Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Bucky registers as he steps into the inky blackness of the Void is the eerie silence. His teammates—can they even be called that? What even are they to each other?—entered before him, and their shadows immediately splattered against the filthy, rubbled covered street.

They were turned into nothing but a smudge really, just like everybody else in the general area, and by the rate Bob’s evil self is going, quite possibly the entirety of New York City in a matter of minutes. Bucky had been the last to enter, his fear of Yelena having died still stuck in his brain. He’d already lost Steve, and couldn’t afford losing anyone else, even this little band of misfits that annoys the hell out of him.

But nothing “big” had happened. Bob’s evil self hadn’t reappeared and laughed at their deaths, his teammates reluctant temporary coworkers had simply ended up like the shadows in Pompeii. And the darkness continued to stretch forward. So Bucky gritted his teeth, took in a deep breath, and stepped forward.

Coldness wraps around his body like a snake. It licks his muscles, creating a sort of cocoon. All he can see is black, which no doubt matches his clothes. Sam would laugh if he saw how he chose to fight in just a t-shirt.

Just before his vision cleared, the eeriness set in. It is a feeling that is unmistakable, this particular emotion/sensation however you want to describe it, crawls underneath the skin. It floods into the veins, entering into one's very essence and settles there with its sinister undertone.

Bucky knows there’s something wrong about the place he’s entered. On one hand that’s obvious, because stepping into a void that vaporizes your body and leaves nothing left isn’t gonna send you to your happiest memory. Bucky knows that, and he also knows pain.

Pain, grief, suffering, agony, affliction.

These are all things that Bucky knows more intimately than anything else. Him and these are friends, not in the emotional connection sort of way, but in the sense of oneness. After all, his time with Hydra lasted for 70 years and he’s continued to be tormented by that in the few meager years he’s had “free” since then.

So when he stepped into the darkness, he knew it wouldn't be pretty. When he opens his eyes, the sight that greets him isn’t a surprise.

There’s the cold

There’s the sinister, eerie aura

And then there’s the chair

The shiny, reflective metal assaults his vision, making him sick to his stomach. The icy blue tint of the air matches the cool temperature of the Hydra base.

And Bucky hates the cold. Always has. Cold meant danger during the Great Depression. He’d seen it with his own two eyes, in the poorest parts of town where he worked. Mothers and children, huddled in packs on the streets, threadbare blankets and shawls pulled taut over their spindly backs as they looked at him with dull, lifeless eyes. He saw how the cold sucked the last remaining bit of their souls, leaving an empty husk. A pit of poison entered his gut each and every time spots previously occupied by these homeless beggars were left empty. Soon to be replaced by others, and swapped out in an unending cycle.

Bucky’s family was well off, not exactly rich, but they certainly fared better than most he knew, especially Steve. And that stupid twig of a man always plunged headfirst into danger much to his chagrin. Bucky’s surprised he didn’t go gray in his 20s worrying sick about his health. Fights in alleys where his skinny ass lay passed out on the frigid snow piles nearly gave him heart attacks.

The care he’d give Steve as he forced him into a shower and into his warmest clothes after that were just as much for Steve’s comfort as they were for Bucky’s.

And then there was the cold of the “table” as a POW.

Bucky doesn’t like to think about that.

Then there was the cold of the war, ever present and covering the ground in a thick, white blanket, soaking into his bones even through his thick jacket.

And then finally, the cold of the snowy alps that preserved his body just long enough for the Hydra soldiers to come by and snatch him up. That coldness never went away. It stuck with him, entering into his very being.

The container in which he was cryogenically frozen between missions. The fierce, biting temperature of the water when he was hosed down of sweat, grime, and copious amounts of blood after assignments.

The cold never left him.

Bucky thought it had, when he had the calm in Wakanda. But seven decades changed the color of his blood. Once Hydra, always Hydra. Steve disagreed, but he’s not here anymore. Sam disagrees too, but Sam doesn’t need to know his personal thoughts on the matter. Bucky supposes Sam knows he hasn’t let go of the guilt and chooses to say nothing, knowing it won’t get him anywhere. A conversation for another time, you old man he can imagine him saying.

But now, as he stares at the chair, confronted with the long gone but ever present memory of his past, the cold and terror settles around him easily. It curls around his form, and Bucky resigns himself to his fate.

Evil Bob certainly is putting up a fight. He wonders what the others are seeing. Bucky can guess about Yelena, he did train her and Natalia in the Red Room after all.

Natalia and him grew close, as much as his frazzled brain was capable of, but Yelena was more off to the side. The Hydra agents saw he worked better with the older Widows, so he’d only met Yelena a handful of times.

Her calculated, calm expression fills his mind. The wispy blonde braid that stretched down her back. And her trembling fists. Bucky had silently commended her, in his own head, on the ability to control her facial expressions but the fear in the quivering of her hands gave her away.

Bucky doesn’t see that in Yelena anymore. Time had hardened her. Or healed her. He can only hope it was the latter.

A scream pierces the air.

It cuts like a knife through the thick tension that fills the room, starling him from his thoughts.

The all too familiar stench of himself fills his nostrils as doors open. So here Bucky is, about to meet his past self. Based on the smell, it’s been a little bit since he’d been placed in cryo. The ice always did wonders at preserving him but random body odors always built up, creating a disgusting film over his skin that was later cleaned off.

The Winter Soldier was dragged into the room by two deranged, middle aged men. His eyes flicked around the room, skittering everywhere, trying to make sense of waking up so suddenly.

Bucky looked closer at his image. He had never noticed it before, but against his dark, stringy long hair, blackness of the mask and clothes, and paleness of his skin—a layer of frost over everything—his bright blue eyes reminded him of ice.

No wonder he was called the Winter Soldier. Not just literally as in his cryo freeze tank, but also figuratively. In his soul. His very being has been frozen over, making him the perfect candidate.

What Bucky didn’t expect was for his past self to lock gazes with him. It startled him out of his melancholy thoughts. There was desperation in his expression. His eyebrows furrow up in a way that screams help me.

Okay Evil Bob. This is interesting.

Without thinking Bucky marches over and punches the Hydra agents at the same time. They’re effectively knocked out with one hit, crumpling to the ground instantaneously. They didn’t even see him coming, too preoccupied with the dead weight of the super soldier between them. The said person who was slipping to the floor now that his support was gone.

Bucky had used an arm each to punch the agents, and now swept the limbs underneath the Winter Soldier’s wet, thawing armpits.

Gross.

Bucky’s been desensitized to basically everything, that’s kinda what happens when you’re forced into becoming a slave assassin for a deadlier version of the Nazis. But still, his own mother’s stern voice is firmly ingrained in his mind. Manners and proper etiquette of a young man were implanted far before Hydra got a hold of him.

So, Bucky’s able to withstand his own filth—had personally lived like that for decades—but didn’t need to like it. Bucky slips to the ground, plopping the dead weight of…well himself on his lap. He takes a moment to hug him, which accomplishes two things.

      1) Reassures himself this is real

      2) Comforts his past self because he knows nobody is ever going to do that for him for a long time

He sits there, stroking his hand along his damp hair as the Soldier trembles in his grip, arms wrapped tight around his torso. It would be painful if he didn’t have the serum, but luckily he does so he can hug him to his heart’s content.

