*long-suffering sigh*

You've seen most of this before, but some of it's new or re-written. It's also been so long you probably forgot you already read it!

...I'm sorry.

An explosion, shrieking metal.

"Fire again!"

Buzzing in his ears.

"Kill him. Now!"

Two pops of gunfire.

More plasma.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky, sucked out of the hole in the train by the blast and the howling wind.

"Grab my hand!"

The end of the line.

0o0o

Steve didn't think Jefferson could go any paler, but the next six seconds correct that assumption. By the time the portal jumper stands and moves to the empty space next to Steve and the piano, he's almost white enough to blend with the carpet.

"You gonna be okay?" Steve asks.

He doesn't ask because he cares. He asks because this is the most important mission of his life and he doesn't want any more liability than necessary. He needs to know if Jefferson will be able to hold it together long enough for him to pull this off or if he's going to start spouting riddles and trying to drag them back to Wonderland again.

Ideally, he'd leave Jefferson and Grace behind and make the jump himself. But he doesn't really know how the portal works. He just knows how to open doors once they're already set up inside. Jefferson is his only way to get to Bucky and their only way back.

He doesn't have the time – time travel be damned – for any more setbacks.

Jefferson smiles – a small, brittle thing under dark eyes – and tips his head slightly toward the coffee table where a tea-stained cup sits next to the teapot he wouldn't let Grace drink from.

"I have a special blend," he says. "I'm a bit of an amateur herbalist."

Steve's eyebrows make a quick jump before he can school his expression. He tries not to judge; he can see how the idea of losing himself again terrifies the portal jumper. Steve's a big enough guy to admit that if his metabolism would let him, he'd take a shot of something to calm his nerves too. There's a lot on the line for them both today.

Jefferson reaches up, his fingers make contact with his scarf, and then he forced them back down. "I…I should be asking you. You were shot two days ago."

The reminder only calls Steve's attention to his body – to the mild ache down the length of his left arm and the slight pinching at his abdomen. He adjusts a strap to take some pressure off his shoulder and shifts subtly onto his other leg.

"Technically, that was seventy years ago," he says with a wry grin.

He ignores the glare Jefferson shoots him at the obvious deflection and makes a show of checking his uniform over. When the portal jumper huffs and turns to call Grace, Steve quickly and subtly tests the range of motion in his arm. His fingertips tingle a little, but everything feels fine enough.

"Coming, Papa."

Grace gulps down the last of her tea, sets the cup on the table, and grabs her backpack. She slings it over her shoulder as she comes to stand beside her father.

She smiles up at him, easy and relaxed. Jefferson loses a shade of pale as he smiles back, though Steve can see a slight tremble in his hand as he cups the back of her head and draws her close for a quick hug. Grace pulls away first, lifting one hand to grasp the fingers threaded through her hair and holding on as she steps back.

Jefferson clears his throat and then Steve and Grace watch as he raises his free hand and throws the hat at the floor in a weak Frisbee toss. It hits the carpet in front of them and, against all logic, spins smoothly and steadily on the white fibers.

Steve thinks he knows what to expect, but the static image in Henry's books does the event little justice.

A wind picks up from deep inside the hat, drawing in wisps of purple magic from the air around them and growing until there's a hurricane in the living room, gaining speed and size with every second. The gusts pull at his hair and the looser bits of fabric on his uniform, though the house furnishings sit still and unbothered.

Steve is, pun intended, blown away. Witnessing first-hand the breach opening between dimensions, feeling the power behind it, is amazing.

A hand on his sleeve pulls Steve's attention.

"Jump," Jefferson shouts above the wind.

He and Grace leap into the vortex and Steve dives after them. They fall and fall down a long, dark tunnel until the light is drowned out and the wind stops, leaves them hanging in an empty universe. There is no jolting impact or feathered landing. One second, they are floating in the dark, and then Steve blinks and they are upright and steady, boots on the ground, in the mysteriously well-lit room between dimensions.

