The Ghost and the Granddaughter
Genre: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Canon Divergence Characters: Bucky Barnes, OC, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff Summary: After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., James “Bucky” Barnes runs from the guilt and the ghosts in his head. That’s how Maggie, historian and granddaughter of Dum Dum Dugan, finds him. She’s spent her life curating the stories of heroes, never expecting to meet the broken legend who was only ever a sepia photograph. As Maggie helps Bucky piece together the man he used to be, danger still lingers in the trees of the cabin they've claimed as sanctuary. But the man she helps isn’t the myth she built in her heart. And the woman he’s learning to trust might be the only one who can remind him he was never just a weapon. As time goes on, the past is no longer the only thing that haunts him. It’s also the way she says his name like it still means something.
Part: One I Two I Three I Four I Five I Six
The living room was empty again the next morning, but Maggie didn't panic this time. There was no screaming last night, which she took as a good sign. Perhaps their journey wouldn't take him into nightmares every time they went to bed. The fire was nothing but cold ash, yet somehow a bit of its warmth lingered in the room. Any evidence that someone had slept–or even laid down with a blanket and pillow–was long gone. He left no trace, like a ghost.
She found him sitting on the front porch. His shoulders were hunched inward and his head bent low. He wasn’t out here to scan the perimeter. His focus was on something much closer.
Not a word was spoken as she took a spot next to him on the top step, though she did give a small laugh at discovering what held his attention so securely. In his lap, open several pages in, was Granddad's favorite photo album. Made with help from Grandma, it told an abbreviated story of Timothy Dugan's life.
Born April 11th, 1912, Maggie's grandfather's life in photographs was a testament to the fast pace of change in the twentieth century. From the high neck buttons present in the family portrait after his christening to the looser, higher skirts shown in the photograph outside his parents house, his mom and sister standing on either side of him before he left for bootcamp. Maggie practically had every page memorized from the countless times she’d made Granddad walk her through it. Bucky had reached the part after Granddad's retirement where he now had the mission of raising a family.
"That's my dad," Maggie pointed to the dark blonde child dressed like his soldier father for Halloween. "They had him later in life, so he was an only child." Bucky simply nodded in acknowledgement as he continued to flip through the pages. It was pure willpower that stopped Maggie from giving him an explanation or story for every photo taped inside the album. At times she had to bite down on her cheek to keep the information to herself.
In a few flips of a page, her dad grew into a teenager and the hair on Tim's head grew whiter and the wrinkles and deeper. A brunette woman soon appeared in the story. Her mom. The Dugan family folded her in so easily, as if she were a missing piece desperately needed. Grandma certainly welcomed the added estrogen. For years, Grandma and Granddad hounded Maggie’s dad to propose. Their wedding was spread over several pages more than what was probably necessary. Grandad was so proud. His smile shined off the page in every picture. Then Maggie's face took over the rest of the album.
As much as Maggie wanted siblings growing up, being the only child and grandchild had a lifetime of advantages. Her parents had tried after she was born, but it never happened. So all the love, attention, and guidance was poured onto her. And she became the collector of the family stories, the keeper of their incredible history.
"Your hair was lighter back then."
Maggie wanted to groan at her rather embarrassing fifth birthday photos. She'd insisted on dressing up as a princess–tiara, frilly dress, and even glossy satire gloves. The idea of a heroic prince arriving to be her hero occupied a majority of her childhood daydreams. So, of course, she needed to look the part. You never knew when he was going to show up. "Yeah, it was a light brown when I was little. Even had some of my granddad's red tint in it. Then in high school, it started growing out a bit darker. Sometimes, in the sun, it can still look a little red.”
Bucky turned and looked over at her. "It does."
Suddenly, Maggie became very conscious of her hair. It wasn't getting the same care and attention it did back home and was probably a frizzy mess, even after running a brush through it before coming out here.