Murmurs of “It’s okay” and “You’re safe” pass his lips, Bucky not even realizing he’d uttered them in Russian. The atmosphere had likely gotten to him, plunging him back into the headspace.

Eventually, Bucky pulls back, bringing the Soldier about half an arm’s length away from him, far enough away to look in the eyes but still close enough for comfort.

The scared, cool eyes greet him again so Bucky reaches up with one hand and snatches the mask off his face, throwing it off to the side where it lands with a clatter. Trembling lips were concealed and hidden away underneath it, brought forth into the light and truth, giving away his terror.

Bucky closes his eyes as he smooths the Soldier’s hair back again. He personally wants to murder every single Hydra agent with his bare hands, slowly after seeing this.

The man in front of him isn’t the fist of Hydra.

He isn’t a menacing, imposing ghost story that carries hate in his eyes.

He’s a broken man who's out of time; lost, manipulated, and seeking the once familiar clutch of love. The hold he knew in a past life but didn’t even have the memories for at this time, though the lack of it spoke volumes and pierced into his subconscious, that even the repetitive memory wipes in the chair couldn’t mask.

He is scared and every single agent, every single Handler, every one of them; they put him in that chair anyway.

For 70 years.

Bucky swallows the rising nausea, and opens his eyes again. He doesn’t know how in the hell Bob made this possible, if this is real or just a hallucination or if he’ll ever get back from it, but he needs to deal with the Soldier.

There’s a thought in the back of Bucky’s mind that he’d rather not entertain. It gnaws at his synapses, like a match lit on fire that burns quickly, firing off ideas and worries in quick succession.

Is this death?

Is this what the big Afterlife with a capital A has to offer?

Did he die when he entered that void, and is this it? Does he need to make peace with his past to move forward, or is it just an endless cycle of the worst moments of his life?

Bucky supposes that maybe it is. Maybe the Creator in the sky or whatever, is punishing him for his crimes, and this is the chosen method.

Dwelling on these thoughts makes the bile in his throat rise again so Bucky figuratively stomps out the flames of that rabbit hole of a theory and focuses on the man in front of him.

“You are me” the Soldier speaks in Russian, voice weak from disuse. It’s also due to confusion, Bucky presumes, since the situation they’re currently in isn’t exactly a regular Tuesday.

“Da” he responds as he flicks a melting clump of frost from his hair.

The soldier leans forward again in another hug. “I don’t care it is not real” he speaks with a slight smile, “I like this. As long as it will last”

You and I both. Bucky thinks. The cold is even more intense, as his defrosting body melts against his skin, wet seeping into his thin t-shirt and coating his goosebumped skin.

The Soldier’s arm brushes against Bucky’s vibranium one, and then he’s pulling himself back to gain a better view. Captivated, he traces a finger along the gold plating that spreads across the expanse of black.

“I do not understand” the Soldier states. “Why is your arm different?”

Bucky’s considering how to explain the future, escaping Hydra, Steve, Sam, Wakanda, Congress, and Bob into one sentence when his past self stands straight up, stepping out of his grasp.

“What is going on!” he snaps as he clutches his head in his hands. The light reflects beautifully off the silver titanium of his Hydra prosthetic, and Bucky can’t help but wish Stark hadn’t blown that to smithereens. It looked sleek, elegant, and classy.

“Answer me!” The Soldier speaks again. Right. He has to focus on the situation. “What is happening? You are me but different. I do not understand. Is this a test?”

“Nyet” he answers truthfully. Well, at least to Bucky’s knowledge it’s not a test. But is it for the Creator, or Evil Bob? He’s not sure.

“This is a test! You gave me a drug to change what I see. To test if I would eliminate myself. You are my target!”

The Soldier’s eyes settle into something else.

There’s no panic, dread, or worry in them anymore. There’s acceptance. Bucky’s made that expression too many times himself to not recognize what he’s thinking, and what he’ll say next

“я готов отвечать”

These familiar words send a chill down his spine. Ready to comply.

Bucky dodges the first swing that comes his way, catching the next one in his fist and halting the shout from the Soldier. Bucky’s at an advantage. He’s not fresh (hah) out of the freezer and delusional, starving from a couple of years of no food, and his brain is less scrambled.

But the other has an advantage he doesn’t.

He’s willing and ready to fight to the death. He’ll go the length to kill. Bucky wouldn’t, not just because that’s his face, but also because he doesn’t know if he’ll cease to exist if he does? He doesn’t know anything about time travel or whatever this is, and is not ready to take that risk.

The Soldier kicks out a foot, sweeping his legs out from underneath him and Bucky starts crumpling to the ground before he’s seized by the throat.

He should’ve seen this coming. That was a particular favorite move of his, a trademark, really. Bucky responds with a kick of his own, laughing internally as his neck is released. Serum or not, a kick to the groin hurts.

Bucky fumbles blindly on the table next to him, blinking away spots in his vision. His hand curls around something and he whirls it forward to connect with the Soldier’s face. A glass jar full of Hydra’s hidden cameras.

It shatters on impact, cutting into the skin in his forehead and temple and Bucky’s palm. Blood wells up and runs down both their skins. Bucky again grabs for the table but this time it was just a flimsy mouthguard.

The Soldier growls, literally growls like an animal before charging forward and knocking him onto his back. Bucky doesn’t even have time to think Shit, did I really sound like that? before the wind’s knocked out of him.

His head smacks painfully against some sort of sharp edge and all sensation cuts off for a few moments. Through the haze, he perceives that he’s being dragged, then lifted bodily onto something else.

He can almost imagine the butterflies twirling around the top of his face like the old cartoons he used to watch back in the 30s when someone received a blow to the head.

Blood runs thick down the back of his head, he can feel the warm liquid against the coolness of his hair and scalp. He’s in a sitting position now, and then there’s pressure on his arms.

Bucky prys his eyelids open, trying to fight past the spinning world around him. There’s a loud pounding in his skull that makes it difficult to see much, but he does make out the blurry figure of himself, standing at attention.

Bucky almost laughs, and thinks he actually does, at the sight. The Winter Soldier is picture perfect right now. Standing at attention, perfectly pliant and obedient. He’s just taken care of his target and awaiting orders.

Having no clue what in the hell’s gonna happen next, words slur out of his mouth, in English this time. “Whaaaa….you doin” His speech is messy, as if the letters are tripping over each other as they escape his lips. Bucky’s Brooklyn accent is also laid on heavy and thick, it always comes out when he’s experiencing high emotions or in distress.

“The mission is almost over” the Soldier remarks, in a perfectly clipped tone. “I do not understand it or why you share my face, but I think Hydra may want me to treat you as the asset, so I will activate the wiping protocol”

His figure leaves his vision, veering off to the side out of view as Bucky’s head spins. WHAT???? Is he gonna fucking wipe him? Electrocute him? What what?

His head lists forward, dropping of its own accord. It provides an opportunity to see his body, sitting upright in a chair.

His arms are held tight by metal restraints, and the cool metal looks familiar.

Huh.

