More Avengers Fix-It

[cashew]

Fanfic for tanithryudo, I hope things are improving over there.

Title: Nowhere Past Morning

Part: 2

Fandom: MCU, Captain America Movies

Rating: PG because swear words

---

"There are two Space Stones," Banner announced at their weekly Avengers meeting.

Bucky resisted the urge to slap his head in frustration at his shit luck. Sam sighed and rubbed his temples as he waited for Banner to finish.

However, Steve, still hale and hearty at age 95 and looking it after his sojourn through time, asked with typical impatience, "I thought the Infinity Stones were supposed to be one of a kind?"

"Yes, in our timeline, that's true. But when the spatial-temporal progression curvature reaches..." Banner trailed off when he noticed the glaze in his audiences' eyes. He backtracked and tried again with smaller words.

"Steve, remember how we 'borrowed' the Infinity Stones from the past? Well, the Infinity Stones aren't just magical rocks, they stabilize the space-time fabric of the universe itself. Remove the time stone and the flow of time starts to branch in unexpected ways. Remove the space stone and space begins to warp. When we brought the Stones to their future — which is our present — there were suddenly a duplicate of Infinity Stones existing in the same space-time, because the Stone of this timeline wasn't stolen, they dispersed off of earth. So, in order for space-time to maintain its stability, we had to return the Stones back to when and where we took them."

"And Steve did that," Bucky pointed out, graciously leaving out what it was that Steve did after finishing his task. Because short of finding Dr. Strange and convincing him to use the Time Stone to reverse the passage of time on Steve, there wasn't anything to be done.

And Dr. Strange wasn't cooperating.

"Yes, Steve did, but that doesn't stop someone else from bringing another Space Stone from another timeline into our present," Banner explained.

"You said those other timelines would've merged back with ours after Steve returned the stones," Bucky continued. He was the only one who was still following with Banner's explanation as Sam's attention had wandered off to bury his head into his arms and Steve was never good with math.

"That's according to the information theory of matter. As long as the events are identical, the newly formed branches won't progress and will merge back with the original. Except," Banner paused dramatically to scribble a shape onto the whiteboard in the conference room that was meaningless to everyone except himself. "Except that we forgot one timeline where the events were altered, just not by our actions."

"Loki," Steve said, finally catching onto something he could understand.

"Exactly. In 2012, Loki escaped with the Space Stone, or rather the Tesseract, when it should have been in SHIELD's custody. The events from 2012 changed from how we experienced it, so the timeline had to branch out, or else we'd generate a spatial-temporal paradox. But that timeline was stabilized by a complete set of Infinity Stones and we have no way of confirming those events concluded in the same way. When Loki escaped with the Tesseract, it's possible the fallout was so different that it generated a completely parallel universe.

"If that's the case, then it'd explain how Steve was able to come back to our current timeline the long way round. By all rights, his presence in 1945 should have thrown off the events and caused it to branch away from where we ended up, and that's probably what happened. But since he restricted his interactions, his presence didn't shift the outcome of historical events and the timeline's information remained the same overall. Once everything concluded to the same point — that is the point where he left in our perception — his timeline's information became identical to ours and the two timelines merged."

"And how does that explain the second Space Stone?" Bucky asked, not quite grasping the concept of information as the boundaries of universes.

"If in 2012 a separate timeline diverged and we didn't shut it down, and it was stable enough to continue on its own, and the events happened were similar enough, but not identical, then we can assume there is a parallel universe that is close enough to us in terms of information that the Space Stone would allow its user to traverse the information barrier and come into our timeline," Banner said in a single breath. "This Hydra document proves that there was another Space Stone in 1972 while our Space Stone was in SHIELD's custody."

"I thought Hydra had already infiltrated SHIELD..."

"But this isn't Pierce's Hydra. This is a different division working on a different Tesseract. And the two Space Stones are probably trying to merge into one."

"What do you mean, 'probably'?" Steve asked.

"Well, according to the Ancient One, very weird lady, Infinity Stones are the scaffolding of the universe," Banner replied. "So if there are two duplicates, they're naturally inclined to merge to maintain the stability of the universe. The fall out from that, of course, is the parallel universes also try to merge and the universe has to try to fit the pieces together, like pieces of a puzzle from two boxes. Some parts are going to fit wrong."

