The Backup

Bucky sat on one of the benches in the quinjet, legs folded up against his chest, his heels on the seat. Steve told him they were stuck in the plane for just over two hours, so he thought that he light as well get comfortable and overthink.

He felt like a failure. He couldn't do anything to convince himself otherwise. He just willingly left his son - who he had been separated from for two years, the biggest reason Bucky fought for himself (if he was himself again, if he was strong and stable, he could save Peter. But every trace of his son had vanished) - behind, he left Natalia alone.

He had never wanted to abandon her again. He failed her so many times before; he caused her a world of pain. He hadn't been able to fulfill his promise of getting their family away from the Soviets, away from the cruelty that they weren't willing to let their baby know and be taken over by, like they were.

But will didn't matter. The Winter Soldier had very few weaknesses, but Hydra and Department X knew them very well, and he left Natalia alone at the utter of 'Sputnik.'

This time, it was his choice to turn his back. But it was for the greater good, right? Stop Zemo, the other Soldiers, then he could have the love of his life in a way he had never been able to before - with no fear, no need to look over his shoulder or to bite down into his forearm to keep from making any sound. He could have his son back, do all the things for him that he wanted to, give him a good home where his parents were together and there were no agents patrolling the halls.

A guy could dream. They never came true. So he didn't give his hopes up. Instead, he asked Steve, who sat in the pilot's seat and was focused on the mountains the quinjet was approaching, "What's gonna happen to your friends?"

He heard Steve sigh. "Whatever it is...I'll deal with it."

They had no idea what would happen to the others. If he was honest, it upset him. It put Wanda into harm's way, when that girl had been through so much pain already. Clint seemed like a good guy, Steve said he had family and retired to spend more time with them. He didn't deserve to be taken away from them just for trying to help them do the right thing. He had no idea who Scott was, the way he had gawked over Steve was so typical. Sam...Bucky didn't really care about him, but Steve did, so he felt aligned to him in solidarity. It was the least he could do.

None of them should be locked up, for not wanting to give their rights away. For being pulled down by Bucky's problems, which Steve thought were his problems, too.

Overwhelmed by the guilt he felt of the very idea of Wanda's hands chained up, of Clint and Sam in clanging shackles, he confessed, "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."

His friend - Steve was his friend. Always had, always would be. That was something Bucky could always trust, it seemed - turned around in the seat, glancing over his shoulder. "What you did all those years...it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

"I know. But I did it." And that was the sad truth. He tried so hard not to let Zola take away his humanity - his morals, his name, his memories. Fought for twenty long years, until the pain was too much and it would be so much easier if he just...gave in. His world went from warm and sunny to an arctic wasteland. Then Natalia stepped into his life, and melted the ice.

She was his saviour. She made his life's purpose possible. She and Peter rebuilt Bucky Barnes, in the ways they had loved him.

There was a stone-cold silence, then Steve asked, voice hard, "Would you tell Peter that?" Bucky didn't respond, because Steve knew his answer--no. He had never told him anything of the sort.

They weren't bad people. They just no longer had the chance to be good.

But maybe that option had finally resurfaced, after all these years.

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Natasha didn't regret a damn thing. Tony was angry with her, but that didn't matter. Ross had no idea what he would be up against if the Winter Soldiers were freed.

She just hoped that Steve and James made it in time.

"The doctors say he shattered L4 through S1," Tony's voice said from behind her. She turned and watched him come to a stop beside her, as he gave her the info on Rhodey's state. "Extreme laceration in the spinal cord. Probably looking at some form of paralysis."

"Steve's not gonna stop. If you don't either, Rhodey's gonna be the best case scenario."

He finally set the blame on her, just like she knew he had been wanting to since the Feds and medical had arrived at the airport. Tony's glare had been searing, but he hadn't been there to see Wanda burst into tears as her arms were chained into a cross over her abdomen, as if she were hugging herself, then her wrists bound from behind her back. The sight had made them all sick. Clint had tried to get to her, which made them shoot him in the neck with some sort of tranq. "You let them go, Nat."

"We played this wrong," she insisted. The Accords weren't meant to protect people - it was meant to tear them apart, isolate the enhanced that weren't willing and punish them for not wanting to sign their rights away to their country.

"'We'?" Tony echoed, incredulously. He shook his head. "Boy, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA."

"Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second? You brought my son--" Tony's hard expression faltered, flickering with shock, "--into the fight, and then lost him."

He didn't say a word on the matter, just regained his composure and fixed a cold gaze on her. "T'Challa told Ross what you did, so...they're coming for you."

She could care less. She knew how to run and hide, how to start over so no one she previously knew would ever find her. Fueled by anger, she cautioned the man that had once been her ally--her friend; "I'm not the one that needs to watch their back."

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He selected the machine gun, an M249, from the rack labeled with a blocky-lettered ROMANOFF. He made sure to push the rack closed before taking his place beside Steve - watching the ramp open as he tried to convince himself he could complete the mission.

Stop the man that had used his weakness for a personal cause. If not, kill him, then the Winter Soldiers--they had no business being alive.

He wasn't going to feel guilty for killing when it was necessary. For killing people that had wronged him, that in the hands of evil were formed to be the embodiment of the flawed cause.

As if he could see his thoughts, Steve tried to distract him. "You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?"

Decided not to burst his bubble, Bucky let him. "Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?"

The addition made Steve smile. It was familiar, and Bucky could see the grateful gleam in his eyes. "You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead."

He vaguely remembered. The redhead wore a green and white dress, giggled and blushed as Bucky flirted relentlessly and kept failing at the rigged game. He finally won on what was going to be his last round, let her pick out the giant bear she had been trying to get before he stepped in when she had been retreating. "What was her name again?

"Dolores. You called her Dot."

Dot. That fit. She had been cute. He turned to Steve with a small curl to the corner of his mouth. "I think I may have a type.

He let loose a sudden laugh. "You think?" He took his helmet in hand and slipped it on, starting down the ramp and into the snowstorm.

Bucky didn't know how Steve could handle the cold. After getting stuck in cryo, he always felt cold, and it caused a nagging feeling in his gut. But Steve was frozen for a solid sixty years.

"He couldn't have been here more than a few hours," Steve noted, when they came up to the open doorway in a pile of rock.

Bucky frowned, squeezing the grip of the machine gun. "Long enough to wake them up."

They walked into the bunker, submerging themselves deep into the evil that had once been Bucky's life. The elevator ride was bumpy and the shaft was small, but neither of them said a word as they stared at one another with their grave expressions. When the elevator came to a stop, Stvee knelt down and pulled up the cage, and the doors opened in response.

Bucky hefted the gun in his hands and stepped out. They paced through a dark corridor, then started up a small flight of cement stairs when a loud, metallic thud sounded from behind them. As if in sync, they whirled around, gun and shield up at attention.

Steve checked on him with a short, "You ready?"

Finger on the trigger, Bucky breathed out, "Yeah."

Tony Stark forced the doors open, the eyes of his helmet glowing in their gloomy surroundings. The faceplate flicked up, revealing his face. He studied their stance, the shield in front of both of them and the gun above Steve's head, aimed right at Stark's chest. "You seem a little defensive."

Steve broke from the formation, lowering the shield and moving to stand in front of Stark. Bucky kept his gun up and ready, just in case. He wasn't putting the airport behind him.

Steve excused their wary defences. "It's been a long day."

Stark glanced over Steve's shoulder, locking his eyes on Bucky's. "At ease, Soldier. I'm not currently after you."

"Then why are you here?" Steve demanded.

"Could be your story's not so crazy. Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself."

"Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork." He let the arm with his shield strapped to it fall to his side, squaring his shoulders and pulling his back straight. Truthfully, he confessed, "It's good to see you, Tony.

"You too, Cap." With that response, a bitter taste filled Bucky's mouth. This truce wasn't going to last, he knew that much. Stark suddenly turned his full attention on him, exclaiming, "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here. You can drop..."

At Steve's signal, Bucky reluctantly let the barrel drop.

"Let's get on the move," Stark directed them with a false cheer. Steve fixed his jaw, and the two men started toward the little stairwell.

"Papa," a voice behind them croaked. Bucky knew that voice, better than anything. He whirled back around just as soon as he had turned to climb the rest of the way up the cement steps, Steve and Stark turning to see. Peter stood there at the double doors, unsteady on his feet. His childlike eyes wide with fear, slowly turning red and irritated. He stumbled forward, and Bucky launched himself past the two other men and met his son in the middle, putting his hands on his torso to steady him. Peter grabbed at his shoulders, holding on desperately. He whimpered, "Don't let them do it again, Papa."

