AN: Hello! So, to anyone that follows my Doctor Who stories, do not despair. I'm just blocked on those right now but I'm going to be writing more very soon. To anyone else, hi! So, this is my first story in the Avengers fandom, though I've been wanting to write for it for a long time. I just randomly got hit with inspiration while totally not obsessing over Captain America and Winter Soldier. So, here's this. This has a lot of my headcanons in it, but it basically just allows that Bucky moved into Avenger's Tower with Steve and everyone else. Possible trigger warnings for mentions of torture and such.
DISCLAIMER: Alas, I don't own Avengers or any of its affiliates. That would be awesome, but it's not how it is. *sad sigh*
BUCKY'S hair was long. Really, almost insanely long. It was getting ridiculous. It was always in his eyes, and when the wind was blowing it would get in his mouth and he'd almost choke, and et cetera. It was well past his shoulders now, a good three inches longer than it had been when he'd left Hydra. And it looked fine, don't get me wrong, but it was more than a little impractical. And he absolutely refused to put it up in a ponytail. "No, Steve," he'd say. "Ponytails are for dames. I don't want to go up against some super bad guy and have him think I'm a dame." So, there went that.
Of course, Steve had tried explaining to Bucky that nowadays things were different, and more people were able to express themselves with their hair, and "Seriously, Bucky, lots of guys wear their hair in ponytails now." But nothing would convince the ex-Hydra operative.
Speaking of whom, Steve walked into one of Stark Tower's many living rooms to see Bucky lounging on a couch, an old issue of "Captain America" comics in his hands and a look of deep concentration coloring his features. It would probably take less concentration if his hair wasn't covering most of his face, no doubt making it difficult to see, but he didn't even push it behind his ears anymore. Steve let out a breathy laugh and walked over to him, ruffling his hair good-naturedly on his way to the kitchen. "This is getting ridiculous, Buck."
"You're telling me. This comic says that you single-handedly ended World War II, and had time to stop an alien invasion."
Steve poked his head out of the entryway to the kitchen and asked, "Does it really?"
Bucky didn't look up, but even with all of his hair Steve could still see a bit of a smirk. "Nope. But that would have made the story cooler."
Steve just rolled his eyes as he went back to making coffee, intently watching the machine to make sure he'd remembered the complex sequence of buttons that had to be pressed. "You're so full of it. And I wasn't even talking about the comic."
"Oh?" came the sarcastically-interested reply. "And what do you find to be so ridiculous?"
"Your hair."
Even from the kitchen Steve could hear his friend's long-suffering sigh and the flutter of papers as Bucky roused himself from his place on the couch to join him in the kitchen. "Don't start this again, Steve! My hair's fine."
Steve looked up to his friend and did a double-take, squinting at him for a moment before asking, "Sorry, did you say something? 'Cause if so it must've been muffled by that mop you've got growing on your head."
Bucky gave him a mock-glare (which was honestly hard to see with all of his hair) before calmly sweeping his dark brown locks behind his ears, wincing a bit when he felt the cold metal on his left side. He threw Steve a look that said 'There, happy?' before walking over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk, drinking straight from it to the horror of his friend. He let out a long, contented sigh (much too dramatic and only done to make Steve upset) and wiped his mouth with the back of his metal hand as he replaced the milk carton to its place in the fridge.
"You're a bona fide animal, you know that?" Steve asked in exasperation.
"Yep," Bucky replied happily with a joyful pop on the 'p'. His grin was infectious, though his friend was trying his absolute hardest to stay cross.
"Seriously though, Buck. You have to get a haircut."
The easy smile was immediately wiped from Bucky's face, a blank mask taking its place. "No, I don't," he countered with a forced evenness in his tone.
Steve sighed again as he went about preparing their coffee. "Yeah you do! It's getting ridiculous. You either need to get over your 'only dames wear ponytails' philosophy or chop off that mop, but you've gotta do something."