There's no evidence of the last time they were here. Tiles gleam under their feet, clean and shiny. Doors he's never seen before stand in silent vigil, surrounding them on every side. Steve hesitates, surreptitiously taps a boot against the floor. It's solid, and the sound echoes a little. They are definitely not in Maine anymore.

Jefferson takes a shaky breath next to him, and Steve glances over. The portal jumper is hunched in on himself, expression drawn, still pale and figuratively green. When he notices Steve watching, he straightens, assuming a more dignified posture with his shoulders squared, and glowers.

"What?" he snaps.

Steve's first reaction is to be defensive. The portal jumper hadn't been cheerful before but he'd been amicable enough. This place might be affecting Jefferson more than he first thought. Well, if Jefferson is going to be angry at him, then at least its a good distraction from whatever being here is doing to him. Anger will keep him focused for a while, though it's not sustainable.

Steve doesn't know how much time will pass in the Hat while he's gone. He needs something to keep Jefferson occupied, out of his own head.

There are a few tricks he's picked up over the years, exercises to deescalate panic and shift focus. Sam had even shared a few that have become Steve's go-to's. But he knows Jefferson won't accept them from him just as, if he had any choice, he would not be working with Jefferson.

Still, there is something he can try.

"Grace," Steve says.

The girl leans around her father, then steps out so they are facing each other. "Captain America?"

"I need you to do me a favour." He lowers himself down to one knee so he's looking up at her. He's seen Nat and Sam do the same when they talk to young kids. It's what Bucky always did with his little sisters when he wanted them to know he was serious. He wants Grace to know he isn't ordering her to do anything. He's begging. He needs her cooperation for this mission to go smoothly.

"I want you to keep an eye on your dad," he says, "and make sure he doesn't get lost again."

Grace frowns.

"What you did last time was good," he adds, watching her carefully as she quickly glances at her father. "You got him away from here and found someone to help him. There's a- a trick my friend Sam taught me that I want to show you. To help people like your dad…to not get lost."

To help people like us. But only JARVIS, and SHIELD, and Sam know. And he's only ever told Sam. He's not going to tell this little girl.

He can't count (he could, if he wanted to) the number of times he's woken up in a cold sweat with his heart racing and his mind a tangle of sour memory and sharp panic; the number of times he's had to walk away and find a quiet corner because everything is suddenly too much and right there and he can't breathe its so cold-!

Steve takes a deep breath in through his nose, lets it out slowly through his mouth. He tells Grace to do the same, and when she has, he holds out his hand, fingers splayed.

"Five things you can see," he says, folding his thumb. "Four things you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell." He folds one finger for each item, ends with a loose fist and a firm, "One emotion you can feel."

Grounding, he tells her. To keep you in the moment.

Grace frowns again, determinedly this time, her brows touching as she squares her jaw and gives a sharp, quick nod.

"Got it," she tells him.

Steve gives her a little smile and nods back.

Jefferson looks away as Steve stands up, turning his scowl onto a blue door decorated with fractals of ice. His hands are pinched tight to the bottom edges of his green waistcoat and his knuckles are white with pressure. Steve hopes he's made the right choice; the portal jumper would never have listened to him if only because of Steve's animosity. But Grace could help her father. And if he's right, in teaching her he had indirectly taught Jefferson.

Hopefully, it would be enough to keep the Mad Hatter from making an encore.

"You have the doll?" Steve asks. Last time, Jefferson had snapped his fingers and the puppets had appeared in his hands. But last time, they had also had a picnic basket the puppets may or may not have been sitting in before the snap.

"I do!" Grace says. She lifts her backpack from where it had fallen over onto its front and unzips the largest pocket, then draws out the little wooden man. She holds it up gently and offers it to Steve.

Jefferson reaches over and takes the puppet before Steve can.

"We'll hold onto him," he says. "Just hurry up and do what you came for."

Steve gives the portal jumper a long, hard look. The man's gaze is steady, a little off-centre from meeting Steve's eyes, but he can't see anything hidden in his expression or body language.

