides, you're the one out of both of us who doesn't have a bad side."

"Keep buttering me up and maybe I'll even show you the ropes," Bucky flushes, though, and looks away. 'Doesn't have a bad side', yeah right. The War's brought out every single bad side Bucky had and plenty he didn't know about. Steve wouldn't be saying that if he knew that just the thought of putting a bullet in Zola's skull is sometimes the only reason Bucky drags himself out from his cot these days. Nothing would satisfy him more than making it personal. And better yet, making sure. 

"Thanks. For everything-" and when Bucky starts to protest (come on, this birthday's one for the dumps), Steve beats him to it, throwing a thick arm around Bucky's shoulder in a tight squeeze before he buries his face into the side of Bucky's throat. "I mean it. It's the best birthday yet." 

[Past - Birnin Zana, Wakanda]

The thing with cryo is that you never get used to losing time. Just doesn't happen, not even when you're the one person on Earth who's a real regular at it. Days could pass, months. Sometimes even years slid by before HYDRA pulled him back out, and most of the time, the asset only ever found out during a mission brief. That was if that was even deemed relevant for the assignment. Sometimes the Soldier went back under the ice without knowing what year it was.

The difference with Shuri and her team is that they don't leave Bucky hanging. Usually by time he's thawed all the way out, wrapped in a blanket until the violent shivering eases up and the fog clears from his eyes, there's a tablet waiting for Bucky on the medical bed, with a neat bullet point list of the major events that happened in the world since he last went under, followed by any possible advancements in his treatments or tests they'd like to run.

Bucky always puts those off at first in favor of checking whether Steve left any messages. With Steve's duties keeping him flitting in and out of Wakanda, it means he's around less and less. So Bucky holds his breath and thumbing the tablet on, immediately brings up the notifications bar;

Cpt. Rogers, S. 

STATUS: Descent.

ETA - 6 minutes. 

Bucky reads it again just to be sure he's seeing it right, rubbing at the scratchiness in his eyes left over from cryo, heart leaping when the words don't swim into something else. So Bucky just barely catches a glimpse of the date which quietly shifts over; July 4th for all of a minute, before it rolls over into the 5th. They pulled him out in the dead of night, though Shuri's lab seems to run twenty-four seven. 

He missed Steve's birthday. Just like the last one, and that had been because Steve had been called onto another mission while the staff began the de-thawing process. Called back out right after just getting there. 

Even though Bucky's supposed to wait here another half hour for the rest of the side effects to wear off, it could mean all the difference between actually catching Steve or missing him all over again. Though his legs nearly give out when he first tries to stand, Bucky's already sliding off the bed, blanket slipping free as he starts peeling off all the sensors and patches.

This time for sure. This time he's catching Steve, even if it's for a couple minutes. 

Seems like Steve's in the same rush, because Bucky catches him double-timing it towards the medical wing like he practically leapt from the quinjet rather than wait for it to land.

You're getting new lines on your face, Bucky realizes with a start when he falls into step like Steve's shadow catching up to him, noting the slump in Steve's shoulders and the way weariness drags at him even he hurries, the stress and worry hiding at the corner of Steve's eyes that never used to be etched there. 

"You're up!" any harshness settling in on Steve's face fades when he catches sight of Bucky, something in Steve brightening up as he slows to a stop. These days, Bucky silently slipping into his place at his side doesn't get him startling anymore.

Yet something smooths the hardness on Steve's face as he catches at Bucky's arm, looking him over as if checking to make sure (again) that Bucky's being treated right here. "I was afraid I wouldn't catch you this time."

"Guess we're moonlighting as ships passing in the night."

"Yeah, I hate it too," says Steve as they start down the hall, away from the lab. "How long do I get you for?"

"Long as you're in town," Bucky replies. It's rare when Steve manages to stop by these days. She'd understand. "I know it's late, but…I wasn't able to get you anything this time. Sorry, time gets weird in cryo." 

Steve's face softens. "I don't know, being able to catch you is more than enough. Feels like I hit the lottery."

"I just wish I could do more," Bucky leaves it unsaid at the end; instead of weighing you down.

Now Steve stops and turns towards him. "You're enough, Buck. You know that, right?" 

Whatever Steve sees in him, well, he's the only one. It's on the tip of Bucky's tongue to actually say something this time, put it all out there, even if it torpedoes their friendship, at least he'd know…

"Sure," instead, Bucky shrugs and looks away. "Anyway, you give it some thought? About settling down here?"

"I….did," Steve hesitates. Now he's the one who can't meet Bucky's eyes. "It just isn't a good time. There's a lot me and the others still have to do out there. The world's a mess." 

Bucky just makes a vague sound that's mostly resigned. Steve never could sit idly if he saw a problem he could fix. Even if it could kill him when he was five foot nothing, Steve treated wading into fights like it was a full time job, while Bucky's full time job was making sure Steve didn't end up a red smear somewhere. But the thing is, you can't do this forever. The world's a real piece of work now. That was the good thing about back during the War; for one, you knew you were on the right side of things, and two, you figured the fight would eventually end. Finish up, and if you didn't get taken out by a bullet, mine or worse, get to go home. 

Maybe Wakanda's not what either of them planned on, but it's nice, peaceful, and the people here are kind. And at this point, Bucky's tired of running. Tired of fighting. Ready for it to be over, even if that makes him a coward while Steve keeps wading into every single fight just to make things right. But to try making Steve budge on something he's settled on? You got a better chance moving a mountain with a toothpick.

"Look. I'm happy like this. Honest," Steve suddenly says, throwing his arm along Bucky's shoulder to guide him away from the lab and towards the gardens. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Sell someone else that bridge, I know you better, Bucky thinks. "Me neither."

After that, Bucky doesn't ask Steve about hanging up the shield again.

[Past - Washington, DC]

Every July 4th since Thanos' Invasion, Bucky's phone pings around 5 AM like clockwork. Sam still gets up at the crack of dawn for a run (Bucky sure as hell stopped the moment he didn't have the brass breathing down his neck or when he wasn't on the run, sleeping with one eye open), and also because Sam's learned that Bucky almost never actually picks up the phone these days. Calling and keeping up a conversation seems like so much work that Bucky's usually left drained halfway through, so texting it is.

And for some reason, Sam doesn't give up on him. Not once. Just hits the problem over the head over and over, stubborn as hell once he sets his mind on something. 

Sounds familiar. 

This time Sam hits him with: [saw your interview. you actually clean up ok but you look weird without the stubble]

Bucky finds himself tracing the angle of his jaw, the skin there smooth without even a hint of a five o' clock shadow; back in the day, he wouldn't have been caught dead with a hint of stubble, and now it feels like he's wearing someone else's face now that he's clean-shaven for once and with a decent haircut. At least Sam's decent enough not to mention what today actually is for Bucky. Or that's why Sam's actually reaching out suddenly, when their last texts were two months ago. 

[Not like I never wore a suit before. I used to dress to the nines all the time.] Bucky texts back. 

Sam throws in an eyeroll emoji (Bucky refuses to use those things. Even HYDRA couldn't torture it out of him), followed by; [could've fooled me. you know, the whole running-for-office thing's sucking all the fun outta you. gonna make you respectable and everything] 

[Good thing I don't know how to have fun.]

[too bad for you that I do] comes Sam's reply. Then, when those three dots from Bucky's end just sit there bouncing and don't go anywhere, Sam quickly adds.  [i'll sweeten the pot. my company and my treat, might even let you give the wings a spin]

Bucky's thumbs actually hover over the keyboard this time. Almost, almost gives into the moment of weakness and almost, this one time, gives into the urge and takes Sam up on the offer. Maybe for once forget, even if it's just one day, how it's another year rolling around with Steve gone, really gone, and maybe start doing that whole 'living' thing, instead of just managing.

Instead, after a long moment, Bucky swipes the text window away and abandons the phone on the nightstand. Lying back, Bucky instead closes his eyes and tries to sink back into how it felt having Steve sprawled out next to him, the familiar, easy presence, the way he'd be all elbows and knobby knees when he'd curl against him in winter, or the way Steve'd warm half the tent next to him like a living furnace when they had to bunk down mid-march. He can almost fool himself, if even just for a sec. 

The worst part is that it's starting to fade though. He can't even remember something small like Steve's favorite pencil brand, and worse, exactly how Steve used to smile outside of the stuff he'd put on for the interviews or a speech, or the exact weight of his hand when he used to give Bucky's shoulder a squeeze. 

