James.

Steve hadn't even given the name a second thought when Warren first said it. There are millions of people named James in the world. Warren's father could have been any of those James's. The Winter Soldier just happened to have the name James. It didn't stick out to Steve. It didn't matter one bit. At least, he thought it didn't matter.

Now, everything is different. The name won't stop repeating itself in Steve's brain. James, James, James, James, James. Over and over again. It's making him want to scream. Instead, he stares at the floor of the van he's trapped in the back of, keeping his jaw tight and trying to breathe his way through the whirlwind of emotions ripping through him.

James, James, James. James Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes. James Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Bucky. Buck.

Bucky is dead. Bucky has been dead for decades. Steve watched as Bucky fell from that train, down thousands of feet into the ravine below. No man could survive that fall. Even if Bucky could have survived it, he would be over ninety today. He would be near dead, whithering away in an old folk's home or hospital, if not already passed of old age. He most definitely wouldn't have a seven-year-old son. People don't have kids in their eighties. It doesn't make any sense.

But Steve saw what he saw, and Warren said what he said.

Out on the road, when Steve was fighting with the Winter Soldier, his mask had fallen off. The Soldier was facing the other way at first, his hair shielding his face. But he quickly turned back around to face Steve. Steve froze upon seeing him. Because that was his James' face. Bucky's face. Still the same as it was in the forties, maybe with the stubble of a beard growing in and a subtle wrinkle or two, but that was him. When Steve said his name, though, the Soldier didn't recognize it. It was like some stranger was walking around in Bucky's body. Steve can't stop thinking about it.

And Warren, back in Sam's guest bedroom, had said that the Winter Soldier, James, was his father. That makes Warren Bucky's son. That makes Warren the son of Steve's best friend. The more Steve thinks about it, closing his eyes to see the image in his mind for the hundredth time, the more it starts to make sense—why Warren seemed so familiar. His eyes match his father's, with hints of green being the only noticeable difference. His nose, too, and the way he smiles and the way he frowns. Warren is the spitting image of Bucky. Steve sees it so clearly now that he can't understand how he didn't recognize it before.

James, James, James.

Bucky is alive. Alive. Alive and a father. Alive and the Winter Soldier. Alive and in the hands of HYDRA. Alive and a killer.

Steve feels like he's going to pass out. He closes his eyes, focusing on the way he breathes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's what everyone says, right? That will make him feel less like he's suffocating?

Warren is crying beside him. Kicking, thrashing, doing anything he can do to try and get out of his restraints. He's only stopped shouting about not wanting to go back a couple minutes ago. His energy is draining with his hope of being free. But he won't stop crying. Steve wishes he would. He wants to ask Warren why he didn't say anything. He wants to ask how it's even possible that his father is alive. But Warren won't stop crying. Even if Steve were to ask him what he wants to ask him, he's unsure that Warren wouldn't even be able to hear him.

"It was him." Steve mutters the words to himself for, what feels like and very well may be, the tenth time. But this time, Sam and Natasha, who sit restrained across from him, are listening, too. "He looked right at me like he didn't even know me."

"How is that even possible? It was, like, seventy years ago," Sam asks.

Steve's been asking himself the same question in his head over and over since he saw Bucky's face. It doesn't make sense for it to be possible, but it doesn't make sense for Steve himself to be possible either. Sometimes, science makes impossible things possible. Things like Steve and things like Bucky. Scientists do their experiments and the results often change things in a way that no one else could have predicted. And only one scientist comes to Steve's mind.

"Zola." The name tastes bad in Steve's mouth. "Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and..."

Hurt him. Experimented further on him. Used him. Destroyed him.

"None of that's your fault, Steve,"  Natasha says, her voice soft not in a gentle way, but in an exhausted one. Her need for rest weighs down on her. The more blood she loses, the worse it gets. The Soldier hit her. No one is helping her. She's bleeding out in the back of the van and no one is doing a thing. The only people who would are completely unable to.

The thought of another one of his father's bullets tearing through Natasha makes the agony Warren feels much, much worse. He hopes they understand. He hopes they know he's good, really, in his heart. Goodness can't take away actions, though. Warren wishes it could. Papa is a good, good man.

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," Steve says.