"And that means..." Bucky prompted with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Well, worst case scenario, our universes explode because they can't fit. Best case scenario, somehow our two parallel timelines merge and everything we remember is out of whack."

"How do we keep things in whack?" Sam asked, focused as ever on practical solutions.

"For now? Nothing," Banner told him with a helpless shrug. "We can't track down the extra Tesseract until I can figure out what its signature looks like. It's a galactic trinket from a different universe, its energy signature is bound to also carry some variations. The only good news is that the Space Stone of our universe has dispersed out of earth and that means it won't be around to cause any interference once I do tune into its energy signature."

The new Avengers broke from their conference at this point, accepting that there was little for them to do but wait. Banner went back to his office to further study Hydra's notes and glean what information he could about the new Tesseract. Sam went to check on the younger members' training on controlling their powers as per the new regulations of enhanced beings, a more constitutionally acceptable law that passed with bipartisan support after a nasty fallout from the legal ramifications of the Sokovian Accords. It turned out that congress, once they got over their bickering and posturing, were quite happy to spend money on the military budget, whatever that form of spending might take. And establishing a new branch of the armed forces to incorporate enhanced individuals with all the logistical spending and onus of organizational oversight had only been too attractive for either party to turn down.

It was amazing how quickly the moral hand-wringing stopped as soon as the same acts where committed in the name of America. The only functional difference was that rather than answering to the Pentagon, the new Avengers answered to the DOJ, providing a legal loophole around conscription. Steve made a fuss over the new laws until Sam pointed out that most of their new Avengers had already developed a healthy wariness of military brass and that this time, they had a constitutional expert to look over their contracts instead of some private industry lawyer-for-hire.

With Sam occupied by the youth, Steve accompanied Bucky on his way back to his office. Technically, Steve was only ever supposed to appear in a consulting capacity, but old age didn't hinder Steve much and insisted on showing up daily to take care of the administrative papers personally.

"I still can't believe you're taking over as a paper pusher," Bucky noted as they strolled down the secured hallway. The new compound was as glassy as the old one and the seasonal bloom drew the staff down to the reception room for a quick break. Steve and Bucky were no exception.

"You and me both, buddy," Steve agreed. "But someone's got to keep SHIELD accountable, and you and Sam have your hands full with the new case."

"We're always busy with something. Doesn't evil ever take a day off?"

"Are you saying your work ethic is worse than megalomaniacs?" Steve teased.

"Isn't everyone's?" Bucky shot back with a grin that softened the retort. He let his eyes linger just long enough to not seem like he was avoiding Steve before averting them back to the flowers outside.

Even though Bucky had more warning than anyone else about Steve's plans when he stepped into Pym's machine, somehow the change still came as a shock. It wasn't just that Steve's physical appearance had changed, he'd already gotten over that back in the 40's. It was that Steve's mind was different now.

Steve was a man who lived his full 95 years and Bucky was keenly aware of the gap in experience between them. Hell, Steve was old enough to be his grandfather.

Despite his Soviet spy training, it wasn't enough to keep Steve from noticing Bucky's discomfort. As Bucky looked away, Steve tried to breach the subject.

"Buck, I know how this seems—"

"Barnes, get your ass down here!" Sam bellowed from end of the hallway, cutting off what was undoubtedly the start of an intensely awkward conversation.

"Captain calls," Bucky said. Smiling apologetically, he hustled off to where Sam was waiting without looking back, leaving Steve to stand alone in the antechamber.

---

"You gonna talk to him about this at any point or do I have to play Lassie for the next however many years the serum keeps Steve alive?" Sam asked as soon as Bucky was within whispering distance.

"I can't," Bucky admitted as the two retreated to the training grounds, away from the curious onlookers. Of course Sam hadn't needed Bucky for anything, but he was one of the few people who picked up on Bucky's discomfort since Steve's trip back through time.

"Man, you two went through a war together. Don't you think you can talk about your feelings without getting weird about it?"

"We're not being weird about it," Bucky defended with a hiss. "We're just working through some...stuff."

"Yeah, stuff about how you'd like to never talk about whatever happened in those five seconds," Sam muttered as they ambled around the training track so Bucky can work off some of his nervous energy. "You know, you got disintegrated and put back together again. That's probably worth asking after."

"Happened to you, too."

"I didn't grow up with Captain America. And Steve didn't go to war for me, you know?"

In response, Bucky sped up his pace and soon they were jogging, in full gear, around the the track.