The hell didn't I say anything? Bucky thinks, opening his eyes to a room gone dim now that the phone's gone to sleep.  So many chances to tell Steve, at least give it a shot, but Bucky always buried it. Telling Steve could've meant torching their friendship. And he couldn't live without that, so burying everything under a rug seemed a small price to pay if it meant Steve was still in his life.

Now he doesn't even have that. 

I should've said something and gone with him.

Finally admitting it hurts, almost as much as getting slowly stabbed in the back, but Bucky only grits his jaw so tight it aches as he opens his eyes, folding his hands across his chest instead of feeling next to him for a space that Steve hasn't taken up for a long time. The last time Steve curled up next to him had been back during the War, but after, at least Steve had always been nearby, back in each other's lives no matter how much it seemed like the world tried to tear them apart.

Bucky's chest goes heavy and empty all at once, the single thought sitting over him with a realization that's just as crushing; if I could do it over again, I'd make it count.

[Present Day - ???]

Time moves in fits and starts as Bucky's taken deeper into the mine shaft, restrained and lying on a stretcher carried by several men in body armor, followed by many, many more with guns. Enough to put him down while he's sluggish from the newest batch of sedative. 

Rumlow never forgot exactly what was needed to keep the asset pliable. And he certainly never forgot how long it was before it burned off.

Dimly, Bucky remembers hearing what sounds like rock yawning open, followed by a flood of light when the whole group fills a clean, industrial elevator meant for equipment. What follows next is the tug in his gut and limbs as the elevator descends swiftly and smoothly with barely a whisper, as if it hadn't missed a day of maintenance.

He drifts away again. Sinks back in and out of the past.

When Bucky next rolls his head to the side, away from the fluorescent lights shining into his face, it's to find he's being taken down a series of long, sterile hallways marked here and there by armored doors that look several feet thick.

Again, Bucky drifts off.

When he blinks and the world actually stays put, Bucky finds the gurney's been replaced with a heavy chair tilted back, locked in place and his arms and legs restrained, and goosebumps prickling over his skin in the chill air. Fearing to let the Winter Soldier up for even a moment, someone's settled for cutting his jacket and shirt right through the middle, leaving the sides of it splayed out like a butterfly's pinned wings.

Bright lights blare down at him while medical staff scurry about like someone kicked over an anthill. He flexes his fingers weakly, fingers twitching, only for hands come down on them and stop him from fidgeting while a nurse prepares the IV port.

Even though every instinct is to maul his way out, Bucky fights off that impulse for now. Intel. He needs more intel. 

So Bucky plays along. Keeps his eyes half-lidded, glassy. That last part isn't hard, especially when he can still feel the sedative making everything sluggish and the world tilt and blur from blood loss. He's pliant when the nurses have to turn his head this way and that, doesn't even twist at the restraints when they probe at the wounds all over him, and not once makes a sound. 

All the while Bucky gets his bearings: taking in the number of guards, what they're packing, the visible exits, the amount of medical staff, the layout of the room. 

The part he's in looks like a side wing reserved for medical, with one wall that lets out into a room that's as massive as a missile silo. Instead, it's heavily domed with a single chair set in the center of the room, and a crowd of consoles and controls hugging one side, and further up the curved walls sits an observation room brimming with more controls and technicians.

But most eye-catching are the rings. Set through the walls are massive metal rings set in various intervals, gleaming gold, and all large enough to drive a car through. All of them seem to follow a path radiating out from the chair.

To his right comes the sound of expensive loafers suddenly slapping against linoleum, which slide to a halt when the owner stares aghast at Bucky strapped to the table, still muzzled and deathly pale.

"I didn't think you'd bring the asset in half-dead!" the old man exclaims; in his mid sixties, he's pudgy, with round glasses settled on his nose that make Bucky's skin crawl for some reason with an echo of revulsion. "This is - it's almost unworkable. This is ridiculous! Even a mild test could kill him, and if that happens, we won't have another shot. You'll have wasted millions of dollars because you had to go in guns blazing!"

Rumlow cuts him off from somewhere behind Bucky's shoulder. "Did you want the Soldier or not, Watkins?" 

"Well…yes."

"This is how you bring him in. You don't ask nicely. You know how many of my men we lost? Men with families?"

The doctor - Watkins - falls silent. 

"You're smart and you got a world class team. The asset's survived worse. So make it worth it."

Grumbling under his breath, Watkins looks away, just in time to see one of the support staff - a wiry scrap of a man - comes hurrying up to Watkins with a tablet and the harried look of someone with the brass breathing down his neck. "Dr. Watkins, Commander Rumlow, you have an urgent call waiting."

Rumlow glances down at Bucky as he strolls over to Watkins, a faint smirk curling the edge of his mouth when he sees he's drifting awake. That very smirk fades when he joins Watkins' side, towering over the old man while the doctor takes the tablet with the air of someone getting a visit they'd rather not.

"Ah, I'm afraid this is a surprise," blusters Dr. Watkins. Rumlow doesn't say anything, an eye always on Bucky even as he glowers down at the screen. "If there was a meeting scheduled, I apologize for missing it. Our work can get very busy, you see, and-"

"Don't waste my time, doctor," a woman interrupts. "We've already heard."

A man with a thick English accent speaks up. "Show us the asset."

Displeasure flickers on Watkin's pasty face but he obediently turns the tablet so the camera settles on Bucky, restrained in the chair and surrounded by medical staff, pale eyes furious over the muzzle clamped over his mouth. All he catches is a glimpse of several people in shadow before the doctor turns the tablet back towards him and Rumlow.

The medical staff sweep back in, continuing where they left off as they work to stabilize Bucky: he'd nearly undone the progress his body's healing made on the rebar wounds during the fight, and coupled with the stab wound, the only reason Bucky's still kicking around is because of the serum. Lady Luck's last laugh.

"You've caused us a real headache, Rumlow. Local authorities have begun investigating the mess you left capturing the asset," the woman says. "Now we have several cells risking exposure working to clean it up."

Rumlow, unlike Watkins, doesn't balk. "I saw a chance and took it. Besides, you really want the Soldier running around like some wild card, or worse, some other organization scooping him up?" This time, the people in the meeting have no reply. So Rumlow goes on. "What I want to know is why there's no working Chair here? Or cryofreeze chamber. Who the hell's bright idea was it to have them removed?" 

"They were becoming too financially unsound to keep maintained and operational. We felt the funds were better allocated elsewhere."

Bucky allows himself to relax only a fraction: at least they can't try and wipe him here. 

"Short-sighted if you ask me," Rumlow grits out.

"Your insight is noted," the woman replies coolly. "However, in light of this… new opportunity, we approve the transfer of the Soldier for use within Dr. Watkins' project, effective immediately. Do you have any objections, Rumlow?"

"None whatsoever."

The fact that Rumlow doesn't push back sends an uneasy chill down Bucky's spine. 

"Good. We'll be watching with great interest, Dr. Watkins."

The moment the call ends, Rumlow and Watkins step out with several other agents in tow: the old man looks so pleased with himself you'd think he just got gifted a private jet, and Rumlow… Rumlow doesn't look as upset over losing his favorite toy as Bucky would've expected.

What the hell's Watkins working on? And how come Rumlow feels so strongly about it that he didn't hesitate in backing it, instead of digging his heels in?

[Present Day - The Watchtower]

[Ava Starr]

When Alexei catches up to her, Ava nearly gives into the urge to phase out somewhere else. The last thing she wants is company, when her own will be more than plenty. If there's one good bright side to growing up the way she did, it's getting used to and appreciating your own company. And solitude.

Alexei quickly holds up a hand. "If you disappear, I can't tell you where Mr. Soldier hides fancy Asgard booze." 

Dammit.

"...Fine. Lead the way."

At least Alexei isn't the worst company you can ask for, Ava thinks as she takes a tiny test sip and flinches; turns out this Asgard stuff Bucky had stashed away might actually be deadly if you weren't prepared. Or a super soldier. Strong enough to peel paint but it also happens to taste like a dream once it settles on your tongue. The world's deadliest trap.

Meanwhile Alexei's actually pouring himself a proper size drink. "The Winter Soldier is holding out on us - this is good stuff!"

"Are you sure that's not too much?"

Alexei scoffs at her. "There's no such thing as 'too much', only 'too little'!"

If you want an early funeral, go for it, I guess. Ava forgoes her normal drink size and opts for a little tumbler's worth while they sit nestled under the stairs, where she perches on one of the storage crates, and Alexei leans against the wall next to her. Any other time, she'd feel (a little) bad about stealing from Barnes.

But seeing as Bucky decided to go on a field trip without telling them, Ava's taking it as payment for the trouble. He probably won't notice anyway.

"I hate this," says Ava suddenly. "We're not much of a team when everyone runs off on their own. Especially Barnes. I thought he was supposed to be the most professional one."

