A/N: Hello again everyone! I wasn't going to write this story until the weekend, but I was too excited not to get started! To any first comers READ IRON HEART FIRST or this fanfiction will make absolutely no sense to you at all! Anyone is welcome to continue from my last story! Enjoy!

Musical Inspiration:

The Whole World Is Watching by Within Temptation

Freedom Fighters by Two Steps from Hell

This Is War by 30 Seconds to Mars

Chapter 1

The Leader and The Pariah

"Bucky...if this...is what needs to happen...so be it. But... don't let him...brainwash you. Don't...let him win."

My mind came to consciousness, as if awakened from a deep sleep. I stood in a cellar, not knowing why I was there. I blinked, glancing about in confusion.

"No...finish her!" a sharp, frustrated male voice came from behind me.

I slowly moved to see a man, not completely understanding what he wanted.

"KILL HER!" he screamed, making my ears ring.

I realized I was in a crouched position on the floor, my metal hand wrapped around the gullet of someone.

I looked down and saw myself bent over a mangled female body. Her body drenched in blood, I couldn't tell from where she bled. I squinted, not able to focus in on the woman's face, but I uncurled my fingers from around her throat.

"WINTER SOLDIER," the man behind me declared.

Suddenly, I felt as if I knew the woman. I knew she was precious to me, even as she lay dying on the floor underneath me. I must have hurt her...

"What happened?" I gasped, recoiling from the horrendous sight of all the blood.

"You killed her in cold blood while in your dazed state," snarled the man, "You're a machine, Soldier. Nothing more than a machine."

"No..." I breathed, falling on my knees next to the downed woman, "No, no, no!"

I wrapped my arms around her limp body and pulled her close to me, burying my face in her neck.

"You're a monster," the woman gasped out, reach out out with her only hand and dug her fingernails into my metallic arm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do this-"

"...You killed me..." she choked out.

"You're nothing more than a killing machine," the man's voice hissed.

"NO!"

Bucky Barnes bolted upright in his bed, screaming. The sheet clung to his sweating body, his entire being quaking. He swung his legs out of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees as he grasped his short, freshly cut locks of hair between his metal and flesh fingers. His bare chest heaved as the thought of the nameless girl darted through his mind. She died by his hand because he couldn't control his own mind. Bucky shut his eyes against the cruel past and exhaled through his nose.

"Buck?" a familiar voice came from the doorway.

Bucky released his hold on his head and looked up to see Steve Rogers standing tensely in the doorway.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you..." Bucky murmured, pressing his lips together to hide his swirling emotions

"You okay, pal?" Steve inquired, walking in and sitting next to his friend on the bed.

Kind, honest, unchanging Steve. He had always been there for him, even when Bucky didn't know him. Steve refused to kill him and even stepped back in their fight and declined to spar.

It wasn't until Steve uttered one phrase that Bucky realized that they'd been friends years ago.

"I'm with you till the end of the line."

Those words echoed in Bucky's mind. He glanced over at the man sitting next to him, chest tightening when he thought of the horrible things he did to Steve. He couldn't burden this man with any more of his problems when he'd caused so many.

"I-I'm fine..." Bucky huffed, staring forward.

Steve frowned in disbelief and clasped a hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

"I'm with you, Bucky, if you ever want to talk-"

"I appreciate that, but I don't need to talk about this. It'll fade...in time," Bucky responded shortly, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked.

"To get a drink..." Bucky stalked out of the room to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water.

He unscrewed the cap and lifted the water to his lips, looking out the window over the kitchen sink at Washington, D.C. as he drank.

Steve padded in after him and offered, "I know you're hurting now, man. You're my best friend and I want to see you through this. I'm with you-"

"Till the end of the line. I know," Bucky answered, turning sadly to Steve, "But, Steve, we haven't been friends since 1943. It's a little hard to recreate the bond you and I had."

It was a strange feeling, knowing someone cared about you so much and you couldn't reciprocate. Bucky knew they were best friends back in the day, but he also remembered all the terrible things he'd done to all the people who were on Steve Roger's side. It was difficult to feel excepted back in culture when you'd been a pariah for so long.

Bucky carefully inspected the hurt on Steve's face at his statement.

Steve swallowed and responded, "I understand...I'm going back to bed."

Bucky gulped down the guilt he felt as Steve trudged back to his room across the hall. The ex-assassin was left alone in the kitchen and he gazed into the dark house.

Deep down, Bucky felt as if he would never be the same again. He'd killed so many, did so many things he regretted. He couldn't honestly stand next to the virtuous Captain America and say that he fought for justice too. He wasn't the hero that America wanted. How could he be a hero when he couldn't even be the friend Steve deserved?

