[A/N: special thing okay okay. Also, my memory of CW is awful so pls spare me if some of this isn't canon]

BUCKY STARED silently as Victoria woke up, dark strands of hair stuck to her face by blood and sweat. Her eyes... Her eyes still had strokes of blue in their earthy brown.

"Jelly..."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the woman, who was, as he corrected himself, semi-conscious. Jelly? That was familiar. The man couldn't remember much. Everything had stopped after.. That man, with the glasses and that damned red book. With a sigh, he glanced over at his arm. Which was stuck under something. He didn't even try to move it; only tugged a little, and then resorted to the lonely silence.

The sound of fluid hitting the floor alerted him to Victoria's consciousness, as she violently heaved water onto the cold ground. He tried, again, to move his arm (with a bit more force) but to no luck. Victoria was tied up to the T, practically a mummy aside from her head, the only thing not wrapped up. With tired, so tired, dark eyes, she only stared at him, lips not moving an inch. Her mouth wasn't even taped.

Footsteps drew his gaze away from the silent woman."Hey Cap!" Bucky stared through the doorway, observing as Steve, as well as Sam Wilson, approached through the wide frame.

A sudden pain went through the metal; he gasped quietly. "Steve," he whispered, the name uncannily familiar on his lips. Victoria only whispered something about bread. At this point, Bucky was thoroughly concerned about her.

"Which version of you two and I talking to?" Steve asked, voice flat. Bucky smiled, a small smile, after a moment. "Your mom's name was Sarah," he whispered, ignoring the horrible feeling of dried blood on his skin. Another memory came, a wad of newspapers set by worn out leather. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes," Bucky reminisced with a breathy chuckle.

"You hated tea," a voice came. All three heads snapped towards the woman in the corner, who's head was lolled back. "You only drank it when I poured the entire damn sugar box in it," Victoria said quietly, pink lips curved with a mirthless smile. He could only see it partially. Bucky remembered that, too, how picky Steve had been whenever he got to eat or drink something fancy.

"You guys have anymore sugar?" Steve called, frail hands tightly gripping the white porcelain, thin voice loud as he spoke to Victoria from the living room of her spacious house. "Jesus, Steve, save the girl some," Bucky admonished, elbowing his best friend in the ribs gently. "Leave him alone, James," Victoria responded almost immediately. Steve laughed at the sour expression on Bucky's face.

"You can't read that in a museum," Steve said with a chuckle, blue eyes brightened. "So just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked, voice portraying his obvious skepticism. Victoria scoffed from the chair, lifting her head. "What, we're supposed to be hot?" She sassed, and Bucky would've laughed his shoes off had his ribs not felt like they were shattered like a piece of glass.

After a tense moment, in which Victoria's sarcasm faded from mind, Bucky took it upon himself to ask.

"What did we do?"

"Enough," Steve said quietly, tilting his head. "Oh, God, I knew this would happen," he whispered, tilting his head down so that his dark hair could cover the pained expression in his eyes. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt anyone, especially Steve. Steve, who he had shot. Steve, who he had beaten senseless. Steve, who he had pulled out of the river because he was his friend, he wasn't going to fight him.

"Everything Hydra put inside us is still there," he muttered, frustrated. "All he had to do was say the goddamn words," the woman whispered from the corner, and when Bucky looked over, her eyes weren't blue at all. Not even a string remained; they were their dark, wholesome brown. The same color of the tea she used to drink so much, mostly because her parents did and she thought she had to, too.

"Who was he?" Steve questioned, his voice rough with fatigue. Bucky could imagine that he was tired, after all the crap he and Victoria had dragged him through. "I don't know," Bucky breathed, truthful. "He was taller than me, shorter than James," Victoria said, her voice unusually flat. The man cringed at the use of his birth name. She had loved to call him James when they were younger, even before he had joined the army. After that, it had only gotten worse.

"Sergeant James Barnes, I made some tea. But if you don't want any, James-" "Victoria, Jesus Christ!-" "Don't take that tone with me, mister James!"

"People are dead. The bombing, the set up. The doctor did all that, just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than, 'I don't know.'"

Bucky knit his eyebrows together, trying to remember. There were still plenty of blanks, too many to give Steve something that was accurate.

"He wanted to know about Siberia," the Archangel-Victoria whispered. Steve's head moved over to the woman, the frown on his face only deepening as he slowly came to terms with the fact he had two ghosts on his hands, one completely transparent and one slowly becoming human. At that point, Bucky couldn't tell which was which.

