The war against Johann Schmidt and Hydra had been long and drawn out. James had nearly lost everything because of it.

After his grip failed on the bar sticking out from the hole in the train, his fall had been long and he had almost died. It would probably have been better for him if he had. As it was, he was minus a limb. As he lay there bleeding into the snow, the cold burning into what remained of his left arm and rendering it numb, he heard the crunch of steps against the snow, and he tensed. He only saw a blur of green and flesh tones, and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. There, standing above him, was a man in a green coat. James pushed himself up with his one good arm to get a better look.

The man standing in front of him was tall, almost enough to make James have to crane his neck uncomfortably. The man had sharp features: a long beak of a nose and a mouth that almost seemed too big for his face. His eyes were big and dark, and James could have sworn that he saw a glint of red in the irises. The shock of dark, almost black, hair was swept back from his forehead rather severely, making said forehead look extremely long and pale. The stranger was fiddling with something in his long, spidery fingers, and when James squinted to see better, he realised it was a gold coin. He flipped it over and under through his fingers until he saw James' stare, at which point he made it disappear suddenly with a flourish. He grinned, showing two rows of shiny teeth that were somewhat unnerving, although James couldn't put his finger on why. The stranger crouched down until his eyes were almost level with James'.

"I'm here to make a deal with you, James Barnes," the stranger finally said after a brief period of silence. His voice was smooth and almost musical, but there was an undertone not unlike skittering bugs and other unpleasant things, and it set James' teeth on edge.

"How-" he rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How do you know my name?"

The stranger chuckled, the sound sending a chill down his spine. "I'm the Devil. I know everyone's name," he replied, a wry grin twisting the lips of that too-large mouth. James gave him a quick once over following that proclamation, and, to his surprise, he saw that instead of a pair of shoes standing there in the snow before him, there was a pair of hideously cloven feet. James involuntarily flinched back, sending a spasm of pain through his arm stump. His motion had set the wound to bleeding again, albeit sluggishly, drops of dark red splattering against the white snow. There was a sound of ripping cloth, and James' focus switched back to the ma- er, personage in front of him. The Devil had ripped a strip of forest green trim from the bottom hem of his coat, and he proceeded to tie it tightly around the end of the stump of James' arm, cutting off circulation so that the bleeding stopped. The tightness of the makeshift tourniquet against his ruined nerves caused a groan of pain to be ripped free all the way down in his gut, which he stifled in his throat before it could make it out of his mouth. The Devil gave him and his wound a quick assessing look before continuing. "There. Now, about the deal I'm offering you." James set his mouth in a hard line, and raised a brow at him. Deals with the Devil were tricky. He knew he'd definitely need to keep his wits about him. "I can make you rich."

James snorted. Well, that was completely unpredictable and original, then. His voice was still rough, but he spoke through it anyway. "I just fell from a train and lost an arm. Pretty sure riches are at the very bottom of my priorities list," he rasped, his words practically dripping with sarcasm.

"Then, all the better reason to have riches, Mister Barnes. For one thing, you can get yourself a new arm. With only one arm, how far could you get in this world? Not far, I can guarantee you. And with this war going on, you could use the money for lots of things that have been lacking in your life."

James' nod was almost invisible. The Devil had a point there, especially about the arm. Of course. Damned opportunist. But he was still leery, because he knew that wasn't the whole story. "What's the catch?"

The Devil affected an affronted look, putting his hand over his chest where a heart most likely didn't reside. James levelled a 'don't bullshit me' glare at him, and the mock innocence morphed into something decidedly less innocent that, quite frankly, gave him the creeps, although he didn't show it outwardly. "My terms are as such," the Devil finally continued. "For the next seventy years, you must neither cut your nails or hair, and you must not bathe. You must not pray," at this the Devil gestured at the rosary tucked into James' uniform front pocket, "and you must wear the coat and cloak that I give you. You will not age, and you will always have more than enough money. If you reach the end of this time alive, then you will have all the money you could possibly ask for, and you'll be free. However, if you die any time during those seventy years, then you're mine." Here, the Devil's grin turned predatory.

James mulled over all of the options in his mind. He had lost everything, which wasn't much, considering. He was fairly certain that he could ensure his own survival, and therefore wind up rich. But then, seventy years was a long time. Did he want to risk it? He also knew the super soldier serum had enhanced more than just Steve's strength. They had talked about it, and Steve had been sure that he would wind up outliving Bucky, even factoring in the experimentation that Zola had done. But the terms of this deal would ensure that he wouldn't. Once he got through the seventy years, he would have the resources to find Steve again, and set up a life where they wouldn't have to be beholden to the U.S. government anymore. They could be free from the clutches of war and the sacrifices it had already claimed from them in this lifetime.