Back on the album, both of their eyes lingered on the last two pages. This group of pictures were taken at Granddad's ninety-fifth birthday. It was in the final year that he could make it out here on his own. After Grandma passed away, he was ready. Maggie wasn't. She didn't want to let go. The memories of those final days pushed to the surface after having successfully buried them deep, surrounded by ice to keep the feelings numb. The picture that held the last spot blurred in her vision. Only her and Grandad were in it, both of them smiling at the photographer as if they shared a secret neither would be willing to tell. It spoke volumes, where it was placed. All by itself, right in the middle.
I miss you so much, Granddad. You'd be telling me what to do next.
"Maggie? What's wrong?"
Realizing a hot tear was running down her cheek, Maggie wiped it away with the back of her hand, sniffing back more. "Nothing. I just haven't looked at that album in a while." She practically jumped to her feet. "I really need coffee. Do you want some?"
There was hardly any time to catch his nod before she rushed inside. Each step came with a deep, controlled breath. She needed to get herself together. This was no time to break down over something she couldn't change. It was a part of life. Everyone had to say goodbye and she’d been lucky enough to have the proper time to do so. Right now, there was someone alive who needed her.
Today would be a tough day.
Splashing cold water on her face, Maggie straightened up, wiped dry her skin and filled the coffee machine with fresh grounds.
Always being the quickest meal to prepare, breakfast was almost ready by the time Bucky came back inside. He dug new clothes out of the duffle bag housing his things sitting by the couch and headed for the bathroom. Maggie had a full plate and a mug of black coffee waiting in his claimed seat at the table.
"That was quick," Bucky commented as he sat down.
"Eggs, toast, and potatoes don't take long, thankfully," Maggie replied lightly. "I'm usually too hungry first thing to make anything elaborate." It was a struggle not to devour what was in front of her like a starved lion. She had to keep at least a little bit of dignity while she could.
"What's in the box for today?" Bucky asked after several thoughtful bites.
"Um...." Maggie's eyes bounced around as she tried to find a way to deliver this delicately. "It's mostly school stuff. I have several scanned pages of your yearbook accomplishments, because someone was an overachiever," she added under her breath. "There's plenty that might help, but also…,” she sighed. From here on out, it was unavoidable.
"But also?"
Putting down her fork, she decided it was the only option to rip the highly adhesive band-aid off. "Bucky... the rest of the files... it's going to be impossible to avoid anything involving Steve. The two of you... you were attached at the hip. Your histories were so intertwined. Hardly anything deviates until you enlist. Even after that, it all comes back together."
The reply was immediate, like a soldier ready for his orders. "I can handle it."
Maggie bit down on her bottom lip. "Are you sure? We can give it a bit more time. Find something else to do until you're ready."
"No, I want to. I think I've known since the beginning that he'd be a key to unlocking who I was. I can't avoid it."
Maggie chose her words carefully as she leaned back in her chair. "My granddad told me about how, in World War One, being in the trenches forged bonds that this generation could never understand. He grew up hearing stories from his older cousins who fought alongside the English. The kind of... devotion to those soldiers had to each other–and then the kind an officer had with his batman–it was stronger than any metal, even vibranium. They would risk anything to make sure the other made it home. Friendship like that... it's been lost to people in this day and age. Reading about the two of you, watching the archive footage, it reminded me of those same bonds he spoke of. That tether brought to life. It's not a surprise that there's such a strong reaction to Steve and any memory he brings to the surface. Friendship isn't a good enough word to use. He's your brother, forever with you. Nothing HYDRA could do, could ever sever that."
The speech ran away from her, but she meant every word. Friendship existed in levels and theirs was of the strongest kind.
"You know so much, but it still feels so distant. Like it’s not mine, but someone else’s."
"It's only day two," Maggie reassured. "Time will have to be our biggest ally." Finished with her breakfast Maggie stood to clean up her plate. "Keep eating. I'll get it ready after I'm done with the dishes."
"I'll do the dishes," he volunteered.
The smile refused to be kept at bay on her lips. "Okay, then."
Nerves began to churn Maggie's stomach as Bucky joined her on the floor twenty minutes later. The pile of papers was carefully curated to streamline the research. Thanks to Steve's ascent to Captain America, every school, every program these two were a part of was saved and cataloged. Anyone who had contact with Steve was desperate to make that connection known. George Washington High School was especially proud of their former student. To this day, they kept a cabinet dedicated to Steve, a small corner allotted for Bucky as well.