"He didn't go to war for me, Sam. He went to stop Nazis."

"Who had you. He definitely went to war to save you," Sam said between inhales.

"He'd do the same—"

"I didn't say he won't," Sam interrupted before Bucky could dismiss his concerns. "I'm just saying that if I had a childhood friend who went through the war with me, and then I got disintegrated by evil space gems only to come back and find him traveling back in time to spend his life with a girl...well, I'd be plenty cheesed. Hell, I am plenty cheesed at Steve. Just don't feel like you gotta bottle it all up inside yourself because you think you owe it to him to be happy or whatever sappy 40's brainwashing goes through your head."

"I was brainwashed in the 50's. Cold War, heard of it?"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"I feel like you're not being very sensitive to my trauma, Sam. Not very supportive, what would your therapy group think?" Bucky teased.

"Man, shut up."

Sam punched Bucky's metal shoulder then cursed, even though Bucky knew the punch was a mere tap that couldn't have hurt the way Sam was playing it up. When things got too real, Sam knew how to give him an out.

Except, this time, Bucky wasn't sure he wanted an out. It's been months. Avoiding the conversation hadn't improved his situation with Steve. Of course, complaining to Sam wasn't a solution either and there wasn't anyone else he could talk to.

"You can pretend it doesn't bother you, but it's not me you gotta convince," Sam advised again as their jog wound down.

"You're right," Bucky agreed, shocking both himself and Sam, who did a double take at the unexpected answer. Giving Sam an apologetic smile, Bucky admitted, "I guess I don't know how to accept that my best friend went and had a life without me. Not just finding a girl, but a whole life, you know?"

Giving Bucky a pat on his shoulder, Sam said, "More than you think. Steve ditched the rest of us, too. I may not have fought in the war, but I did fight a war with him."

"I don't want to blame him. I just don't know how to go on like nothing's changed."

"Then don't," Sam said, always quick to get to the root of a problem and tackling it ruthlessly. "Don't go on like nothing's changed, because it damn well changed. What did Bucky Barnes do the last time some shit went down in his life?"

"Drink until I couldn't see straight."

"All right. Then we'll get drunk tonight."

"I can't get drunk. Serum, remember?"

"Then we'll drink until I'm drunk," Sam amended. "Tonight, 8 pm, my place. I expect you to bring the booze."

---

Bucky stared at the amber liquid and was reminded of a familiar if hazy place. A bar located somewhere in the past, filled with warm cheer and anticipation that overlaid a thin coating of fear. All of them, the young men who gathered under the yellow light of heated tungsten filaments, had been as drunk as they were scared, and no one really knew what they were fighting for anymore. On the other side of the pond, things had been straight forward — fight the fascists, protect their freedoms — but faced with the reality of the mud and rain and unending shelling, then add in the buzzing alien blue lights, they'd lost their way before they lost their courage. So they got drunk and followed anyone who gave them orders, because that was easier than wondering who the hell thought any of this was a good idea.

Bucky couldn't get drunk then, either, but he made one hell of an effort.

Now, in 2025, having somehow made it into the new millennium, a quarter of the way into a new century, the uncertainty from the smoky bar came back to haunt him.

"What do you want to do?" Sam slurred his consonants as he downed the liquid courage like some of the soldiers Bucky could still recall from times before. "Now that you're not thinking about what Steve needs, I mean."

"Who says I'm not?" Bucky asked, mildly impressed that despite his obvious drunkenness, Sam still managed to look sharper and more put together than Bucky had ever felt. Briefly, Bucky wondered if Sam had ever really relaxed, or if some part of him always stood at attention.

"You're doing that poor little white boy thing," Sam told him and gestured at his face with his glass of whiskey. "I've seen a lot of those poor little white boy faces on a lot of poor little white boys. Don't bullshit me, Barnes."

"Sorry, how should I be acting instead?" Bucky asked and wondered what it was that Sam saw that Steve didn't. He took another sip of the alcohol as he waited for Sam to answer.

"You're angry," Sam told him. He picked up a piece of calamari and bit into it with definitive gusto. Sam had been adamant about not drinking on an empty stomach and Bucky, who was no longer affected by alcohol thanks to the Super Soldier serum, agreed to the wisdom of the decision. However, the fried squid tentacles reminded him too much of Hydra's emblem and Sam's advice to think of them as reverse-clams ("They're all mollusks, just with the shells on the inside. Live a little.") hadn't helped one iota.

