This is my first fic from The Winter Soldier/Bucky's perspective so please bear with me!
Inspired by: "Once Upon A December" from Anastasia
Featured song: "Blue Skies" by Josephine Baker
Listening to: "Night Visions" by Imagine Dragons
Warnings: flashbacks, death, blood, gore, implied/referenced brainwashing, implied/referenced torture
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the song featured
Note: Flashbacks take place in December 1938
Leningrad, U.S.S.R.
13 December 1973
07:00
The Winter Soldier scales the side of an apartment building, reaching the roof in under a minute. It is flat and open, offering no protection from the elements, but is clear of hostiles. He pulls his body over the roof's edge, planting both feet on the solid surface before locating his vantage point. He moves, kneeling down in a corner on the other side of the roof before assembling his sniper rifle (his handlers give him judgmental looks for preferring a model from the fifties but do not voice their objections so long as he continues to complete his objectives).
He sets his rifle on the edge of the building first before rearranging his body into that of a sniper's stance, adjusting both himself and the gun until he finds a suitable position. He peers down his scope and methodically scans the crowded area until he is able to locate The Target (Svetlana Vladimirovna Shvernik, a former employee of The Red Room caught lifting sensitive Intel. Intel has been recovered, but The Target knows too much. Confirm death within twenty four hours) sitting on a couch in an apartment complex located approximately a block and a half away. The Target's legs are tucked under her body, a novel in her lap and a blanket casually thrown over her shoulders. She appears as though she's been in that position for a several hours and has no plans of moving, which will make surveillance easy.
The Winter Soldier watches The Target for approximately forty-five minutes before there is any sort of movement. Her head suddenly flies up and twists to the side before she smiles, gazing fondly at something in the distance that The Winter Soldier is unable to identify due to the placement of an inconveniently drawn curtain. He is on his guard as a man enters a worn down apartment just as the daylight is fading from the sky. He sighs heavily, shutting the door behind him, pulling off his coat and hat before hanging both items on the coatrack nearby.
"I'm home," the man shouts.
"Living room," a different voice calls.
The man walks further into the apartment, eyes scanning the living room until he spots another man (blond, thin, slight wheezing) sitting on a worn couch with a tattered blanket thrown over his legs, notebook settled in his lap as he carefully glides the pencil held between fingers across the page.
"Hey," the first man greets.
The blond hums. "Well, hello there, Mr. Promotion. How was your day?" he asks without looking up.
"It was great! The hours might be longer, but the pay is definitely worth it," the first man says as he plops down on the couch. He moves the blond's notebook out of the way before settling his head in the second man's lap, curling the rest of his body into a ball and making himself comfortable.
"Bucky! I'm trying to draw," the blond says, laughter in his tone.
The first man (Bucky, apparently? What a stupid name) makes a noise of discontent. "But, I need room for my head," he answers, shifting so he can nuzzle his nose fondly against the other's thigh.
The blond laughs lowly. He starts combing his fingers through Bucky's sweaty and unruly hair, working out the knots and tangles.
Bucky sighs content, leaning into the touch and arching his back when his scalp is scratched in the right place.
The blond laughs again. "I swear, sometimes you're just like a cat."
"'M not a cat, Steve," Bucky mumbles, sounding as though he could fall asleep at any second.
Steve (?) makes a noise of disagreement. He scratches Bucky's scalp again, causing the latter to emit a high-pitched whine.
"That's real nice, Stevie."
"Yeah, I'll bet it is," Steve says under his breath. He is silent for a few beats before he starts singing, his voice low and comforting as he gently works out a particularly difficult knot. "Blue skies smiling at me. Nothing, but blue skies do I see. Bluebirds singing a song. Nothing, but bluebirds all day long. Never saw the sun shining so bright. Never saw the things going so right. Notice the days hurrying by. When you're in love, my how they—"
The sound of a car backfiring violently pulls The Winter Soldier back into reality, causing him to spring to his feet, knife in hand and gaze sharp as he scans the immediate area and street below, searching for a threat. Once he determines there is no danger, he pockets his weapon and reassumes his previous stance, mentally scolding himself for zoning out. He peers down his sights and discovers that The Target is no longer alone. There is a man sitting on the couch with her, whom The Winter Soldier assumes to be her husband (and it honestly does not matter how many people The Target has in that apartment with her, they will all die the same if they interfere with the mission).