Steve relents with a quiet hum and breaks his gaze away. He turns until he finds Tony's door, then raises his good arm to check that his shield is solidly in place on his back, and wrestles himself into a mission-ready mindset. By dinnertime tonight, Jefferson and Grace will be back in Storybrooke and Steve will be standing in Avenger's Tower introducing Bucky to his team. By tonight, everything will be as it should be.

Breathe in through the nose.

The yellow sticker – Caution - geniuses at work – is stuck dead center on the door, a testament to Barton's perfect aim. There are thick gold loops winding around and under Steve's path, glinting even in the low light, as he walks to the portal. The purple silk of the walls is flowing gently against the upper half of the door frame, caressing more than anchoring, moved by a force Steve can't see. There is an inch of space that separates the clean grey of the door from the warm brown wood paneling at the bottom. When he tips his head back, the same swirling fog from before hangs high above the room, hiding tiny pulses of violet light.

Out through the mouth.

He opens the door.

Stepping onto the train is like falling asleep. He's had this nightmare so many times he could easily forget he's really here this time, awake and prepared.

Breathe in-

He lifts his shield free; the metal is cool and evenly ridged. Grips the webbed nylon straps, bunched and worn soft at the edges. Makes a fist into the leather of his finger-less gloves, smooth and yielding. Touches the light metal of the star on his chest, contact-warm and solid.

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

-breathe out.

He takes stock of where he's ended up, tries to gauge where exactly he is, but there are no signs, no windows in this car other than the door at either end. Steel ammunition boxes line the metal walls beside him, narrowing an already claustrophobic compartment. Most of the train had been relegated to freight, he knows, so this doesn't help him narrow it down. Three long shelves bolted in the centre of the floor hold fat boxes and thick barrels he can only assume the contents of. He remembers seeing the manifest, remembers grief smothering his curiosity beyond that quick look. It's too late to wish he'd read further.

Metal squeals as the track curves, and he puts a hand out to steady himself against boxes stamped with the HYDRA seal. He needs to find out where he is in relation to the engine. He needs to find the third car.

Breathe in-

"Yeah, and I almost threw up?"

The coupling rods are close, a metronome racket. They play into the rail wheels grinding against the tracks. The clinking of loose, heavy metal parts.

-and out.

The car sways, a gentle back and forth that belies the violence he knows is about to happen.

He knows this scene, every step of this mission from the first gunshot to the last awful sight of Bucky falling away. He scents cold metal and gunpowder like he never stopped breathing it. He can hear the scream fading as the wind and the train take him further and further from the one person he can't live without.

Breathe in-

He's not nearly as prepared for this place as he thought he was. It's not any one thing – there have been other fights in enclosed spaces, other trips to mountains, other trains since Zola's – but in combination, with the echoes of the worst day of his life ringing in his ears, emotion threatens to overwhelm him.

Breathe in-

Terror claws at his lungs. His own heartbeat is too loud in the tinned stillness that presses down around him.

"Better get movin', bugs!"

Cold stings at his nose and the tips of his fingers, chills the sweat on his brow, worms its way down the back of his neck.

Breathe-

In four minutes, Bucky dies.

-out.

Steve interrupts his own stuttered breathing, holds for a count of five, then inhales with forced gentleness through his nose. He lets the air out softly through his mouth, then pushes off the wall.

Four minutes.

He jogs to the front of the rail car and peers through the window in the door. Three HYDRA agents in black armour complete with helmets, goggles, and short-beaked masks patrol the space. Two are standing by the far door but one of them is wandering down toward Steve, checking the straps anchoring the ammunition boxes to the shelves.

The train swerves again, violently, and Steve stumbles into the wall shoulder first. It's his good shoulder, but the impact still jars the wound on his other arm and the discomfort startles a gasp out of him. After a beat, it fades, and he pushes off from the wall. Shaking out the tension, he steps back to the door. The soldier is gone.

