Chapter Text
"And you're sure about this?" Sam's voice is deathly serious. His usual playful tone flattened and heavy, his eyes boring holes through you from across the holo-desk. An image is projected above it, highlighted in reds and blues, casting an eerie glow on the new Avengers that surround you both. A memory - painstakingly extracted by Wanda with Strange's help, before she disappeared back into her self-imposed exile. "Because there's no room for mistakes here. We have to be 100% positive that it's him."
Strange scoffs softly, ignores the dirty look you catch Wong throwing him before he speaks softly. "There is no one hundred percent guarantee when it comes to memory extraction. We all perceive the world differently, Sam. All we can be sure of that this is exactly what she saw, how she saw it."
"And if it's not Steve?" Clint Barton speaks up. He eyes the projection with a shrewd gaze, circling the room in that restless way of his you haven't quite become accustomed to yet. "If it's a trap?"
"Then it's a pretty convoluted trap." Strange says. "There was no way they could have known we'd find her, that we'd dig through her mind when she drew the symbols she saw. She wasn't even supposed to survive - she was a wildcard."
"But they knew she could have seen him, and any other plans they're cooking up. They wouldn't have let her go this easy. It's too perfect... Hydra doesn't like loose ends." Clint frowns, glancing at you: they're all talking about you like you don't exist, like you're not standing right here with them, like it's not your memories that have been rifled through with a fine toothed comb.
"I saw Steve Rogers die with my own two eyes. And Hydra was supposed to be wiped off the face of the map nearly fifteen years ago." This is the first time you've seen the Colonel out of his suit. Instead he's dressed in soft lounge clothes like you, except his are rucked up and hiding the exoskeleton keeping him upright. A voice of reason, of stability. Sam Wilson's right hand man and a surprising source of comfort since you arrived in the compound all those weeks ago.
"They'll never die, Rhodey. Not really. There's no way to root 'em all out for sure. We know this, we've tried. And we know how evasive and 'convoluted' they can be." Sam says firmly. He folds his arms as he straightens, hiding the starry logo emblazened across his chest as he looks around the meeting room. "Their roots run deep. We knew there was every chance they'd still be in hiding somewhere. Now I know most of us here saw what happened in Sokovia. I know we mourned Steve. But we've seen enough shit by now to have learned that nothing's ever as it seems. Now we've got to do something about this intel. But we can't go in blind."
Yelena visibly brightens. "I can assemble a team, do some recon? I'll be in and out within a night, no touching, no explosions. Quiet as a mouse."
"Too risky." Sam shakes his head. "If Hydra gets wind of us, they'll disappear and we'll lose the only lead we've got. We have. To. Be. Sure."
They continue to debate, voices rising as they argue. You shrink into yourself; this is all because you recognised the Hydra logo. If they'd never showed you the dossier of wanted supervillains, if they'd never asked you to come into the Compound so they could inspect your powers - if they'd just left you to die on the driftwood they'd found you on, floating off the coast of Iceland, you wouldn't be in this fucking mess. You shut your eyes, trying to drown out the voices, when a low hum rises in the room. The voices of the new Avengers distorts, slows, and turns to treacle between your ears. You're about to float off when a gentle hand on your shoulder brings you back to the present, and you open your eyes to a concerned hazel stare. Yelena has been repeating your name softly, and you couldn't hear her - the lights are too bright and flicker in the once-dim meeting room, and everyone has fallen silent. The projection of a body in a cryotube has stopped rotating, and is glitching out with flashes of yellow and purple.
"Take a breath." She says, firm and gentle. Okay. You can do that - you can breathe. Just like Wanda taught you. Deep, air-conditioned, right to the bottom of your lungs. Feel it folding around every capillary, every twist and turn, until your chest feels fit to bursting. Hold for a second. Hold. Hold. Back out through parted lips, exhale the bad. Let it out.
Let it out.
"I'm okay." You whisper. The room has dimmed again. Eyes wide, connecting with every person in the room who now looks on warily. You remember the last time things got too much - too overwhelming. It was a little worse than just blowing a lightbulb, Kate had to be rushed to the medical bay to get stitches where glass from the shattered holodeck had narrowly missed her eye. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You're learning." Sam sounds far too kind, far kinder than you deserve. You can't meet his gaze anymore, and turn back to the projection. It's settled now, stable. It's spinning slowly once more.
"I have a suggestion, but I don't think you're going to like it." Scott has been uncharacteristically quiet. Sat idly spinning back and forth in one of the office chairs by the desk, picking at dings and scratches on his helmet. He's met with silence, but when he looks up he sees all eyes are on him and almost trips over himself to explain "Think about it. If this really is Steve Rogers, and he really is being held by Hydra, who's the one person in the world who knows more about them than anyone else?"
The silence grows taut, tense, as team members look to one another. Your blood runs cold when you realise who Scott is talking about.
"Didn't he retire?" Yelena asks, and Sam nods his head.
Please. Let him stay wherever he is. Far away from you.
"Yeah. I think this is something he'll want in on."
No. God, no.
"He's a little hard to reach. Gimme some time, I'll talk him round."
Anyone but him.
***
You manage to avoid him for the first few days. Yelena has taken you under her wing since you arrived, despite you being a good few years older than her, and has thrown you into combat training.
"I might not have all these weird abilities like you guys, but I can at least teach you how to throw a punch," She'd teased on that first day, wiggling her fingers at you. You'd offered her a shaky smile before Kate had cracked you across the jaw and sent you sprawling. "...Maybe we should work on taking hits first."
