Chapter Text
A three-second burst of machine gun fire sounded off to his left. It was much louder than the rest, and therefore much closer. Too close. One of the bullets whizzed right past his head, so close it could’ve shaved a streak through his hair. More bursts of gunfire and the occasional explosion nearly drowned out the pained cries of wounded soldiers. Even after three months out here, Bucky still wasn’t sure which sound hurt more.
The unbuckled straps of his helmet whacked him in the face as he sprinted, but there was no time to fix them now. Bucky veered left to avoid a flaming pile of wreckage. As he passed, the distinct smell of burning flesh mixed with the pervasive aroma of gunpowder and blood that hung over the battlefield. Another burst of machine gun fire, from directly behind him this time. He turned his mad dash into a zig zag, both to make himself a more difficult target and to weave through more fires that appeared before him.
A grenade sailed overhead and landed several yards to his left. Right at the feet of his buddies from basic. Somebody yelled “Scatter!” but before anyone could react, the bomb’s timer reached zero. With a boom, three soldiers became seven chunks of bloody meat. Bucky nearly tripped over a severed leg that landed in his path.
“Move, move, move, move!” someone was shouting over the din. As if anybody planned to sit still and let the Germans pick them off like cans on a fence. Bucky leapt into a foxhole and hunkered down as another grenade landed ahead. The force of the explosion felt like someone took a mallet to his head, but he was still intact and still breathing. A moment later, Dugan joined him in the hole. “There’s got to be at least five more other companies out there,” he said.
“Radio B company!” Bucky shouted back. “Tell them we need cover!”
Gabe Jones followed them into the hole, smoking radio slung over his shoulder. “That might be tough.” Though it meant they couldn’t call for help, Bucky was glad the bullet found the radio and not Gabe.
“Bucky, behind you!” Dugan warned.
He whipped around, rifle at the ready, as more explosions peppered the ground around them. In the distance, he could see the German troops advancing. “Here they come!” He dashed to a better vantage point and stuck his gun out over the edge of the trench. Dugan fell in beside him and together they picked off a few Nazi soldiers. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he blinked it away and kept shooting. He set his sights on another target, but before he could pull the trigger, the soldier turned into blue lightning and vanished. Stunned, Bucky looked up as several more blue blasts evaporated enemy soldiers. He thought he’d seen every possible way for a man to die, but this was brand new to him.
For the first time in hours, the constant gunfire quieted to a distant roar. Bucky didn’t know which army had access to weapons like that, but if they were shooting at the Germans, they had to be friendly, right? Gabe, Dugan, and he clambered out of the foxhole for a better look. “That looks…new,” Dugan remarked. Bucky followed the blue blasts back to their source: a massive tank with bright headlights piercing through the dust and darkness. As it continued to obliterate the German forces, he dared hope that the battle was finally over. They were saved!
Then the barrel turned and pointed right at him.
“Down!” Bucky screamed and dragged his companions back into the trench. The blast struck right where they’d been standing half a second ago. Immediately, the sights and sounds of battle resumed. Only now they were fighting two enemies instead of one. Bucky did his best to keep shooting, but it grew hard to focus as dead men—and men who would rather be dead—fell into their trench from all sides. The tank advanced through the battlefield, destroying everything within range.
He finally got a good look at the infantry accompanying the tank. They wore similar uniforms to the Germans, except for the skull-and-tentacle insignia on their helmets. And their guns weren’t like normal guns either. They shot the same blue energy as the tank. From the way the soldiers screamed when they were hit, it hurt worse than a bullet. Bucky didn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of one of those weapons.
Glancing around the battlefield, he saw very few of their own men left standing. Some had turned tail and ran, but most were dead or dying. The rattle of gunfire finally faded, replaced entirely by the blasts of the blue superweapons. Even before he saw the first Allied soldiers drop their guns and surrender, he knew in his gut that they’d lost.
“Boys, looks like we’re leaving this hole only one of two ways,” Gabe said forebodingly.
“It’s been an honor fighting with you,” Dugan said. He clapped Bucky on the back so hard he staggered forward.
A sense of defeat descended over the battlefield like a swarm of locusts.
Bucky thought of the letter that Becca would receive in a few weeks. She’d read it, and then she’d tell Ma and Pa and Steve and then they’d all know that he was good as dead in some faraway prison camp. He wanted to stand his ground and fight, to stop that letter from ever having to be sent, but unlike Steve, he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Whatever horrors awaited them as prisoners, he’d have to endure if he had any hope of returning home. There was no other way out.
