Chapter Text
The ground is rocking underneath her back. She can still feel the ice clinging to her skin. She is covered in snowflakes, and she shivers underneath the frozen crystals. A hand is taking hers - it is not made of metal and the reality comes crashing upon her.
Beverly can remember the ship. She had been loaded onto the shipping container after something stirred panic among the struggling Hydra forces. Her arm throbs where the I.V. had been, holding her still. Keeping her paralyzed. Fear lingers in the air, but so does relief, and this is how she knows there is no one on board who is in a true position of power. She opens her eyes. The girl looks young - twenty-seven or twenty-six. Her hair is cut short, a daring red, and Beverly has to squint to recall her name. Dr. Powell. The doctor is staring down at Beverly like the other woman has all the answers...
"I'm so sorry. They - they retrieved this from Slovika. He..." Dr. Powell unveils the thing sitting in the middle of the table. Beverly's breath locks in her lungs. The metal is gleaming silver. The bicep is thick and heavy, holding a bulk of the machinery meant to power and keep the arm functioning. The forearm is slender and made of the toughest metal she had been able to locate. The hand is the exact same size as the one she longs to hold.
White light zaps between Beverly's fingers. Reality crashes from her; there is no one to keep her tethered anymore. So, she creates someone.
The white energy swirls around the arm, buzzing, and a body forms. The metal shoulder attaches to the socket. A clavicle comes next, is layered with energy and muscle and skin. Dark brown hair hangs over eyes that gleam blue before settling into a familiar green. This new Winter Soldier stands on the table, bare before the few Hydra agents and his creator.
"We are done with Hydra. We will find our children. And we, we will go home." Beverly announces. She beckons the lover she has crafted to her side. He obeys silently, dropping to the floor with hardly a sound.
........ lots of shit probably has to go down but I'm tired and wanna get to this heartwrencher....
"There's a kid," Sam's voice echoes over the comm. Bucky sucks in a breath, shoots a silent prayer that Beverly hasn't abducted some kid off the street. He leans over, peering through the scope that Iron Man offers, glances at the image on the screen to their left of the ship. The camera managed to capture nine minutes of video feed before Beverly's power surge made it go dark. The clip shows the not-him standing stoically. His old arm gleams in the sun, brazenly out in a way the Hydra heads never would have allowed if they were in charge. He isn't even watching Beverly, but, then again, why would she focus on making her imaginary husband look at her when she has a child in front of her. Her frame is squatting, hiding the kid from view. Bucky can imagine that she's zipping the boy's jacket, prays that she's just helping a strange little boy.
"Looks young. Maybe he's just a local." Natasha's voice doesn't even sound like it believes the words she is saying. Beverly moves and the sound that comes from Bucky's chest hurts his throat. His hands are scrambling for purchase on the table, feels the weight leave his legs and his chest - the shock burns in his ribs like an electric bolt. Winifred is beside him instantly, but its Tony who manages to catch a hand on Bucky's arm to keep the man upright. Steve stands closer, already demanding what was wrong.
Bucky can't speak. Beverly is smiling more than she has for decades. The little boy in front of her has blonde hair and blue eyes. It is just shaggy enough to get caught in his lashes, and Beverly will insist on getting it cut soon. Bucky can practically count those eyelashes, remembering how they used to rest on tiny, pale cheeks as the blonde little head rested in the crook of his elbow. A small voice was insisting on a story, another story, another story, papa. Don't go, papa. That same small voice screaming; those tiny, pale cheeks burning red as tears swallowed the blue of his eyes. The hand that Bucky hadn't been able to hold onto.
"It's Pytor. She... She's created Pytor." Bucky's voice is cracking as he speaks. Winifred's head turns back to the screen, mouth opening in surprise. Instant fondness is crossing her expression at her brother's name, but it twists as she realizes how small he is. How young he is. "She's breaking from reality. She... She did it once before. When Sarah died. We thought it was just her imagination, but - that one time." Bucky is turning to look at Steve.
"Donald said he saw her walking home with a woman. She kept saying it was Ma." Steve finishes, shaking his head. "We had to take her to the cemetery for weeks to get her to figure it out."
"Well, they broke into Peggy's old home. The one she used to live with Winifred in." Sam reported. "I think she's probably trying to remake her family. If she thinks Bucky's dead, then maybe this was the only way she could keep going until...."
"Keep going until what?" Natasha asked.
"Until she found her daughter."
.............
Beverly presses herself into the corner. She clings to her little boy, trying to shush cries that he is not making. The air is shimmering around her, the child weaving in and out of realness, from boy to toy in seconds. She is tired, wounded, and she cannot keep the illusions for much longer. Dr. Strange informs the Avengers of such....
"He's not real, Bev," Steve talks softly, echoing Bucky's words. "It's a toy."
"No! Don't lie to me! Let us go!" Beverly shot back. Blood is on her mouth.
A figure steps out from the shadows and Beverly sobs. Blonde hair has turned tan over the years, but his eyes are still blue. The toy falls to dust. IDK I"M TIRED MAN....
Peter gently takes her hand, uncurls her fingers from the fist, brings it to his cheek. "I'm right here, mom. I'm right here." His eyes fall shut as her fingertips grace his cheek. A single white spark leaves her index finger, settles softly against his skin - a recognition. Peter falls into her arms as her shoulders relax, collapsing with relief. Her hands are wrapped around his head, holding him to her. Peter hasn't felt small in decades, but he feels small in her arms. Small and safe for the first time since he'd left them.
HOURS, HOURS LATER
Peter's head is resting on Beverly's stomach. Winifred's face is pressed up against her mother's arm. All three are sleeping soundly, curled in the big bed that Tony had put in Bucky's room a while back. Back when Winifred hadn't been able to stomach being far away from him. Back when the nightmares that had once sent her own mother into Steve's bed were sending her to Bucky's. There are no nightmares in the room tonight. Bucky sits at the foot of the bed, watching his family with tears in his eyes. Steve and Tony, bless the engineer, are in the living room through the open bedroom door - smushed on the couch together. The Avengers haven't strayed far from each other; Natasha is sharing a couch with Gamora, who graciously understood Peter's desire to be with his mother. He had never thought he'd see her again.
Spiderman has a hammock overhead, and the boy snores lightly. It is hardly heard over the breezes that emerge from the Hulk.
Bucky knows the moment his wife is awake. Her eyes meet his like they have been exchanging glances all along. Her hand runs over Winifred's shoulder before it is reaching out. She does not say a word. BUcky goes to her, shifts so he is behind Peter, manages to get his arm underneath Beverly's shoulders so her head can rest on his.
And, suddenly, they are home.