Sam continued to give him disappointed looks when Bucky chose to nibble at the salted peanuts instead.

"You're angry about having to carry on without your best friend," Sam continued after he swallowed the squid. "So you want to get some kind of recompense."

"That word's too big for drinking."

"Shut up, Barnes. Listen. Your bestie left you in the new century by yourself and he didn't even have the decency to be dead so that you can at least mourn losing him."

"I would really rather Steve not be dead," Bucky insisted as he swallowed more alcohol.

"You think I want him dead? No! But it'd be easier to be angry about it if he was, right?"

"I'm not sure I really want to think about that."

"No, no, you're not getting it," Sam insisted as he jostled his drink. Somehow the liquid sloshed around in the cup without spilling. Taking another swig, Sam said, "If Steve hadn't come back, y'know, died the long way round, God bless that S.O.B., at least you can properly feel sorry for yourself without all the guilt of doing that while he's still alive!"

Bucky said nothing. Instead, he looked at his drink so he could avoid Sam's eyes and have him see the truth. He wasn't ready to admit that he was angry at Steve for this. It felt so petty.

"It's like the shield," Sam said as Bucky kept his silence. "I'm not saying that I can't handle it, but he didn't even think to ask. Didn't even consult with me if I wanted to take up the responsibility. Just shoved the thing at me and expected I'd be honored to be chosen!"

"Do you not—"

"Of course I want the shield!" Sam interrupted Bucky's half-formed question as he placed his glass down with a decisive thunk. "Who didn't dream of being the next Captain America? That's not the point, though. It's not about being good enough, we're talking about assumptions. Assumptions that everyone wants to accept the job."

"Steve always saw the best in people."

Sam gave Bucky a long, disapproving look. Bucky kept his eyes on his drink.

"Did he really?" Sam asked as he picked up his drink and tossed the rest of it back in one gulp. Huffing against the burn of the alcohol, he continued, "Did he really see everyone or was that just what you wanted to see?"

"What?" Genuinely lost, Bucky finally looked at Sam, but Sam was busy pouring himself another two fingers of whiskey and didn't make eye contact.

"We've all heard the stories, you know," Sam told him as he focused on keeping the bottle steady. "Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, inseparable friends, yadda yadda. Did he even talk to you about enlisting? He kept going even when you tried to warn him off, right? Wasn't willing to ask for help."

"Steve's prideful and he's got a chip on his shoulder." The words were rote and automatic, out of Bucky's mouth before he could think.

"We're all proud, but we're not too stupid to ask for help when we're in over our heads."

"Steve went to you when he needed help," Bucky said, not sure where Sam was going with this.

"Yeah, me, a virtual stranger. But once we started to know each other better, he stopped asking. Man has problems, I tell you," Sam declared with a decisive, drunken nod. Then he grabbed another curly squid tentacle and bit into it with determination.

The tentacle hung partly out of his mouth and jiggled as Sam chewed. Bucky had to look away.

"That shit's not normal," Sam mumbled around the calamari, undaunted by Bucky's silence. "Man was not socialized right."

"Well, he was bullied for most of his life," Bucky conceded. "Maybe Steve can be a bit prickly."

"And you can get angry about that!" Sam encouraged as Bucky gave in to the hounding. "Pretending it doesn't hurt to get treated like that even if you understand where he's coming from...no, you don't need to hide that."

"Did you feel hurt?" Bucky questioned. It occurred to him that Sam, despite his griping during missions, had never expressed disappointment in Steve. Or anyone else. Anger and frustration, yes, but never disappointment.

"Man, I don't want to think about what I felt," Sam said with a shake of his head, which made Bucky feel slightly better about his own confused response. "How do you explain feeling proud and resentful all at once? At a ninety-year-old man, no less. Fuck that noise. Emotions don't have to make sense."

"Very deep," Bucky agreed. "Emotions don't usually make sense."

"Exactly, so what are you gonna do about all those emotions?"

"Hell if I know."

"No! Wrong! Bzzt!" Sam made an expansive gesture, his arms flailing under the influence. "You gotta embrace your feelings, man."

"I think you're losing me again," Bucky confessed and couldn't resist smiling with fondness at the familiarity of alcohol induced ramblings. Before the serum, Steve couldn't hold his liquor, so whenever they went drinking, Bucky was treated to a similarly convoluted ranting about whatever injustice caught Steve's attention that day.