As these new enemies rounded him up with the other survivors, Bucky came to a realization: he’d never known true fear before today.
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~
“So, tell me about your visit to Indiana,” Dr Shapiro prompted.
“It was…good,” Bucky said. He turned the page of the instruction booklet and sifted through the little pile for the next round of pieces he needed. Dr Shapiro had him build a small LEGO set during each of their sessions—with his gloves off. The distraction allowed him to open up more without overthinking everything he shared, and watching his metal hand build a cute little parrot helped balance out some of the memories of watching it hurt people. “I’m glad you suggested it,” he continued.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t confident it would help, but I’m glad to hear it went well. Can you elaborate on how it was good?”
Bucky pondered this as he searched for another tiny teal quarter-circle to snap onto the wing he was building. “It was the closest I’ve felt to her since 1939. And not because I was physically close to her body, but because the whole thing felt like something she would do. She always valued our mom’s traditions more than I did, and after I disappeared she leaned into them even more. I know she would’ve appreciated me doing that for her.”
“I absolutely agree.”
“The TSA agent looked at me funny when he asked why my carry-on was so heavy and I told him it was full of rocks,” Bucky said with a smirk.
“I guess that is a rather strange thing to travel with. Did you do anything else while you were there?”
“Rebecca showed me around town a bit. We walked by my sister’s house, had dinner at this restaurant they used to go to sometimes. It was nice. I always meant to visit after the war, but obviously that didn’t happen.” Bucky finished the wing and stuck it onto the side of the parrot.
“What kinds of feelings did that bring up, seeing your sister’s home and neighborhood?”
Bucky shrugged. “Mostly good ones. It satisfied some of my curiosity about where Rebecca grew up and where my sister spent most of her life. It made me feel more connected to both of them. But also, there was some…regret? I could’ve had that normal suburban life if I’d made different choices during the war. If I’d come home when they offered instead of staying with Steve.” He found himself regretting that choice more often now that Steve had abandoned him, proving once and for all he was either clueless or indifferent to Bucky’s feelings about him.
Dr Shapiro nodded. “Absolutely. You saw the kind of life you could’ve had laid out right in front of you. It’s okay to feel regret.”
“I never even considered going home,” Bucky said. “I valued Steve more than Rebecca, and I never should’ve done that.”
“It’s easy to say that now, but you couldn’t help how you felt in the moment. It was a noble thing to do, to continue the fight despite what you’d already been through by then.”
Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t do it to be noble; I just wanted to be near Steve.”
“Loyalty to our loved ones is also noble.”
His mouth twitched skeptically.
“What are some good things in your life that you only have because you decided to stay?” Dr Shapiro asked.
The answer came to him almost instantly. “Sam.”
“Right, that’s a relationship you would never have had if you went home back then.”
“Modern tech is pretty cool too; it’d be a shame if I missed out on it.”
Dr Shapiro smiled. Bucky pulled his hand back from the diminishing pile of LEGOs on the table and set it in his lap with a sigh. There was something he wanted to ask Dr Shapiro, but the thought of saying it out loud terrified him. He’d been thinking about it for weeks now, but after visiting Shelbyville the thoughts screamed even louder than before.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Dr Shapiro prompted.
“Nothing,” Bucky said reflexively. “It’s…I dunno, just a stupid idea.”
“Dying your eyebrows purple is a stupid idea. I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of something you want but are convinced you don’t deserve.”
“Damn, Doc. Was it that obvious?”
“I’ve spent enough time with you now that I can read your facial expressions. You’re not as stoic as you think you are.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Are you gonna tell me about it?”
“I just…since my sister’s gone, and Melissa’s gone…I’m…I’m Rebecca’s only family. Melissa left her with me but there’s no official paperwork and I’m just worried that someone’s gonna find out and try to track down her dad or something and force her to live there. I told her she could stay with me as long as she wants and she seemed to like that idea, so…I was just thinking that maybe…maybe it would be a good idea for me to adopt her?”
“I agree that that would be a good idea,” Dr Shapiro said. “Have you brought it up to anyone else?”
“Sam knows. He’s the one who told me to ask you about it.”
“What did he say?”
“He also thought it was a good idea,” Bucky admitted.
“Can you think of any reasons it wouldn’t be a good idea?”
