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The sound of muffled voices and the tenpting smell of coffee and bacon were the first things Bucky registered while waking up. The dawn light filtered in between the blinds. Sam and Rhodes were up early, probably had already finished their run. Rhodes was still very happy to be back on his own two feet, and Sam was a stickler for routine. Thankfully neither bothered the supersoldier sleeping on the fold-out couch in Rhodes' home office.
Pulling a t-shirt over his head, Bucky headed to the guest bathroom to piss and brush his teeth. Looking in the mirror he sighed a bit at the bags under his eyes. Last night had not been a great night. He hadn't woken up screaming, but did jar awake in a cold sweat. He hadn't been able to fall back asleep for a while. A particularly nerve-wracking dream involving Zemo. Splashing cool water on his face, he reminded himself again Zemo was securely locked away in the Raft.
Shuffling down the hall and down the stairs, he nodded as both men wished him good morning, way too chipper the pair.
"Coffee?" Sam asked. After being answered by a grunt, he poured the coffee and added way too much sugar. His partner frequently picked on him for his sweet tooth. He half-heartedly tried to claim it was his enhanced metabolism but Steve had let slip once that as kids Bucky could always flirt his way to a piece of nickel candy at the grocers.
Bucky took the mug, briefly looking at the "I love the smell of jet fuel in the morning" with confusion. Maybe when he was more awake he'd google it.
"I'm not even gonna to ask how you slept, man, cuz you look like ass. Nightmares?"
"Zemo ones," he answered as Rhodey put plates in front of his houseguests. Sam nodded, and gave Bucky a soft smile. Nightmares had gotten "less horrific" over time, but still plauged the longest-held POW's nights. They'd come up with a shorthand so Sam could better support his friend. The most common were "Soldier," "The War," and "Thanos." The first could linger long into the waking hours, and end up with Bucky trapped in a spiral of self-loathing. The last two, Sam understood all too well. Anyone who had been in war AND fought a Mad Titan had those. Bucky looked up at Rhodey, while sipping the hot liquid. While they'd never talked, he guessed Rodey'd also have War and Thanos nightmares.
"Makes sense," Sam said. "Given today and all."
"Today?"
Rhodes pointed to the TV with his fork, which had been muted but the morning news was on showing clips from the Vienna International Centre from eight years ago. Today.
An "oh," came out softly. "I hadn't realized…"
"Subconscious is a fucker. Zemo is a fucker. Oh speaking of, there is the man himself," Rhodey shook his head at the clips from Zemo's trial. "Sorry by the way for jumping to conclusions back then. Don't know if I ever apologized to you."
Bucky poked around his eggs. After a bit he looked up and met Rhodey's eyes, "Fuck, the evidence was so good, I would've blamed me had I not known I had been in my shithole apartment watching a La Bloc marathon… But thanks."
"He really fuckin' played us," Sam gave the TV a middle finger when old Sokovian footage of Zemo living up life as royalty again played on the screen.
"I will say, the one good thing that came out of all that mess was after Cap broke you guys out, what flaws in security were plugged. He's not getting out of there and I don't think he's gonna get a supersoldier assisted jailbreak a second time."
"Fuck no, next time Sam can break his ass out," Bucky cracked a smile.
Sam snorted, "Nope, not me." The TV caught his eye as the footage was no longer Vienna but Berlin.
"Aaaannnddd... that was on us," Rhodey sighed. "Like what kinda fuck-ups had to happen where no one realized he wasn't Broussad?"
The clatter of a fork on the plate startled the current and former airmen. "I could've done without that therapy session, for sure." He'd retreated to gallows humor. Bucky wondered when he'd developed such a dark sense of humor.
Bucky saw Sam's facial expressions go through the list of things a good friend would do right now before cautiously settling on, "After the cameras cut out, Steve was hoofing it to get to you. What exactly did happen down there? If talking about it helps? If not, we'll drop it."
His blue eyes looked at both men, trying to decide if he wanted to talk about it finally. Or needed to? Given the nightmare… "When did it cut out? The feed?"
"Just after Zemo began talking about what you'd seen, horrors and shit," Sam supplied.
"As soon as the lights went out, I thought HYDRA had finally gotten to me. But I... it wasn't until Zemo started going on about my 'real home' did I really start to suspect Zemo wasn't just straight up going to shoot me in the head. Then he pulled that goddamn book out. Really would’ve preferred the bullet."