In a flash, Bucky grabbed the cups and flung them against the wall, shards of the mugs falling everywhere and boiling coffee running down the now-chipped wall. "Нет, вы не можете сделать мне. Никто не может сделать меня больше," Bucky said in a harsh, gravelly tone. Steve looked at him in confused horror, the blood in his veins running cold as he saw the unfamiliar ferocity in his eyes.
"Bucky," he said softly, cautiously trying to reach out to his friend.
Bucky snapped back as if burned when he felt Steve's hand on his arm. He stumbled backwards to the far side of the room, his feet getting cut and scraped as he stepped in the shards of the broken mugs. "Стоп! Я сказал остановить!" he yelled frantically, clutching his head between his hands as he slid against the wall to sit on the floor. He brought his knees up to his chin and pressed his forehead to them, rocking slightly.
"Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve asked urgently as he walked towards his friend. "Bucky, please tell me what's wrong-" He was forced to stop as his voice broke, the complete and total fear that he had triggered this in his best friend making bile rise in his throat. What if he doesn't snap out of it? What if this is it, and he doesn't remember me? No…
"Нет, остаться назад! Я не позволю тебе причинить мне боль снова! Вы не можете стереть мои мысли снова. Я Джеймс Бьюкенен Барнс, я знаю, кто я. Вы не можете сделать это снова! Я не позволю тебе взять его от меня!" he yelled, the Russian spewing from his lips at break-neck speed. There were tears in his eyes, though they didn't spill over. His pupils were constantly dilating and shrinking, the blue fading from ice to sapphire as Steve could only assume Bucky battled the Winter Soldier in his own mind. His breathing became more and more labored as he continued to rock back and forth.
"Bucky, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I swear it was an accident! Bucky, please," he begged as he reached his hand out to comfort his friend. He could have sworn he heard his heart shatter like the mugs of coffee when Bucky shied away from his touch and let out a broken sob of fear. "Bucky…"
"Нет, пожалуйста, нет. Пожалуйста, не делайте мне больно больше ..." he half-yelled, half-whimpered as a few tears started to fall down his cheeks, his eyes already looking red and puffed.
Steve was vaguely aware of a slew of cusses in some foreign language from the living room, closely followed by quickly approaching footsteps.
"Woah, I heard someone pleading in Russian," Natasha said as she rushed into the kitchen. As soon as she saw Bucky's condition, she crouched down before him and started speaking in a hushed tone. "Что случилось, дорогая? Все в порядке, вы можете поговорить со мной."
Bucky didn't reply at first, feeling very afraid of the almost familiar woman, but he saw unabashed sincerity and compassion on her face instilled an immediate trust. "Нет, нет, что они собираются сделать мне больно. Пожалуйста, пожалуйста, не позволяйте им мне больно," he whimpered, tears streaming down his face in earnest as he tried to curl in on himself even more.
She winced at his words, though Steve couldn't understand a word of it, and she gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Нет, моя дорогая, никто не собирается делать тебе больно. Плохие люди ушли. Ты в безопасности," she told him gently, a warm smile gracing her features as she willed him to trust her.
He looked at her as though he were a lost child, the look of pure fear and vulnerability in his eyes knocking the breath out of Steve like a punch to the gut. "Обещай?" he asked in a near-inaudible whisper.
"Обещай," she assured him with a smile. She gently stretched out her hand to him and waited for him to accept it. Once he did, she straightened herself back into a standing position and pulled him up after her. He kept his gaze on the ground, still very much afraid and confused. She looked over to Steve, who hadn't taken his gaze off of Bucky the whole time. As soon as she caught his eye, she gave him a slight nod and turned back to Bucky. "This is Steve. Do you remember him?" she asked gently.