“For one, Rebecca could hate the idea. Just because she wants to stay with me doesn’t mean she wants me to be her dad.”
“From what you’ve told me about your relationship, you already are sort of a father to her. The only thing this would change is the legality of it all.”
“I know, but that makes it seem so…permanent. What if I fuck up again like I did last fall and she wants out?”
“If you make a mistake—which you probably will, it’s an inevitable part of parenting—I have faith that you two will be able to work it out like civilized people. In the incredibly unlikely event that Rebecca genuinely wants to sever a legal relationship between you two, she could pursue emancipation. But again, I highly doubt it would come to that.”
Bucky nodded. He knew it was unlikely, but still couldn’t stop himself from dreaming about it. “There’s also just…would I even be allowed to?”
“I believe Rebecca is old enough that the court would consider her opinion. And the fact that she’s lived with you as long as she has also works in your favor. Family courts tend to favor leaving a child where they are rather than moving them to a new home.”
“Yeah but I’m…me.”
“You’re her last surviving family.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Dr Shapiro sighed. “It is possible that your history would be brought up. I can’t say for certain that it would definitely prevent you from adopting your niece, but you’ll never know unless you try. I’ve met a few social workers, and they would much rather home a kid with her eager and willing uncle than put her in the foster system. It’s cheaper and less paperwork for everybody. But again, you’ll never know until you try. Have you looked into the process at all?”
“Yeah, I did some reading at the library. Had to be real sneaky about it so Rebecca wouldn’t see.”
“Here is my professional recommendation. Ask Rebecca what she thinks of the idea. If she says yes, get a good lawyer.”
“And if she says no?”
“Then you continue with the status quo, no? But there are some very practical reasons for you to do this. If anything were to happen where Rebecca needs medical care, a legal guardian has to sign off on that.”
“I’ve been thinking about that too.” It scared the shit out of him, the thought of Rebecca getting sick or hurt and the doctors kicking him out of the room.
“You never know, maybe Rebecca’s been hoping you’ll adopt her but she’s too scared to ask.”
Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s possible.”
“Alright,” Dr Shapiro said with a smile. “Your homework before next session is to ask Rebecca what she thinks.”
“Okay,” Bucky agreed. He decided to do it during dinner tonight, before he had time to overthink it and chicken out. On his way out, Bucky took a picture of his completed LEGO parrot and sent it to Sam with the simple caption: “You.”
“I’m Captain America now, in case you forgot,” Sam replied.
“Fine then. Joaquin.”
“I see the resemblance.”
Bucky laughed and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He took the stairs up to the apartment and stared at the brick wall for a moment. They’d replaced all the broken furniture and patched the hole in the drywall, but the damage to the bricks remained the only sign of his meltdown a few months ago. Resting his palm in the crater, he silently compared the agony of that moment to the peace he knew today. He hadn’t even realized he’d been falling into a pit until he’d hit rock bottom. Only recently had he finally accepted the tools to help him climb back out.
He put his gloves in his pockets and tossed his jacket over the back of his armchair. Then, he put a record on to whistle along to while he cooked. Today was Monday, which meant Wakandan for dinner, a routine they’d kept for the past several months. Bucky had seasoned the beef before he left for therapy and left it in the fridge to marinate. He pulled it out of the fridge and set a pan on the stove to heat up. While the meat cooked, he chopped up tomatoes, red onions, cucumber, and cilantro for the kachumbari.
“I’m home,” Rebecca announced as she came in the door. “It smells amazing in here.”
“Hey,” Bucky called. “How was book club?” She’d joined one for real this time—he checked it out to make doubly sure—and now spent Monday afternoons at the library with other middle schoolers.
“It was good. We talked about how the title has changed a bunch of times and how that reflects changing culture.”
“Wait, when did the title change?” Bucky read the book when it was first released in 1940, and it had the same title as the paperback Rebecca brought home last week: And Then There Were None.
“The original title in England had the N-word in it. In 1964 they changed it to Ten Little Indians, then in 1985 they switched to And Then There Were None.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows at this new information. “That word was offensive even back in my day, they really called the book that?”
“Apparently it didn’t have the same racial connotations in England at the time.”
“Did you solve the mystery before the end of the book?” Bucky asked, already knowing the answer. Rebecca almost always figured out the twist in a book or movie before the reveal.
“Yeah, the red herring line in the song was kind of a giveaway,” she said.