"You gotta act on those feelings, let it out. Positively," Sam enunciated carefully as he worked the words around his inebriation. "I mean, you gotta figure out a way to move on from this work-sleep-Steve cycle you're in."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. You definitely are," Sam insisted, his head bobbing excessively like a kitschy dashboard ornament. It reminded Bucky of the way Steve would rant against the ills of the world while sipping on cheap gin before the war.

Bucky kept his observations to himself and chewed on another nut.

"Move on," Sam emphasized as he finished his drink.

"Pal, I've been trying to do that for the past 70 years."

"You're not trying hard enough," Sam accused. He pointed at Bucky with a half eaten tentacle and continued, "You've been looking out for Steve your whole life — and that's very commendable, don't get me wrong, very heroic — but at some point you gotta start looking out for yourself."

"I'm going to therapy, aren't I?"

"We have a therapist?" Sam asked, surprised that no one had thought to tell him earlier.

"Yeah, SHIELD mandated psych check. Very official," Bucky said with a nod. The new regulations put in to manage enhanced individuals had been explicit about mental health certifications.

"Huh. Why didn't—"

"Probably didn't think they needed to worry about Captain America's psyche," Bucky assured him.

Instead of looking flattered, Sam made a displeased face.

"What? Suddenly Captain American can't have emotional needs anymore?" Sam ranted, offended. "Can't imagine a world where Captain America might have a mental breakdown? Just because some of us are better adjusted doesn't mean—"

"I just meant that you've got it together more than any of us," Bucky corrected quickly before Sam could work up a pointless head of steam. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Of course you didn't," Sam told him with a pat. "You're just a man out of time. Like Steve."

"Right."

And somehow, they were back on Bucky's least favorite topic again.

"Look, what you did you do before to take your mind off of Steve when he does something stupid?" Sam asked now that they've circled back.

"Drink?"

"Besides that," Sam added, making an impatient noises somewhere between a scoff and a raspberry. "What? Don't they have clubs back in the forties?"

Bucky thought back to the dance halls and summer fairs, then compared them to the strobe light and neon colors that marked modern dance clubs. With a shake of his head, he replied, "Ain't the same."

"Same difference," Sam insisted as if those words made any sense. "You go in, dance around a bit, have some fun, and take your mind off of things, give yourself a rest. Modern girls aren't all that different than they were 70-years ago. They still appreciate compliments and a nice looking face."

Bucky rubbed at the scruff that covered his cheeks and frowned. He's not sure things were all that similar and besides which...

"I haven't tried to flirt in over 70 years, not sure I remember how," Bucky confessed.

"Don't they teach you how to seduce targets in that Russian spy school?" Sam asked.

"You want me to use my Winter Soldier training to seduce a civilian?"

"Sure, everything sounds bad if you put it like that! No, I'm saying you can keep faking it 'till you make it."

Bucky went silent as he thought on Sam's advice. Meanwhile, his friend chewed on rubbery tentacles, this time foregoing his table manners and stuffing several pieces until his cheeks bulged.

Taking in Sam's example of hedonistic indulgence, Bucky agreed, "All right, I'll give it a shot."

"That's the spirit! What's the worst that can happen?"

---

The call came too early.

Bucky was still trying to find it in himself to approach the wild looking girl with pink hair and nose piercing. She sported an interesting tattoo that curled out from the edge of her tank top, which Bucky figured would make for a good opening question to signal his interest. It was at that moment, when he was still ruminating over how to ask without sounding too forward, when his phone beeped at him, just loud enough to be heard over the club's ambient noise. Turning from his aborted attempt at a night out, Bucky slithered out of room under the cover of dim lights and, as soon as he was outside, he swiped sideways to answer.

"What is it, Bruce?"

"It seems like we've got a signal," Bruce answered succinctly. "I'm sending you the coordinates. Be ready for anything."

Then the signal cut out and an encrypted SMS message with a GPS coordinate popped up on his screen. Sighing with a mix of relief and frustration, Bucky tucked the phone away as he made his way to the usual pick up location, still dressed in his pressed slacks and leather jacket as he made haste.

As he arrived, he could see the Quinjet hovering, the back hatch open with Sam in full battle regalia, waiting for his arrival. Seeing him and his outfit, Sam just smiled a knowing grin.