"Proper HYDRA discipline must have worn off unfortunately. Now he causes trouble without it," Alexei shakes his head. "We are in rough position without the tracker. Maybe if the Winter Soldier was still in the city, it would be easier. But he could be anywhere."

"And John doesn't get it. We're searching for a needle in the world's biggest haystack. We need all the help we can get. And starting with Valentina's the only thing I can think of."

"Sometimes we have to dirty our hands to get results," Alexei nods. "This one is for good cause at least."

Ava bites her lip, then only takes another teeny sip of her drink just to feel the lovely warmth blooming in her chest. "At least you get it. John's not helping."

Eyebrow raised, Alexei gives her a long, steady look over his glass as he takes a sip. She supposes it was very pointed. Especially after the scene back there. (A tiny part of her isn't exactly proud of it. Though John did have it coming)

"I don't like how he treated Bob," Ava explains. "And I don't like bullies. Especially bullies who don't even have a better plan."

"John is not the planning-type. He is a doing-type. Like me. We are the same."

"You're nicer than him."

Alexei looks honestly touched but he covers it up by thumping that barrel chest with a fist. "Stronger too."

They fall into a silence that's honestly not so bad. Really, Alexei could be a good drinking buddy sometime. Maybe once this is all over. If there's anything worth drinking to. In this business, sometimes there's no good ending to a mission, and there's always a side of Ava that's prepared for the worst. Another organization, if not HYDRA itself, could vanish Barnes back into the shadows and turn him back into a weapon. Or - even if they find Barnes, what if there's nothing left to save? 

"Is it true he and the Winter Soldier are…?" and Alexei trails off, making an obscene gesture that makes Ava roll her eyes. "You didn't stumble upon them-?"

"Ugh, no. Anyway, it's over. John, he…" Ava bites her lip. "Well, he told me himself."

And then Ava had taken what he'd told her in confidence and thrown it back in his face. Wanted to stoop to his level and hurt him as much as he hurt Bob. Only she'd dipped even lower. 

Ava finishes off the last of the tumbler in one go. This time it doesn't taste so good.

"He couldn't keep it secret for long anyway. I have seen them and thought something strange was going on. John looks at the Winter Soldier like he hung the moon when he thinks no one's watching. Maybe John likes him more than he'd let himself believe. That is why he lashes out, Ava. Because he feels useless to help him."

They're not gone too long. Maybe an hour or more before Ava's nerves have settled enough that she can tolerate being in the same room as John. By the time she and Alexei wander back up to the team area, she still doesn't regret defending Bob or calling John out for being useless or thinking he's being a prick. (He's definitely being a prick) But she does regret dragging Barnes into it just to rub it into John's face.

The first thing she notices is how quiet it is. Only the half-eaten takeout boxes are left in the room, sprawled all over the counter like a minefield, but no Bob or Yelena. Only the elevator hissing open, and when they both turn, it's to find John coming up with a glower and clench in his jaw.

John immediately notices the same thing they did, mouth pressing into a thin line when his eyes land on Ava.

Alexei asks, breaking the tense silence. "Have you seen Yelena or Bob?" 

"Thought she was with you. Don't tell me you lost her while I was calling in some favors."

Ava can feel a particularly biting response well up again. This time she swallows it down. Maybe it'd be better to keep quiet for the time being, let Alexei deal with John. Ava hangs back as they both wander the room, taking up Yelena's seat again as she busies herself with looking over the Project Slingshot files again. Surely there's something they missed.

What if Yelena and Bob left the tower? Went to take care of it themselves? It's already bad enough that Barnes took off, but if Yelena left and dragged Bob into a mission of their own…

John's voice drifts in as he and Alexei make their way back across the wide room towards the counter. "Well, call them on the comm."

"Yelena's not answering hers," comes Alexei's gravelly voice.

"Then call Bob's."

"Bob doesn't like wearing them, he says they hurt his ears."

"Jesus," John swears under his breath. "Sometimes we gotta do things that are a little uncomfortable to keep the team safe - Yelena? Bob?"

Ava looks up, then back over her shoulder where the others are staring, back towards one of the wings that lead to the other elevator shafts they mostly ignore, seeing as half the building is a work in progress.

Standing at the edge of the darkened hall is Yelena and Bob, thankfully not geared up like they went out on the field, but there's something just… off that Ava can't quite put her finger on. It's so off that Ava immediately gets up and herds them to the sofas with a hand to Bob's shoulder and one settled on Yelena's elbow: Yelena looks too pale, pupils almost blown out and red ringing her eyes, and Bob? Bob looks more out of it than he usually does, letting Ava lead him like he's shaking off a daze while she settles them onto the cushions.

John's eyes narrow. "The hell did you two just do?" 

Yelena, leaning back on the couch, rubs at her temple.  "We - I'm fine, Alexei, stop fussing over me - went looking for answers."

John's attention swings over to Bob sitting next to her. "Bob."

"It was my idea," Yelena cuts him off. You're lying, Ava thinks, looking at Bob, who's studiously looking at his slippers. "I dragged Bob into it because he's the only one who could make it work."

"Yelena. What did you do?" Alexei asks. Yelena does that thing where she pulls on apathy like a shield and shrugs.

"Nothing big. Just took a little dip into the Void."

All the air in the room might as well've been sucked out of it, because the silence is so heavy Ava can feel it. Bob looks a lot like he's trying to shrink himself into a ball next to Yelena, while Yelena's got this particular set to her jaw and hard look in her eyes as if she's bracing herself to fight everyone if she has to.

"You what," John's the first to manage.

Yelena stubbornly meets John's face, as if daring him to keep going. "We don't really know how far Bob's power goes, but I figured there's more to it. Since you said earlier that it could see inside you, get into your mind,  I figured maybe it could also see what Bucky's going through."

Ava can't help watching Bob, because she's got a feeling that maybe it wasn't entirely Yelena's plan. It seems very…neat. And in their line of work, 'neat' usually spells trouble.

"The point is, we made a trip through a couple of shame rooms and saw some stuff that might help with narrowing Bucky's location down," Yelena finishes. Like it was no big deal. What the hell?

Why do I get the feeling you're not telling us everything? There's a missing piece here, something that Yelena's skimming past when she's being so vague about the entire thing, and Ava already knows Bob won't be much help when Yelena's there to shield him. When this is over, Ava's getting Bob alone and prying the answer out of him. The full answer.

"I've seen a lot of stupid shit but this tops them all," John grits out. "You could've been killed, and you had to drag Bob into this! This is the goddamn stupidest risk I've ever heard-"

Yelena cuts him off. "I thought you wanted Bucky back. Could've fooled me."

John shuts up. And for the first time, actually looks like an alley mutt that got cuffed. 

"It's over and done with. It doesn't matter how we got a lead as long as we have something to work off of. This could be time sensitive," Ava pipes up, studiously not looking directly at John when he glowers at her. "What did you see?"

"It looked like a bunch of old screens, but what was on them looked more recent. It looked like they were passing into a desert at night. I saw a mass of lights in the distance, like a city," and Yelena closes her eyes for a moment, trying to focus. Then she finally goes on. "Respectable but not sprawling to forever. Not like Tokyo. Smaller. Not so many spread out clusters of skyscrapers. Not as tall either."

John decides to play ball, because he finally joins them, sitting down in one of the chairs. "Is there anything else about it?"

"It was bright enough that it almost looked like it turned night to day," Yelena says thoughtfully. "I thought I saw a lone mountain nearby, but it was too dark to be sure. 

Bob suddenly lifts his head as if remembering something. "And there was a big sphere all lit up."

"Call me crazy, but it almost sounds like it could be Vegas." John brings his phone out, typing in something then turning the phone towards Bob and Yelena. "That look like the sphere?"

Bob squints at it then only shrugs. "Uh…maybe?"

"Whatever was carrying Bucky didn't land there. They went past it. When the transport landed, I thought I saw these mountains -" Yelena hands over a scrap of paper with the scribble of a mountain range: it looked like it was done hastily. Could be any mountains, but the other sketch next to it is more useful. An aerial view, it almost looked like a bunching of several pale circles on the ground, and a road. Maybe a quarry or something. Yelena turns the paper over, to show what looks like an old mine entrance. "And when they landed, I saw soldiers coming from this entrance."

Ava plucks the scrap paper and turns it over with a sense of deja vu. The entrance looks familiar. Very familiar. So does the aerial view even if it's roughly jotted down as if Yelena was afraid of forgetting it. 

