Winter Soldier in Nomad’s Land – Traditions.

Today…

Tradition.

It’s something we do all the time; force of habit, superstitions, memorial – whatever the reason, we all have our traditions.

My name is Bucky Barnes. I was once known, throughout history, as Captain America’s side kick, “Bucky” fighting those Nazi soldiers, such as Red Skull, who sought to destroy the world. In that war, it was believed that both Captain America – Steve Rogers – and I had perished. Steve was found, frozen alive – in suspended animation, years after the war. I had also survived, but at the cost of my arm.

I wasn’t found by American soldiers, or friendlies. I was actually found by Russians, who took me – broken as I was – and gave me a robotic arm, and made me a part of their organization. You see, surviving the explosion had also destroyed my memories. I had no idea who I was – only the muscle memory of fighting, as I’d learned to do from Captain America.

As this “Winter Soldier” – I did a lot of things. A lot of things I wasn’t proud of. For example, I blew up a part of downtown Philadelphia and then tried to frame Jack Monroe, Captain America’s other “sidekick” for it. But it wasn’t enough that I was going to frame Jack Monroe, I also shot him, in cold blood, when he was defenseless and threw him in my trunk.

It would turn out that Captain America would get a hold of the Cosmic Cube and force me to remember everything. All of my sins. All of the things I’d done.

They forgave me. Said I wasn’t in control of who I was.

That made things worse, really. I wanted to feel like I should be punished. But Steve… he was shocked… maybe happy to see me alive. But when I told him what I’d done to Jack, I saw that pain in his face. The hurt. He wasn’t close to Jack – they’d have their difference, but I know Steve had always felt like Jack was the one that Steve could never help.

I ended up taking Jack’s body and burying it at Green-Wood in Brooklyn. I’ve made it a tradition to come out here – and say I am sorry. Because in the end, Jack didn’t have anyone. He’d lost touch with Steve Rogers, lost touch with the kid he’d adopted – she now goes by Julie Winters. I’ve found her. Send them money to take care of them every month as a mysterious benefactor. I don’t want the credit. I don’t want to be known. I just want to try and make some of the things I’ve done wrong, right now.

Imagine my surprise, when I arrived today – just like I did every year, and his grave is dug up. But there’s something weird – it’s not that someone dug up this grave. It’s like whoever was inside, clawed their way out. But how can that be? I know it’s Jack that was in this grave. And I shot him point blank. He was dead when I put him in the trunk. He was dead when I buried him here. I’m certain of it.

Three Months Ago…

Darkness!

Where am I?

I can barely move my arms? Am I in a coffin?

Memories… like a shattered mirror. Fragments. Broken. So many reflections. So many faces. Bucky. Nomad. Scourge.

Bucky.

Wait. What’s the last thing I remember?

Pull yourself together.

Pick up the pieces of the mirror.

My name is Jack. Jack Monroe.

Last thing I remember – there was someone – a drug lord in town – I was drinking at the bar. Went outside. Someone said my name.

Gunned me down.

Dear Lord, I am inside a coffin.

I take a deep breath – pull my arms close to my chest and push up on the roof of the coffin. It barely moves.

Then I remember Doctor Jane Foster. She said I was dying. My body was falling apart, killing itself.

How am I alive? If being gunned down didn’t kill me, then time should have finished me in.

And yet – as I push on this coffin lid, I can feel it giving way. It’s creaking. My strength had been giving out, just before I was gunned down – how is it back?

The lid finally cracks, breaks, and dirt begins pouring into the grave. It’s like swimming in concrete, digging my way out. When I finally breach, I take a deep breath of fresh air – and see I have just dug myself out of my own grave. A concrete marker reads:

Here Lies Jack Monroe;
A Hero The World Needed
Taken Too Soon.

That’s… nice.

As I pull myself out and sit on my own grave mound, I can see someone’s come by visiting my grave. Who? Cap, maybe?

Who gunned me down?

Was it one of those drug lords?

Was I getting too close?

I brush myself off – head over to a second hand clothing store, and manage to convince the store clerk to give me some clothes. I head back to the bar – see if they have some video footage.

The bartender tells me it’s been almost two years since he’s seen me.

Have I been gone for two years?

I ask about the video footage – he says he’s not sure if he has it that far back. He comes back and gives me a drive – said it’s been recorded over, but if I am techy enough I might be able to pull something off the drive.

I just happen to have a fair share of tech, if my storage space is still good. Should be. I prepaid it for ten years – told them I needed privacy. When I got free of the “Scourge” nanites, I ended up working with the Thunderbolts – even checked up on them a little later. But I kept the equipment I’d gathered when I worked as Scourge.

Going back – I am easily able to recover the old data on this drive. It takes a few sweeps of the program – but even when it’s done – I make it do a few more scans. Because it can’t be right.

The person who shot me – he looks a lot like Bucky Barnes, Steve’s side kick who died in World War II.

But every scan tells me this is the cleanest image – I’ll be damned, Bucky Barnes tried to kill me.

Well, he did kill me.

Today… Green-Wood Cemetery…

“What the Hell is going on?”

“When you came at me, you shot me in cold blood, in the dark, no chance to even fight,” a voice calls out from the dark. “I think the bullet proof Kevlar vest may have protected me, or something else… but I am going to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Bucky Barnes turned around, “Who?”