"Nice."

Then Sam offered him a hand into the cabin and the jet took off vertically as the doors closed. In the pilot seat was Clint Barton, who returned to service after taking a long sabbatical to mourn his oldest friend.

"Hang on tight," he called to them and the jet was off, blasting through the night at supersonic speeds while Sam and Bucky braced themselves against the acceleration.

"I'm not sure I like where we're going," Sam yelled over the engine while Bucky began to change into his combat gear.

"You're sure it's the 'where' that's got you concerned?" Bucky questioned back through the bullet resistance fabric of his vest.

"What'd you mean?"

"Not really the location so much as what's waiting for us, right?"

"Same difference, Barnes!"

"You keep saying that."

"It's a 21st century thing, get used to it."

Their nonsense banter continued in that vein until they arrived at the location Banner indicated. The compound wasn't any different from the many Hydra cells that they've infiltrated in the past. Same concrete bunker designed with a 70's Soviet aesthetic. Given the obvious architectural influence, it's a wonder that Hydra hadn't been flushed out sooner.

"You know the basics," Barton called to them from his pilot seat as he maneuvered the Quinjet into stealth mode. "Machine gun turrets and sniper towers, watch out from the top, they've got the eyes. Target is located somewhere in the basement."

"Why is it always the basement?" Sam complained as he strapped in for the drop.

Bucky could empathize, as the basement made it difficult to use Sam's wings with any effect. Come to think of it, it was probably why Hydra favored basements so much now. Bucky's only concern was if they needed to focus on getting through the top floors because someone at Hydra liked to make nonsensical floor plans that placed the stairs to the basement somewhere not on the ground floor.

He asked as much, but Barton's response was less than useful.

"We don't have a clear read on that one, buddy. You'll just have to wing it."

"Great," Bucky muttered as he finished strapping into the body harness attached to Sam's unit. After checking that he had enough ammo and making sure his trusty combat knife was tucked securely into his belt, he gave Sam the signal and asked, "You take the roof and I'll start from the ground, meet you half way?"

"Yup. Don't go down without me," Sam warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Sam clearly had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but the hatch opened in that moment and they were off, dropping in free fall until they had visual on the compound's rooftop. Then Sam deployed his wings and they veered, yawning in the air as they continued to descend to avoid the machine guns' fire as they spiraled into the Hydra nest.

The drop was easy enough, with Sam tumbling out of shooting range and Bucky hitting the quick release as they've practiced a million times. Then it was just a matter of rolling with the momentum until it took him over the edge of the roof, watching the gunners turn in confusion as they try to figure out which person they ought to target first. As Hydra recalibrated their weapons, Bucky flipped over the edge and dropped three stories to the ground, bending his knees with the impact. He wasn't too worried about the shock of the landing given the soft soil on the ground absorbed a significant amount of the impact, and whatever fractures that he sustained would be healed immediately by the serum.

It used to be that Sam would audibly wince over their communications whenever Bucky pulled such a stunt. In recent times, whether because of habituation or exasperation, Sam had given up on complaining about sympathy pains. It was efficient and that was good enough for Bucky.

After the drop, it was a matter of throwing himself into the fray and start gunning on instinct. One of the freeing aspects of hunting down Hydra cells was avoiding the thorny topic of who was or wasn't on one's side. Neo-Nazis dressed in black leather with a red octopus emblazoned on their chest was easy enough to identify. And no one had to deal with complicated bureaucratic paperwork to figure out the correct jurisdiction. Another perk of working for the government was the freedom from obtaining visas and passports on transnational operations from under-appreciated and underpaid government workers. No one wants to deal with the visa application process and it meant less headaches for everyone involved.

"Roof's clear," Sam called into their communicator in no time.

Bucky grunted in acknowledgment as he cleaned up the straggling Hydra mooks then proceeded up a floor. Through his experience, he could tell that the gunfire in his earpiece was taking on an echo-y tone, signaling that Sam was also making his way down from the roof. They continued like clockwork, clearing their way through the corridors as they walked, shooting Hydra goons in the blue-gray hallways that always decorated these hideouts. The identical paint colors blurred the memory of the slew of Hydra cells they've cleared in the recent months and Bucky reloaded in reflex as his mind became preoccupied with the curious uniformity of Hydra's paint choice.