But back in the day, there hadn't been any sphere in Las Vegas back when the helicopter with her and her handlers had flown past it on a late afternoon. And worse, there's plenty of mine entrances in Nevada, even if being near Las Vegas shaves some down. They could have very well switched out a massive haystack for a smaller one. A haystack's still a haystack.

"This place looks familiar," says Ava slowly, a little uncertain as if tracing her steps back to a place she'd long moved on from. It's years between it and her at this point. "It used to be an old mine; Paradise Prospect. There's an old SHIELD facility underneath. They had me train there for a couple years before I got a handle on my powers. It was later decommissioned and filled in."

"Could you recognize it if you saw photo?" Alexei looks between her, Yelena and Bob, setting the laptop down on the coffee table and bringing up the image search.

"I think so," Yelena answers.

"I suppose if it's still in one piece," Ava says.

Bob's the only one who looks unsure. When he nods belatedly, well, Ava wouldn't stake her life on it. But two out of three isn't bad.

By the time they break from being clustered around the laptop, Ava's mostly sure that if anything, Barnes is in Nevada. At least earlier; of course with their terrible luck, they could also have moved him elsewhere. What they're less sure of is the mine entrance - only that Las Vegas was visible from the flight there. Not right next door, which would've made things easier, but not all the way up north.

This whole thing's a stretch, but it's more than what they had before.

Crossing his arms, John regards the map they got pulled up, with several notes written on the screen - the mine they'd mentioned, then several other mines in the southern end of Nevada that might match visible mountain ranges from Yelena's sketches, especially anything neighboring a road near several circles.

"We'll split into two teams to check out more ground," Yelena decides, sitting back. "Alexei and I will form one, and John and Ava the other."

Ava pretends like she misses the scowl that crosses John's face. And besides, he seems happy to act like she's not in the room just then, which for once is fine with her. 

"Sure, whatever. Anyway, while you two were taking a road trip through some shame rooms, I secured a ride," John finally says. "We got ourselves a quinjet."

Yelena glances up at John, eyebrow cocked. Commandeering a quinjet and a pilot out from under Valentina's no small feat. "...Do I want to know how you swung that?"

"Probably best you don't," John's grin is a touch unpleasant. "Let's say the pilot owed me big time and leave it at that. He'll be ready anytime and ready to go anywhere."

Bob clears his throat awkwardly (Ava starts; she'd forgotten he was there) from behind the circle formed around the laptop. "Er, what should I do?"

"You've already done a lot," Ava tells him quickly, briefly meeting Yelena's eyes. They don't need to say anything between them. Bob shouldn't be out on field work, especially after that trip to the Void. Who knows what really happened there, especially since Yelena's playing coy about it? The fact that she agrees makes Ava only more determined to dig into this later: Bob still looks like the color got drained out of him, like the room might spin if he stands up too fast, and certainly not useful out there even if he didn't have the Other Him to deal with.

"We need you back here, Bob. Someone's gotta be the guy in the chair," John says.

Which isn't the answer Bob wanted. His face falls a little. "Oh, that's…if you say so."

"Trust me, it's vital," and John clasps Bob's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I've seen things go to shit when you don't have someone with their eyes on the whole picture. You might even have the harder job if things get hairy."

While Bob doesn't look entirely satisfied by that, at least he looks less disappointed. It helps that John's never coddled Bob before either and certainly wasn't about to start now.

[Present Day – ?????]

[Bucky Barnes]

Keeping track of time's impossible. Much less how long Rumlow and Watkins are gone for. Not a single clock or watch in sight and, considering Bucky doesn't even know how long he was drugged for, that might not count for much anyway. But still - by now,  the rest of the team had to have noticed he was missing. 

Which doesn't count for much since Bucky did the smart thing and ditched the tracker they all wear. All because he saw an opportunity and took it.

Help isn't coming.

The staff bustle around Bucky, one of them slipping a new needle into the IV port while one of the other nurses rolls in a tray nearby, with several bags kept cool that also smell faintly of iron as they prep him for the transfusion. 

Bucky lets his eyes slip nearly shut against the blaring lights as if the sedative was stronger than it actually was, not even a muscle twitching in his face when the chill from new blood finally begins to spread through his veins. The best thing he can do right now is get his strength up. And scope the place out. This isn't the same HYDRA that had him for decades: there's something in the air with the staff, something less afraid of him that they should be.

Even Pierce never forgot the dangerous weapon in his hands, no matter how much control he had.

There's several exits, two on the upper balconies that aren't guarded by enough people. A vent sits higher up one curved wall, big enough that Bucky could scramble up quickly and vanish into that isn't even covered by guards. What he needs is an opening. And time. 

Bucky's attention keeps coming back to the strange rings all around the room. Whatever Watkins is working on, it's farther along than anything he'd seen from the other companies. 

Rumlow's the only one around here who comes off as someone who'd actually worked closely with the asset. The only one rightly aware of the danger, and Watkins? Bucky dimly remembers seeing him around, younger, with all his hair and twenty pounds lighter, flitting in and out of the Soldier's periphery, but he was never hands-on like Pierce or the medical team that put the asset back together after missions. R&D, mostly. Not at all as important in the asset's world as his handlers.

If the medical team had Rumlow's experience, they'd know better than to keep the medical trays so close to the seat he's strapped to. After an incident during '61, SOP was that the medical trays were to be kept eight feet from the Soldier, even if sedated, and that any and all tools would have to be passed over from them and counted.

No matter how many docs bitched about how inefficient it was, how it got in the way of doing their jobs, they changed their tune real quick after a field trip to watch the security feed of the Soldier's first escape. One of HYDRA's best training videos.

Turns out these guys never saw it. 

To anyone else, Bucky looks like he's drifting under the new round of sedatives. If the Commander- if Rumlow was here, he'd have double checked it was enough. Maybe pumped more to be safe, but he's not, and this crew's inexperienced with a super soldier. The sedative burns through him in under ten minutes, but you wouldn't know it looking at him.

It's when one of the docs impatiently waves over the medical tray, that Bucky's chest catches with anticipation. The slight shift in his vitals' beeping - only a moment- ends up covered up by the chair's mechanisms grinding when it tilts upwards.

By the time the nurse rolls the tray closer, Bucky's controlled his heart and breathing back to something slow and steady; to anyone who didn't know better, he still reads as sedated as before.  Not close enough. Not yet. Be patient. One wrist twists slowly at the restraints, working it looser and looser. Should be enough room to snap it.

The doc leans in to get a good look at the edges of the rebar wounds, prodding painfully around the edges of one that looks like it's reluctantly knitting back up: too slow for a serum like Steve's, but maybe that's what age and mileage'll do to even someone enhanced like him. Someone else bustles in with a light, and another crowds in for notes while the nurse tries to find a space to settle in for stitches... 

…The tray brushes just close enough for Bucky to swipe a scalpel.

Bucky barely slips it out of sight in time, tucked nimbly in under the wrist restraint, when he hears Rumlow and Watkins's footsteps coming down the hall. Rumlow's a problem. Especially since he didn't get caught up in meetings or moved on, it leaves Bucky's window of opportunity so much smaller. Rumlow'll check Bucky sooner than later, which means he could discover the scalpel, so Plan B is buying more time before Bucky gets put through the doc's pet project. 

Watkins; he has to be the target if Bucky has one chance to use the scalpel. Killing Zola instead of taking out the closest orderly would've ground the Winter Soldier program to a crawl, maybe even a ton of HYDRA's other operations. He won't make that mistake twice. 

Bucky lets his eyes flutter open, glassy and faraway, as Rumlow and Watkins stop at his side, head lolling when Rumlow reaches out to cuff his jaw to the side so he can place two burned fingers on his pulse. It's all Bucky can do not to flinch away from his touch, especially when the touch scrapes and lingers down along the sweep of his collarbone. Instead, Bucky focuses on somewhere distant past his shoulder until Rumlow drops his hand and lets Watkins step in, who awkwardly shoulders past to frown down at Bucky like he's a dead relative's busted antique car dropped into his lap. Valuable but a problem.

"Is the Soldier stable enough yet?"

"At this rate, I'd say a couple hours," a doctor says, stepping aside to make a notation. "Less even, depending on how well he responds to the transfusions."

Watkins grumbles under his breath as he looks over the staff's work patching Bucky up, then frowns up at Rumlow. "This really would've been easier on our timetable if you'd taken more care bringing him in."

"Next time I'll let you leash him yourself," Rumlow says with a shrug. "Besides, why bitch? Looks to me like the rest of HYDRA's taking you seriously now."

