"Steve…"
Bucky's voice trailed off, heavy with emotion.
Ben Parker, ever perceptive and kind, immediately noticed the young man's quiet melancholy. Though he found Bucky a little odd, his good nature won out.
"Son, you've got to look on the bright side," Ben said with an easy smile. "No matter what you've been through, you can't live in the past. You've got to keep moving forward."
"The things that hurt you, the dark days — they can be the fire that pushes you ahead. But if you cling to the past too tightly, it'll only drag you down. You'll end up losing yourself, and life… life doesn't take pity when that happens."
Bucky blinked in surprise. The man's words, simple yet warm, sank into him like a soft light cutting through the fog.
Ben seemed to think of something, steering with one hand as he reached into a grocery bag with the other. He pulled out a small chocolate bar and handed it over.
"Here — sweets can cheer you up. Maybe some chocolate will help you smile a little."
He chuckled.
"Bought this for the kid back home. He's crazy about the stuff. Costs more than it should, but it's worth it for his grin."
Bucky accepted it, smiling faintly. He didn't realize he'd started talking more openly, lulled by Ben's calm warmth.
"You really love the kid, huh?"
"Yeah," Ben said with a deep, contented sigh. "He's a good boy — polite, curious. His parents passed away in an accident, so my wife and I took him in. Honestly, he's an angel. Just seeing him run around makes me forget how tired I am."
When Ben spoke about his nephew, the fatigue on his face melted away, replaced by pride and tenderness.
"What's his name?"
"Peter. Peter Parker. Today's his birthday, actually — he just turned six."
"Six, huh? Then today's gotta be the happiest day of his life."
"That's the plan," Ben said with a grin. "I've got a feeling he'll love his present."
Then, curiosity flashed in his eyes.
"By the way, Bucky — what are you doing out here? This is pretty much the middle of nowhere. Don't tell me you walked here."
Bucky chuckled awkwardly.
"Well… something like that."
Ben raised an eyebrow but didn't pry.
"Everyone's got their own secrets. Don't worry — I'm not one to go digging."
The car fell into a comfortable rhythm, filled with light conversation and the hum of the road beneath them. Before long, the skyline of New York came into view.
They drove into Queens, eventually turning onto Forest Hills. The car stopped in front of an old but cozy apartment building.
Ben parked and turned to Bucky.
"So, what's next for you, kid?"
During their talk, Ben had gathered that Bucky was alone — no family, no friends, no home. Though he felt compassion, he was also a cautious man. With a wife and a six-year-old at home, inviting a stranger to stay was a risk he couldn't take.
"I think I'll take a walk," Bucky said softly. "See if I can find some old memories… maybe remember who I used to be."
His words carried a double meaning, one Ben didn't quite catch.
As Bucky glanced toward the apartment entrance, he saw a gentle woman standing there, holding the hand of a small boy with wide, curious eyes.
"Thanks for the ride, Ben. It was good meeting you.""And… wish the kid a happy birthday for me. He's got a great uncle."
Bucky adjusted his collar, gave a final wave, and walked off into the evening.
Ben watched him go, thoughtful. Then, a cheerful voice broke his reverie.
"Uncle Ben!"
Ben turned, smiling as the little boy ran toward him.
"Hey, there's my little man! You been good today?"
"Peter's been very good! I was waiting for you, Uncle Ben!"
"Oh, I bet you were waiting for this!" he teased, pulling out the chocolate bar.
"Wow! Uncle Ben, I love you!"
Their laughter echoed down the street — a warm, simple sound that reached Bucky's ears. Without meaning to, he smiled.
He walked slowly through the city, gazing at the streets that looked both familiar and foreign. The New York he remembered was long gone. Yet somewhere deep inside, the old soldier in him stirred.
Eventually, his wandering steps brought him to the History Museum.
The sun was setting, painting the glass in orange light. Few visitors remained.
Bucky stepped inside.
There — in the center of the hall — stood a towering statue.Captain America — Steve Rogers.
The bronze figure, clad in uniform and helmet, shield in hand and pistol at his side, looked resolute and noble.
Photos of the Howling Commandos lined the walls — their records, their stories, frozen in time.
Bucky stopped before the statue, staring up at the face of his old friend. Memories came flooding back — laughter, war, blood, loss.
His vision blurred, and for a moment, the decades between them disappeared.
Time slipped away unnoticed. Visitors came and went, glancing curiously at the silent man standing before the monument, but none disturbed him.
Then — footsteps. Slow, deliberate.