Wait…

This is the fucking chair. Yes. He’s in the chair. He saw it earlier, and is just confused from the head injury. And himself—the Winter Soldier—is going to treat him like himself, because he thinks he’s a strange target meant to mimic him. Technically he’s right in the sense that he is himself but…Bucky doesn’t want to think of that anymore. His head hurts too much.

His long hair is suddenly grasped and pulled back. Bucky’s head snaps up to see the Soldier has his silver hand curled tight in his locks.

There’s an object in his other hand, and he shoves it straight into Bucky’s mouth. “Mmphff” he protests around the intrusion. It takes him a few seconds to realize what it is. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a while. Something that’s bad. An omen of destruction and pain.

It’s the mouthguard.

Terror grips his heart, and it’s an icy hand that wraps around it, sending raw fear into his veins, joining the coldness.

The soldier smirks, and then reaches over to the table again. He’s maintaining eye contact the whole time, a wild, maniacal look in them. This is what his victims saw.

What Howard and Maria Stark saw.

His past self shoves something else over his face…and it’s the black mask. When he’d turned around earlier he was collecting it from where it lay discarded on the floor.

Panicking, Bucky shakes his head violently, trying to dislodge it from his face. He tries to spit the mouth guard out, force it past his teeth with his tongue when the Soldier brings his hand forward, shoving the mask on tight, pressing it right over his teeth and crushing his lips. Bucky can’t move his mouth anymore at all, can’t speak past frustrated and terrified grunts.

He can’t believe this. This isn’t happening. He’s doing it to himself. Bucky nearly shits his pants in fear. He can’t have made all this progress from therapy, healing with Wakanda and Steve and Sam only to be shoved right back into it and tortured again. Tears spring to his eyes, a sign that he’s gone soft.

The Winter Soldier was not allowed tears. They are a weakness, and severely punished if indulged in since no target could ever fear him like that. The liquid of betrayal cuts down his cheeks, landing on the mask that’s shoved roughly on his face.

The hand in his hair starts petting mockingly (a contrast to Bucky doing it with love earlier), carding through the sweaty strands.

“Shhh” his past self whispers, still in Russian. “It is almost over”

Bucky starts hyperventilating. Muffled strings of no and nyet pass his lips, he says no in every language he can think of (although they’re all pretty much the same, no), squirming around uselessly on the chair. His legs kick up but the Soldier is off to the side, out of range. His arms buck against the restraints but that only succeeds in the metal cutting tight on his skin.

His vision starts swimming again, a confusing, swirling mass of dizziness and pain.

Bucky’s sitting there, looking every bit the image of the Winter Soldier.

Everything he’s tried his hardest to shed. All gathered back in a matter of minutes. Damn you Bob he curses. It’s not the kid’s fault but he needs to direct the anger at someone and he can’t bring himself to blame it on the man in front of him. More tears spring forth and he doesn’t even fight against the mouthguard and mask anymore, so his assailant releases his hand.

What’s done is done. He’s endured the shocks many times before, might as well sit back and bear it. It always went easier that way, he learned pretty quickly.

The Soldier releases the grip on his hair and moves his hand off to the side, ready to flip the switch in the chair for electrocution. He hesitates though, before leaning forward and leaving a quick kiss on the top of his head.

“извини” he says, and that only brings more tears to Bucky’s eyes. Sorry? That's all he has to say? Maybe it’s the only thing he can do. Maybe he realizes this situation is fucked up and and doesn’t know what’s happening, and that’s the only thing that makes him feel better.

Bucky’s sobbing, full on ugly crying in the dreaded seat of the chair, the cold metal jabbing into his bones. He must look quite the picture, a grown ass man in such a state. Snot and slobber fill up his mask and if he had the energy he’d curl his nose in disgust at the improper display of manners that were again drilled in by his ma. It’s like that night with Ayo all over again, after the code words were finally removed from his brain.

But Bucky was never allowed to cry as the Winter Soldier and it seems that 70 years worth of tears are bursting forth right now, splitting apart the seams of the dam. All it took was one sit back in this chair.

The Winter Soldier in front of him presses the button. The switch itself doesn’t make a sound, but he knows that it was flipped since the contraption above him starts flickering to life, humming as it powers up. It creaks and groans as it travels down.

The Soldier backs up, clearly intent on abandoning him here. He doesn’t break eye contact though, that seems to be his thing.

The device enters into his field of vision, the dreaded and familiar blue tendrils of electricity filling his vision and body with terror already. The sound alone is enough to send him into a panic attack, and he’s about two seconds away from one right now.

His chest is heaving up and down very quickly, with fast jerky movements that tear harsh breaths out of his lungs. His teeth are tightly clenched around the mouthguard, cheeks puffing slightly as he gasps. His hot breaths barely escape the mask, a stark contrast to the frigid atmosphere everywhere else apart from the tears and sticky blood at the base of his scalp.

His arms, legs, torso—whole body—is shaking like a leaf. He’s not speaking anymore but his head is full of a mantra, a full bloodied chorus of no no no no no.

The last thing Bucky registers before the contraption connects with his face is the look in the Winter Soldier’s eyes before he exits the doors.

It’s haunted.

Truly, and completely horrified at the image in front of him, at Bucky’s pathetic, shivering, crying, mess.

Seeing that expression on his own face is burned right into his memory as the static electricity burns straight through his skull.

The asset is confused at the spectacle that has arised. At first it thought the whole thing to be a hallucination, but nothing is ever this real. Never in its entire time serving Hydra has a mission such as this been presented.

It did panic, confused at the man in front of it that shared the same face. But then the asset knew it was a test, of course it was! No one would ever be allowed to disarm and knock out Hydra agents.

And even if it wasn’t a test, the aggressor attacked Hydra, they’re a serious threat that needed to be eliminated. It can only hope it did the right thing.

The asset couldn’t think of any other solution besides treating the man as the Winter Soldier. That’s why they used the same face, right? Following through with that plan though, caused unpleasant feelings to arise. It felt…wrong to do that.

The pain in the man’s eyes.

It was the asset’s own eyes, which unfortunately unnerved it even more. The only thing it could think of to soften the blow was to give it a quick kiss on the head and say sorry. He’d witnessed a woman doing that for her child once. It almost felt like a crime to go through with this mission, but the repercussions of a failed assignment are disastrous.

So, it shoved him in the chair, prepped him for wiping, and flicked the switch. The device only turns off when directed to do so, which means the man will be sitting there, subject to the electricity until someone else turns it off.

That’s no bother really, he clearly has super strength as well and can withstand it until another agent appears. What concerns it more is why the man is an exact copy. At one point there were several other super soldiers created that the asset trained, including the strong Isaiah Bradley, perhaps Hydra cloned the asset’s DNA and grew this one.

Whatever the reason, the mission is concluded to the best of the asset’s knowledge. It tries not to flinch at the man’s guttural screams that now penetrate the air. Why is this affecting it so much? All the missions up to this point have gone by smoothly. Why now?

There’s no more time to ponder that, as Hydra agents strolling by glance in its direction due to the screams. They keep walking but then do a double take at seeing the asset standing there. It makes sense they’re confused, not at seeing the asset roaming freely—it’s trusted to be by itself of course—but the fact is the screams are with the asset’s voice, yet the asset is right here in plain sight with a blank expression.