"Hm, I suppose, even if they're late. It's nice they finally see the value of my work. Considering the applications, it would trump anything else the other divisions are working on," Watkins sniffs, a vaguely wet sound. "It could be the single most important experiment in history. See here- " and Watkins waves towards several of the golden rings standing around the room. "We suspect the rings we've caught glimpses of several sorcerers wearing is what allows them to focus their powers to travel to another location. Mind you, getting one of the actual rings has proven impossible. As you can see, we've constructed rings that will act as doorways to different places, and with any luck, possible time periods…"

"I've read your initial reports," Rumlow cuts in, while Bucky's blood freezes in his veins; here he'd been following AIM, Oscorp, Alchemax, but HYDRA not only survived, but been so much further along. "Figures I was the only one to read past the first page. Cut to the chase."

Watkins huffs, but not before giving Rumlow a long look like it's a pleasant surprise. "We've suffered drawbacks since we have neither the training nor skill of a sorcerer. Replicating something close to the Time Stone's signature has also been touch and go, and harnessing the specific energy has been difficult when it's so volatile. It makes targeting a time period impossible, just as much as holding a gate open long enough for a human to go through. Previous tests have had unfortunate results."

Judging from the silence, despite Rumlow's disdain for Watkins, he respects Watkins' work enough to listen.

Encouraged, Watkins goes on, patting Bucky's metal shoulder like they're old pals. Or a reliable piece of equipment. Bucky flexes his wrist slightly, the scalpel silently inching towards his palm…

 "What we've needed is someone to be an anchor: someone who would not only have a lived connection to our target eras, but someone who's also likely to actually survive the first several attempts. Once the way open is stabilized, theoretically it should remain open as long as we need it after. We'd only need an anchor for the first opening of the gates."

"Considering the payoff, I'd say it's worth the risk if it works."

"Quite right. It's a shame though," says Watkins regretfully, looking down at Bucky strapped to the chair as he steps closer those last few inches. This might be Bucky's only chance to stop the project. "He's a marvelous specimen. Certainly unfortunate for something truly one of a kind, Dr. Zola's finest work-"

It happens all at once. Even though he's a couple steps from death's door, Bucky's terrifyingly fast. The blood infusion's given him a new burst of strength to throw at the restraints, which tear off with a horrifying screech of leather and steel, the scalpel sliding into his fingers as Bucky strikes at Watkins who freezes in abject terror, eyes wide and-

Rumlow's ready for him. Fast, and already waiting for it. Rumlow rushes in when Bucky slashes with the scalpel aimed at Watkin's throat, even as the rest of the staff suddenly flees to the edges of the room like sheep scattering.

The hard backhand that cracks against Bucky's face throws his aim off, so brutal that even he sees sparks and his grip loosening just enough for Rumlow to twist the scalpel out from his grip with a mean twist of a wrist, before slamming him back into the chair.

The magcuffs click into place on Bucky's wrists with the finality of a coffin slamming shut.

"Gotta hand it to you, Watkins, points for not falling on your ass," Rumlow laughs, an ugly sound, a mocking sound. Securing Bucky comes so easily that Rumlow could do it blind, a strong hand splayed out against Bucky's throat to pin him down even as he scoffs at Watkins, who looks a lot like he'd nearly pissed his pants. "You don't ever get complacent around the asset, you hear me?"

"I…" Watkins looks between Rumlow and Bucky straining at the new restraints, reaching up to shakily touch the thin slice on his own throat welling up blood, the color draining from his face as he just now realizes how close death had come. "Uh, thank you, I'll - I'll keep it in mind."

Rumlow only smirks like Bucky just pulled off a fun party trick, even as his hand skids up from his throat and casually, so casually, cups it against the muzzle, covering up the air holes and very deliberately begins to press down, pushing the muzzle flush against Bucky's face. Just like that, there's only the scent of Rumlow's leather glove filling in senses, driving out the scraps of air as Bucky's gasp gets cut off. 

"Normally, what we'd do if the asset got feisty was to beat it out of him first. Maybe even give him a few rounds with the blender or a good ol' waterboarding," Rumlow says casually as if discussing the weather, while Bucky gasps for air under him, back arching up against the restraints as his hands twists uselessly against the restraints, lungs burning as Watkins stares with a look torn between shock and fascination. "Sometimes he needs a reminder, functions best with strong boundaries and a strong hierarchy. Clear consequences especially. You gotta be firm, not some kinda pussy about it. You flinch first and you might not get a second chance."

Watkins's throat bobs on a rough swallow, unable to look away from Bucky fighting uselessly under Rumlow's grip as Bucky strains and strains, lungs on fire until sparks swim in his vision and the plates in his arm spasm along his bicep.

It's only when the world starts to go dark and Bucky's struggles grow weak that Rumlow suddenly lets up. Bucky's gasp for air is explosive, desperate and muffled behind the muzzle as he goes limp on the table, no longer fighting the cuffs.

Rumlow smooths the strands of dark hair away from Bucky's stinging eyes as if to savor the animal relief for air.  "Looks to me like you're strong enough to be a pain in the ass after all. Maybe we can start those tests of yours sooner than later, Watkins." 

To be continued (?)

Chapter Text

[The Watchtower-  Landing Pad]

[Yelena Belova]

The bad news first: doing this behind Valentina's back means there's no support teams to scramble all the supplies and weapons together. Anything they need on the mission, they'll have to bring it themselves. Logistics and intel are on them.

The good news: they have two super soldiers. One of which has the fancy, better serum. 

So all it takes is one offhand comment from Yelena to needle Alexei and Walker, and now they're hauling up large crates after crates into the loading elevator as if they're trying to beat the other in a foot race. Prove who's the better super soldier.

Very predictable but very useful.

Slipping the axe into the holster resting on her back, Yelena slips out from the elevator, where a fierce wind suddenly whips through her hair and lashes at her face through the open doors: true to Walker's word, there's a quinjet hovering above them, circling in place to make the landing with the wind kicking up as it starts to lower onto the platform. Ava's already there, going through a checklist of the items they have, while Bob hovers about her with a look as if realizing this is in fact really happening. 

And that he's about to be left on his own devices, with all of them counting on him. The shade of green on him's very impressive, especially when Ava hands him a tablet and then continues paging through a pocket notebook with him.

"-and after that, it's safe to connect this tablet to the computer downstairs, it'll give you access. Don't lose it or let anyone else find it. But don't connect it before inserting this USB," Yelena overhears Ava tell him as she drops the other bag on the ground. Ava presses something else into Bob's hand. "Make sure this is first. If you don't, Valentina or the rest of the government will be able to see what we're doing."

Bob curls his fingers on it like it's as valuable as a blue diamond. "Right, USB first, then tablet."

"And we'll need the most recent schematic you can find for Paradise Prospect from the last known SHIELD archive. And honestly, a map of any mine around southern Nevada within an aerial path that passes within sight of Vegas just in case.  Also the satellite images of the areas around those within a five mile radius, as well as a list of any natural hazards. Once you have these, send them to us and stay on the line. We'll need you to help walk us through the area. If we can't reach you for any reason, it could mean life or death."

Uncertainly, Bob nods, though at this rate it's looking like even more color's drained from his face while Ava reaches for the hair tie around her wrist and ties her thick hair back against the wind.

"What if the power goes out or something?"

"Then I guess you'll have to fly out and get us," Ava replies. "Lets hope it won't come to that."

It's all the time Ava has for Bob, because she turns to head for the quinjet as it finally settles on the platform, leaving Bob alone and surrounded by a growing pile of gear that he's probably never even heard of. Much less know what to do with, without shooting a finger off.

Putting the hard case down for a moment, Yelena makes her way up to him, settling her hand on his back briefly. "Ditch the sweater if you're about to throw up. It's expensive."

Bob takes a deep breath, still green as he makes a visible effort to avoid looking like he'll vomit the next second. "I'm not gonna puke."

"But it's a lot."

"It's a lot," Bob agrees. "For one person."

"That's because there's usually a whole team of professionals."

Bob's mouth presses into a thin line. "Right."

"Just breathe. I know you can do this," says Yelena, although the truth of it is, the odds aren't in their favor. From having such a wide area to search, to less than a skeleton crew and the lack of better intel of what they might be facing, it comes down to this simple fact; any mission, Yelena's found, can turn on its head. And most missions like this don't have a happy ending.

It just isn't what Bob needs to hear right now. Even if it's the truth.

"How do you even know that?" Bob asks. "I mean, I could mess this up in so many ways, Yelena."

"Sure you could, but I trust you."

"Why?"

"Because you want to do the right thing. And you do when it matters. That's why." 

Bob can't help the way his cheeks pinken, too late to cover it up even as he ducks his head and pretends like he's smoothing his hair back into place now that the quinjet's engines have turned off (it doesn't quite work, dark strands springing up again like a bird's nest) as he studies the notes Ava left him.