Bucky's instincts flared. His pupils shrank. A low hum filled his ears — danger.
He moved before thought — pivoting sharply and kicking backward.
Bang!
The museum floor cracked under the force. Glass shattered, alarms screamed, debris rained down.
His kick had been caught.
Before Bucky could react, a blur closed in — a figure whose fists struck like bullets.
Each blow was lightning-fast, precise, and devastating. The air cracked with the sound of impact after impact.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bucky tried to parry, but the relentless rhythm suffocated him. Then — a glint of violet caught his peripheral vision.
His instincts screamed. He threw himself back just in time — a katana wreathed in purple energy slashed through the air where his throat had been.
Even as he rolled, another blade whistled past from behind. A shadow flickered and vanished into the dark.
No time to hesitate.
Bucky sprinted toward the exit, his speed leaving afterimages behind. But attacks came one after another — arrows, flashes of motion, sonic bursts.
He burst through the museum doors — just as a thunderous roar split the night.
A massive green figure came crashing down in front of him, raising a huge fist.
The Hulk.
Bucky barely had time to brace before the world exploded around him. He met the blow head-on.
BOOM!
The ground split apart, the shockwave shredding the air like a storm. The collision sent a shock through Bucky's bones — he heard his arm snap.
But pain barely slowed him. Gritting his teeth, he twisted mid-struggle, redirecting the Hulk's strength to launch himself backward.
He hit the ground hard, rolled, and caught sight of something glinting where he'd stood moments before — a black arrow buried deep in the concrete.
He followed its trajectory and saw a figure on a nearby rooftop, drawing another arrow with mechanical precision.
"A bow? In this day and age?" Bucky muttered grimly.
His eyes flicked forward again.
From the shattered entrance of the museum, three figures emerged.
One — a beautiful woman with short platinum hair, clad in a tactical coat and black combat suit.Another — a woman gripping a twin-handed katana, its edge glowing with violet energy.And somewhere nearby — that ghost-like assassin who had vanished moments ago.
Counting the sniper with the bow, that made four.
Then — a new sound filled the air. The hum of repulsors.
Bucky looked up to see a red-and-gold figure descending from the sky — twin palms glowing with orange light, the arc reactor on his chest burning like a star.
Iron Man.
Five of them.
Bucky's expression hardened. This formation… this strength… even the green monster alone was terrifying. Add an aerial armored unit, a swordswoman, and an unseen assassin — it was a nightmare.
And then there was her.
The platinum-haired woman.
She was standing still, calm, but Bucky could feel it — a pressure, an aura of lethal control. Her fighting power matched her composure.
Her stance, her gaze — it was all too familiar.
Recognition flickered in his eyes. Memories surfaced — of a mission, years ago. He'd been the Winter Soldier then, under HYDRA's control. His orders: eliminate a target — a scientist under the protection of a young female agent.
He had completed the mission. The bullet passed through the scientist's chest… and into the woman's abdomen.
This woman.
Her face was the same — but her presence now was completely different.
What had happened to her? How had she become this strong?
Bucky's bones, broken from the earlier clash, were already knitting themselves back together. But his mind was spinning — searching for a way out.
This whole block was deserted. Evacuated. A trap.
He cursed silently. He'd been careless — too focused on the past.
And now, the past had found him.
"Are you Bucky Barnes?"
The platinum-haired woman's voice was steady, carrying both strength and restraint.
Bucky narrowed his eyes.
"Don't be nervous," she continued. "S.H.I.E.L.D. cleared out Alexander Pierce and his loyalists. We recovered a lot of data — including information about you."
"You almost killed me once. I'm lucky to be standing here."
She stepped forward, her eyes sharp as steel.
"My name is Natasha Romanoff."
The Black Widow.
After the fall of Alexander Pierce, S.H.I.E.L.D. had unearthed HYDRA's darkest secrets. Among them — the truth about the Winter Soldier.
Nick Fury and Natasha had read the files. They knew who Bucky Barnes really was: Steve Rogers' best friend… and HYDRA's most dangerous assassin.
The last trace of him had led to a mysterious island — one of the secret bases belonging to the Sanctuary, the home of the Saints.
They hadn't dared pursue it. Anyone who invaded a Saint base didn't return.
They'd assumed Bucky was dead. Until now.
But the man standing before them wasn't the same broken soldier from those files. Natasha could feel it — his power, his aura, his danger.
To be safe, she had evacuated the entire district.
And now, all the Avengers stood ready.
End of Chapter)
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