it’s a clear day when bucky the soldier james slips into a first story window of a mansion in westchester. inside is cool and quiet, though he can hear the distant chatter of children and a distinct ringing reminiscent of the air after bombs go off.  it appears he’s in the right place after all.

        steve had told him the others’ names, had whispered them between recounted memories and terse commands, but bucky’s memory is more a sieve than a steel trap these days. certainly cycling between frozen and thawed does wonders for the brain.