As he continues his observation, he can't help but think back to those people he saw in his head. Who were they? Were they former handlers? No, they were too young; all of his handlers are at least in their forties if not older. They must have been Targets. Yes, that makes sense. He must have observed and eliminated them on a previous assignment . . . except he remembers the face of every single hostile he has killed for the sake of his handlers and he does not remember those two. In addition, if they were Targets, then why would he only see the blond one through a first person perspective? Who was the other one? Who is Bucky?
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The morning passes, and The Winter Soldier is becoming increasingly bored with surveillance by sixteen hundred twenty three hours. He tried entertaining himself by mapping out every visible entry point (seven total—four windows, the front door, the fire escape, the ventilation system) as well as the most efficient way to execute The Target (either with a knife or his bare hands so he does not needlessly waste ammo) but even that activity became tedious after some time.
He shifts, adjusting his position after being prone for so long before settling back in. The Target and her husband are currently sitting on their floor, wrapping an assortment of toys and clothes in brightly colored paper. He thinks they are called gifts—something that is usually given to loved ones around the holiday season or on a birthday. The Winter Soldier does not think he has ever been given a gift and would not know what to do with one.
He turns his head to the sky and finds that there is a multitude of thick, gray clouds hovering above him. The Winter Soldier frowns, thinking that it might snow. His handlers did not inform him of the forecast during his briefing, but any change with the weather will not hinder the mission.
" . . . But, be careful though. The melted snow from yesterday probably froze over and you know how bad the roads and walkways get around here."
"I know," is the response from a man perched on the edge of a bed, lacing up his old brown boots and glancing at his blond friend from the corner of his eye. "I'll be fine."
The blond rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's what you said the last time right before you slipped and nearly broke a hip!"
"But, I didn't," the man responds as he finishes tying his boots. He turns his head to the side so he can look properly the blond and manages to hold back a laugh at the frustrated pout on the other's face. "I'll see you when I get home."
"See ya, Bucky."
Bucky (the same man from before?) rises from the bed and throws a wave over his shoulder before leaving their bedroom (they share a room and a bed because that's all they can afford at the moment with Bucky's salary and Steve's odd jobs). He stops in the foyer, pulling on his coat and hat before heading out the front door.
He makes his way to work, waving to his neighbors and checking out the girls and guys that pass him. He is almost at the docks when his attention is captured by a window display across the street. He carefully crosses the road (making sure to avoid the ice) and is soon faced with a gorgeous sketchbook and matching pencil set. He instantly decides that he has to get it for Steve and even though it is a little out of his price range, he does not have to tell Steve how much it cost.
With a sly smile, Bucky looks up to get the name of the store so he can come back tonight after he has been paid, andThe Winter Soldier's eyes fly open, horrified that the face reflected back in the window mirrors his own, just a few years younger and clean-shaven with shorter hair and an honest smile.
His breath hitches, mind whirling as he tries to comprehend everything he has seen so far. His name is Bucky; he had a friend named Steve. They lived in a shit apartment with secondhand furniture, but they were happy just being together. He—The Winter Soldier, whose name is Bucky—had an entire life prior to becoming an Asset to The Red Room that he has no recollection of.
His mission is temporarily cast aside—a tactical error he can review later—as he reviews everything he has seen so far in his visions, wondering if there is anything else he has forgotten.