"Where we were kept," Bucky added, the words not matching up with any particular memory, but somehow, he just knew. He could feel Victoria's questioning eyes burning into the back of his skull, which he dutifully ignored. With a tilt of his head, remembering, "He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?"

Bucky gulped, remembering the feeling of his arm getting twisted at an angle inhumanly possible. The realization set Bucky on edge; if the man got what he wanted, everything would go straight to hell.

"Cause I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

SIBERIA, RUSSIA.

The Archangel stood in the corner of the painfully grimy, white walled room. She stared, brown eyes (that weren't wholly brown at the moment) narrowed at the ice blue bags that hung. Somehow, she figured that wasn't normal, because she remembered bags like that with red or-or clear stuff in it. She drew her eyebrows together, with a set jaw, but remained still. The automatic rifle was heavy in her hands, but she dared not whisper a word.

One man began screaming, a gruesome noise, but she only looked away, ignoring his pleas of help that were directed towards the Archangel. She could not help, for she was a machine of destruction. Machines of destruction could not help people. Especially people like him. When he was finally being taken away, that was when she turned her head forward. The Archangel hoped that no one else would start screaming for her to help them.

--

The Archangel's attack was rendered useless as the blonde woman nimbly twisted out of the way. Surprised, the Archangel was open to the kick that the blonde Soldier sent. Moving impossibly fast, she approached closer in the blink of an eye, a small smirk playing on her lips at the blonde woman's wide eyes. Grabbing the woman's shoulder, she slammed her to the ground, ignoring the slight crack from her skull. Her handlers had told her to not hold back.

Opposite from her, a dark haired Soldier twisted the original's metal arm, the movement causing the metal to release an unnatural sound. The Archangel wanted to help, but could not, as the blonde woman sent her fist into the Archangel's jaw with a reverberating, painful noise. The assassin slammed into the metal bars, managing to blot out the pain and focus instead on the blood that tainted her temporarily burgundy hair. A mission was a mission, she whispered to herself.

However, the Archangel-and the Soldier's-job was done, as the two remained on the cold, hard ground. Defeated. Glancing over at the original a Soldier, the one she knew, she wasn't surprised to get a blank, questioning look in response. This soldier did not know her anymore.

Chaos, shortly, ensued, as the man (the very same that had begged for her help) attacked a doctor. The woman's head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the rest of the Winter Soldiers as they all stood.

"Soldaty, vytashchi menya otsyuda," the guard ordered. Soldiers, get me out of here. The Archangel briskly rose to her feet, summoning a blue orb of pure energy as the two approached. She sent it into the back of a Soldier who tried to intervene; they promptly fell to the ground, about 5 feet away, unconscious.

"Who were they?" Steve asked, form loose as he stood against the wall. Victoria was now not tied down (as much, a precaution) which, apparently, was appreciated. She didn't curse, which meant it was something.

"The most elite death squad, more kills than anyone in Hydra history. More kills than the two of us combined," Bucky told him, nodding his head towards Victoria, who only shrugged in response. "And that was before the serum."

"They turn out like you?" Sam asked, arms folded to his chest. Bucky responded truthfully.

"Worse."

"The doctor," Steve piped up, "could he control them?" Bucky looked at him, and then the floor with an unreadable expression. "Enough," he responded. Steve looked over at Victoria, who still hadn't said anything, and back at Sam. "He said he wanted to see an empire fall."

"With the Winter Soldiers, he could do it," Victoria said quietly. Bucky merely glanced at her, because that had been what he was going to say, and proceeded to cast his gaze at the other two men. "They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, and you would never see them coming." Bucky told them. They could do everything he never could, but he wasn't jealous. It only meant what he got done to him, all those decades, it only meant they got it 10 times worse.

In the meanwhile, Victoria was mostly silent because she was remembering. Some of it she didn't want to remember, but she knew there was no way around. Either she remembered it all, or she didn't remember a damn thing. Her choice was obvious.

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

"I'm going to do it, Barnes, and you can't stop me!" Victoria yelled, her smaller form tense as she tore away from him. Bucky reeled back as if the girl had struck him, and in a way, she had. They'd never yelled at each other, not when they were mad, or frustrated, or depressed. They yelled at other people, sure, but never each other.