He began pacing the floor as he recalled, right now hating that eidetic memory that came with the serum. "There's a lot in the book, the user manual for your Asset. But normally I only saw it after cryo and wipe. Then he just, like he was reading to the goddamn class, began reading the words, but no wipe, for the first time I knew what was coming. After hearing zhelaniye I started to really panic, I didn't want to admit it was happening, was trying to tell myself 'no' to, I dunno, wake up? I literally begged him to stop. Well. If screaming 'STOP!' counts as begging. He didn't even pause… out came, rzhaviy, semnadtsat, rassviyet." Bucky stopped pacing and grabbed the back of a chair and gripped it, trying to be mindful and not break any furniture.
"I ever mention how it felt, hearing the activation words?"
"No," Sam shakes his head.
"It felt like my brain was on fire. And this, buzzy shiver feeling. But this time, it was… I felt myself slipping away. I knew what was going to happen and knew I had to get to this man before he finished. Broke the restraint with the left, then right just as he got out pech. Fucking Zemo was all calm walking around the containment cell while I raged in it like some rabid dog."
“I’m not sure what type of glass that thing was made of, but I was wailing on it with the arm, and I hadn’t expected it to resist that much. It wasn’t giving. Then out came devyat,” Bucky’s voice quivered a bit.
“S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, same stuff that was used to hold Loki, designed to withstand the Hulk. That arm’s the only thing that’s ever broken it,” Rhodey interjected, giving Bucky some time to find some grounding.
“That explains it. But it finally started to shatter at dobroserdechniy. Zemo got out vozvrashcheniye na rodinu and I realized the door was starting to give. The hinges creaked at odin and maybe, just maybe, I remember thinking, I could get out of there before I drowned. All I could focus on was wrapping my hand around that neck and crushing it. Sole focus putting all my body behind it. The door finally flew off just as the got gruzovoy vagon out. I had ended up mostly squatting on the floor from the momentum on the door. But, well, I was gone at that point. Or at least any ability to do anything but await orders. Stood to attention, eyes down. Always eyes down." Bucky glanced up, eye-contact was still hard at times. He'd discussed if staring was his act of defiance with his shrink.
“Zemo observed the situation, and let out a ‘Soldat?’ - enough caution to know he might have bitten off more than he could chew. But when I replied gotov podchinit'sya, ready to comply, he let out the breath he’d been holding, then just asked about Siberia, December 16th, 1991, the Starks... then gave me a command to fight my way out, and destroy anything preventing my escape by helicopter, and meet him in Norilsk.” Bucky had ended up pacing to the couch and collapsed on it. “Nineteen people all for Zemo to implicate me further. Nineteen fucking people dead. Sam, sorry about throwing you by the face.”
“All good, man.”
“Could’ve been more, but luckily most everyone there just fled the building. Tony’s iron gauntlet saved him. Natasha always seemed to dodge at just the right time. Sharon held her own, shockingly enough, but knowing Peg trained her… T’Challa and Steve offered real resistance, so it would have been hard to kill either. I’m glad it wasn’t more, but still, nineteen people. Had I managed to get the cell open a second earlier, I figure they’d’ve found me in the room, with a dead Zemo. I don’t think I would’ve run at that point.”
Rhodey cleared his throat, “Those nineteen souls are on me, Tony, Ross. Not you.”
“You really would’ve stayed?” Sam interjected.
“I don’t know I could’ve left Steve again, to be honest,” he slumped against his knees. “Given how everything was so chaotic, in retrospect, my bet is after searching ‘Broussards’ room, they would’ve figured out what was going on. I probably would be locked up in some high security looney bin. Who knows how quickly anyone would have gotten the words out of my head. I don’t know if Wakanda would have stepped in. But I’d trade my freedom for those nineteen people. Or the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents from DC, that’s another 15.”
Sam sat down next to him, “Please tell me you don’t blame yourself for Sitwell.”
“I… don’t lose sleep over the Sitwells, or Rostovs, or Henriksons. Or the various HYDRA agents I randomly took out when was ‘unstable.’ But good men and women that weren’t HYDRA, or some other type of low-life. The innocent bystanders who happened to be wrong place, wrong time. But the number of souls the Winter Soldier took isn’t tiny. It’s a lot to cope with, at times.”