Perhaps these particular agents are not informed of the special, confusing new mission. They head towards it, anger in their eyes and raising guns. Change of plans, maybe the man wasn’t supposed to be wiped after all, and they’re coming to inflict a punishment.

Fear courses through the asset.

Before it even thinks it turns around to re-enter the room, and slips on water on the floor. Whether it was already there, is sweat from the fight with the man, or leftover water from defrosting after cryosleep, it slips on it just the same and body slams onto the glass window off to the left.

The titanium arm shatters the glass and suddenly its entire form is toppling to the ground. Somersaulting gracelessly through the air, but it lands sooner than expected.

Instead of the grass below, it’s wooden floor boards. The asset picks itself up off the floor to find a bunch of random people it’s never seen before. Two women and three men.

What is going on????

There has never been a mission like this before. The Hydra agents may be harsh sometimes, yes, but they’re never cruel. They don’t intentionally leave out any information pertaining to the mission.

And now, surrounded by strangers, fresh off fighting a clone of itself, and in a random house, it’s all it can do to keep from killing them all to end this. Suddenly it’s aware of somebody tapping its right arm. A man, tall, shaved head, beard…wait, Red Guardian?

Yup, that’s Red Guardian. He’s older, so cryo must have been quite a few years. The man is asking the asset if it’s okay. Saying, “Bucky are you alright?”

Who the hell is Bucky?

In the midst of this confusion one of the women walks towards them, saying words it can’t hear. Is it supposed to speak English? Not quite sure, though signs point towards yes.

“I don’t think he’s okay” Red Guardian says cautiously. Bucky? He? Seems like an extension of the mission. Alright then, the asset can be Bucky.

“Hm…yes?” it he, Bucky says. The woman stares at him, searching his face for something. He quirks his mouth up in a smile, hoping that works. It evidently does not, as she frowns. She looks him up and down and then gasps at his arm. “What the hell?” she asks, running her fingers along it. “Why is your arm different? That’s…that’s your Hydra arm, I recognize it from-from that time”

Bucky blinks. This woman knows him? Red Guardian is older so maybe she’s a widow. Blonde hair, blonde hair, blonde hair….green eyes. Then it hits him. A fierce gaze, but also puppy dog eyes at the same time. With a young, cherubic face. My god. The woman is Yelena.

He licks his lips, trying to say what he thinks the mission entails. The clone of him had a different arm, which she’s obviously referring to. Maybe he has to pretend to be him. “Yelena I don’t even know. That place was confusing and I...I saw myself with the chair. I don’t understand” At the mention of the chair her eyes widen. Shit. Did he do the right thing, putting the man in the chair? “It’s okay though,” he adds, “I took care of it”

She seems to relax at that, nodding her head and then scrubbing her face with her hands. “I understand Bucky. That must have been difficult, facing yourself” He shrugs. The man went down without much of a fight. The only annoying thing from their tussle is the blood covering his face from the glass jar, though that’s clotting now.

She starts walking over to a brunette man sitting cross legged on the floor. “We’ll figure out how in the hell Bob managed to revert you back into your Winter Soldier getup and arm at some point but that’s a later problem” He lets out a sigh of relief. He’s in the clear as of now. This odd little group of people are his partners for this mission, and he’ll follow their lead.

He unsheathes a knife from behind his back—an extra in case things went south directly after emerging from cryo, which they did today—and prepares for the assignment.

Bucky’s grip on the knife tightens as a pang of guilt courses through him at the thought of his other self left behind.

Oh well. That’s just a random clone of himself.

Nobody important.

Chapter Text

Bucky is entirely confused at this point. Nothing follows a logical pattern or makes sense. After arriving in the mysterious house and meeting this new mission team, they immediately walked into a room with a violent man that someone in their group punched, and then there was a rabid humanoid chicken that started slamming everyone with a sign. To protect his team he punched the thing in the face, effectively knocking it unconscious.

Eventually they escaped the random locations to emerge in a city, and then were bombarded with another confusing topic.

This group is now the New Avengers? Are their Hydra identities kept a secret?

Bucky guesses so. They’ve infiltrated Shield, they might as well become the Avengers. And what even is an Avenger? What happened to the last ones? Bucky doesn’t know anything about the original team, but now his new mission is to replace them.

The cherry on top is that he doesn’t really feel like the name Bucky suits him. It’s strange, the world and his mission is crumbling around him and yet he’s focusing on his name. But he’s never had a name before, doesn’t know what to expect. He’s new to it, having been called the asset, the Winter Soldier, the fist of Hydra, etc his whole life. He’s always referred to as a “he” now, no matter what.

Previously he’d been called an it to hone in on the weapon aspect, although quite a few of the regular Hydra agents used male pronouns. Never a handler though. They always call him an it.

Is someone in this group going to be his new handler? He’s not sure since no one has said anything. So it’s probably still Alexander Pierce then.

New Avengers stuff takes a long time, but eventually all the cameras and microphones disperse, leaving them room to breathe.

The leader woman, named Val as Red Guardian mentioned, leaves them with a few departing words. He can tell she’s nervous, there’s a flush to her face and she’s stumbling over her words, though he can’t imagine why. At the end of her remarks she looks at him for a few moments.

She’d been sneaking glances at him ever since they met, and now she lets confusion mar her features. “Okay let’s address the elephant in the room. Why are you so silent and why did you change your arm?” She points at him accusingly and Bucky hesitates, not knowing what to say.

“Well it’s comforting that the staring hasn’t gone away” Val says.

“Trust me, it never will” pipes up one of his teammates, a blonde male.

Ignoring their comments he continues to ponder how to respond. What words are appropriate? Thankfully, Yelena answers before he can say the wrong thing.

“Why did you dye Bob’s hair? That was more strange than anything going on here. Bucky changed his arm to his old one after the other was damaged. He’s just a little thrown off from entering the Void, thank you so much for creating that power,” Yelena grabs his arm and walks away. “Now if you’ll excuse us we’re tired after saving the world”

Bucky follows her lead wordlessly but so do the others since they’re really out of breath from the whole ordeal. Whatever that ordeal was, he’s not sure.

They soon reach a building with shattered windows and a white van inside. The asset Bucky opens the back, stepping inside as per standard procedure. For a moment he panics, fearful that he was supposed to drive instead but no one says anything. He relaxes, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall.

Red Guardian and the blonde male with the bent shield don’t enter so he assumes they climbed into the front. Yelena sits next to him, with the brunette woman and man both slouching together on the other side. Bucky closes his eyes, still woozy from emerging from cryo earlier.

He’s still shocked that he hasn’t been wiped on this mission yet. Not that he’s complaining though. It feels…nice. To retain his memories, to have a clear mind, to not bear that pain. He certainly won’t ever bring it up to this group. If they forget—that’s on them—not him.

He registers a soft touch on his arm. “How are you, are you alright?” Yelena asks. What does alright even mean? He’s never been asked that before, just if he was functional, to see that the mission is properly completed. Or a report of any injuries post assignment so they know how to treat him.