"How did he get here?" Steve asked.

"He's a trained spy. He found a way." He turned his attention back to Peter's red-rimmed eyes, raised his hand to cradle one side of his jaw. "Bub, what are you doing out here?"

His face changed from exhaustion and dread to a tired fear, and he looked at his clawed hands. He didn't release Bucky's shoulders, but he looked at him without recognition--and possibly a little fear. "Mr. Stark, whe-where are we?" he asked, not looking away from Bucky. "How did I get here?"

Stark took a step toward them, and Bucky instinctively held his son a little tighter. "I think that's for you to tell us."

Peter lost his balance again, but Bucky held him up. "They took...Don't let them--" His voice died, and his head fell limp against Bucky's chest. His hands relaxed as he went unconscious.

He pulled his son against him, wrapping his arms around his abdomen and holding him close for the first time in years. He set his chin in his hair, not turning when Steve asked, carefully, "Do we want to put him in the jet?"

"What, and have him wake up alone?" He could practically hear the roll of Stark's eyes. "That's comforting."

"What else are we supposed to do? Bring him into a fight?"

Bucky interjected, putting his foot down, "He can't go in there." He was good, but Bucky refused to let him fall into the hands of any of the Winter Soldiers. If Josef hurt Peter, he would never be able to forgive himself, and Natalia wouldn't either.

Peter startled awake, inhaling harshly before coughing into his father's chest. Bucky raised his head, letting him move.

The programming was glitching. Knowing the pain his son was in, that there was only one thing was able to do--he cursed himself for even thinking about it, but he gave in to what would help him. "Spider."

Peter tore himself away from him, his eyes going wide. "What are you doing?"

He spoke in a gentle, soothing voice, that he remembered his mother speaking to himself in, "What needs to be done."

He suddenly looked sick. He grabbed at Bucky's face, pressing the heel of his hand under his chin to keep his mouth closed. "You're not saying it. I'm here to help."

"Hey, kid, it really creeps me out when you do that, so can you stop with the Russian?"

Peter glanced over Bucky's shoulder, his eyes narrowing. Bucky took his chance, spinning and grabbing Peter's wrist, twisting his arm behind his back. Peter yelled as his body was forced to fold at the waist. "You promised!" He twisted himself so his arm wasn't wrenched, kicking his legs up to wrap them around Bucky's shoulders and quickly wrenched him down to the floor. Bucky grunted under Peter's arms--one locked under his chin, his other forearm pressed his top jaw into one place, so he couldn't move his mouth. He had his legs around his chest, in the same route as a sash, his ankles locked under his left arm.

"Queens, what's the meaning of this?" Steve asked, carefully, glancing down at Bucky's face for assurance before looking into Peter's eyes.

"You can't say it. You can't say it, it'll delete everything," Peter sobbed, hysterically. "I can't do it again. They can't take everything away from me again."

"Peter, do you have codewords?"

"Codewords?" Tony asked. "Like machines?"

"Tony, this is where you stay quiet," Steve said, his voice low. "Peter. Answer me."

"Yeah, I do."

Bucky wrenched to the side, his weight on his right arm, throwing Peter off. He scrambled up, but Bucky hissed, "Home," and the teenager collapsed down on the cement.

"How in hell did he get you down so easy?" Steve asked, holding a hand down.

Bucky took it, pushing himself up as Steve pulled. He didn't respond--the truth was, he hated fighting Peter despite being so used to it, and soemthing deep inside him liked to throw him off--instead took a few steps closer to Stark, who had just kneeled down beside Peter's unconscious form.

"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his voice almost at a growl.

Bucky understood the anger, he felt it too. What he didn't understand was why Stark acted as if he were responsible for the boy. He explained, keeping himself in check, "We both have one word that triggers our brain--kind of like a short circuit. A surge. It makes us fall unconscious, and we're out for days. It's used in emergency cases."

"This was an emergency?" he shouted, letting anger free. "He's in my charge, I'm supposed to keep him safe--how am I supposed to take him back to May like this?"