Warren hears it and it makes his heart sink deeper. "I want my papa," he cries, giving one more attempt at breaking free from the restraints around his wrists to no avail.

"We need to get a doctor here. If we don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck," Sam says, warily eyeing the bloody mess that is Natasha's shoulder.

He turns to look at one of the HYDRA soldiers sitting next to him, dressed in all black with a helmet covering their face. The soldier points a weapon at Sam, letting volts of electricity crack as a warning. For a good couple of seconds, the van is silent. Only dread consumes them, as none of them are able to see a way out of this mess. They're caught. They're likely going to spend a considerable amount of time in cells if they're not killed as soon as they get to their destination, and they won't be able to do anything as HYDRA launches the helicarrier that will kill thousands in an instant. 

Then the soldier jabs the weapon right into their partner's chest and knocks them out with a swift kick to the head.

With a huff, the soldier then removes their helmet, revealing a head of brown hair paired with a particularly familiar face. Maria. Agent Hill. "Ah. That thing was squeezing my brain," she complains quite casually.

A wave of relief washes over Warren. His muscles relax and a fracture of hope embeds itself back into his chest. Maybe this isn't the end. There is still a chance at freedom. Maybe even a chance at saving his papa.

✮

With a whole lot of help from Agent Hill, Warren, Steve, Sam, and Natasha find themselves hidden away in a collection of underground tunnels.

Warren's cheeks are red and sticky, considering he hasn't stopped rubbing dried tears off of his face since the second his hands were free, but the new smile on his face is prominent. Everything, even his thoughts, somehow feels a bit lighter. His legs move quickly and his eyes refuse to fixate on just the path ahead of him. He can't stop looking between Agent Hill, Natasha, Sam, Steve, the walls, the ground, his hands, his shoes—just about anything that can be looked at, Warren is looking at. Really, he just feels overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with everything that's been going on, the aching in his arm, his newfound hope, the idea of helping his papa get free. Plus, there's always a strange but sweet renewed feeling that he gets after a good, long cry.

Maria leads them through the tunnels with urgency in her steps, shouting to other trusted agents further down the tunnel about Natasha's injuries. Apparently, Natasha has lost at least a whole pint of blood, but Warren doesn't know how much that is. Maria doesn't seem to think it's fatal, though, which is a very, very good sign.

"Let me take her," the other agent offers, rushing over to them.

"She'll wanna see him, first," Maria tells the man.

Him? Warren looks over at Steve and Natasha, and then over at Sam, but they all seem as confused as he is. "See who?" he questions.

"Just follow me."

Although Warren and the others would really, really, really like immediate answers, they don't put up a fight. They just follow Maria further down the tunnels, their hearts beating too fast and their adrenaline pumping. Him. Who will Natasha want to see before getting her wound fixed up? Who could be so important?

No particular person comes to Warren's mind until he sees him.

Behind a rack of clear curtains, Nick Fury lies in a hospital bed, resting but alive. The machines around him glow with life and the moment Fury hears their gasps, he lifts his head to look over at him. Alive. Really, really alive. How could he be alive? He was dead in the hospital. There was the loud, long beeping and they saw his dead body. But now he's here and alive. It doesn't make any sense, but nothing seems to anymore. Dead people don't stay dead, SHIELD is HYDRA, and computers can be alive.

"About damn time," Fury says with a huff.

"You're alive!" Warren gasps. He rubs his eyes extra hard just to make sure he's not imagining things. But he's not. Fury is really, really there, and Warren can't stop himself from bouncing on his toes. "But my papa shot you! You were dead and everything."

"Don't remind me." Fury gives a dismissive wave of the hand and shakes his head. He was never dead, but the bullets sure as hell hurt like he was going to die.

Natasha holds back tears as Steve helps her to a nearby chair. Her face has lost a bit of its color and blood continues to pour from her shoulder. A doctor—presumably the one that had worked on Fury—begins to put firm pressure on the wound, both from the front and back, to stop the bleeding so he can start working on stitches. Warren watches, impressed, as Natasha doesn't even flinch at the pain. She's tough, but she's also distracted. Distracted as she tries to figure out how the hell Fury is alive in front of her if she watched him die in the operating room.

Luckily, Fury gets to explaining pretty quickly. And quite casually, too, as if this is just another afternoon for him. "Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, and one hell of a headache."