"Well… I mean, I don't know if it helps, but I looked it up and sometimes caves can have toxic gases that can get exposed," Bob offers, scratching his chin. "So I had Alexei get some of those breathing units from downstairs. I didn't know which ones, so I told him to take all of them."

"Good call," Yelena says, smiling as nudges his shoulder with hers. Maybe overkill to take every single one, but better safe than sorry at this point. "There you go. You're already off to a good start."

Bob might not look more confident but at least he looks less green around the gills.

One fire possibly put out, but usually there's another springing up. This leadership thing is apparently part 'getting-ahead-of-the-next-fire'. 

See? She's learning.

Once Yelena's sure Bob's (mostly) going to be okay, she next makes her way over to where Ava is, who's in the middle of double-checking and triple-checking her suit with the same seriousness as someone about to go onto the moon. 

"I take it that it's my turn for the pep talk, is it?" asks Ava, pulling a couple times at one strap then another. 

"I didn't want you feeling left out."

Ava darts a little glance up, a little amused smile flickering across her face. The more Yelena's around Ava, the more she almost likes her. Not just because Ava is one of the most professional out of the team (besides Bucky), but personally… she's not all that awful.

"I wanted to talk to you about Walker," Yelena says. Ava's tiny smile fades.

Now Ava sighs, producing an odd little device from one of the pouches on her belt, which she connects to one of the lights lining her wrist first, her entire attention seemingly focused on the little stick. "What about him?"

"We can switch if working with him is going to be a problem. Alexei likes you."

The little device beeps after a moment, then a violet light flares up. Whatever that means, only Ava knows and she's fine keeping it that way, for she neatly connects it to one of the lights swung around her collarbones next, staring intently at it.

"Believe it or not, I've been on missions with even worse company." 

"Thanks. I think," Yelena says. "I mean it, Ava. I don't want the mission to fall apart because you two are fighting like cats."

Something proud flares in Ava's pale eyes as she lifts her jaw and stares down at Yelena. "For being a 'cheap mercenary', I like to think I'm more professional than he is. I'll make this work."

[???]

[Bucky Barnes]

Turns out nearly getting killed isn't enough to make Watkins think twice that long about working directly with the asset. Once Watkins makes up his mind, it's full-steam ahead - everything after that's a blur as the medical staff and scientists converge on him, and someone increases the dosage of the sedation.

Not enough to put Bucky under completely. But enough to send him into a floating twilight, limbs heavy and head rolling when they finally put all guns on him and open the rest of the restraints. Bucky barely remembers anything other than feeling the cool press of gloved hands all over him, at one point Rumlow's scarred face drifting in close for a moment as he adjusts the magcuffs, followed by the sensation of weightlessness…

…Then the world shifts. Suddenly Bucky's somehow moved from the side room in what feels like a sluggish blink to suddenly in the center of the domed chamber, now lying on something hard and unforgiving, something that won't let him fall through the floor and away from all this. Someone pushes his head up from his chest, and a leather strap is stretched across the curve of his throat  - less rigid than the cuffs, but firm enough to stop his head from rolling forward as the tech secures both ends to the metal slab.

 Then, on the next blink, the person's abruptly gone like they teleported, leaving Bucky to blink owlishly up at the strange devices framed by lights blooming like stars set high above him like it'll have all the answers, while technicians bustle around and past him.

"So what's the plan, Watkins? Just crank up the juice and see what happens?"

"Not yet. I'd like to see any results without the sedation affecting his mind so much. How long would you say it would take to burn out of the asset's system?

"Depends. How much did you give him in that last dose?

Silence above him. Bucky can barely make out Rumlow's blurry shape ducking his head as he reads a clipboard held out for him. 

"About fifteen minutes and you're in business."

Those fifteen minutes drag on into an eternity. Could've been two hours, ten hours, or something in between, with only the heavy thud of Bucky's heart trying to pound away and the distant fear dulled by the drugs to keep him company, twisting feebly at the restraints as the medical staff attach several sensors and a webbing of wires to his chest and arm.

Slowly, bit by bit, the world seems to drag itself out from the strange fog where time flits or slows down, right back to the present. Everything gets clearer. Hurts more. The fear sharpens, makes the back of his tongue go sour as he now tries the restraints with a strength that's returning but also doesn't matter a damn thing when they were made to hold someone like Steve.

Several things swim quickly into focus. First, oddly enough, is the mass of cameras set up and aimed down at Bucky, angled to make sure every possible angle is covered. And the other….

Bucky's pulse picks up so rapidly that one of the nurses appears to check his vitals.

…the other is the reinforced chair Bucky's been moved to, tilted back to face the ceiling just like the vault's Chair, only instead of the halo, there's a visor that would cover the upper half of a person's face, sleek and almost otherworldly as if rigged together from tech that sure as hell isn't from around here, and dangling from the mass of thick, twisting wires like some parasite about to drop. Maybe even cobbled together technology from any number of alien wrecks over the years.

Bucky's heart thuds furiously in his chest as that same nurse reaches up for the visor.

But at the sound of small hooves clip-clopping nearby, Bucky's eyes dart away from the visor. It's just in time to see the scientists leading a sheep up to one of the rings until it's standing on a marker, tethering one lead nearby as the poor SOB stamps its feet so restlessly it makes the stopwatch dangling from its neck sway. One of the men readies a prod with the same sharp electric crackle that Bucky still sometimes hears in his sleep.

Then the visor lowers, plunging Bucky into sheer blackness as it fits neatly around his head. What he's left with is the muffled, hoarse breathing rasping damply against the muzzle, the sheep bleating aimlessly while several footsteps quickly leave his side. 

Teeth grit into a snarl, Bucky throws all the strength he's got left at the restraints. Tries to shake the visor off him, but it clings just as relentlessly as the restraints holding him to the chair. Not even a creak of metal or any give; no matter how Bucky twists at the cuffs or tries to brute force out of them, they might as well be made of pure vibranium. Maybe something even stronger.

All around them, the chamber's air hums to life with an energy that makes the sheep bleat in alarm and the hairs raise all over Bucky's body, sending goosebumps pricking all over his skin. It grows and grows, skimming over him, into his head, into his lungs and down his spine, a cold so fierce it somehow burns as Bucky thrashes against the restraints. It's growing and growing, stealing into him, stealing something from him.

Somehow the strange energy sneaks into the pure void the visor has Bucky trapped in, invasive as a toxic chemical leaking past a seal. 

Little threads of light wind in, faint as wisps at first, then shimmering into something that might be people at the edge of Bucky's vision. Ghosts of a past that he keeps missing if he tries to look at them directly, they move around like he's catching a glimpse of something; it takes a moment, but that faint outline almost looks the intake room from the Siberian facility, that might even be Karpov rising from his desk to look the asset over, young again, neat and cold and humorless, before he fades of like a mirage, and then the very same, he catches a glimpse of Dum Dum tossing Morita some smokes.

The air throbs so loud and the energy rakes through his very nerves that Bucky barely hears the sudden yelp and clack of hooves suddenly cut off above the animal sound of pain dragged from his own burning lungs. 

Time starts to lose meaning like this. Just the machine digging its claws into him, maybe for another eternity, when finally, the machine powers down. Then. Nothing. All that greets Bucky is the heavy silence of an eternity and the hum of the machines and the fading sensation like the very blood in his veins had turned electric, heart pounding so hard as if trying to escape his chest.

Then someone suddenly whoops from the observation deck and the control room explodes with cheers as the sound of hooves clatter through the thundering in Bucky's ears.

Bucky's gone limp in the chair, panting raggedly as someone works the visor off him and starts shining a light in his eyes, even as another nurse checks his vitals. He can't even wrest his head away, too limp at first to even twitch a finger as the doctors take notes.

What he does glimpse through the crowd of bodies is the other scientists surrounding the sheep, which is now standing in a little fenced in area across the room next to another gate, seemingly in one piece, except for the severed half of the tether dragging behind it, if pissed enough to try and nip at the scientist who reaches for the stopwatch around its neck. The gate behind it shimmers one last time before the glow fades from it and goes dead.

Bucky feels Rumlow's presence at his head before he sees him -  silent, a threat and a promise if he needs to step in. For all the serum running in his veins, it might as well not be there now; Bucky can't even manage to stand, even if the restraints all sprung open and someone left every door open.