"It reset him. He's now stable. He was in and out of reality before. One second he knew me as his father, the next I was the crazy assassin on the opposing team. You just saw it. Now we can put him on the jet. Keep him away from them--" he pointed blindly into the base, "--because he can't face them."

Steve stepped between them, pushing his arms under Peter's legs and behind his back. Hefting him up, he said, "I'll be back." Bucky watched him run out the way they came in, his son held tight in entrusted arms.

Once Steve was out of sight, Bucky turned his sparking blue eyes on Stark. "Nat told me you were the one to pull him into all of this. Why would you do that to him? Even if he was just some random kid--he's fifteen, you don't put a fifteen year old against freaks like us. He was safe, momentarily innocent."

"He's good--and he was my secret weapon--"

Red-hot flames roared deep in his chest, and he fought the urge to knock Stark down to his knees. He hissed, "If you call him a weapon again, I swear I'll rip your throat out."

"Steve didn't know he existed," he explained, speaking fast as if he could fix his mistake. "He was useful to me. Catch all of you off guard. I didn't know he was your kid."

"No one knows he's my son! No one knows he's Natalia's!"

"Natal--?"

"You really thought you knew her real name? That's cute."

The mask to Tony's suit clamped down, covering his angry face. Bucky just continued to glare through the eye sockets. "Let's just get this done."

They remained in that angry staring contest until Steve returned, shield strapped tightly to his arm and his aura of authority commanding them to get along for the sake of the mission. The trio crept through the Siberian base, and Bucky did his best to keep his head and straight and not get pulled back into what he remembered of torture and pain as he saw the things he once knew. The cell he and Peter shared, the cell the boy was thrown into whenever he disobeyed or the Winter Soldier was away on a mission, the room with the cage where they had first met, where Bucky had felt Peter's blood on his hands for the very first time.

"I got a heat signature," Stark suddenly informed, as they came close to a chamber that ever cell in Bucky's body screamed at him to not willingly walk into.

"How many?" Steve asked.

"One," Stark assured, a hint of relief in his voice.

Stark entered the room that Bucky knew well first. Then Steve, then Bucky with his gun up and ready to fire. His heart was wrenched even tighter in his chest as his eyes fell on the chair, then the cyro capsules.

He felt relieved when he saw a bullet hole between Josef's eyes. Then a twinge of jealousy--he had always wanted to do that himself.

The next capsule belonged to a softly-featured blond woman, with a cute little button nose and a perfectly curved cupid's bow. His steps faltered, landing him in his wide berth around the chair. But he continued on. At the end of the row, the last capsule was empty. He let it stay that way.

He wouldn't dare go near it willingly.

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"Help my wife. Please. Help."

Bucky didn't watch the tape. He knew what happened - the Soldier slipped his finger's through his target's hair, and lifted him up by the hold. The man's eyes widened in desperation; and, undeniably, shock.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

The collateral damage let out a mournful, guttural call of, "Howard!" - he just white-knuckled his rifle, not able to take his wide, watering eyes off of Tony.

Tony. He wasn't Stark. Stark was the man he had dicked around in a workshop with every now and then, whose Expo he had attended the before he was shipped out to England with Dugan.

He killed Tony's parents. There was nothing he could ever do that would make up for that. The icy glare aimed at him right that second only confirmed it.

Howard's wife groaned, "Howard!" again, pain laced through her voice.

The Soldier hadn't been kind to her, but he had been efficient, and to Bucky that made up for some of it. He made the end quick. But he remembered the blood running down the curves of her face, the way her throat had felt under his hand -

He--alongside Tony--wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself. He killed parents, he killed children.

He didn't deserve a family. All he did was tear them apart. He thought of his son tucked into the quinjet wherever Steve had put him, and all he could think was that child has blood on his hands because of me. That's my fault.

Tony was suddenly lunging at him, and Bucky jumped back. He raised the barrel of his gun, because, yes, he deserved whatever pain Tony intended for him to feel, but Steve didn't have to see that.

Steve grabbed Tony by the arm of his metal suit, pulling him back in with a cautious, "Tony. Tony."

The man's eyes reflected the gloomy and gold lighting around them, even more so as tears made their presence known. He turned back to Steve and asked, "Did you know?"

"I didn't know it was him."

Tony hissed, his grief flipping over into easy fury, "Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?"

"Yes."