So rather than risk running into him in the wide hallways of the Compound, you slink to the gym in the early hours of the day, training with weapons and weights until you break for a midday snack, then run until you can lock yourself in your room with your dinner. It's weird, how nice it is to feel strong. You've been brimming with power since your awareness had come back to you weeks ago in the medical bay, but it's unstable. Untethered. You don't quite know the depths or limits of it - or if there even is a limit. No, physical strength has never been something you've had and it feels fucking wonderful as you gain it. Slowly but surely, you've spotted hints of new muscle definition in the mirror. You accepted long ago you'd never be slim and lithe like many of your friends, but this hard-wrought strength has you feeling on top of the world.
You feel small all over again when you stroll into the gym and find it already occupied by the Winter Solider.
They all call him Barnes now. Sometimes, by a very few select people like Yelena and Sam, Bucky. But you - and the others you should have perished with - knew him as the Soldier.
He doesn't stand like you remember - still as a statue, blending into the background until he struck with a viper's grace and deadly precision. He seems... smaller. His shoulders aren't taut and dropped, like he's ready to kick off as soon as he gets the order; they sit around his ears, a different thread of tension pulling them tight. The arm doesn't look the same either - gone is that silver glint you see in your nightmares, instead it's matte, black threaded with gold, and scrubbing at a face that looks tired and worn. The most startling difference, aside from actually being able to see his face without that curtain of hair that used to surround it, is his clothing. You never, ever saw the Soldier in civillian threads. He was always suited and booted, strapped to the chin and armed to the teeth.
He must be able to tell you're staring, because he turns to face you and he looks... annoyed.
No flash of recognition. No fury at you standing before him, in the flesh, instead of rotting beneath the waves with your fellow prisoners.
Nothing.
That almost makes the sickening cold drop of your stomach worse, because that icy gaze is something you'll never forget as long as you live, and it's exactly as you remember.
"Ah! Here she is. Come and say hello," Sam's voice is pleasant, a far cry from his sombre tones from a few days before. He's even smiling, which is nice; he's been eaten up by this whole thing, you just know it. You never get over the loss of a loved one, you just learn to cope with it. So how much more difficult would it be to find out they were never really dead? If anyone understands, you guess it's the two men waiting for you by the mats. "I'm guessing you recognise our resident grumpy robot. Buck, this is the new girl, the one with the electrical stuff going on."
Sam introduces you with a hand on the Soldier's shoulders, and it strikes you how easily he can touch him. Doesn't he know one wrong move will set him off? Doesn't he realise how volatile this man is? Your eyes must widen, because the Soldier holds his hands up placatingly and gestures to himself.
"Hey - no, I'm not like that any more. I'm not - it's okay. I'm Bucky."
"I - I know," you say warily, keeping your distance. There's a beat - awkward, heavy, and Sam glances between you both.
"Do you two know eachother? Is this some meet-ugly, 'we fucked after a bad bar date and now this is the most painful experience of my entire life' thing happening right now?"
"No," Bucky blurts out.
"Kind of." You answer simultaneously. Another beat. It's agonising, skin-crawling apprehension on your part, but the two men look lost.
"Okay," Sam says slowly. "I'm gonna need an explanation, because either you fucked, or -"
"You really don't remember?" Your voice is quiet yet still echoes in the empty gym. There's usually a few others in here with you, namely Kate and Yelena. Kamala joins sometimes if she's got a long weekend, and America will dip in and out every so often. You're glad there's no one around to witness this dreaded reunion.
"There's a lot of things I don't remember." The Soldier sighs. His stature seems to shrink before your very eyes as he shoves his hands deep in jeans pockets. Furtive. Defensive. "Shuri fixed a lot of things up there, but some of my past is still a little spotty. Were you in Korea?"
"No."
"Kyoto?"
"No -"
"Texas? Nepal? San Paolo?"
"Reykjavik," You interrupt him. Confusion flits across his face; he's drawing a blank. "October 2012. Until... god, maybe a few years ago. I'm not sure. Time's still a little wobbly for me."
"You really that bad a lay, man? I'm surprised. I got the impression you gave good dick." Sam grins, trying to lighten the room.
"We didn't have sex." You can't believe you're reassuring the Winter fucking Soldier, who's expression melts from guilt into brief relief, then resignation. Finally, he gets it.
"Ah. I... I'm sorry." He genuinely looks abashed. And pained. How the fuck are you going to deny those puppy dog eyes? You're not - that's the problem. Too soft for your own good.
You might forgive, but you'll never forget. And the team are right, he's the only living soul on your side right now who could make a positive ID of both Rogers and possible Hydra agents.
You offer him a weak smile, trying to call it a truce for both your sakes - and Sam's, who... to be honest, looks a little too delighted at the Soldier being uncomfortable. "It's okay." It's not. It's not even remotely okay. The things this man did - to others, to you... but it has to be okay for now. At least until this whole mess is resolved. Maybe then they'll let you disappear back into obscurity and try to scramble some semblance of a life for yourself, and try not to blow any lightbulbs in the process.
Just as the silence threatens to grow thick and awkward once more, Sam claps his hands loudly. "Good! Glad that's settled, whatever the fuck it was." He hooks an arm around the Solider - Barnes - neck, and walks with you out of the gym, to the meeting room, where Strange and Wong are waiting for you all. "Let's go memory hopping and settle this once and for all."