James nodded once, firmly, as he reached his decision. "Fine. You have yourself a deal."

The Devil's smile grew, and James had to suppress another shudder. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't regret this. The Devil slipped the green coat off of his shoulders and handed it to James. "This is now yours. It will provide you with all the money you will need." Then, the Devil reached over to his right and produced a big heavy bearskin cloak from somewhere. "And this will be your cloak, as well as your bed. Now, I take my leave from you. See you in seventy years. Or sooner…" he trailed off suggestively, before disappearing, leaving behind the strong smell of sulphur that nearly made James choke.

His heart pounding suddenly as the significance of the encounter sank in, James stripped off his uniform jacket, using the jack-knife from his pocket to cut the edge of the sleeve just above the makeshift tourniquet. Then he pulled on the green jacket, folding the left sleeve inside out in lieu of pinning it up. He reflexively stuck his hand in the pocket, and was surprised when his fingers touched cold metal. He brought a handful of coins out, and realised this was what the Devil had meant when he said that this would be the source of his money. He let the coins trickle back into his pocket. Then he put on the bearskin cloak. It had a strong musky scent that he could swear was almost wild and piney, as the surprisingly heavy weight settled onto his shoulders. He settled the face of the bear against the top of his head, and wrapped the rest of the body around his own as best as he could. The thick pelt held in his own body heat and kept out the freezing Alpine wind. It was definitely a blessing for the time being, although he was sure that it wouldn't be as wonderful during the summer. But that was not now, so James pushed the thought out of his mind until later. For now, he needed to get to shelter and find a way out of these accursed mountains. He stumbled to his feet, and after a careful perusal of his surroundings, he set out in what he was sure was a westerly direction, his steps slow but deliberate.

*

The first ten years were spent in pursuit of a new arm. James was able to find a way out of the mountains using both the money from his coat pockets, and his own wits and charm. Although, the latter began wearing thin sooner rather than later. He wandered far and wide throughout Europe, the devastation from the war requiring him often to sleep in bombed out houses and hidden in barn lofts. He decided that he needed to get out of Nazi controlled territory before he got himself killed and the Devil came to collect his soul. As a result, he wound up in Russia. He was able to make a deal with some Russian scientists in Moscow, who gave him a metal arm in return for a large amount of gold. Then, he was on his way again, wandering near and far, trading gold for shelter and living almost as a hermit. At this point, he was so shaggy and unkempt, that he couldn't get shelter unless he paid heavily for it.

The next twenty years were spent evading those self-same Russian scientists, who were apparently in cahoots with Hydra (of course) and wanted to recruit James once they realised what they had let slip through their fingers. As large as Russia may be, he eventually ran out of places to hide, so he headed south-east into Mongolia and then China. Upheaval in the region eventually forced him to move on, giving Vietnam a wide berth, and going even further south-east until he reached Japan. There, he stowed away on a cargo ship headed back to the Continental United States.

He spent another twenty years wandering Canada and the U.S. He resisted the temptation to return home, knowing that his family was likely long dead at this point, and even those who were still alive would not recognise him as he was. And he resisted looking for Steve, afraid of what he might find.

By now, his hair was a veritable rat's nest and practically blended in with the bearskin cloak along with the bushy beard that obscured most of his face, to the point that he looked more like animal than man. His fingernails and toenails were ragged like claws from breaking off so many times, sometimes to the quick, so that dried blood was caked around the nail beds of most of them. His voice became a growl due to disuse, since he only spoke when making deals for shelter, which was getting harder and harder as the years passed. And everywhere he went, he gave large amounts of money to the poor, each time asking them to pray for him and his safety, since, as per the terms of the deal, he could no longer do so for himself. Locals had taken to calling him Bear or Bear-skin because of the cloak. He never gave out his true name to anyone, preferring to remain anonymous.

He ended up in Alaska after a while, where he decided to stay for another ten years. Here, due to the cold and the clothing required to be able to withstand said cold, fewer questions were asked about his appearance than usual. He was even able to do some menial work, some hunting and fishing for the community's benefit. But even then, he was still considered other. And when he showed no signs of aging, even after ten years' time, the locals became more suspicious of him than usual and he knew his time was running out.

He spent the next five years slowly making his way to the opposite end of the continent, to finally return to the place of his birth. He was a bit apprehensive, not knowing what he would find. He had missed his best friend terribly, especially not knowing whether Steve would even be there when he returned. Any number of things could have happened during his absence. But there was nothing for it. He was reaching the end of his time as Bear-skin, and he had promised himself that he would at least try to find Steve. So he made his way to New York, although he definitely took his time and the most roundabout route possible. It was when he was halfway there that he found the people who would change his life forever.