"Don't forget your collapsed lung," the doctor chimes.

"Yeah, let's not forget that. Otherwise, I'm good."

"They cut you open," Natasha reminds him. Her voice is raspy and exhausted. "You're heart stopped."

"Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it," Fury explains.

Warren raises his eyebrows. "Who is Banner?"

"A friend of ours," Steve answers quietly.

Warren looks over at him, but Steve is just staring at the floor. He has this sad, sort of broken-looking expression on his face, and it reminds Warren that, despite Fury being alive and okay, they're still stuck in this awful situation. There is still so much work to do, and all that work still can't even guarantee that his papa is going to be free or that HYDRA is going to be gone. There's still so much chance at play and it makes Warren achy to think about. They can still lose. And now, with this taste of family and freedom, Warren feels like there is so, so much to lose. More than he's ever had before.

Something tells him, though, that the look on Steve's face isn't fully about that. It's about something else. That's why he won't look at Warren. That's why he won't look at anyone. He's devastated. Somewhat angry. Maybe even a little bit at Warren.

"Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?" Steve asks Fury in a firm voice, still without looking up from the ground.

"Any attempt on the Director's life had to look successful," Maria answers for Fury.

"Can't kill you if you're already dead. Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust."

Don't trust anyone. That's what he had said. Warren hasn't forgotten it. He's kept it with him, tucked away in its own secret slot in his mind. An important thing to remember. Words that kept Warren guarded and careful when he may not have been otherwise. But now that Fury is here, and he obviously trusts Natasha, Steve, and Sam, Warren knows for 100% sure that he can totally, completely, very much trust them, too.

Don't trust anyone, except for the ones you can trust. It's a bit more complicated this way, but a whole lot less lonely.

Warren doesn't mind.

✮

Only about half an hour later, Warren sits alone on the floor with his back up against the wall, picking at the velcro on a new wrist brace the doctor provided him with. Velcro is very itchy, turns out, so Warren hopes that this thing doesn't have to stay on for too long. He would take it off now, but it's actually more uncomfortable to have it off than on at the moment, even with the itchiness. Fractured bones are painful, and as far as Warren knows, this is his first time having one. He supposes listening to the doctor is probably the best thing for now.

With his legs outstretched in front of him, he taps the toes of his shoes together. It's very boring around this corner where he's sitting. He was banished from the other area in the tunnels just a few minutes ago because they apparently needed to have an adult conversation. Warren is pretty sure that means that they're talking about him. That's why adults usually kick him out of the room.

Sometimes, after Warren did something really bad in a foster home like biting someone or destroying expensive things, he would get sent to his room. From the other side of the door, he'd listen to his foster parents discuss whether or not they were going to send him back that day. He wonders if that is what they're talking about now. Whether or not they're going to help him and take care of him any longer. Warren is pretty sure it's not, though. Maybe they're talking about him still, but it's not about sending him away. They're too nice for that. They care too much. They've made that incredibly clear. Besides, this time, Warren doesn't want to be sent away. He needs them and he likes them, and if he can't have his papa, he only wants them.

Still, though, whatever they're talking about makes him nervous. Maybe it's about Papa. Maybe they're deciding what to do about him and they don't want Warren there to sway their decisions with guilt.

Warren is positive that Steve will make the right decision if no one else does. Steve still loves Papa. He won't let him stay with HYDRA. He knows Papa is good. Warren could hear him talking about it in the van, even if he didn't process every word. The Soldier hadn't recognized Steve. That means Steve knows the Soldier isn't his friend, but his friend is still in there. That means Steve will want to save Warren's papa.

Hopefully. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Footsteps echo through the tunnel, bouncing off each wall, getting closer and closer with each step until Steve appears from around the corner. Warren looks over at him, and then back at his shoes. Slowly and without a word, Steve joins Warren on the floor, sitting down right by his side.

Seconds tick by. Neither of them says a word. Warren's foot tapping slows to a stop and Steve begins fidgeting with his fingers. He has a thousand things to say with no idea of where to start.

What is Bucky like as a dad? Does he ever remember who he is? How badly do they treat him there? Does he have any control over himself at all? How do they gain control over him? Is he okay? No, no. That question doesn't need to be answered. Steve already knows.