Steve's hand jumps to the door release button as he scans the car again, wondering if he just missed him or if he's been seen. The two goons by the far end aren't on alert yet. Just as he starts to increase pressure on the button, the agent straightens up almost directly in front of him, shaking his head and checking his gun over.

"Maintenant!"

Steve presses the button. The door slides open on well-oiled tracks, quiet, though not enough that it goes unnoticed. The soldier spins around, bringing his gun to bear. He doesn't get farther than releasing the safety before the shield bounces off his mask and back into Steve's waiting hand. He topples into the shelf behind him, then falls in a heap to the ground. Steve steps over the unconscious man, shield up, crouching low to protect his legs as he advances.

The other two HYDRA soldiers are silent as they track him, firing an occasional burst from their modified battle rifles. So far, they are displaying more training than the usual HYDRA grunts he'd met on the battlefield, then and now. It figures Zola would keep the best for himself.

The one on the left breaks off, stalking down the aisle with intent to get to Steve through a gap between the middle shelves. Steve sees him coming and speeds up, meeting him at the junction. He lunges sideways, shield between them, bowling the agent over. The man's shooting goes wild, spraying bullets into the back of the compartment. Steve wrenches the weapon out of his grip, then brings the butt down hard on the top of the helmet. There's a muffled cry from behind the mask, but the man keeps pushing, struggling to get out from under him, so Steve brings the gun down again, and again, until he stops moving.

A burst of gunfire snaps his attention to the third goon. Bullets ping off the shield and around his head, missing by far too narrow a margin. Steve ducks and waits. When the next volley stops, he raises the HYDRA rifle and fires. The final man shudders and drops.

"I had him on the ropes."

So much for not interfering. Though it's hard to remember not to mess too much with a timeline when someone is shooting at you. He isn't going to mourn the loss of a Nazi, but he will worry about how his death will affect the future. It's too late now. He'll have to learn the hard way.

"Fire again!"

Steve climbs to his feet, throws the rifle to the far end of the car, and hurries to the next door. It slides open before he can check the window, and he ducks out of the way, back against the wall and shield raised. He waits.

Cargo boxes rattle against each other and the rail wheels squeal as the train barrels down the tracks. Steve keeps waiting. Nothing comes through the door.

Crouching down, he pulls a small mirror out of one of the pockets on his belt, brings it slowly out into the doorway until he can see into the room ahead.

"I had him on the ropes."

It's Bucky. Really Bucky.

He looks so young. His hair is short and styled, though the grease is wearing out. There's a five o'clock shadow and a frown on his face. And though it nearly fades into the naked metal walls in the dim light, Steve can make out the blue jacket Buck was – is – known for.

Two flesh and blood hands hold the Thompson submachine gun aimed at the door.

This is it. In the real past, Bucky fought the three HYDRA agents while Steve was occupied by a Heavy Soldier wielding dual plasma cannons. Now, Steve's taken the agents out. Now, there's a small window (just over a minute) until past-Steve takes the big guy down and comes back to the third car for Bucky. Now, there are less than two minutes to save his friend.

"…They make the bad thing happen that they were trying to stop."

He hesitates. If he shows himself now, if he tries to get Bucky back through the portal with him…

Bucky knows that his Steve is behind him. If he sees another Steve pop out of nowhere, he's going to be suspicious. He might fire on him. From Bucky's perspective, any new Steve magically appearing in front of him would logically be just a HYDRA trick. Or insanity.

Steve inches the mirror out again. Bucky looks confused but determined. He's advancing cautiously, eyes locked on the doorway, finger on the trigger.

It's a miracle he hasn't noticed the little glass poking out near floor level. There is no way he won't see the bodies laying in the open just past Steve once he gets close enough.

But there isn't much he can do about those now. It's going to be close.

0o0o

Five minutes ago, Realm Room

The Room is quiet (on the outside) and still (on the outside). The only noise (objectively) is their breathing and the occasional dry shwip of Grace turning pages of her book. The only movement (he'll admit to) is the bouncing of his leg and the gentle rolling of the purple mist above their heads like an upside-down sea.