"Oh, this is exciting!" comes Watkins voice as he scurries down from the observation deck in his stupid loafers to beam down at Bucky as if he was a student who did him proud. "And how are they both? Ah yes, good, good, let me see those-"

Rumlow's a lot more patient than Bucky gives him for as he waits for Watkins to look over the two tablets both teams give him, and then compares the sheep's readings to the control watch dangling from his own wrist. Excitement blooms across Watkins' pasty face.

"I do believe we've done it. Not only has our subject successfully moved across the room, it traveled forward five minutes without even a scratch! Truly a remarkable day for science." 

Even Rumlow, who's seen a lot of shit over the years, looks impressed. "Would you look at that? Sure beats those shit-heel AIM guys."

"AIM and all the others will be but a footnote in history once we're through! Although maybe we should still send them a gift basket: they practically helped deliver us the asset," Watkins' laugh is a touch giddy: seems he's forgotten all about nearly getting killed.  

Rumlow snorts, then cocks his head down at where a cold sweat's broken out on Bucky's temple, which he swipes off with a thumb and studies. "And how's my friend doing here?"

"Stable enough, though we had to lower the power on the gate before it could fully stabilize. No sense in pushing the asset too hard on the first test. For the next series, I'd like to keep it on longer, put a human through after I've reviewed all the footage," Watkins answers, before turning towards the security staff parked at the door to eagerly shout; "Bring out Subject 3814-B!"

[En route to Nevada]

[Ava Starr]

The quinjet rumbles under Ava, the engine muted and as familiar as it had been so many years ago; when SHIELD had taken her in, she'd often dozed off the engines' thrum, the engine strangely comforting as the steady thrum of a pulse enveloping her.

Now sleep's the furthest thing from Ava's mind, even if she should rest. Phasing can be exhausting on intensive missions, if it's done practically back to back, and especially the longer she tries to hold it. Exhausting and usually it ends up leaving Ava ravenous enough to put down a whole buffet after if she had her way. Which means conserving any and all energy now, while she can.

Clouds wisp past the window as if they're skating through phantoms as the quinjet passes through them. It'll take them hours to get there at this rate. A quinjet at full speed and cloaking could get them there in under two hours, but that would call far too much attention that they can't afford on them, such as a sudden escort right back to the nearest base.

Reaching up, Ava adjusts the earpiece again, eyes drifting once again towards the back of the pilot seated up front, with Alexei sprawled out in the copilot's seat. The man's fairly…well, fairly average. The sort you would'd peg with the nice wife, decent starter home, picket fence and a kid on the way or something, whose idea of real excitement was going to a Super Bowl party and skipping the heartburn medication.

He looks like half the pilots Ava's flown with before. Not at all notable… if it weren't for the brief flicker of dark venom that had passed over his face when they'd started loading the quinjet, something red hot and furious aimed for a moment at John when he'd turned up. 

Now the pilot's practically brimming with a weird, nervous kind of energy, tension making him stiff as a board, only somewhat eased off by Alexei being so disarmingly Alexei. For the man responsible for getting them in and out, this sort of thing would get him pulled and replaced on a mission. Unfortunately, they don't have that option. Whatever John did, it doesn't seem like a friendly favor.

Ava's almost afraid to ask.

"You trust him any?" Ava asks Yelena under her breath, where they're perched on one of the benches, jerking her chin slightly towards the front of the quinjet as she passes over an earpiece.

"I trust him not to crash the quinjet with us in it. And only because it would take himself out," Yelena replies, glancing back a little at John, who's busy going over his weapons in the back. "I wouldn't turn my back on that one if I was Walker."

"So you noticed."

"Hard not to. You'd think Walker personally burned his house to the ground," Yelena replies, settling her earpiece in.

Ava's eyes narrow at the back of the pilot's head. "He could ditch us the moment we get on-site. We'd be stranded in a desert."

"I know. But we just don't have the numbers for someone to keep a gun on him," Yelena murmurs with a grimace. "I figure we solve one fire at a time. This one was just getting us there. After, we'll have to wing it. Maybe he'll betray us. Maybe he won't."

"And maybe Bob'll have to come get us after all."

Yelena gets this deeply pained look on her face as if the thought alone just shaved a couple years off her life, then her attention shifts when a little beep from the little device in her hands - a thin film meant to wrap around an arm during the mission itself - interrupts them. The one on Ava's forearm echoes a beep as well. 

From here, Ava can just make out several thin paragraphs scroll by, a couple pictures of different species of rattlesnakes and scorpions, followed by a satellite photo and a blueprint as Yelena swipes along the film, all business. "Looks like Bob's sending us the first packets. We focus on finding Bucky first or where else he's been taken, and worry about the rest later."

Yelena soon scoops up another device small enough to fit on her belt, and hunched over, begins to check in with Bob, who begins talking them through the information he's sending their devices.

Ava leaves them to it for now. There's plenty of time to look over the info before they reach Nevada, but something else has been hanging over her head. And maybe Yelena's right. This needs to be taken care of before boots hit the ground. It's definitely not because she feels at all bad about it.

Leaving Yelena to it for now, Ava makes her way to the back of the quinjet where John's set up camp. Even when Ava sits down across from him, John doesn't look up from the firearm spread out on his lap, carefully checking it over. 

"Your friend didn't look happy to see you," Ava starts. 

John adjusts the modified scope he's added to the rifle. "He'll be fine."

"Doesn't look like it to me," and when there's no answer, nothing helpful, Ava adds; "Is this going to jeopardize the mission?"

"Nah."

So we're onto one word answers now. Cute, Ava stares flatly at him, unimpressed by that answer and clearly not buying it. Eventually it must get to John, because even he finally shrugs, which is a step above pretending Ava's not there.

"He'll get over it. Besides. He knows I got a habit of coming back like a bad penny whenever things go south. Just make his life harder if he tries anything."

Whatever happened on that call, John doesn't look like he plans on being forthcoming about the details. Ava almost wishes he'd just simply bribed the pilot or something rather than whatever he did. The silence that falls again sits heavily and uneasily, borderline excruciating when John's had no problem running his mouth all the time. Now, the dull roar of the engines isn't all that comforting anymore.

"I wanted to say…." Ava starts with such difficulty that the words sort of die before they come out. She's just not good at this stuff; easier to slip right into mission mode, put the feelings aside, and tunnel in on an objective. It's the professional thing to do. And it's even harder when John keeps his attention on that stupid rifle, like she's just wasting air. Stubbornly, Ava continues. "I shouldn't have said what I did back there. About Barnes, that is. I don't know the full story."

"You sure don't."

Ava barely resists the urge to kick his boot. Her mouth thins. "Which means I had no right to hurl that in your face. I'm sorry."

Now John does look away from the gun, finally meeting her eyes so steadily that even Ava shifts a little uncomfortably.

"Fine. We're square, I guess," John replies brusquely, even though it doesn't actually feel like they're square. "Look, I just want to get through this mission without anyone getting killed. No point in someone catching a round because we're at each others' throats over bullshit."

It's not so much an acceptance as it is a truce, which somehow leaves Ava feeling more off-footed and liking it even less; she's trying here, even when dealing with people doesn't come as easily as it does, say, Yelena. 

For a long while, Ava watches him. Again, John returns his attention to the loadout he's planning on bringing, the movements almost mechanical, even as his jaw goes tight like his teeth are ground together, as if maybe it's the only thing keeping him going is just doing something useful at all. 

Maybe this was more than just some hookup.

"John. We'll find him."

"You actually believe that?"

Ava falls silent. There's no honest answer there. At least not one that won't insult John's intelligence; say what you want about him, but he's not some fresh recruit barely a couple weeks out of boot camp. Little about this mission is in their favor. Everyone knows it.

"Thought so," John says, but without any real bite. Not when it sounds like he's exhausted with worry. Or maybe resigned to what they'll find, if anything at all.

[???]

[Bucky Barnes]

'Subject 3814-B' turns out to be some guy who looks like a school teacher snatched from his sleep, gagged, cuffed, wide-eyed and terrified as he takes in the room he's escorted to, then the strange man strapped to the chair and all the armed guards. Unlike the first subject, he knows to be afraid. Tries to twist and dig in his heels only to get cuffed for it.

Of course HYDRA wouldn't risk their own yet.

Bucky strains and strains at the cuffs as they push the prisoner into the room, practically throws himself forward without anything to show for it, except for the groan of pain scraped out of him as it tears at the stitches and not even an ounce of give. 

Doesn't mean a damn thing. It didn't budge before the machine sapped him. Sure as hell doesn't now. Just as it doesn't matter at how much the poor bastard begs the guards; they force the prisoner onto the pedestal near the same ring the sheep had been earlier, several guns leveled at the prisoner while the nurse reaches up again for the visor hovering above Bucky and secures it once again to his face. 