"Ready to relive high school?"
Bucky frowned at her. The tone in her voice must have been a bit too harsh. "Should I be worried?"
"No, high school was mostly good to you." What that must have been like, Maggie wondered as she started handing him yearbook scans. "You practically had it down to a science. Like I said yesterday, you were both academically and athletically gifted. Mr. Popular, it seemed. Which, from what I could find, made many people wonder why you were friends with little Steve.”
Bucky studied a photo of the two of them hanging around an obscured club table at some fair. There was no caption to say if they were part of the club or simply around when the photo was taken. "How small was he?"
"Five feet, four inches." Maggie had the information memorized at this point. "Ninety pounds soaking wet. He suffered from asthma, scoliosis, and high blood pressure. He'd also survived scarlet fever, pneumonia and a few other harsh diseases." Noticing Bucky's raised eyebrow, she cleared her throat. "Sorry. I've had to rattle that off so many times, it's become automatic now. Everyone has been obsessed with Steve’s before and after stats."
"That had to be a lot to deal with," he said, going back to the paper. Sometimes, his matter-of-fact responses through Maggie off course. "No wonder he was a target."
Maggie made no mention of the fact that she never said Steve was constantly picked on in high school. At least, not that she could remember. "Says a lot about someone's character to make the outcast their best friend."
And now Bucky ignored her comment. Apparently, they were going to dance around each other's words whenever they felt unable to respond "What did the school look like?"
Fingers in a fury, Maggie searched the pile for a photo of the building. It was actually quite a beautiful building, with those touches of the old world that gave it a built-in history. The floors with tall windows let in constant natural light and a gymnasion created with future famous athletes in mind. Brooklyn's educational crown jewel.
Bucky's fingers softly ran over the faded ink. "The custodian closet had a bad lock."
Maggie blinked at him. "What?"
"I don't know how I know that," he met Maggie's confused stare, "or why, but it did. First floor, in the ride of the left side hallway.”
"James Buchanan Barnes, possible secret prankster?" Maggie offered with a slight giggle.
His face remained stoic. "I'm not sure."
"To be revisited, then." Feeling encouraged, Maggie dug through to find one of her favorite treasures. "This was an incredible discovery. I remember having an absolute cow when I found it." She was too giddy as she revealed the photograph.
It was a crowd photo of fun and merriment. Carnival games, old wooden rides, a classic boardwalk, and pure joy filled the frame. Mixed in among the people, but very clearly there, was a teenage Steve and Bucky. Underneath was the caption: Coney Island, November 2nd, 1936.
"What is this place?"
Maggie couldn't help the disappointment. A small, very unrealistic hope had bubbled up like slow moving lava that he would have a breakthrough with this one. She really needed to smother these embers before they could warm up to an uncontrollable heat. "Coney Island," she said. "Its a small neighborhood in Brooklyn with amusement rides and other entertainment. Even for struggling families, it was a cheap place to go."
"Have you ever been?"
"No, actually, I haven't. I found this photo in the New York Library archives. They didn't even realize what they had." Now that she thought about it, she should have gone to Coney Island, if only to match up the photo with its modern day space.
"I want to remember this day, but I can't."
"Here," she gently took back the photo and folded it in half, making sure that it was secure when she placed it between random pages in the notebook she kept nearby. "When you remember it, or you want to try again to remember, it'll be right here."
"You're not giving up on this, are you?"
"No, I'm not." Maggie risked a grin. "I'm actually having a lot of fun."
"You're a bit strange, you know that?"
Maggie took that as a compliment. "Do you want to see more?"
Bucky's stare seemed to say he was on the verge of running away, but stayed and let the history geek go on with her lesson.
*****
"I'm still struggling, if I'm honest."
The shadowy walk down high school memory lane had lasted the morning, but Bucky was quick to remind Maggie that they needed to "secure the perimeter” after graduation. Lunch was short work–sandwiches–and then Bucky began tearing apart the cabin to find any scrap that could be of use. Loose fishing wire, used food cans, even the old henley Maggie had found him in made it into the pile.