Hesitantly, Warren looks over at Steve again, this time out of the corner of his eye. Steve's face still looks the same as it did before. Warren can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn't understand why he won't. He guesses he'll have to start.

"Are they making a plan? To save my papa," he asks first, a twinge of expectation in his voice.

It takes a few moments for Steve to answer, but he eventually does. "Yeah. Fury and Hill already have most of the plan worked out."

Warren nods in understanding. It only takes half a second for him to think of a follow-up question, too. "What's my job?" he questions.

"To stay where it's safe," Steve tells him quickly.

And as disappointing as that is, it's sort of what Warren was expecting. In all the superhero movies and shows he's seen on TV, with all the action scenes and big, scary fights, the adults never let the kids fight with them. Because kids aren't supposed to be soldiers. So, in a way, Warren understands it. On the other hand, though, he already is what he is. He's been a soldier. Changing that now can't take back the past.

While Warren's mind is caught up thinking about soldiers, Steve finally works up the courage to ask the questions that haven't stopped plaguing his mind since they were arrested. He takes a slow, deep breath, and as he blows air out, he tries to blow out the anxiety, too.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks first. There's no disdain or vexation in his voice. Only confusion—sort of a desperation to understand. "About your dad. Why didn't you tell me I knew him?"

Part of him is devasted to think that Bucky wouldn't have told his son about him. Either he wasn't important enough for Bucky to share stories about him, or enough of Bucky is gone that he can't even remember that Steve exists. Regardless of the answer, the thought rips Steve in half.

Warren pulls his legs up to his chest, tucking his chin between his knees. "I did tell you. James. I said it," he says a bit defensively.

Steve gives a soft, playful laugh—though it's fake—to try and ease the boy's nerves. Warren doesn't need to get defensive. Steve just wants to know. "There are lots of James's in the world, bud."

"I didn't know that."

"That's okay," Steve tells him. Warren lifts his head a little, visibly calming. "Your dad's name is James Buchanan Barnes. I called him Bucky. Most of his friends did. Did he ever tell you that?"

"No," Warren whispers, shaking his head ever so slightly. A frown finds its way to his lips, but he doesn't realize it.

It's hard for Steve not to react. He doesn't want to make Warren feel guilty or scared, and somehow make him not want to answer any more questions. He doesn't want this to feel like an interrogation. He just wants to talk about it. About Bucky and what he's like now. The weight of this conversation is almost too heavy for even him to bear, but he has to. He wants to.

"Does he remember anything? About me, or about his life before?" Steve asks next, keeping his voice as soft as he can.

Warren shrugs, averting his eyes, which are starting to shine with tears. "Sometimes he remembers little bits. But they just erase him, and then he's gone again." His voice is wobbly, like it's going to break any second. But somewhere in the beating of his heart, or maybe in the beating of Steve's, he finds the courage to keep going. "He forgets me. I have to make him remember me every time. Sometimes he could tell a story about a soldier or about real-life things. But he'd forget them again. Every time. Over again and again."

Steve swallows back the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. It must have been scary."

"It was scary." Warren's legs drop back down and he goes back to tapping his toes together. "Especially when they used that book."

"A book?"

"A red one. It makes Papa into the Soldier. Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать. Those words make him the Soldier."

"What do they mean?"

"Longing, rusted. Nothing really. Just random," Warren tells him. He sighs and shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what they mean. They turn him into the Soldier. So if he gets free, then they won't be able to say them to him anymore, and they won't be able to erase him anymore, and he'll remember things again. He'll remember you, maybe, and I can remind him of me. We can live in a house, and I can have school, and I'll know how to write. Papa will teach me. No more missions, no more killing. Just living. And free."

A flicker of hope burns in Steve. There's still a chance of getting Bucky back. Maybe he'll remember him, and maybe things will go back to normal. They'd be best friends again. Warren would be happy. Bucky would be a great father—Steve is sure of it—and they wouldn't have to hurt anymore. They won't have to hurt anymore. Because it will happen. It will.

"I'm gonna help him get out," Steve tells Warren, his voice firm and strong in a way that makes Warren feel like it's the complete and total truth. "Whatever it takes. I'll get him back."

Warren slides himself just a little bit closer to Steve.

Free, free, free.