Once again, he's plunged into a blackness so deep that you'd almost forget life ever existed outside it. Maybe even forget you existed at all.

The thing anchoring him down at all is the racing of his heart.

Shaking, Bucky's fingers curl into his palms, chest heaving with a new growing fear as the machines power on and the air comes alive all around them and tries to brace himself.

Somehow it's so much worse this time around. Like the machine's gotten a taste for blood and wants so much more this time.

This time it hurts so much that Bucky doesn't recognize the agonized sounds coming from him, strangled off into whimpers as the pulsing energy steals the breath from him. 

The ghosts from his past return this time, clearer now as if snatched right out of his mind like a snapshot or maybe like he and the device are actually going back to steal a peek; they blend in on each other, rooms on top of rooms, eras on top of eras, a HYDRA training facility right next door to the nice theater he took Steve to when he surprised him with seeing 'Snow White'.

"Oh c'mon, you said they sold out!" comes Steve's voice as if from faraway as he crosses in front of the re-calibration chair bolted in the middle of the the street like it doesn't exist, with a past Bucky (so carefree Bucky doesn't remember what it was ever like) loping after him with an easy grin. 

"They were! And maybe I happened to swipe the last tickets."

They vanish in a dazzle of light as Agent Carter appears: in a uniform pressed sharp and makeup flawless as ever, she looks up from the file spread on her desk as Bucky enters her office and shuts the door behind him, then slings himself down in the chair without waiting for the invitation. Maybe daring her - daring anyone - to say something about the little cracks showing themselves. (He doesn't know why he does it these days, only that there's something under his skin and in his veins, making something itch, braying to get out)

Carter, of course, doesn't take the bait. "Ah, there you are, Sergeant Barnes. Good. This is time-sensitive."

Bucky shrugs. "Sure. The rest of the boys not coming?"

"As a matter of fact, you're the one I want to see today," Carter says, sliding the file across the desk. Bucky takes the file and props it open on his knee. "We have an urgent assignment and you're the only man for the job. The perfect one, to be frank."

"Wow, I'm flattered."

"I suppose a little flattery can't hurt when the occasion calls for it. As you'll see, this mission is particularly delicate and requires a different sort of touch."

Bucky flips to the next page, eyes roaming over each line as he speed-reads through it. 'Different touch', she says. This looks like it could get nasty. Real nasty. Not exactly inside the Commandos' normal wheelhouse either. Usually stuff you'd figure the spies in the SSR get their mitts in. "Shouldn't this be something to involve the rest of the Commandos, ma'am?"

"There are situations where a hammer is useful and there are times where a quieter, finer approach is needed. Cracks have begun forming in some of the officials' support but they'll need the proper push to break ranks and defect to our cause. It needs to be personal and unable to be traced back to us. And you'll need to extract information from the last two targets."

"Does Steve know?"

"No," Carter replies; that's what Bucky likes about her. She doesn't wring her hands or bullshit. "It's not the sort of thing that Captain America can be seen attached to. Nor would I ever ask it of him. He doesn't have the stomach for it."

We both don't want Steve seeing this side of war either, goes unsaid. The dirty work that needs doing.

Bucky mulls it over. "So when do I start?"

"You and I will do great things," says Secretary Pierce next, leaning so close to look the Soldier in the eyes as he tilts his face up that Bucky can smell his cologne all over again like it's the first time: expensive with a hint of musk, and blond hair shining like the sun.

He looks young again, so like ???? , that the asset nods eagerly and leans into his touch.  

Bucky's writhing against the restraints like a livewire's been strung through him when after an age, the machine powers down into the same pregnant silence as Bucky slumps and everyone else  just… waits. Warmth trickles down in a thin trail from his nose, staining against the muzzle as he breathes hard and prays to God his heart doesn't rip right out of his chest any moment now.

He's still shaking like he's come fresh off the ice when the staff explode into cheers again, followed by the thump of someone slapping someone's back and the soft whisper of shoes as the nurse appears at his side to remove the helmet and check that he didn't die yet.

Maybe it'd be better if he did. This is somehow worse, so much worse than the Chair. At least he had the mercy of not remembering what it felt like until he was pushed back into it.

The prisoner's across the room, looking rattled but also completely confused to find himself still alive as the scientists converge and the medical staff check him over; Bucky can't begin to  imagine what it must've felt like to have the rest of the room catch up with him. 

Bucky blinks rapidly against the harsh light, only to freeze next when he catches a glimpse of it; even though the the visor's off, there's still flickers here and there of the DC vault staff milling about the room, even Colonel Phillips sneaking a smoke, but it's Steve in a corner - his Steve, the little shrimp of a guy who somehow managed to become a pain in every single New York bully's ass in a five mile radius - standing there with a portfolio clutched to his chest, checking his watch, that catches Bucky's attention.

Bucky can't tear his eyes off him, fighting at the stinging in his eyes just so he doesn't lose sight of his best friend.

He doesn't look away even when Watkins and Rumlow appear at his side again. Barely even notices they're there, only listens with half an ear, because Steve looks more real than he did moments ago. 

Watkins couldn't look more thrilled than if he'd won the lottery, flicking through the readouts on the tablets. "It worked even better than I could've ever imagined! Why, the Soldier really is the missing piece. We may be able to send agents out sooner than later. Provided the gates stay open and stable." 

"Sounds great. Say we're able to send some squads back a couple decades to smooth things out. How are they gonna get back here without the same facility on their end?" Rumlow asks.

Watkins waves it off the concern like a bothersome gnat hovering about. "We'll worry about that later. Frankly, it's more important that they fulfill the mission anyway and for all we know, the future they return to won't be this one anyway. Besides, I'm sure we can find men who are that loyal to the cause."

Rumlow raises an eyebrow but says nothing. In the corner, Steve looks up and straightens with one of those rare, open smiles so bright that it's dazzling as he waves at some unseen person.

"The point is that there's so much promise here. Of course, we'll need to do a test next about sending a subject backwards in time, but the results are exceedingly promising. And this couldn't have been done without you! You were right to act, and you and I will be the reason HYDRA returns to glory. You ought to celebrate, Commander: this is the time for a top shelf bottle! I'll bring you my family's personal vintage after we've reviewed this session's tapes!"

Rumlow only shakes his head with smirk as he watches Watkins take off like he's ten years younger. "Moves real quick when he's got a fire under his ass. Guy's a piece of work but he's a genius."

"There you are!" Steve says, trotting up so close that Bucky aches to sweep his bangs back from where it's slid into his face. His fingers spasm uselessly when Steve fades out, only to - Bucky's head lolls to the right to follow after him, because there's Steve now, sitting on one of those drawing horses and patting the one next to him. "Even got you the best seat in the house."

'I'm gonna draw the meanest stick figure you ever saw," Bucky mouths silently all over again, twisting restlessly so he can join him. Why can't he get up?

A heavily disfigured hand abruptly smacks his cheek. Bucky jolts, trying to shake the fuzz from his head when Rumlow briskly snaps his fingers in front of Bucky's eyes several times like he's calling a dog to heel.

"Focus up, eyes on me," Rumlow orders so firmly that Bucky can't help the way his world tunnels in on him instead. "You don't get to drift off on me. We got some one-on-one time."

Just like that, Steve goes quiet and fades. Not gone, though, but further away. Hovering at the edge of his vision. Several staff pass through him as everyone rushes about.

Once he sees Bucky's eyes sharpen again on him, Rumlow grins and that hand settles along his jaw, easy and possessive, a thumb rubbing along the span of muzzle over Bucky's lips.

"We'll do great things. All thanks to you," Rumlow tells him, easy as if they were catching up. "Starting with taking care of your buddy. Rogers caused a real shitstorm for HYDRA, but then again, we wouldn't have the Winter Soldier if it weren't for him." Bucky's blood goes fucking cold. The chill that washes over him has nothing to do with the after effects of the machine. "The others are gonna say we should hold off killing Rogers too early. Probably vote to take him out while he's frozen. Makes sense but it ain't entertaining. Especially when I owe him some payback."

"But don't worry," Rumlow leans in, voice so rough and low that only Bucky can hear it. "I haven't forgotten about you. Never could."

Even when Bucky tries to turn away from him with a brittle sound of fear, Rumlow's grip firms to drag him back and hold him still. Makes him focus on him and only him, even as Bucky's attention keeps wanting to drift away from here. "You don't get to escape even if the machine kills you. Figure I can swing by, maybe nab a less damaged you for some fun.  I always wondered if you were as sweet as you looked in the newsreels. I figure HYDRA owes it to me as a reward."

To be continued (?)

Bonus art, design for the visor in this chapter.