"You want setups at different levels," Bucky broke down again. "Not everyone will simply walk up to the door. We need trip wires, hung branches, decay alarms. Start gathering rocks that can be stacked, those can be monitored for anyone who might come into the area."
"Where did you learn all of this? HYDRA?" Though Maggie couldn't think of a scenario where a spectral assassin needed to resort to such primitive methods.
"I'm not sure," Bucky frowned in response. Maggie crouched down beside Bucky as he tied one end of the fishing wire around the base of a tree. They were just inside the line of the forest, the cabin barely visible through the foliage. Every time a twig snapped or a few leaves rustled, Bucky's eyes flickered in the sound's direction and his fingers stilled. It always ended up being a rabbit or squirrel, but he never fully dropped his guard.
"What would you do if you caught someone?"
He looked at her in the corner of his eye for only a second before going back to work. "Best case scenario, they’re unconscious and we run, covering our trail as we go."
At least he planned on taking her with him. "And worse case scenario?"
"I hope Tim taught you how to shoot."
"He didn't."
The concern in Bucky's eyes when his head snapped up almost made Maggie laugh. As interesting as it would be to see what kind of teacher he might be, Maggie gave in.
"My dad taught me. He insisted he should be able to teach me something and not let my granddad hog all the quality time."
"Two and a half against any group that might come. Not awful odds."
Maggie held a loose wire out of the way while Bucky made another knot. "Two and a half?" Did he have a little sidekick hiding in his pocket?
"I'm trained to engage multiple combatants at once." His eyes flickered up to her while finishing his knot. "You work in a museum."
Maggie scoffed, the temptation to snap the wire against his face extremely high. Only the foresight of crossing her arms tightly stopped her from doing so. “I just told you that I can shoot."
"Stationary objects, yes." Bucky let go of the wire and rested his arms on his knees. "Shooting at a moving person while your adrenaline is pumping is a different story." Pushing up with his palms, he inspected the first round of his work from his full height. Maggie mimicked his movement.
"So, teach me."
"I can't." Gathering up his misfit supplies, he moved on to another spot. He didn’t get too far with Maggie on his scuffed up heels.
"Why not?" She rounded him so he couldn’t avoid answering her question.
"The constant noise would attract anyone close by. Rapid and constant gunfire isn’t exactly normal out here. Anyone passing by would come to inspect. And there wouldn’t be a good excuse for the multiple targets or you shooting at me, if we got that far. We stick to plan A."
Maggie glared at Bucky's back as he walked off to start another trap. Her ego was scraped, punched, and bruised. But that little voice that was rooted in sturdy logic knew he was right. She'd seen the cell phone footage from the fight on the bridge. Not to mention the archives of Steve in the field. She was lucky to keep up with Bucky running through D.C. She knew she wasn't a superhero or a spy or an assassin. Her specialty was in dates and cataloging. She'd outgrown being the tower-trapped princess. But reality existed. And he had a point in regards to the noise. People still drove by, even if it was a quarter of a mile away.
Then there was the whole “shoot at him” comment. Of course she’d have to figure out how to shoot at someone running towards her, trying to dodge her bullets and get to her, but nothing could ever turn off the part of her brain that knew it was Bucky, knew that he wasn’t a real threat to her. She’d never be able to pull the trigger, at least not without foolishly squeezing her eyes shut and deliberately missing. That just wasn’t in her.
So, she'd follow plan A. However, she'd also get a punch or two in on the way out.
Maggie watched as Bucky ripped up the henley and worked in silence for a few minutes. His fingers worked without fumbling, as if going by muscle memory. There was hardly any hesitation or second thought. He'd done this at least a hundred times before. But not as the Winter Soldier. Where would he have learned these things? Where would he need to use scraps and random objects for traps when he had access to more advanced technology?
Damn. She was such an idiot. The answer was more obvious than the worm hole in New York two years ago.
Sergeant Barnes.
Hiding amongst the trees in Europe, constantly on the edge for the approaching enemy. Night after night spent sleeping on the ground, one ear open at all times for the rattle of tin cans or snapped twigs.