Inside is a different story – and isn't he tired of stories! For twenty-eight years he'd begged for anything to happen and now that time isn't stuck anymore, he just wants everything to stop. He'd gotten used to stability, built his composure around it. Too many things in too little time has him struggling to hold on to that equanimity, has him grasping at mental straws.

Maybe – maybe – he could hold on to them if everyone in his head would just shut up!

Wonderland had been waiting for him.

The moment his feet touched the tiles of the Realm Room, there was laughter and chattering and a bone-deep longing to go home to Tulgey Wood. He'd drawn a shaky breath and braced himself against the onslaught – internalized it when he caught Steve looking and realized he couldn't hear anything.

Then Steve had lowered himself to one knee in front of Grace, rested his arms on his other leg, and given her a conspiratorial smile.

"Your dad looks like he's going to puke, doesn't he? Didn't even last a minute in this place." Steve had shaken his head, still smiling, and met Jefferson's gaze. "That doesn't seem like a very fit guardian. How about after I rescue Bucky, I'll come save you too? Take you somewhere better. I'd be a good father, don't you think, being a superhero and all?"

Jefferson might have believed it if Steve's voice hadn't sounded like rushing wind through a field of grass. He'd looked away and glared at the door to Arendelle rather than acknowledge that anything had happened. They wouldn't have been able to help even if he told them; his only escape from Wonderland is distance and magic, and he doesn't have enough of either.

He blinks and there's a puppet in his hands.

When he looks around, it's just him and Grace and the voices in his Hat. Steve is gone.

The flowers' chatter hushes for a moment, a phantom hand caresses his cheek. He shivers.

There was a time when he never wanted to leave the Hat, when he could spend hours calling up doors and peeking through, learning the Hat's abilities and pushing against its limits. Now the thought of waiting here for any length of time makes him want to run. It's a pity Wonderland doesn't realize it's the cause because the voices swell joyously in response to his nostalgia.

Grace sets a hand on his wrist. To his shame, he's so startled by the touch that he flinches, pulling away. Grace wilts back.

"Sorry," she says.

"It's fine," he lies, smiling a shaky smile. He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, turns it into a one-armed hug when Grace steps closer.

"I was just thinking…" Grace says. "Maybe we can help Captain America?"

He feels his whole body tense at the thought of stepping into the middle of a war, of his daughter stepping into a war.

"Help?" he manages to ask around the lump in his throat.

"Yeah. I mean, we're going to leave this doll in the past, right? And then go back to the future to get this one and the other one?"

Grace shifts. He lets his arm fall away and she steps back, looking up at him with determination in her eyes.

"So, we have to make sure we can find this one again. If we just leave it by itself how will we know where it ends up?"

0o0o

1945, Zola's Train, Second Car

Steve runs and jumps, grabs a hook attached to a track on the ceiling. His momentum sends him careening towards the heavily armoured HYDRA soldier aiming a hand cannon at him. He raises his shield against a blast of superheated plasma, directing it into the wall beside him, and kicks out with both feet. He hits the goon square in the chest and sends him toppling, the man unable to correct his balance in time with the plasma generator on his back.

He drops, smashes his shield into the Heavy's mask. He goes limp, and Steve uses the opportunity to grab up the gun attached to his left arm and blast open the door at the end of the car he just came from. He grabs his shield and runs, bouncing over debris until he gets to the door of the third train car.

He peers through the little viewing window, straining to hear what's happening on the other side. Other than the sounds of the train around them, it's silent. Ominously so. He punches the button on the side and the door slides open. Shield up and ready to block or throw, Steve steps in.

Near the other end of the car, Bucky whirls around, his Thompson flashing up to Steve's face for the brief moment it takes him to recognize the red, white, and blue discus. Then it's aimed at the ground, his finger off the trigger as he relaxes just slightly.