"Is blue-gray paint cheaper?" Bucky asked as he traded shots with Hydra while using a corner wall as cover.

"What."

"Hydra bases all use the same blue-gray paint," Bucky elaborated, ignoring the incredulity in Sam's voice. "You think that's because of budget limits?"

"Barnes, are you seriously asking me if Hydra paints their walls the same puke-ass color for economical reasons?" Sam asked, out of breath. Things were starting to get tougher now that Sam couldn't use his wings.

"I mean, it's a thought," Bucky muttered as he took aim and shot two goons with one bullet thanks to a convenient ricochet. His ammo was running low and he couldn't afford to be mindless with his aim.

"It's a dumb thought, and if you have time to think that, then you should get your ass up here and help me," Sam told him with no small amount of annoyance.

"Thought we were meeting half way through?"

"You're clearly not working hard enough!"

Mumbling a protest, Bucky proceeded up the stairs at the call. His floor has been pretty sparse of Hydra personnel as the Nazis concentrated their man power on Captain America. Dumping the guns that had ran out of ammo, Bucky switched to his knife as he cut through the few Hydra between his and Sam's floor. DOJ always complained about how fast he went through the issued firearms, but happily purchased more to keep their military industrial partners happy. Bucky didn't see the need to burden himself with an ammo-less gun when the government would just buy more anyway. Besides, he always made a point of going back to look for his abandoned units after an operation, but they usually were in no condition to be recovered.

As Bucky arrived on the third floor, he found Sam pinned behind a stack of toppled filing cabinets and surrounded by blue lasers zipping through the air. Ducking the light show, Bucky belly-crawled to Sam's bolt hole and said, "Looks like we hit the jackpot."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"What're you planning, then?"

"Something very Steve."

Bucky nodded at the description and braced himself for something ridiculous as he clarified, "What did you want me to do?"

"I'm going to charge that goon with the blue laser gun. You take out the guy on his left," Sam ordered as he shifted his grip on the shield. "Hopefully, we'll keep the gun on the right alive long enough to figure out a way down into the basement."

"I'm out of ammo."

Sam gave Bucky a disbelieving look, so Bucky added, "I thought I packed enough, but the ones on the ground floor learned to dodge."

"And you didn't grab any from the enemy?"

"The Stark guns use proprietary ammo."

"Of course they do."

"Don't worry, still got my throwing knives," Bucky answered without missing a beat.

Sam gave him a flat look to convey just how little he was amused by Bucky's quip and ordered, "Don't pin me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Without another word, Sam shifted the shield in front of him and leapt over the barrier, charging toward the goon on the right. The blue lasers bounced off of the vibranium shield and only mildly slowed down his advancement as Sam leaned to accommodate the impact. As the Hydra goons targeted Sam, Bucky poked his head out of hiding and aimed left, burying a knife into the minion's head with pinpoint accuracy. Meanwhile, Sam covered the distance and bashed the blunt surface of the shield over the minion's head, knocking him unconscious.

"You watch over this one, I'll clean out the rest of the floor," Sam told Bucky. Without another word, Sam turned and left the room, accompanied by the sound of bullets that pinged harmlessly off of the shield.

Bucky stared at their prisoner and wondered what was the best way to interrogate a suicidal neo-Nazi. They had little success interrogating Hydra previously and he doubted throwing the man off a roof was going to work again after Steve did it to Sitwell. Also, very few Hydra goons were as quick to squeal as Sitwell.

For now, Bucky settled for feeling around the minion's oral cavity for the arsenic capsule and removed it. Then he looked around the man's pockets for any other detonation devices. Bucky finished the job by stuffing the man's mouth with a strip of ripped rag from the Hydra uniform so he won't be able to bite his tongue out once he wakes up.

The sounds of fighting outside the room had died down, so Bucky assumed this meant Sam's job was also winding down. As he heard the approach of weighted footsteps, Bucky called out to where presumably Sam was walking back from cleaning up Hydra henchmen, "So how do you want me to question the Nazi? Are we still avoiding torture?"

"Buck."

The breathy voice that was both familiar and out of time caused Bucky to jerk his head up. Standing only a few feet away was Steve, looking no older than the day in the Alps, dressed in a truly atrocious rendition of Captain America's uniform and looking near tears.

"Barnes—what the fuck!" Sam exclaimed as he walked back into the room and saw the same young Steve as Bucky.

"I think I found our signal anomaly."