The three of them sat quietly, Sam and Rhodey digesting what they’d learned - Bucky didn’t often open up like this. The supersoldier himself felt shaky, more than when he’d woken up from his nightmare. “I know there’s a plaque at the Triskelion for those who died that day, and there’s a memorial garden the Wakandans installed in Vienna. But I’m not sure about Berlin,” he looked at Sam and Rhodey. “Is there anything?”
The two airmen looked at each other for answers, neither getting one from the other. Rhodey stood up, “I will find out - my Friday is fairly light today, a few meetings I can’t wiggle out of, but I should be able to track it down. As for you guys, busy day?”
“Buck and I have a meeting with some GRC liaisons this morning, he’s got a luncheon with a POW group and then I have a visit to Children's National Hospital. I fly out tomorrow afternoon, not sure when Buck’s train leaves. And then we’ll be out of your hair,” he gave his big gap-toothed smile.
“Suggestion then, drinking tonight? I got a line on a bar that sells Bruichladdich Whiskey, Spirytus Vodka, New Asgard Ale, and Hapsburg Absinthe, if that’s something that interest you?”
Bucky snorted, “Yeah, maybe between all four I can get a bit tipsy. I’d take ‘a bit tipsy’ right now.”
He watched as Sam headed up to the second floor shortly after Rhodes went up to shower, turning the volume up on the TV and listening to the news about the anniversary and tried to not let events tied up with the bombing send him spiralling.
After Rhodey came down, dressed in his blues, Bucky waved him goodbye before finally heading up to shower and get prepped for the day. Surprisingly enough, the day went well enough. For once the meeting with the GRC didn’t make him want to punch anyone and he always enjoyed time spent with the POWs. They shared a flavor of PTSD, especially anyone who had ever been tortured. It was a strange fraternity. But one he could be himself in. On a whim, he’d texted Sam if he’d like company at the hospital. His time spent with AJ and Cass had driven home how much kids helped his mood. He’d ended up spending most of his time with a little girl in the oncology ward who had her right forearm amputated due to some kind of cancer. He’d carried her around the hospital while she poked his arm asking questions he’d never let an adult get away with. He’d chatted with her parents about his arm and promised them he’d reach out to Shuri about options for prosthetics. Surprisingly he’d gotten two nurses' numbers out of the afternoon, which led to no end of ribbing by Sam on the metro ride back to Rhodey’s brownstone. Sam whipped up an amazing home cooked meal as a thank you to Rhodey for housing them for a week. It wasn’t until they got to the bar that conversation turned to heavier topics.
“I did find out there is a memorial in Berlin. A reflecting pool. Simple, elegant, German. An inscription too,” Rhodey slid his phone toward Bucky.
His blue eyes locked on the inscription. “Fuck. I didn’t expect that.”
Sam pulled the phone over to him, “That’s quite brutalist minimalism. But can someone tell me what that says? My German is limited to ‘Ich bin ein Berliner.’”
“In remembrance of the lives lost 23 June 2016. ‘Forgiveness is the only way to reverse the irreversible flow of history’ - Hannah Arendt’ and then their names,” Bucky said.
“What’s that with your name?” Sam looked up, catching Rhodey giving Bucky a look.
“It’s nothing,” Bucky tried to deflect.
“Uh huh” Sam looked at him, unconvinced. Finally looking at Rhodey for an answer.
“‘James Buchanan Barnes, the 20th victim. May he be at peace.’”
The super soldier shifted uncomfortably and downed his whiskey.
“When was that built?” Sam asked.
“They started it in 2017. But didn’t finish until 2020. From what I have found out, they modified the plans for the plaque after the news about who all fought Thanos came out. And Wakanda had confirmed they’d removed the Winter Soldier programming by then and that they'd offered him sanctuary. They added that last bit. The survivors of the 19th, well, those that were left, petitioned to have that added.”
Sam whistled and squeezed his partner’s shoulder.
_________
Saturday dawned with Bucky the first one up. He figured Sam and Rhodey were nursing hangovers. Bucky had managed to feel the effects of the ale, but even then, his metabolism cleared it quickly. He was sprawled on the couch drinking a cup of coffee, clicking on his phone.
“Hey, man, what time is your train?”
“Change of plans,” Bucky looked up as Sam came dragging into the kitchen. “I’m taking a flight out, figured we could take the metro together to Reagan.”
“Where ya headed?”
“Berlin. Leaves a few hours after yours.”