"What took you so long?"

"I had something to take care of," Steve says, watching Bucky with relief as he approaches. He doesn't look any worse for wear, has no evidence of any injuries. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Bucky says. "Let's get going. I don't like it in here; feels like we're being watched."

They hear it just as they turn around – the clunking of heavy footsteps from the car ahead, the piercing whine of a charging gun. Through the steam in the doorway, wavering blue light glows brighter.

"Get down!"

Steve shoves Bucky behind him just as the cannons discharge. Twin blasts slam into the shield from close range, sending Steve flying back into the shelves of cargo containers. The plasma ricochets into the side of the car, igniting the ammunition and blowing out a section of the wall in an explosion of heat and screeching metal.

Arnim Zola's voice yells out from a speaker in the wall, "Fire again!"

Steve's head is swimming. Through dizzy confusion he sees Bucky on his knees next to him, snowy mountains whipping by behind him. He watches Bucky grab the shield and his gun and rise to his feet.

"Kill him," Zola orders. "Now!"

Bucky snaps off two shots with his pistol before the HYDRA cannoneer fires again. The single blast hits the shield dead centre and Bucky goes flying.

Steve loses sight of him. He staggers to his feet and leaps for the Heavy Soldier. He can't find his shield, or he'd use it. But his body is all the weapon he needs after the serum. With fear for his best friend surging like electricity in his veins…

He kicks the soldier in the chest, toppling him. Except this time, the goon is ready for it. He grabs Steve's boot and they go down together. Steve kicks again, wrenching his foot out of the agent's grasp and rolls out of the way as he fires the cannon. Steve lurches to his feet and throws himself on top of the soldier, who flings an arm out and knocks him off. Steve scrambles up and jumps back onto the man's chest, pinning his arms to his sides with his legs. He rips out the lines feeding energy to the blasters, ignoring the searing burn as some of the plasma splashes onto his hands. It eats through his gloves, but his terror at Bucky's fate is enough to drown the pain. He punches the Heavy in the face once, twice, again, until the man's head snaps to the side and he goes limp.

Steve is up before he can even think to get to his feet. Dread pulses in his chest, squeezes his lungs. His helmet is suffocating him. He tears it off as he turns, throws it behind him as he runs back into the third car and darts for the ragged hole torn in the wall.

Freezing wind whips at his hair when he leans out. It tugs at his uniform, trying to pull him out into open air. He looks at the section of wall – edges twisted, the metal black with burnt gunpowder – bent outward and hanging perpendicular to the rest of the train.

Then he looks down. Far, far down into the ravine and the winding river at the bottom.

There's no sign of Bucky.

With nothing else to do, Steve sinks to his knees and cries.

0o0o

Four minutes ago, Realm Room

Jefferson stares down at the puppet in his hands, dismissing the whispered assurances that it wouldn't get lost in Wonderland. His plan had been to bury it in Barnes' luggage at their base with a little note that said, 'to Steve' so the soldier wouldn't throw it out when it was found. It wasn't his best idea, but he'd been a little preoccupied when he came up with it (he'd been preoccupied this whole job – pathetically out of practice).

If Grace has an idea though, he isn't going to discourage it. He'd planned to show her how the Hat worked one day, before she'd lost her mother and before he'd locked it up and tried to forget about it. He'd dreamed of teaching her how the worlds worked, how to recognize them and distinguish between the similar ones. He'd planned to show her all his favourite places to visit. When he'd lost the Hat to the Curse, he'd worked for 28 years to get it to- …to get it back. And now he can't stand being in here.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks, because regardless of how he feels about it, Grace is asking, and they're stuck here until Steve gets back and he desperately needs a distraction.

He shoves the flowers and sour thoughts down as far as he can and focuses on his daughter. Her voice doesn't drown out the others, but it provides a buoy he desperately needs to keep afloat among them.

Grace puts a hand on her chin and scrunches her face up in thought. "Well… hiding it won't work because someone will probably find it. And we can't bury it 'cause that's stupid."