"Bucky, I'm sorry-" she began, brown eyes immediately softened by his reaction. Bucky only sighed in response, turning away from her to look at a picture on the wall. Victoria didn't stop him. It was of him and his sister, Rebecca, her storm blue eyes mirroring her older brother's. He had been 12 in that picture; she knew, because she had taken it.

"All I want," he murmured, not turning around, "Is for you to be safe. I love you, Victoria, and I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." The three words came out naturally, an instant response because they all knew they loved each other. Some had called Victoria a slut, or a wench, because they thought she must be getting down with the two. Why else would she stay around so long?

"I love you too, Buck, you know that. But did you think about how I felt when you broke the news?"

Bucky didn't respond, because he hadn't. Therefore, he hadn't been prepared for the watery sheen in Victoria's dark eyes when he had told her, her and Steve. Steve had punched him in the throat, not as hard as he could've, but Bucky promptly left the apartment, choking like he'd just devoured 5 spoons of pepper.

"I want to make a difference, it's all I ever wanted to do," Victoria admitted, coming closer to look at photos with him. "I'm not defenseless. You remember that night, after we got home from Nancy Jane's party, Bucky?" she whispered, her breath tickling the back of Bucky's neck as she came much, much closer. Bucky wasn't bothered by it, as another fella would've been. The Victoria Scott, right on your heels? A miracle. But James was used to her being in close proximity, by now.

"'Course I do, Peanut. I watched you teach Steve how to put someone on their ass faster than I can say 'Damn,'" he reminisced, shifting his body so that he could see her. Her long hair fell in waves, short strands framing her face, curled beautifully. She had wanted to cut it, after seeing how all the girls in Brooklyn wore it (short and sweet) but both boys had immediately rejected the idea, as had her parents.

"And," she murmured, "I taught you how to get a girl to date you without even talkin' to them, Jelly." Her lips were curled in a knowing smirk as she finished speaking, brown eyes hooded.

"Ah, what, May? All she did was ask about you, Peanut," he whispered, raising a calloused hand to gently trail a line down her face. Victoria tensed, which wasn't visible in the baggy shirt that she had stolen (from Bucky, of course) but she did. "Vicky this, Vicky that. I left the moment she asked if we were just friends," he assured, returning his hand to his side. Victoria nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. Her brown eyes were impossibly wide, impossibly beautiful.

"Don't you pull those damned puppy eyes with me, Scott," he warned, a small smile on his face. "I can't get in without your help, James, you know that," she pleaded.

Bucky sighed in defeat. He could never win against the damn puppy eyes. "How would you get in? You'd have to cut your hair!" He stated, the smile turning into a gentle frown. "I swear, sometimes I'm sure you like my hair more than me," she said, a childish pout on her doll-like features. "Your hair does smell nice," he admitted, shying away from the gentle slap on the arm he knew would come.

Bucky listened in on their conversation, barely catching the words "Tony," and "believe." It wasn't his fault Hydra had given him better hearing.
                                         ◇
An averaged height man stood next to Steven Rogers, form as stiff as the next person. His back was as straight as a ramrod, arms like a plank of wood at his side. His dark eyes flickered from Peggy Carter to the pompous bastard that's name he never knew. Not yet, anyways.

He felt a gentle nudge from the soldier next to him. The blonde, Steve, began whispering.

"Vic, you alright?"

"A okay, Bread, A okay."

Victoria was sprawled out on the back-seat of the small, blue car, her head resting on Bucky's lap. He didn't mind, not really, but the man's long legs were becoming increasingly cramped as time passed.

"Can you move your seat up?"

"No."

Victoria, the cheeky devil she was, opened her brown eyes wide and grinned up at him. Bucky set his face in an angry scowl, before gently pushing her up and leaning against the car door like a piece of wood. Glaring straight ahead, the man shifted from his seat to one next to the woman (who was becoming red in the face, trying not to laugh) while she merely stared at the two blondes outside of the small car.

The scowl deteriorated into a knowing smile as soon as the long-awaited for kiss ended, Victoria leaning over on Bucky just so that she could make exaggerated thumbs up signals. Bucky had to bear with it, because the woman was, after all, his friend and probably could kick his add five ways from Sunday. Steve gave them a very much deserved exasperated look, and Bucky only shrugged helplessly in response.
                                           ◇
Pulling into the airport, Victoria asked a much needed question. She had only briefly remembered the nights of Steve Rogers crashing into every damn building on the block on his old, rusting bike, even after the serum.