He assumes yes to being “alright” as there are no injuries currently vexing him. Bucky was stabbed on the last mission, but it’s had enough time to heal and there’s only a lingering drowsiness from being woken from sleep, the confusion of neutralizing his copy, and sitting through the New Avengers meeting with the flashing cameras. He says as much, citing that the events of the day have been a lot to handle.

“I’m sorry” the male says. Bucky opens his eyes to see him wringing his hands, eyes flickering around nervously. Bucky has no clue why he would be sorry, and no one has ever apologized to him before so he waves it off.

“Not your fault” he says.

The man starts to respond but Yelena cuts him off. “Bob, I told you that it was not your fault” she continues on but Bucky logs the information away. Bob. Bob, Yelena, and Red Guardian. He’ll get the other two names eventually.

Bucky drifts into a peaceful state, not quite sleeping but also not reacting to anything around him. He can sense the others talking but doesn’t engage. Eventually Red Guardian yells out that they’ve arrived at their destination for the night. It’s strange to hear Alexei speak English instead of Russian, despite the thick accent. The same goes for Yelena. She didn’t even know English the last time they saw each other. God, how many years ago was that?

On autopilot they clamber out of the vehicle to see a modest two story house. It’s rather nice, and comfortable looking. Much smaller than Alexander Pierce’s house but that’s a welcome change, as his is all sharp angles and empty looking. It reminds him of Hydra bases.

Suddenly the look in his copy’s eyes moments before the electricity reached him flashes through his mind.

Fear.

Raw, crude, fear.

Bucky blinks that image away. He doesn’t want to ever go back to the chair again but aches for that specific moment to be wiped away.

Soon they’re at the front door of the house and everyone is staring at him.

“Aren’t you gonna unlock it?” The blonde man asks.

“Hmm?” Is he supposed to know this place?

The man takes a step back, raising his eyebrows sky high. “Okay, there’s definitely something wrong with him. I’ve never seen him like this, not even after we fought each other and he passed out after being electrocuted”

“What??”

“You fought each other?”

“Electrocution?”

“What did you guys do?”

The questions don’t stop and the blonde man raises his voice in defense before Alexei shushes them all with a booming yell.

“Let’s take this inside where we can relax, yes?” He looks pointedly at Bucky. “Do you have your keys?”

Hesitantly, he pats his pockets down. Finding nothing but the knife from earlier, he shakes his head.

“Probably lost them in the Void when he turned into his past self” Yelena says. Bucky nods, that makes sense if the copy had the keys, left behind in the Hydra base. That only raises more questions though, since his team seems to not be informed of the mission fully, almost as if they’re expecting him to be the copy. But it confirms that this house belongs to him, which makes sense why the blonde man was so confused at Bucky’s lack of an initiative to unlock the door.

Yelena ends up picking the lock. They raid the refrigerator and eat whatever is available; pizza, rice, meat, and fruits and vegetables. They make sandwiches from ingredients supplied. Bob says there’s quite a few “take out” meals, which confuses him. Where is it taken from? Was it stolen?

Bucky starts by eating a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich that Bob helped him make, which is admittedly very delicious. He doesn’t eat much physical food at Hydra, mainly meats with everything else fed via a tube to ensure he gets all the proper ingredients. Pierce remarked one time that it was also easier since he requires more physical food than regular humans because of his enhancements. If they fed him normally they’d waste more materials, he only needs one packet a day of the tube.

Thankfully the tubes are nowhere to be found and Bucky ravishes over the food present. After the sandwich he eats an entire pizza by himself, some vegetables, soup, and then something called a burrito. Bucky wishes the burritos existed back at Hydra.

They eat over strained conversation. It seems that their group doesn’t know each other all that well, apart from the Russians. As Bucky stares at Yelena and Red Guardian, a memory resurfaces.

***

1990s

The Widows were being trained that day and he was doing one-on-one sessions. This was before he was taken from the younger group, so Yelena stood in front of him. Her small hands were clenched into fists, her hair braided back, with wisps of blonde that had come loose as they sparred.

They flew through the motions, Bucky obviously going slower but still quite fast compared to his speed with the other girls Yelena’s age.

Hit, hit, block

She missed the next block and threw her leg out to compensate but Bucky easily caught it and spun her around until she fell to the floor.

“Yelena, faster next time. Mila, you’re next” one of the trainers spoke in clipped Russian.

Bucky held out his hand but instead of pulling herself up, she pulled him down. Surprised, he let himself be guided lower as she whispered in his ear, her breaths quick with exhaustion and fear. “I miss my daddy, he said he is the Red Guardian. Natalia is my sister. If you ever see him take us away from here so we can be a family again. You too”

Shocked at her boldness, Bucky only blinked at her. But the moment was gone, and not wanting to arouse suspicion, Yelena stood and joined the other Widows as the next girl got ready to spar.

He got into a fighting stance and tried to catch Yelena’s gaze again but she pointedly looked away.

***

Bucky’s brought back into the present as Alexei burps loudly. He flinches and drops his burrito which causes the other man to laugh. “It is alright James, we have had long day my old friend”

Bucky’s startled at the change of name. “James?” he asks, wondering what in the hell he means by that.

“Oh, I am sorry, do you not wish to be called by your first name? I know our mutual friend Captain America called you Bucky instead”

Huh.

James.

He likes it. “No, no that’s alright” he assures Alexei. “You can call me James”

The older man (who actually is older anyway?) laughs again and claps his shoulder as he finishes his drink. “Okay then, James. Good name, very strong. But I can tell you are ready for sleep. Where can we rest?”

Red Guardian stares at him expectantly, with his daughter doing the same. Her head’s tilted and she appears deep in thought, as if she’s searching for something in him. Maybe she’s remembering that moment during sparring as well. Maybe she blames him for not taking her out of the Red Room.

To his credit Bucky James briefly considered it the next time that he saw Natalia. However, after a few seconds he decided against it. He was the asset, and always obeyed orders from Handlers, never children. That didn’t prevent an unfamiliar feeling of guilt to flash through him the next time he saw Red Guardian in the field though. But after the next cryosleep and electrocution session, his allegiance was to Hydra once more, no questions asked.

It was foolish for a little girl to want the fist of Hydra to run away with her. He’d never had those conflicting emotions until Yelena had entered his life, with those wide and lost green eyes of hers. It was pathetic of him.

And now he’s confronted with her again, years later, and she’s grown wiser. Has become a woman, smart and suspicious. The constant looks have him feeling uneasy. She may suspect that he’s not really the copy. She may want to send him back to Hydra, back to the chair. Perhaps the Red Room was aware of his weakness towards her as a child and enlisted her help, specifically assigning him to her.

James can’t let Yelena send him back. He won’t. He’s gotten a taste of freedom, in more ways than just the mask not being on his face.

For the first time in his life, the thought of escaping Hydra enters his mind.

Swallowing down these arising emotions and ideas, James stands and sees a hallway off to the left with stairs that lead to the second floor. He tilts his head in that direction and leaves, hoping to show nonchalance, that yes, he knows this house. Yelena can’t suspect a thing, no more than she already does.