With that, the two men snapped apart like a split rubber band. Tony's helmet fell back into face, and he swung a fist at Steve's cheek.

Bucky didn't think - he had no right to hurt Steve, he had no part in any of this - he just shot. His gunfire was easily deflected, and suddenly he was being smothered by the giant suit. A metal hand gripped his throat, picked him up, and the next thing he knew the room was turning and his feet were no longer on the floor, his gun forgotten somewhere below them.

They fell into the floor. Tony quickly got up and moved to slam his metal-cased foot down, and Bucky caught the blow with part of his left arm. He moved to juml again, but Steve's shield came out of nowhere. They hit each other back and forth, just knocking each other off their axis, and Bucky was only able to get to his feet before Tony grabbed him by the arms and flew them across the room, slamming him into the top of one of the capsules. His gauntlet was in his face, and Bucky wrapped his metal fingers around Tony's to twist his palm away from him, and squeezed to crush the repulser as it began to glow a pale blue. A rocket came out from a little further up the arm, sailing across the room and exploding. The capsules fell apart, the mechanics going up in flames and cement and metal falling to the floor.

Tony released him, but fell alongside him. The place they had just been got crushed, misshapen metal falling and sparks showering over them.

Bucky managed to scramble to his feet, and for a moment felt a jolt of relief when he found that Tony wasn't near him, probably underneath some of the pipework that had collapsed. His eyes found Steve on the other side of a large pipe and broken metal strands.

Steve threw a wild gesture at him and shouted, "Get out of here!"

That was more than enough motivation. He ran toward the first exit he could remember, a large cement silo chamber with a hinged top and platforms leading up to the opening at the very top. He ducked behind an obtuse corner, and a blast of energy went past him.

Behind him, he heard Steve trying to convince Tony of something, to not kill him, but he paid no mind to it. He hit a control panel, and the overhead door opened up, showing the grey sky. He launched himself up and grabbed onto a woven-metal platform, heaving himself up and pushing on.

Was he running for his life? No. He was going to get out of this because Steve shouldn't have to see him die twice. He was going to finish Zemo, then reunite with his son and--for once in his life--get them somewhere safe.

Hearing a sound eerily similar to a stuttering car engine, Bucky glanced down. Tony was trying to fly up to him, but the jets on his feet flickered. One of them was dead, sparks flying out into the air beneath him. Steve's shield smacked into him, and Tony dropped back down to the floor on impact. With even more urgency, Bucky jumped toward another platform, hands fitting around the edge. He swung himself up, and continued on to the next as he heard Tony's jets re-engage.

He was so close to the top. He pulled himself up onto the last platform, and darted up to the curves of metal that formed a ladder up the side, to lid-like shape that opened up.

As always, it was too good to be true. From being framed for bombing the UN when he finally had something good just for himself, to the android cutting them off from the quinjet in the airport.

Gunfire hit the hinge of the silo. Frustration welled in him, and he dropped back down onto the platform as the concrete cover fell back down.

He was trapped.

Tony was suddenly Tony beside him, and Bucky grabbed at a discarded metal pipe and swung at the suit. Metal clanged as he landed on the platform, and his arms wound around from behind Bucky's neck, and pulled him back so he was flush against the chest of the metal suit. He growled close to his ear, "Do you even remember them?"

He managed to say, because Tony had to know; "I remember all of them." It was the truth. He may not remember all the names or why the Winter Soldier was sent after them--but he remembered pulling triggers and getting blood on his hands, their faces as the pain set in, the life dying from their eyes because life, souls, were dwindling fires.

Bucky bent his knees and pushed them off the side of the platform. Tony kept his hold strong, and halfway down another weight hit them, sending them into the side of the silo. They all fell apart, and Bucky grunted when he fell to the concrete floor, his metal shoulder pushing further into the scarred flesh. But Steve and Tony tumbled down into a lower level, where the concrete had openings and snowy wind billowed inside. The two men laid there in a daze, until they managed to push themselves up. Steve stumbled, and said in a pained, light--but still so determined--voice, "This isn't gonna change what happened. If you kill him, Peter won't have a father - you'll be doing the same thing -!"

"I don't care. He killed my mom." The eyes in the Iron Man helmet blazed. As they locked on Bucky's pale blues, he knew his fate was sealed.