"Steve-Steve, when did you learn how to drive? Do you even have a driver's license? In the name of God, I'm going to die-Wilson, who ever said this would be a good idea? Get out, let me drive-"

Bucky placed a large hand over the woman's mouth, only smiling at her cold glare and muffled cursing. If he translated roughly, she was telling him to shove his hand up-well, he'd rather not think about that.

As they parked, he pulled away his hand quickly after the woman took it upon herself to lick it. She had cringed afterwards, "It tastes like soap, what the shit, Barnes?" Bucky wiped his hand on her dirtied, bloodied shirt, immediately hopping out the car to avoid imminent death.

Steve approached Clint Barton (Hawkeye, male, blonde, easy-going) extending his hand. "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice," Steve assured, while Victoria only hung back, staring at the newcomer from behind the car. He had been a target, once, but now he was supposed to be a friend. She still didn't have much idea of what a friend was, in the first place. Jelly was her friend, she supposed. Jelly. She had called James Barnes Jelly. And then she had named her dog Jelly. She had named her dog after James Barnes even when she didn't really know who James Barnes was?

"Hey man, you're doin' me a favor," the blonde man assured, with other words Victoria didn't bother listening in to. Bucky stood by her, presence unusually quiet. His stance was loose, but prepared, as if he trusted the people around him but knew the people around him changed constantly.

Victoria eyed the other newcomer, Wanda Maximoff, wearily. As soon as her eyes found Victoria, a smile split across her face. "Archangel," she murmured, which sent every head turning towards the dark-haired woman, who stood deathly still in response.

"Jesus, Steve, why are all of your friends so hot?" Clint muttered under his breath, eyes flickering from Wanda to her. The Archangel nodded at the girl, sinking deeper into the taller form of Bucky, who only glanced at her in response. She recognized the woman from her days being experimented on, as well as the fights they had started. Blue and red, clashing in a way that seemed... Comical.

After Steve recovered from the fact that another person he knew knew Victoria Scott was still alive, he turned back to Barton. "How about our other recruit?" Victoria sniffed in distaste, quite very much agreeing Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, James Barnes, and the Archangel, was a deadly enough combination.

Turning towards the white van, Clint reached for the door. "Rarin' to go." The older man pulled the door open with ease. "Had to put some coffee in him, but.."

The Archangel eyed Scott Lang wearily. She had been informed of him years ago, not too long, though. It was a tad unsettling she knew most about him, and he only knew she was a devil dressed as an angel. Cue her alias, she thought, bitterly.

Banging his fist against the van, Scott shot up, expression surprised yet appropriately weary. She decided he would be good enough, with a slight raise of a roughly shaped eyebrow. Appearance wise, she wasn't doing so good, but Bucky (and Clint, apparently) would beg to differ.

Sam Wilson placed himself firmly next to Rogers, expression unseen as both Bucky and Victoria remained on the side of the little blue car. Lang slowly climbed out of the spacious van, looking around. "What time-zone is this?" The man asked, voice rough around the edges. Clint's eyes remained on the ground, muttering a soft "Come on," to urge Ant-Man out of the vehicle.

His eyes lit up as soon as they landed on the blonde, broad form of Captain America. He stuck out a hand, which Steve, being Steve, automatically took in his own. "Ca-Captain America," he greeted, a small smile on his otherwise tired features.

The Archangel looked away, immediately knowing how this would play out. She had watched the man encounter other "super heroes" before this, and knew very well of his tendency to get... Carried away, if you would.

After a moment, she saw Steve turn around with a small smile on his face, and then turn around to face Lang again. He still, thankfully, hadn't noticed either former assassin. She didn't feel like hearing all of her less-than-noble deeds in the past few decades, not really.

The woman returned from her space-out by Bucky's curt voice. "We should get going," the man suggested, squinting slightly. There was, as a matter of fact, a small draft coming through the airport parking lot. "I got a copper lined up," Clint assured, before the German started blaring from the speakers.

The foreign language wasn't all that foreign to her, as she automatically translated. "They're evacuating the airport," she informed, pulling her hands away from the dusty roof of the car.

"Stark," Sam muttered, which Scott dubiously reiterated. Glancing around at his odd, definitely lethal team, he nodded slightly.

"Suit up."

A/N
T'Challa and Victoria are going to be fucking blow for blow I promise you, even though I actually suck at fighting scenes #pray4me