Not far away, Nick Fury sat in his new, yet dingy apartment in the slums of deep D.C. He typed slowly on his iPhone, getting in contact with a SHIELD client. He adjusted his sunglasses just slightly when an incoming call flashed on the screen.

Fury huffed at his interrupted texting, but saw the caller I.D.

AGENT CLINT BARTON

Fury answered the phone and said, "Agent Barton?"

"Hey, I didn't think you'd have this phone number anymore."

"It was the only one o that wasn't tapped, so I had to resort to this one," answered Fury, "Why are you calling me?"

"I was told to get in touch with you...I've heard you still have contact with several of the super humans. We may be in need of their services."

"We?"

"Yeah, Natasha and I. We're in New Jersey now and we've run into some problems trying to cover our asses again after our info was all dumped on the internet," Clint explained.

Fury frowned, "What sort of problems?"

There was a slight hesitation, then Clint responded, "We have a situation. We can't talk about it over the phone. I am just requesting that you and a couple of your guys come down and help us. I swear it'll be something you'll want to have your hand in eradicating."

Fury growled under his breath, "This better be worth the effort, Barton. If it isn't, I will hang you by your own bowstring."

He heard Barton give a snort on the other end, "Trust me, it'll be worth the trip."

"I need a couple of days to get my team together," Fury told Barton.

"Make it as fast as you can because we really need your help."

Fury scowled again. Barton sounded a bit anxious, an emotion that never really came across his tranquil, driven demeanor. The gravity of the situation increased and Fury replied, "We'll be there by tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," Barton said, relief coloring his tone as he hung up.

Fury pressed the END CALL button and set down his light iPhone on the table. He rapped his knuckled on the desk for a minute, then spun around to look in a filing cabinet. He pawed through the unorganized drawer and pulled out Captain Steve Roger's file. He needed someone of integrity to come on this mission...and then someone with excellent covert skills.

Fury cautiously reached back into the drawer and drew Sergeant Bucky Barnes's folder out as well. Fury knew the men were living together now, but they hadn't gone on a mission together since they'd been reunited. Fury knew it was because Bucky feared letting down the Captain, but he never pressed the subject and didn't assign them to missions together.

But this could work...

Fury picked up the phone and dialed Steve's number.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice came.

"Steve, I've got a mission for you," Fury quickly answered.

Steve yawned loudly and asked, "When?"

"As soon as you can get Barnes and scoot out the front door. Meet me at my house, no questions asked," Fury instructed and didn't wait for Steve's reply before hanging up.

Bucky was about to head back to his room when Steve flipped the lights on, dashing back into the kitchen.

"What?" asked Bucky in alarm.

"Suit up, we're going on a mission," Steve said, already running out of the room to most likely get his uniform on.

Bucky blinked in surprise, "Together?"

"I assume that's what Fury meant," Steve called from his room, "We have to meet him at his apartment ASAP."

Fear gripped Bucky. The two of them on a mission together? What if he let Steve down again? What if he screwed the mission up somehow? He would be by his old friend's side the entire time, constantly under his watch.

Bucky could feel himself shaking as he walked back to his room, switching on the lights. He opened his closet and stared at his clean uniform that had been so familiar to him in the past. Of course, he had it tailored a bit to become more accurate with the times. The left sleeve was cut out to accommodate his muscular cybernetic left arm.

He quickly put on a white undershirt, then slipped on the navy blue army jacket over, buttoning the clasps that were lined up at the side. He slipped on his brown cargo pants and new, circa-current strap combat boots. He strapped on his utility belt full of tools he'd never go on a mission without: circular bombs, grappling wire, knives upon knives, smoke bombs, electrocution tablets and any other small weapon he found useful when in combat.

He pulled an assault rifle out of its case and strapped it to his back by a leather bed across his chest. Lastly, he tested the use of his greatest asset: his arm. He flexed it in a circular motion, hearing the gears and wires come to life. He pulled his finger-less gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on, one over flesh and the other over metal.

"Ready?" Steve's voice came from his doorway.

Bucky gave his exposed silver arm one last clench, tightening the ribbing all the way up the arm. He glanced at Steve, who looked at his arm with an expression Bucky had difficulty reading.

"What?" Bucky growled, feeling slightly defensive.

"Nothing. Let's go to work," Steve responded and walked out.

Bucky followed as ordered and knew that all he could do was obey. He didn't want to do anything to hurt Steve Rogers more than he'd already. No matter the guilt he felt, he'd always follow Steve.

Because Steve was that little punk from Brooklyn who wouldn't back down from a fight.

Steve Rogers was his captain.