Bucky jumped a bit at her question, seeming to be caught off guard by the change of language. He looked up at the strange blonde man before him, and he was about to shake his head 'no' when he felt a brush of… something on the back of his mind. He didn't know how, but this man was familiar to him. Suddenly, he saw disjointed and half-thought flashes of different points in time, all related to this man. He saw a small, sickly child in a too-large bed in the 1930s, sweat being wiped off of his brow. Then he saw the same child, now a man, in a box-shaped seat with a metal rail on his lap, his eyes wide with excitement as the world rushed towards them impossibly fast and a "Coney Island" banner looming in the distance. He saw the young man, now probably in his mid 20s, being pounded by a much bigger man in an alley, a trash can lid clutched in one hand. Then he saw a much taller version of the man rescuing him from a cold metal table, though at the time he thought he was dead or dreaming. And finally he saw him standing before him on a helicarrier, the words "Til the end of the line" ringing in his ears.
Finally, he nodded, looking hesitant and scared still. He saw the strange blonde man give a sigh of relief and it finally clicked for him, all of the glimpses and memories sliding into place as it all played before him; all of the scenes from what he now knew was his life with Steve Rogers flashing before his eyes like a movie. His face crumpled as he rushed into his friend's arms, tears running anew once he felt those arms wrap around him, sure and strong. "Мне очень жаль," he whispered brokenly. "Мне так жаль, Стив. Мне очень жаль. Мне очень жаль ..."
"Hey, Buck," Steve whispered reassuringly as Natasha slipped out of the room. "It's alright, buddy. You're gonna be okay; I promise." He wrapped himself even tighter around his friend, almost like he was trying to piece him back together.
"I… was scared," came Bucky's hesitant voice.
Steve nodded and rested his chin on the top of Bucky's head. "Did I do something that scared you?" he whispered.
There was a heavy silence for a moment before he replied, "Yes."
Steve's breath once again left him, and he couldn't formulate any kind of response as guilt settled heavily in his stomach.
"But I know you didn't mean to," Bucky continued before Steve could apologize. "I just hated that they always told me what I had to do, what I had to look like, who I had to be. But today I knew who I was. And before, when they had me, I would always act so much more… human when I remembered. They beat it out of me, and remembering that scared me. So, you didn't really scare me. It was just me remembering a lot of stuff that didn't need remembering. It wasn't your fault, Rogers, so don't you dare blame yourself."
Steve opened his mouth to protest, but just heaved a sigh of relief and squeezed his friend's waist for a moment. "Alright, Buck."
They stood their in a clam, companionable silence for a few moments before Bucky suddenly pulled out of their embrace. "You were right, though," he informed his friend with an all-too-familiar smirk.
Steve's brow furrowed in confusion and he cocked his head a bit to the side. "What d'you mean?"
"I really do need a haircut."
Their laughter echoed through the kitchen for the next ten minutes, but eventually they pulled themselves together enough to go out to town to take care of Bucky's "mop". While he sat in the strange elevating chair, he shot Steve a worried look. Steve immediately went over to him, and he never let go of his best friend's hand as lock after lock of brown hair was cut and fell to the floor. So, in Bucky's mind at least, his first chosen haircut in 70 years wasn't too bad.
AN: So, there's that. I've had this idea for a couple of days now, and I'm super pumped to be able to actually get something written down. First of all, I don't know Russian. Not even a little bit. So, I used Google translate. Very sorry if I made any mistakes, and if anyone sees any please feel free to let me know. That being said, here are the translations for what Bucky and Natasha were saying (bold text is Bucky and italics is Natasha):
No, you can't make me. No one can make me anymore.
Stop! I said stop!
No, stay back! I won't let you hurt me again! You can't wipe my thoughts again. I am James Buchanan Barnes, I know who I am. You can't do this again! I won't let you take it away from me!
No, please no. Please don't hurt me anymore...
What's wrong, sweetheart? It's okay, you can talk to me.
No, no they're going to hurt me. Please, please don't let them hurt me.
No, my dear, no one's going to hurt you. The bad people are gone. You're safe.
Promise?
Promise.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry. I'm sorry...
So, yeah. That's that. I'm not really sure how the characterization was on that, as I only saw "The Winter Soldier" once and that was months ago. Please, let me know what you think if you don't mind. But if not, thanks for reading. :-)