They follow him and discover three bedrooms upstairs, one clearly belonging to his copy, the other two bare and for guests. After a few moments of discussion it’s decided that the women will take the guest rooms and the other men will sleep downstairs on the couches. As they talked, the other names of the people in their group were revealed, Walker and Ava.

James turns around, preparing to finally settle in for the night in his copy’s room but is stopped yet again by Yelena. She seems to care a lot for others, by the kind gestures to Bob and constant check-ins with himself. But James isn’t sure if her persistent worry is genuine concern, suspicion, or anger.

“Bucky…” she begins, hesitating slightly before scrunching her face in confusion. “Or James? Which do you prefer?” James shrugs. He doesn’t want to make her mad. He’s treading through shallow water enough as is, being clueless to the true purpose of this mission. Requesting a name change from a potential next Handler is pushing it.

“Whatever you want old man, I’ll call you what comes to my mind first” She furrows her brow with an amused smile and punches his arm softly.

”But hey, you still haven’t explained to me how you got the nickname Bucky in the first place. Not that I don’t like it, it has character, you know? Anyway, I am getting off topic. It must be difficult to look like this again” she says, her voice changing to something softer as she gestures to his Hydra outfit.

James’ clone was simply wearing pants and a t-shirt, which isn’t optimal for fighting. The Winter Soldier’s tactical gear is much safer.

James only stares at Yelena, which seems to not be the reaction she wanted as she sighs, squeezing the bridge of her nose before looking back into his eyes. “Just…know you can talk to me about anything. I remember how it was for you under Hydra’s control. It’s been a long time since we’ve talked but I’ve known you for almost my whole life. You’re my friend”

James nods, as he supposes that’s true. He doesn’t exactly know what a friend entails but whatever she wants to label their long relationship is fine by him. “Yes” he replies, and for a moment he sees that same pleading look in her eyes, the one she wore as she begged to be reunited with her father.

Perhaps Yelena is being genuine. Whether she knows he’s a fraud or not, maybe she wants the best for him.

James can’t fathom a reason why, since he’s nothing more than a weapon for Hydra. But maybe he can indulge her fantasies. It may be because of a lingering attachment on her end, formed under the high stress environment of the Red Room. Yelena probably latched onto him since she had no one else, and that only grew stronger during their years apart.

”Goodnight Yelena”

“Goodnight Bucky…James—Winter--Buck-James? Oh what the hell” she sighs loudly as she turns around. “I’m too tired for this. Goodnight”

Once her door clicks shut and he can hear her groan a low “yessss”—probably jumped onto the bed—James flicks the light on in his own room.

There’s photographs hung on the wall with other memorabilia strewn about but he pays no mind to them. He can gather information on the copy later. James methodically removes his boots, socks, and shirt, placing them in a neat pile as per Hydra regulation.

There’s a pillow and blanket on the floor, although the bed does look like it’s been recently slept in. Perhaps his clone alternates where he sleeps. James decides to take the bed to not raise any suspicion, but also partly because he’s never slept in a bed before.

Gently he pulls the soft gray covers back and slips in. “Oooooh yes” he says, copying Yelena from earlier. James can now understand the comments he’s heard Hydra agents make to one another over the years.

“Can’t wait to pass out on my bed”

“I don’t know if heaven’s real but if it is, it’s my bed”

“Mentally I’m still asleep in bed”

They’re all correct, this bed is heavenly. James closes his eyes, relaxing as he feels the pull of sleep, which for the first time in his life is not accompanied by the cold ice of the cryotube.

The Hydra agents have no clue what’s going on. The Winter Soldier uncharacteristically leapt out the window but by the time they reached him, no one was there.

They wish they could spend more time reflecting on it, but there’s still the matter of the screaming coming from the chamber. The screams that sound exactly like the Soldier. But that’s impossible.

They barge in with guns drawn, more agents spilling in behind them to investigate.

The wiping chair is occupied by a familiar figure.

It’s been a long day. The Secretary has recently been promoted, in both his jobs in the government and Hydra. It’s a tough mantle to operate under, with loads of pressure from both sides. But what keeps him going is his motivation.

Hydra has managed to fool the entire world that it was extinguished along with Steve Rogers in that plane. And the Secretary intends on keeping it that way, no matter how difficult it may be, no matter how laughable his position in the government is, surrounded by clueless imbeciles.

He’s about to finally leave for the day when he’s interrupted by many agents rushing down the hallway. He demands to know what’s going on, and is informed that something has happened to the Winter Soldier.

Damn. As if his day couldn’t get any worse. Gotta throw in a complication with the asset.

It’s a deadly weapon when pointed in a direction. But under rules to obey it’s harmless, and submissive to whoever commands it.

The Secretary strolls down to where the Soldier is kept, but the rising number of agents swarming the area is making him suspicious. What exactly has happened? Can it be easily fixed?

Finally he reaches the room, his status granting him a clear pathway. The Secretary stares at the image in front of him, blinking in confusion.

It’s almost exactly what he would have expected to see, but the slight differences flip the entire situation on its head.

There the Soldier is, strapped down onto the chair. It’s panting loudly, chest rising up and down rapidly as it always does after it’s wiped. Sweat covers its entire body and drips onto the chair, looking like it just hopped out of a pool. It’s a bigger reaction than normal to being wiped, though not out of the ordinary. But what is unusual however, is the fact that its metal arm is no longer silver.

It’s now a mixture of black and gold, glinting as the light catches it. The Secretary moves closer, studying how the main color of the arm is black, etches of gold inching along many of the grooves in a patterned fashion. It’s gorgeous craftsmanship, whoever did it.

He grasps the asset’s jaw, snatching off the mask to reveal the mouthguard clenched tightly in its teeth. It’s completely silent, the only noise is its sharp breaths and wheezes. The eyes are the same as always; blank and emotionless.

“Why was the mask on the Soldier, that’s completely useless and now there’s slobber everywhere! It’s disgusting, who prepped it for a wipe?” he asks the crowd of agents in the room. No satisfactory answer is given, just that the two men who took the asset out of cryo were knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker. They’re awake now, but out of sorts and not responding to outside stimuli.

“Why the hell is its arm different?”

Again, no one knows.

Hesitantly, a few agents step forward, brows creased in confusion.

“Secretary Pierce?” one asks.

“What?” he snaps as he roughly releases the asset’s face to turn to them.

“We don't know how it’s possible...” The agent trails off and the others aren’t any help, they remain silent, looking rather sheepish. What in the world has rendered them speechless?

“Spit it out!” Pierce yells, his anger bubbling over what he can control. He’s about to hit them when one finally speaks.

“Sir we saw who attacked the other guards…it doesn’t make any sense though”

He’s seriously considering landing the smack anyway because of how vague they’re all being but he swallows down that urge. He can take his anger out on the asset soon enough. “The attacker? Who was he? What did he want with the Soldier?”

“That’s just it sir…the attacker was the Winter Soldier”

Chapter Text

He doesn’t fully understand what’s going on.

He’s alive, but not really.

Does what he’s told to do, but it’s as if he’s a marionette controlled by strings.

Stand in this corner, enter this building, shoot these people.

Relentless questions are fired at him and what he has to offer as answers are clearly unsatisfactory.

