Chapter Text
Maybe I shouldn’t have persuaded Dad to let me come with him to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre after they had taken Steve, Sam, Bucky and Prince T’Challa into custody.
I mean, sure, for a psychology undergrad, it’s hella interesting watching the showdown as the government tries to control the living daylights out of a bunch of superheroes, but on a personal level, it’s more painful.
I’ve been hanging out with most of the Avengers since I was thirteen and came to live with Dad, and seeing them being split down the middle legitimately scares me.
Watching Dad beg and plead with Steve is heart breaking. I’ve never seen him so powerless before. No one enjoys watching their parents being weak, it’s all wrong. Parents are supposed to be strong and steady. Dad was under a lot of pressure to begin with. Now, he seems to be living in a permanent state of stress.
So there are a lot of reasons why I don’t want to be here.
But then there’s the Winter Soldier Quest. Dad coined the term first, about a year after I came to live with him, and it kind of stuck.
I was fourteen when one of my teachers brought up the Winter Soldier in History class. After that it sort of became a bit of a passion project. I collected as much information as I could, and Jarvis helped me figure at whether it was real or just conspiracy. I had folders full of information on him.
Steve had seen my research and asked if I could do a little bit on his old friend, Bucky. He never told me what he was looking for exactly, but I got the feeling he was wondering if I could find the body. I did a bit of research anyway, and came up with zilch in the corpse department. Which almost made sense.
It was winter when Barnes fell of the train, and it would have snowed a lot. So the snow would have quickly covered him and preserved the body. And since then, there had been a couple of searches for a body (courtesy of the Howling Commandos, Howard Stark and Agent Peggy Carter) but nothing came up.
Which is odd, because if your last name is Stark, that usually means you’re the most stubborn bastard anyone has ever come across. Take that from someone who really knows.
So then I made the connection that the Winter Soldier was James Buchanan Barnes. The Bucky Barnes that used to be best friends with Steve.
Turns out Steve had already put two and two together, but I was still proud of my find. And Dad was pretty impressed when I told him about it as well.
So I guess when I asked if I might have a chance to meet Bucky Barnes, he wasn’t going to say no completely.
There were ground rules, obviously. I might not actually get to talk to him, he was dangerous, and he needed to be interrogated first. Because, “Being the child genius of a genius isn’t enough to keep you from getting hurt, junior. Take it from someone who knows.”
But Dad (knowingly or not) had left a bit of a loophole. He hadn’t banned wandering around the facility.
I hadn’t intended to go wandering off, really, but after watching Dad work fruitlessly to talk Steve around, I needed a break.
So, yeah. I hadn’t really needed the restroom, but I had needed a “rest”, so I wasn’t lying all that much.
And when I found out that I’d managed to get lost on the return trip I figured Dad wouldn’t tell me off . . . too much.
Besides, I did have a legitimate excuse. Being lost had it’s pros.
But then I heard the sound of someone shouting, pleading, begging.
Shivers run up my spine.
Sure, to a point, government facilities are supposed to be intimidating. But this seems a bit much.
So, of course, I make my way towards the source of the sound. A door on my left, a little way down the hall.
Suddenly the lights go out, and I’m plunged into darkness. For the first time I feel a stab of fear shooting through me. Ahead and behind me, I hear mechanisms sliding into place. An automated voice crackles over unseen speakers.
“Block 7A is on lockdown to prevent the escape of the Winter Soldier.”
I’m not sure, but something in the back of my mind tells me I’m in Block 7A.
In the dark, there’s only one door whose position I can be sure of, and that’s the one directly in front of me. The one with the screaming.
Taking a deep breath, I pull a bobby pin from my hair and as quickly as I can without seeing anything, I feel my way to the lock and pick it. Cracking the door open a little, I peek through.
The eerie glow of the backup lighting lit the room, so I can see the psychiatrist who had been hired to interrogate Bucky. Doctor Theo Broussard.
Bucky himself is in the containment cell in the centre and the pleas are coming from him. Broussard circles the box reading from a red book with a black star emblazoned on the cover. . .
My blood turns to ice as I recognise the book and hear the words he’s saying.
“Nine . . . Kind-hearted . . .”
The Winter Soldier’s trigger words.
Bucky is begging him to stop. Fighting for control of his own body.
Without even thinking, I charge into the room and fling myself at Broussard.