In order to avoid thinking about the conversation he was about to broach, he focused all his energy on cooking. Bucky flipped the beef pieces over to ensure they cooked evenly, then combined honey, vinegar, olive oil, and lime juice for the salad dressing. He sprinkled in some salt and pepper and poured the dressing over the veggies. Rebecca dumped her backpack in the bedroom and returned to set the table. Bucky cut open the biggest piece of beef to check that it cooked all the way through. He turned off the stove and dumped all the meat into a serving bowl, which he set on the table beside the kachumbari. Instead of hunger, though, Bucky felt sick to his stomach. His brain had convinced him something was about to go horribly wrong.
Get a grip, he told himself. It’s just a conversation. The worst that can happen is she says no.
They were just about to sit down to eat when the sound of pounding footsteps in the hallway drowned out Glenn Miller’s “Tuxedo Junction.” It grew louder and louder before coming to a sudden stop. Moments later, the front door buckled inward with a crunch and half a dozen agents in full protective gear stormed in, guns drawn. Rebecca screamed and dove behind him, wrapping his shirt tightly in her fists. “FBI! Put your hands up and step away from the girl!” shouted the man at the front of the formation.
Utterly shocked and confused, Bucky raised his hands to shoulder height. He tried to step away from Rebecca, but she held on to him tighter.
“I said step away!”
“Let go,” he urged. He didn’t know what they would do to him if he didn’t separate himself from Rebecca, and he really didn’t want to find out.
“NO!”
Another figure emerged from behind the armed FBI agents; a woman in her fifties wearing a navy blazer and slacks. “It’s okay Rebecca, we won’t let him hurt you. It’s safe to come with us.”
Let him hurt you? “What the hell’s going on?” Bucky asked. He noticed one of the agents move his finger onto the trigger of his rifle.
“James Barnes, you are under arrest for kidnapping and assault of a minor.”
“What?” The idea was so preposterous that he would’ve laughed if not for the immensity of the tension in the room and the fear that any unexpected movement would get them shot.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have one present while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements,” one of the agents rattled off.
“Now release the girl!” another demanded.
How was he supposed to do that? He couldn’t pry her off of him without lowering his hands, but if he did that they’d surely scream at him to put them back up.
“Don’t let them take me away. Please,” Rebecca blubbered.
Though every fiber of his being screamed at him to grab Rebecca and fight his way out, he knew any hint of resistance or violence from him would make things a thousand times worse. With his history, he couldn’t afford to be anything but perfectly compliant.
“Rebecca, let go of me,” he said firmly.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” the woman said. “Just let go and we’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Rebecca’s hands dug tighter into the fabric of his shirt and she pressed her entire body against him. “No,” she declared. “I’m safe here.”
Four of the FBI agents kept their guns trained on Bucky, while the remaining two lowered their weapons and approached Rebecca.
“Go with them,” Bucky told her.
“I don’t want to!”
His shoulders began to ache from holding his arms so still. Bucky gulped. “You have to.”
Clearly, the agents had run out of patience. They grabbed Rebecca by the arms and tried to pull her off of him. Immediately, she started kicking and screaming. One of the blows caught him in the back of the knee but the pain didn’t even register compared to the agony of listening to her beg. “Bucky, please! Do something! Don’t let them take me!”
He wanted to pummel all seven of them—and he knew he could—but he thought of a stray bullet finding Rebecca and didn’t dare go down that road. Besides, stealing her away would only add to whatever evidence they had to suspect him of kidnapping her in the first place.
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“Please! Help me!”
With each little finger they pried from his shirt, another piece of his heart broke off and crumbled.
The two agents and the civilian woman escorted Rebecca, still thrashing violently, out of the apartment. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the other four advanced on him. “Get on the ground, hands behind your head!” Bucky dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the floor. Within moments, they’d wrenched his arms behind his back and secured them with huge, reinforced cuffs. They shackled him at the ankles too and yanked him to his feet. Outside the building, an entire fleet of vehicles and a dozen more agents awaited them. Clearly, they’d come prepared to hunt him down if he tried to make a break for it.
A large crowd of bystanders had gathered just outside the FBI’s perimeter. Bucky kept his head down to avoid making eye contact with any of his neighbors. He didn’t make a sound as they thrust him into the back of an armored vehicle, but his mind was racing, wondering how anyone could believe he’d kidnapped and assaulted his own niece.
He was even more terrified than he’d been back at Azzano. At least when the Nazis took him prisoner, he knew why.