Bucky knows that he’s currently ruled by Hydra again, but it’s different this time. From the moment his old self shoved him in the chair and turned on the electricity, he was placed in a haze.

He doesn’t…really remember life outside of Hydra. The only name he knows that belongs to him is Bucky, which is a strange name but that’s besides the point. He knows that he’s from New York and was taken during a war. He knows that Steve was his friend before all this, and helped him become free.

What happened between leaving Hydra the first time and returning is a blur. Images of people’s faces appear, with no names besides Steve.

A kind man with a warm smile, a gap between his two front teeth. A patient woman who’d stand next to him by a fire while he cried. A small but fierce woman who mysteriously vanished into thin air, leaving only a smudge of her shadow behind.

They confuse him and he racks his brain for answers but none come. The most clear memories he has of his time outside of Hydra is the few minutes with his old self. Enough to know that somehow two versions of himself exist at the same time??

What the hell did he get himself into before entering that room? Whenever he tries to remember the moment before setting foot in there, all he gets is a splitting headache. Clearly lots happened between escaping the first time and appearing here again, he got an entirely new arm.

Beyond that, the reason he remembers life in Hydra so well and not New York is because…well who wouldn’t? Electric shocks, killing people left and right, treated less than human, that leaves quite a mark. Bucky doesn’t know how much of his life he’s spent as the Winter Soldier but it’s clearly significantly more than when he was free.

And this time, the shock of being held prisoner again did something. It’s an out of body experience. He simply sits back and lets the show continue.

There was something about that look in his other self’s eyes. The horror contained in them, the brokenness clear as day.

He doesn’t like it.

So Bucky continues to do what he’s told. In a way the haze is comforting; it shuts him off from feeling emotions too intensely. Life with Hydra means that he feels nothing but pure pain, it’s nice to be provided with at least some relief.

The first time he was here he didn’t have that blessing.

Some of the men rough him around, slapping his face when he doesn’t answer questions right away, while some of them are bothered by that behavior. It’s strange that they work for Hydra, but at least have some standards as to how Bucky’s treated.

Hey, he’s not complaining.

The hard part is that those men shut up when his handler is around, which confirms his theory that there’s no hope for escaping, as no one truly cares enough to set him free. The nicer men may have compassion, but it doesn’t extend beyond that.

The man in charge, Secretary Pierce, his “handler”, has a temper and seriously has it out for him. He continues to ask prying questions about the arm, the other Winter Soldier, and what happened. Bucky’s answers are never enough. He doesn’t know why his arm is different, he doesn’t know why there were two versions of him, and he doesn’t know where he came from.

The memory wipe chair took that away from him, obviously. One of the kinder men actually took a leap of faith and suggested stopping wipes to see if the memories come back but was immediately shut down. Pierce remarked that the chair has been a part of his program since the very beginning and it wouldn’t do to stop it since apparently he gets “erratic” without it. The cons outweigh the pros.

So the routine has not changed.

Stand in this corner, enter this building, shoot these people, answer the same questions again, get electrocuted and sent deeper in that haze.

It’ll never end.

Destra doesn’t fully understand what her dad does for his job.

The building where he works is very nasty. It smells like her socks after gym class and all the lights have an ugly green tint. Buuut, her neighborhood is dangerous, she has no other family, and her dad’s work lets her stay for free. He said it’s for the best that she stays there until his shift ends. And as hard as she tries to make friends no one wants her as a best friend so it’s not like she can hang out at anyone else’s house.

All the workers at her dad's job are like most other adults; they’re serious. And boring. They mostly don’t like to play with her, but at least some smile and talk for a few minutes whenever their paths cross.

But nobody compares to the sad man.

He’s been there since the beginning so Destra can’t remember the first time she saw him. He’s tall, much bigger than her and has very big muscles. His hair is actually longer than her own tight curls that frame her face, it’d be fun to braid his hair one day. He seems to hide behind the hair sometimes, letting it cover his thinking face. But it can’t hide his eyes.

His eyes are different, and she knows that he’s kind, which she can’t say for everyone here. He doesn’t speak much and she’s never actually given him a high five or played down by the banks with him, but she can tell he’s nice.

She’s always had a knack for these things, for the entire 7 years, 3 months, and 14 days she’s been alive.

Recently he got a cool new arm. Destra prefers his old one because it was super shiny and looked awesome, but the new one is beautiful in its own way. The black and gold look really pretty together.

She doesn’t know how he lost his original human arm and she doesn’t ask. It might’ve been a really unhappy experience. One time she asked her classmate Simon Giles why he had a black eye and he stopped talking to her for a while. He got a lost look on his face and his eyes got all shiny with tears before he ran away to hide in the slide. It’s the same face that the sad man wears, although he wears it nearly all the time.

The sad man is involved in something bad, she can tell. Whenever she sees him he’s with guards. Sometimes they even hit him. Is that what happened to Simon? She doesn’t know. Maybe the two of them share the same secret.

She’s scared for her friend, he deserves to be happy. One day she gathers up enough courage to speak to him. Destra had finished reading her favorite Junie B. Jones book when the sad man quickly walked past her study room.

Tossing the book on her backpack, she scampers out of the room, her bright yellow converse squeaking on the floor and dark blue dress flowing as she runs to catch up. Once she spots them, the sad man and the guards are waiting outside a door at the end of the hallway, and the guards are speaking with each other.

“Goddamn meetings. I don’t know how Pierce stands those boring ass phone calls with Congress. He better finish soon, I have to get back to the wife.”

Destra crinkles her nose at their swearing. She doesn’t like it because only the bullies at school speak like that. The two guards continue to talk about their families when she approaches the sad man, who was staring off to the side. He tilts his head back when she approaches him and seems to shrink into the wall, his eyes widening in surprise.

One of the guards smiles. “Well hello there little miss. Us and our friend here are waiting for Mr. Pierce to get out of a meeting, why don’t you run along.”

Ignoring him, she asks the sad man a question. “What’s your name?”

He makes no move to answer her, keeping the surprised, wide eyed look. Up close he’s taller and bigger than ever and towers over her, if she didn’t know he was nice she’d be scared.

“You must be shy,” she declares. She’s never one to back down from making a friend, especially the ones who seem frightened.

“My name is Destra! You probably haven’t heard it before, it’s really old. I was named after my great-great-great grandma! She was really pretty. Just like your eyes, they’re the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen! My brown eyes are ugly compared to yours, Jackson Davies said them and my skin are the color of dirt.”

The sad man only blinks in response, and one of the guards laughs. “Okay sweetie, it looks like no one told you about him. He’s special, do you know what I mean?”

Destra furrows her brows. “Is he really smart?” Her friend Sierra is special and takes different classes with the big kids.

That earns a few chuckles from both the men. “No, no. His brain doesn’t work like ours, which is why he always needs to be with people.”

“Well, does he have a name?”

They look at each other, hesitating.

“Uh—”

“He never told us.”

Oh. That won’t do. Everyone deserves a name. She pauses, thinking of one that matches him. “Nicholas?” no. “Josiah? David? Miles? Lewis? Matthew?” None of them fit him, and the more names she rattles off the more confused he gets.