The adrenaline and fear pounding in my ears prevents me from hearing anything, but I see everything in stark clarity.
The book falls to the floor and Broussard pushes me away before grabbing the gun from the holster at his waist. I lunge forward, forcing the gun out of my face.
There’s a loud bang that I feel rather than hear, and I hazily acknowledge the hole in my hand, before wrenching the gun away from Broussard with my uninjured hand. Gripping it by the barrel, I slam the grip down on his temple and he slumps over.
I drop the gun and stumble to my feet. I suddenly feel the stabbing pain where the bullet meant for my head went through my hand, and I grimace.
“Shit!”
I grip my wrist as a sloppy substitute for a tourniquet and try to remember where I’d put my inhaler as my breathing starts to get ragged.
Then I realise that Bucky’s sobbing has stopped. In fact, I can’t hear a single sound from behind me.
I spin around as the lights flicker back on. The jamming signal must have died. In the corner of my eye, a red light blinks into existence on a camera.
But I’m not looking at that.
I’m staring at the figure standing just outside the containment cell, with the cell door itself broken and tossed over to one side.
It’s not Bucky any more, I can tell that immediately. This man screams danger from every pore. I can almost smell the gun-powder and blood emanating off him.
He turns slowly to look at me. Icy, cold eyes seeing me without seeing me.
My heart stops.
Had Broussard given him any commands before he passed out? Is he going to kill me? Holy shit. I’ve only just found my dad. I’ve nearly finished my undergraduate degree in psychology. I’ve only just found my place in this world. I’m only twenty and I’m going to die.
He starts walking towards me.
But I know everything there is to know about the Winter Soldier. I just need to remember his commands.
“Think, Stark! THINK!”
My mind screams at me as he gets closer and closer and I’m slowly losing my ability to breathe.
The metal hand is nearly at my throat when I remember.
I draw myself up tall, mustering my strongest voice.
“Override order, Lupis. Stand down, Soldier!”
My wheezing snagged on the words as they escaped and my voice cracked on the last syllable, but I keep my shoulders back and my head held high. I summon all of my courage.
If I’m going to die, I’m going to be brave.
I won’t struggle, it’ll be quick. That way it won’t be messy. When Barnes comes back to himself, he won’t have to deal with too much pain. Steve won’t have to see the worst of what his best friend is capable of. Dad can tell himself I’m just sleeping . . .
Be brave for Dad. For Uncle Rhodey. For my new family.
Be brave for myself.
He stops.
My eyes widen as I watch the emotions flashing across his face, and just that tells me he’s not the Winter Soldier any more. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.
Gasping and shaking, he puts a hand on the containment cell to steady himself.
He’s Bucky again.
Relief floods me.
I double over, still wheezing violently. My head is getting dizzy. So dizzy it’s starting to hurt.
I feel the first inkling of panic.
Oh, Jesus. I’m going to survive the deadliest assassin in history, only to die of an asthma attack. How could I lose my inhaler?
I vaguely register a pain in my knees as my wobbly legs give up on me. Black creeps into the edges of my vision. I start to topple.
Strong hands grip my arms and keep me upright. Words are spoken to my ears and I have to fight to hear them.
“Breathe deeply. All the way in, and slowly out.”
The voice is kind, though a bit shaky, and I do try to do what he said, but my mind is in a panic. I know I need to control my breathing, but it’s like I’m not even in control of my own body any more. I feel the tears rolling down my face, but I can’t do anything to wipe them away. I feel myself hyperventilating, but I’m powerless to stop it.
I let out a keening sound of terror, panic, and frustration as I struggle with myself.
The voice mutters quietly what sounds like, “Oh, not asthma anymore,” and I feel firm arms pull me into a warm hug.
“You’re okay.”
There’s a loud crash of a door opening and I hear Dad yelling. The nice voice quickly cuts him off.
“Do you have her inhaler?”
Dad pulls up short before answering. “Of course, I always carry a spare.” He almost sounds offended. Almost.
I feel the plastic of the inhaler nudged against my mouth.
“Here, breathe in.”
There’s a hiss, and I feel the albuterol hit the back of my throat. Slowly my breathing relaxes.
Dad takes it as a cue to wrench me away from the nice voice and into a bone crushing hug. I move slowly to return the hug, scared to get blood on his expensive suit, but something tells me that’s the least of his worries.
I feel wet on my ear and realise he’s crying. I squeeze him harder when I notice he’s shaking.