Brushing the dirt from his hands, Bucky straightened and surveyed the area.
"All done there, Sergeant?" Maggie asked.
Bucky raised a comically quizzical eyebrow at her, though he said nothing.
"I think that's where you picked up the ability to put these together," Maggie explained. "You would have needed survival skills while fighting in the Commanders. And as a sniper, you would have needed to know if someone was sneaking up on you. It's just a guess, though."
A contemplating gloss overtook his eyes as he stared into the trees. One could almost see the dust falling off the bricks as he tried to break down the wall cutting off the memory containing the skills' origin. His hands remembered what his mind could not. But maybe that bridge, as broken down and unstable as it was, could still be crossed. A plank had to be taken one step at a time, slowly and with extremely careful footing. The rope was still strong, though. That could be counted on.
Giving in to the urge, Maggie stepped up behind Bucky and gently squeezed his shoulder for comfort. The turn to look down at her was gradual, as if he were still debating the next question before he let it out.
"Are there files on my military service?"
"Did you really have to ask?" Maggie's lips twitched.
"Tomorrow, I'd like to see them. We need to put up alarms on the other side, but tomorrow...."
"We can do that. We were practically there already." Maggie almost suggested they go ahead and break into them after dinner, but that would mean putting off the next chapter of The Hobbit. Despite knowing the story, she was eager to solidify this new part of the routine. Besides, they both needed to ride this levity for a little while longer.
"Alright." Bucky collected the remaining cans and wine and rounded to the other side of the cabin. This certainly was going to take a decent chunk of time.
*****
The string was a few more rounds away from snapping. Three wraps around his metal finger and then unwind. Three wraps the other way and unwind. Back and forth, over and over.
Bucky trained his eyes on the motion, a feeling of familiarity as he sat in the moonlit living room. His even breath mixed with Maggie's restful rhythm behind the closed bedroom door as the only noise in the cabin. A light weight blanket laid across his legs. It didn't matter how much fabric was draped over him, the heat-barren floor still bit at him. Even so, it was the better option to the pullout couch.
Everything about this was familiar. The cold, the hard ground, the fishing wire, only the moon to see by. The only difference being he was inside rather than out in the elements. Perhaps Maggie was right. Deep in his bones, an instinct had been forged when he was Sergeant James Barnes slinking through the forests of Germany. It still lived in the fibers of his muscles, coming out as easily as his lungs knowing how to breathe. Killing was how he was used, but maybe protection was a natural intuition. Every noise, every change wound him tensed his shoulders, like a bullet being loaded into the chamber, ready to fire. According to the files, he was always throwing himself between Steve Rogers and those who wanted to hurt him. His friend. It was still hard to stamp that word on the man who was his mission. The man he was wired to believe was an enemy. The man he was supposed to kill.
The wire snapped. Each end curled in on itself. For a few seconds, the piece still around his fingers held its place. It held on with whatever strength had been given to it from being wound around his finger. It wasn’t enough, though. Slipping from the metal finger, it fell through the air and settled into his lap. The thin string could only take so much.
While he kept it off his face, there were a few moments where he, too, wanted to break like this. The images flashing chaotically in his mind couldn't be controlled. Maggie didn't know it yet, but he was also writing these things down in a notebook he kept hidden in a corner of the duffle bag. Maggie never went through, so it was safe from her discovery. She was safe from the horrors he saw, the honors he'd committed. If she knew... it might be what finally made her run.
She should. It would be better for her if she did. But he didn't want her to. It was selfish, he knew. His mind was a roaring storm, thrashing the sea to try and drown the boat beneath waves. She was the lighthouse miraculously shining bright from the shore. He needed that light to keep the hope of surviving the storm. All the rigging and the sails were in his hands alone, but his guide kept him steady. Maybe someday, the clouds would break.
In the cabin, the blue light began to shift to a deep purple. Dusk was coming.
Tossing away the wire, he stood to bed and began straightening up the living room. Again, he didn't sleep, but Maggie didn't need to worry about that. It was another day.
Let's see if the rigging would hold.