“You don’t recognize the man you murdered?” the voice called back.

“I’ve murdered a few people in my time,” Bucky growled, hands going to his weapon he always carried. “Care to elaborate?”

“We had something in common, you and I,” the voice calls out. “We both fought side by side next to a Captain America. You fought next to Steve Rogers, I fought along side a slightly deranged man by the name of William Burnside.”

“Jack? Jack is that you?” Bucky called out, still unable to determine where Jack’s voice had been coming from.

“Winner, winner,” Jack Monroe’s voice replied. “So why did you do it?”

“Shoot you?” Bucky called out after a moment. “Would you believe mind control?”

“Another thing we have in common,” Jack responded. “I was mind controlled, as well, once. It’s amazing what they forgive when you tell someone that you were mind controlled, right? I shot a killed a young girl named Helen Takahama – better known as Jolt, from the Thunderbolts. Turns out, she’s got something in common with you and I – looks like she came back from the dead too. Just can’t keep a good fighter down, can you?”

“So why are you here? Why are you hiding? Why all the questions?” Bucky called out, his gun drawn. “Is this revenge?”

“Revenge?” Jack’s voice called out, almost laughing. “I don’t need revenge. But the thing is, I want to test myself. I’ve been out of the game. And I’ve done some reading on you – you took over Cap’s thing after he got ‘killed’ too. You’ve done a lot – even left a new version of the Thunderbolts… see how the thread of our lives keep weaving together? So pardon me if I give you the same treatment you gave me…”

At that moment, Jack, who’d used the Pym particles he’d used with the Scourge outfit, grew to incredible size, striking Bucky with an uppercut that sent him flying. “All of my life,” Jack continued, as he slammed his fist down into the ground, barely missing Bucky, “I’ve lived in someone else’s shadow. Whether it was William’s or Steve’s. If I wasn’t living in someone’s shadow, I was being manipulated.”

Bucky fired a number of rounds from his gun; but the bullets in his gun were not the kind that would kill a target – rather the electrical pulse would trigger upon impact. One bullet was enough to down an elephant easily – six shots into the enlarged Jack Monroe, and he wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

“When I was struggling with myself, when I was with Steve, he’d tell me about some of the things that Pym had gone through – his own crisis of life – even how Hawkeye, for awhile lost himself – going from archer to giant man! We all are weak. It wasn’t just me.”

As Bucky got to his feet and scrambled up a tree to get a clean shot Jack, out of nowhere – a glider nearly missed him – but he was able to duck, grab the bottom and swing himself on top of it, gaining control of the glider. This, he’d recognized as the same glider that Jack had used as Scourge. Bucky leapt at Jack from the glider, but at that moment Jack reduced himself to normal size; and the two tumbled on the ground before both standing on their feet.

Bucky had his gun at Jack’s temple, but Jack had drawn a short that had been shrunk to full size and had it under Bucky’s chin.

“Don’t make me pull this trigger, Jack.”

“Don’t make me pick your brain clean with my sword, then.”

Jack withdrew the blade first just as Bucky holstered his gun.

“What was this really about?” Bucky asked.

“It really was about proving I could still fight. When I dug myself up from that grave,” he gestured to the grave that he’d dug up again, “I was still trying to piece myself together. When I got out – I found out it’d been you who shot me. I didn’t know why. But as I did my research, I knew what happened. I started following you. Learned your pattern. Knew you made it a tradition to visit the grave, when I tapped into the cemetery’s surveillance footage. I even found the footage of myself – the time I thought I was beating up drug dealers, and in my confused state of mind, turns out it was every day people. But I don’t know why or how my strength came back. How my mind feels clear again. How I became me again.”

“Let me help you,” Bucky extended his hand. “I want to help. I want to make this,” he gestured between them. “Whatever this is – I want to make it right.”

Avengers Mansion

Hank Pym folded his arms across his chest as he stared at the computer read outs.

“What do you got for me, doc?” Jack asked, sitting in a chair nearby.

“As far as I can tell, Doctor Jane Foster was right,” Pym explained, pointing out some scans. “I can see here where you body seemed to be killing itself. Your immune system turned on itself. But, by the looks of it – when Bucky shot you – your body ‘died’ – but it didn’t really die. It simply shut down. As far as I can tell, between the super soldier serum that was destroying your body and the nanites – something created a very unique reaction. It literally appears as if your entire body went into a state of hibernation. The best way to describe this read out, Jack is that – your body underwent something similar to a caterpillar’s life – when they enter the cocoon stage – and during the pupa stage, the old body literally dies and a new body forms inside the protective shell known as a chrysalis. Your old body died, to make way to a new body that has adapted to all that’s been done to it, creating this new body. Your new body shows no signs of the serum at all – but you have super natural strength and agility, as we saw with the tests we’ve run.”

“So I am all cured?” Jack asked with a smirk.

“Cured, I guess, would be a way of explaining this,” Pym agreed. “I’d like to run some more tests – and test the limits of your strength and agility. It seems pretty close to Steve’s.”

“That’s all right, doc,” Jack stood up and put on his jacket. “I really don’t want to be compared to Steve anymore. I’m my own person now.”