When no further commentary was added, Bucky was relieved Sam dropped it. Sam wasn’t stupid, and given the topic of conversation yesterday, he was sure Sam knew exactly what he was doing and why. But thankfully he didn’t press. The supersoldier knew Sam would pester him later for details, if Bucky didn’t offer up but for now, the reprieve was nice.
_____________
Bucky walked slowly up to plaza at the front of the building. The reflecting pool sparkled in the daylight. Agents, operatives, analysts flowed in for the start of the work-week. He’d had the presence of mind to give the agency a heads-up he was coming, just in case anyone got spooked by his visit. Occasionally he caught recognition in someone’s eyes but other than a few nods, everyone leaves him be.
He stopped at the pool and looked at it. Off to one side, a few bundles of flowers and photographs were laid out. Occasionally a worker detoured to drop a trinket off. Left to his own thoughts, his footsteps followed the path around the pool to the plaque.
"My husband was one of the people who petitioned for the change," a female voice with a thick German accent interrupted his thoughts. "I had been, I don't know the English," her hand gestures were universal though. Everyone knew it, dusted. "As was our daughter. He'd been left alone, without me or our son. I was glad to learn what they'd done. I hope you have found peace."
He looked over and shrugged. "Ich versuche. Es ist schwierig."
She nodded, tentatively reaching a hand out to him arm, "Verdammte Nazis."
Suddenly Bucky found himself barking out a laugh. "Ain't that the God's honest truth." He returned to German, "They've been a thorn in my side since, uh, 1943. I'm really ready to be done with them."
"My grandfather was one." Her admission slightly stunned Bucky. "It took me a long time after I learned to look at him the same way. He was such a doting old man. I was never sure if he believed the ideology, or just went along with the masses. But there was a bitter darkness in him. My mother has vague memories of the tail end of the War. Germany has a lot of atoning to do. And I hope it makes us a better people to strive to be a leader when it comes to equality and justice."
"I've tried to make amends to the survivors, and take down the HYDRA members I know about. Hadn't really thought about these victims until two days ago. I'm sorry. "
"It wasn't you. It was the Baron. He completely disregarded everything but his own revenge. And if we let ourselves become consumed with vengeance, where does it end? At some point, someone needs to forgive or we never escape the destructive cycle."
"You sound like Sam," Bucky smiled at her. "I am sorry though. Your son deserved better."
"You did too. You still do."
"I'm still trying to believe that."
"Come, let me buy you some coffee and a Schokohörnchen in the commissary. They were Benedikt's favorite."
She offered him an arm. They reached the lobby and they'd pulled out their IDs and stepped through the metal detectors.
"Guten Morgen, Direktorin Weiskopf," a security guard waved her through.
"I'm losing my touch," He looked at her slightly accusatory. "I didn't realize you were a relation. There's no Weiskopf on the list."
"I kept my unmarried name. My husband and children are all Pfaffner," she led them to the commissary.
The room looked much the same as it had. Bucky looked over where he'd tossed Sharon aside, the glass wall he'd rammed Natasha into, the spot he'd tried to shoot Tony in the head, the stairwell T'Challa had leapt down from. Yeah this room had memories.
They'd been sitting only a bit when employees began stopping by to meet Sargent Barnes. The admiration from these terrorism experts surprised him. He'd expected hostility or indifference.
"I have a meeting, and must leave you. Stay as long as you like. My assistant can give you access to any room you may need to visit. Don't be a stranger."
‐-----
Back home in Brooklyn, Bucky walked down a busy street, enjoying the anonymity granted when in a Burrough of 2.5 million residents. He found the coffee shop he frequented and settled down with a book and a hot cup of coffee. His attention was pulled away by chittering from a pack of teenage girls, who were looking at him with big eyes. A small wave and a smile set them giggling. The ringleader came up, well, he registered she'd been pushed forward.
"Hi, um, you're Sgt. Barnes right?" A quick nod in affirmation and the rest of the group was at his table. "Can we get a selfie? We're HUGE fans."
"Sure," he was getting used to this, finally. Setting down his book, they huddled around him. Selfie acquired they giggled and ran off. He was sure he'd find himself tagged later on whatever app the kids used these days.
Finding himself unable to get back into the book, he headed back out. On a whim he walked over to Dumbo. It hadn't changed as much as a lot of the city. It was a warm day, and he had ventured out without long sleeves or gloves. It was easier to just be himself now than it had been in a long time.
It might not be peace, but it hovered at the edges.
For now, that was good enough.