He'd buried a hat once while he was imprisoned by the Queen of Hearts. Buried it with a magic ring. He'd heard a tale somewhere of a young wizard growing a magic tree that way.

"We have to leave it with someone."

Jefferson blinks at her.

"Who?"

Grace doesn't hesitate. She races over to her backpack and starts digging around. Out comes a hard-plastic container which she places on the floor. Popping it open, she pulls out a soup thermos, a small baggie of apple slices, and a spoon. Then she grabs the empty container, fishes in her backpack for a piece of loose-leaf paper and a pencil and runs the few steps back to Jefferson.

"Here!" she says, handing him the pencil and paper and taking the puppet.

He grips the pencil tightly in the wrong hand, keeping his eyes on Grace trying to be gentle as she folds the puppet into her lunch box. 'Put down your name, Hatter,' say the flowers. 'You might forget before the end of this.'

When Grace finally gets the lid closed on the box, she reaches up for the paper and pencil. In her neatest cursive, she writes Peggy's name and today's date near the bottom of the page and then folds the page in half.

Jefferson crouches down and picks up the box as Grace sits back, tapping the pencil against her chin.

"Is this good?" she asks.

"It's almost perfect. Just needs… a finishing touch."

With thumbs dusted glittering purple, Jefferson traces the seam between the container and lid. Plastic shifts under his touch, the change rippling across the lunch pail. What he hands back to Grace is a wooden box engraved with roses.

"Wow, thanks!"

Grace jumps to her feet and hurries over to Steve's door, leaving Jefferson scrambling to follow. He can't help the panic-sharp, "Grace!" when her hand wraps around the handle.

It's too soon! He doesn't know what will be on the other side when the door opens. What if she falls through and he can't get to her? What if they get separatedagain? What if- !?

"It's okay, Papa." She turns around and holds her hand out to him, smiling.

He tightens the scarf tied around his neck as if trying to hold his head on and then, with shaking hands, wraps his fingers around hers and joins her at the threshold. The whispered singing in his ears is backed by the drumming of his heart.

"Tell me what you want to do," he requests.

"I want to make sure Captain America gets the puppet in his regular time. I think… Peggy Carter would be the best person to keep it for him."

He remembers the name from Henry's lecture, but he can't recall why she was important.

"She's Captain America's love interest during the war," Grace elaborates when she sees the look on his face. "And then she worked for SHIELD, or she made it, depending on which timeline you read. Henry thinks this is 616 but I'm not sure. The Avengers didn't live in a tower in 616, which means Agent Carter probably won't get amnesia and forget about the puppet."

"Uhuh." Jefferson just nods. He doesn't care enough or have the mental space at the moment for any sort of explanation. "How do you want to get it to Ms Carter?"

Grace perks up. "You! You look like Bucky Barnes, right, so if you give it to her and tell her you're from the future, there's no way she'll get rid of it! Or, oh! What if you pretended to be his ghost? She can't refuse a last request! Or what if you-"

Jefferson reaches around her and pulls the door open. There's a small, empty bedroom on the other side – windowless, brick walled, sparsely decorated, and furnished with a metal cabinet, desk, and bed. A Union Jack hangs on the wall above the bed. Carter's barracks in 1945.

"What are you doing?" Grace peers around the room.

Jefferson snaps his fingers. The box and note disappear from Grace's hands and materialize at the foot of the bed like they had always been there.

Jefferson closes the door.

"Oh…" Grace says.

"The best plans are the least complicated. We'll leave the fancy stuff to the superheroes."

"…ok."

He shoos her back toward the centre of the Room, and then opens the door just a crack for Steve to slip in through.

0o0o

1945, Zola's Train, Fourth Car

"…Feels like we're being watched," Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes and quietly, so quietly, straightens out of his crouch using the wall behind him. He steps away, lifts the shield over his head and secures it to the magnets on his back. Bucky had been so close. Another few steps and he would have been right there. The urge to reach out and grab him, to pull him out of this nightmare and be done with it forever had been strong (too strong – his resolve fighting a losing battle).