Frustrated, she tries once more. Maybe he wouldn’t want her to give a normal human name because he likes the secret one he already has. She can’t ruin that, so she settles for something else.

“Buddy?”

The sad man’s eyes return to normal as he stops pressing himself into the wall, and something close to a grin appears on his face. He likes it.

Destra smiles wide, enough for the both of them. “Buddy it is then! You’re my new friend!”

Just then the door opens, Mr. Pierce stepping through. “Oh hello Destra. Can I talk to these men here?”

“Mm-hmm! I was just talking to my friend Buddy.” She raises her hand in a fist, holding it out for him to bump with his own.

Buddy flinches back, like her puppy when she doesn’t know the rules of a game. He hesitates, obviously not knowing what to do. Destra looks up to see Mr. Pierce viewing everything with an amused smile.

Buddy crouches down to her level and places his face at her fist, the small knuckles of her hand gently touching his forehead.

Mr. Pierce snorts at that, trying to contain a laugh but failing. “O-okay Des. Run along now.”

The guards burst out laughing as Buddy stands back up, and Destra doesn’t like that. What’s so funny? Maybe her friend didn’t grow up with fist bumps and is just trying his best. Whatever, they suck. “Bye Buddy!!” She waves and turns around, skipping down the hallway to start her next book.

She has a new friend, and is determined to get to know him.

James has been acting…strange to say the least. He only speaks when prompted, his posture is ridiculously perfect, and he spends most of his time sulking in the corner of whatever room he’s in. At first Yelena chopped it up to shock, he obviously saw some terrible shit in those shame rooms.

But now it’s been nearly two weeks and he’s still off-kilter. She doesn’t think that’s normal for him, although she can’t really be the judge of what he’s like. After all, the last time she spent a lot of time with him was back when she was very young.

The two of them had reconnected in the last few years but being partnered as New Avengers is something else entirely. They spend all their time with each other now. She wanted to hear from Sam Wilson if the behavior was strange, but he declined her calls and ignored all her texts.

Goodness, give her a chance at least. Whatever, she’s got worse shit to deal with. Talking to Alexei was a bust, he brushed off questions about the super soldier’s sanity with a wave of his hand.

“Mr. Soldier is stern, like impressive American Bald Eagle. He will talk when ready, he has never opened up easily. This is normal for him, stop worrying. You are just like Natasha you know.”

The reminder about her sister still stung, but it was slightly easier to bear than a few weeks ago. Walker wasn’t help with the situation either.

“I don’t know,” he’d said, shrugging it off. “I’m not an expert on him, we’ve talked more with our fists than words. Staring is kind of his thing, so I think this may just be normal.”

Normal, normal, normal. That’s what they’d said. Except she’s not sure that’s the case.

To be fair Walker hesitated for a second, probably thinking about how weird James had been directly following the Void fiasco. “Well…maybe he got hit on the head when the body swap happened; it still bothers me we don't know what the hell that’s about. But anyway, the guy’s always had a screw loose, perhaps that was just the last straw.”

The remaining team members were out of the loop, Ava clearly never having talked to him prior to her being abducted/tied up, and Bob hadn’t either before tearing off his arm in full Sentry-mode.

Yelena also has no idea what happened to Steve Rogers, and James’ last surviving family member to know him—his sister—had died the year previously of old age. So she had no leads, and just her judgement to move forward.

Speaking of, the man in question waltzes into the room as she’s lost in thought about him, declaring that he intends on cleaning the dishes Bob left behind.

“Hey James,”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Привет.” It’s hello in Russian, and they continue the conversation in her native language. They talk about how their most recent mission went, the one they finished up last night.

It’s actually their first real mission since becoming the New Avengers, everything leading up to it was all press garbage. Yelena likes punching and shooting, it’s much easier. It’s ironic, but politics and public backlash is way messier and harder to clean up than blood.

“Those were some nice moves I saw there, you fight well.” she says after a bit.

He nods again. “Thank you.”

“I remember you teaching me them, it brought me back to those training sessions,” she frowns, thinking back on the memories. “God, sometimes it feels like not a day has passed.”

James’ hands tighten on the bowl he was washing in the sink as his posture straightens even more. “Y—yes I know how you feel.”

Whoops. Seems like she hit a nerve. Maybe he prefers talking about the Red Room and Hydra only when he brings it up himself.

“You performed so well,” James starts, surprising her. Guess he just became comfortable with it. “Much better than the other girls. They were good…you were just better.”

A somber smile pulls at the corner of her lips. She’s trying to not let the praise go to her head, but dammit she knows she’s good at fighting and approval from the Winter Soldier himself is high honors.

James continues, going back to washing the remaining dishes. “Your hair sometimes makes me laugh. It always slips out of your braid which isn’t good for visibility in fighting, you can’t quite seem to get it right. I don’t have much at Hydra, but with you it’s like I have someone to look out for, like a sister.”

Wait. Huh?

That doesn’t add up.

She snaps her fingers in front of his face to grab his attention. “Are you high, James? It’s like your mind is somewhere else…clearly my hair is too short for a braid now.” He stops scrubbing a bowl and lands his gaze on her, her fingers pointing to its current bob length.

His eyes widen in surprise and he shakes his head, as if clearing away cobwebs. “Sorry, lost in my memories. I meant that it-it used to be, when you were little and we were both at Hydra.”

…right.

James runs water over the bowl to rinse out soap bubbles and practically throws it in the drying rack, the ceramic clanking loudly against the others. He backs up, tripping over his feet as he hurriedly wipes his hands on his pants. “I-Iv’e gotta go now, the Red Guardian wanted to speak to me. Goodbye Lena.”

Okay scratch off strange, James is acting downright suspicious. Suddenly freaking out and running away? Talking about their past life in the present tense? Her friends called her Lena in the Red Room and he even called her that once, but not since coming back. And why would he casually call Alexei the Red Guardian?

A voice of reason is whispering that there’s nothing wrong, that it makes sense that he’s reverting back to his memories of Hydra and confusing the two timelines, especially since his old appearance is back and it hasn’t even been that long since reliving the memories.

Alexei calls James Mr. Soldier sometimes so it’s a stretch that calling him Red Guardian is cause for concern. And why can’t he call her by a nickname? She’s known him for nearly her entire life.

But another voice whispers that he’s hiding something.

It makes no goddamn sense, what would there be to hide? The first voice is perfectly logical and she shouldn’t even be giving these random little things a second thought. James is going through a lot of shit right now, hell he has been for the past couple decades. There’s no need to worry.

He even confessed that he views her as a…sister. That’s its own pile of emotional baggage she dreads sorting through. And a fat lot of good she’s doing to return the sentiment, questioning his moves.

Yelena tries to shove the feelings down with tequila alone in her room, but halfway through the bottle she can’t take it anymore and chucks it away from her, staring mindlessly as the glass shatters and the liquid contents drip off the wall onto the carpet.

What a mess she is. Yelena can’t possibly be expected to understand what’s going on with James, let alone sort through the pain of her unconventional family life to maybe allow him into the mix as well.

But as she goes through the motions of the next day and tries to forget, the questions just keep bobbing back up to the surface.

Something’s wrong. And she’s going to find out exactly what it is.