But past-Steve had shown up exactly when he was supposed to and called Bucky's attention away. Now Steve's internal clock is screaming that he needs to move, it's time, hurry! GO!

"I had him on the ropes."

Maintenant!

Steve twists out of cover and into the third car. Over his own and Bucky's shoulders he sees a blue glow building in the doorway of the second carriage. He freezes. For a moment, he can only watch as the past plays out in front of his eyes. He can only feel the tearing ache, the burning, sucking emptiness as the bar gives out and Bucky falls. Can only stand and watch, useless, powerless to help as it all happens again right in front of his eyes.

"Get down!"

The plasma cannons fire. The two Commandos go flying back, past-Steve knocking into Bucky before slamming into a shelf. Both of them go down as excess plasma dissipates into the air and the ringing of a successful hit fades from their ears.

Bucky gets up first, climbing to his knees.

NO.

Steve surges forward, charging across the space between them as Bucky braces himself behind the shield.

"Kill him. Now!"

The HYDRA agent fires again just as he reaches Bucky. Steve grabs for the blue coat with his left hand but the force of the blast tears him out of his grip and sets fire to the wound in his shoulder. The old shield falls under his foot and he stumbles over it. He kicks it out of the way, back toward where he came from, and lurches to the hole torn in the wall.

This wasn't supposed to have happened! He was supposed to save him before it got to this point! Why hadn't he just moved-?

Freezing wind stabs at exposed skin as he leans out.

Bucky is right where he knows he'd be. Hanging onto a loose handrail at the far end of the mangled section of wall. His eyes meet Steve's, undiluted terror on his face, a silent scream for help on his lips.

"Bucky!"

Steve knows the handrail closest to him can take his weight. Knows it held too well when all he wanted was for it to let go when he couldn't and take him with it. He steps out onto the curled edge of blackened metal, keeping eye contact with his friend.

"Don't move!"

Bucky isn't listening. Steve can see him panicking. He lets go with his right hand, flails until he grabs the bar farther down, closer to Steve. The handrail slips just a bit. Steve abandons caution.

He can't watch Bucky die again. He won't.

He steps closer, on the smallest foothold he can get his boot on and stretches out his hand. He's still not close enough.

Bucky reaches for him, and the bar groans. The last rivet snaps.

Bucky falls.

NO!

Steve lets go of the train and dives forward. One hand reaches out, grasping at the one person in the world he would sacrifice everything for, the one he's already lost so many times. With his other hand, he reaches back. His fingers are stiff with cold, and clumsy, but they catch on flesh and on metal and hold tight. Pain rips through him as opposing forces pull against his wounds.

A muscle in his shoulder spasms and shards of ice prickle at his face and hands as the wind whips around them freezing and angry, battering at their human chain. He holds tight, the only thing keeping Bucky from plunging into the hungry ravine below.

"Hold on!" he shouts.

Gritting his teeth against the effort of holding himself still against the wind with only one arm, he hauls Bucky up until his friend can grab at the bottom of the train panel. Bucky scrabbles at the small holds until he finds purchase, then clings tight. He turns wide eyes to stare at Steve, who finally lets go of his wrist and grasps at the train with both hands. He looks over the panel, plotting their path across, then turns back to his friend.

"You can do this!" He doesn't ask, doesn't give Bucky a choice. They will make it.

Like a most dangerous game of monkey bars, Steve shuffles along the lip of metal until it ends in a wedge of open space, then swings across to the low bar he had first stepped out on. He waits, watching, as Bucky follows, movements slow and stuttering as he makes sure each hold is secure. Only when Bucky's shoulder is pressed against his does Steve stretch up and pull himself into the train. He spins around on his knees, heart still beating in his throat because Bucky isn't safe yet and reaches out.

Steve grabs him by the shoulder and pulls Bucky out of the cold.

:') ?