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At eighteen hundred hours, he follows The Target and her husband to a Ball of some sort being held at The Winter Palace, something that his handlers failed to mention was occurring today. He climbs to the roof of the complex across the street, choosing a spot hidden in the shadows before pulling out his thermal binoculars. Since his last vision, he has not allowed himself to think about Bucky or Steve, fearing that any more distractions could compromise the overall success of the mission—something that he cannot afford to let happen.
The Winter Soldier raises his binoculars to his face and scans the Ballroom for The Target before locating her on the dance floor, her hands clasped tightly with her husband's as they expertly move in synchronization. The Winter Soldier watches, surprisingly enraptured by the dancing, and feeling an irritating itch in the back of his mind as if he has seen these moves before.
"You're going to teach me how to dance?" Steve asks.
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Bucky answers as he moves the coffee table out of the way. "'Sides, every fella should at least know the basics to the waltz—it's a classic."
Steve rolls his eyes. "I don't exactly have dames lining up to dance with me, Buck."
"The right one will come along some day, Stevie—and don't gimme that look, you know I'm right," Bucky adds when Steve looks like he wants to argue. He walks back to the other side of the room and stops directly in front of Steve. He smiles and holds out his hand. "Shall we?"
Steve sighs heavily. He places his hand within Bucky's, allowing himself to be hauled to feet and have his limbs arranged in the basic hold of the Waltz.
"How are we supposed to dance without any music?" Steve asks.
"We can just pretend there's music playing like when we were kids," Bucky says.
Steve smiles fondly before shaking his head. "Alright, show me how it's done."
Bucky grins and launches into the lesson, guiding Steve slowly through the routine. "Stop looking down," he says after only a few minutes of dancing together.
"If I don't, I'll keep stepping on you," Steve responds, glancing up at his friend and almost immediately stepping on his foot afterwards.
Bucky shrugs. "I'll be fine, don't worry about it."
"You won't be saying that when I accidentally break your toes," Steve mumbles under his breath and Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes.
Bucky spends the next ten minutes or so running through the basic technique with Steve before letting his friend to lead. Steve is concentrating hard, trying not to look at his feet and looking absolutely crushed with he has to.
As the lesson continues, Bucky starts noticing things about Steve. Like the dip in his brow, and the way that he chews on his lower lip while trying to remember the steps. The way his long, blond bangs fall across his face, casting a shadow that emphasizes the striking blue of his eyes. Steve might not think he is anything special because girls don't notice him, but he does not need a girl's approval for that. There are so many amazing qualities about Steve. Like his wit and the way he will stand up for what he believes in and continue fighting even when everyone else has given up. There is his talent and the way he can recreate any object in perfect detail after only viewing it once. He is a fighter, spontaneous, more complex than anyone could ever give him credit for. He is the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever laid eyes on, and it is in this moment that Bucky realizes that. . .
. . . he was in love with Steve. And probably had been for his entire life.
The Winter Soldier sits in shock as the vision slowly fades from his mind, binoculars lowered from his face and held loosely in his hands. His name is Bucky, he was in love with Steve, and he forgot everything. No, that does not make sense. One does not simply forget about the person they love unless . . . unless it was stolen from him, the memories of his former life uprooted and taken forcibly without his consent. But, who could have done it?
The Winter Soldier narrows his eyes. Zola. It had to have been him—he was the first one who introduced him to The Chair and always delighted in telling him that he was nothing—a useless nobody—before Hydra and The Red Room made him great. The Winter Soldier breathes heavily through his nose, allowing his mind to entertain the thought of bashing Zola's head in with the arm he gave him.
He raises his binoculars to his face and searches for The Target, relocating her near the food table. Despite the visions leaving his mind a mess, he has no choice but to see his mission through. If his handlers find out he has abandoned the mission because he remembers his former life, they will track him down, force him into The Chair and stick him in The Tank until they deem him useful again.
.
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Once The Target has returned home and been asleep for a few hours, The Winter Soldier prepares to break into her apartment via the fire escape. He has not had another vision since he was at The Winter Palace, but has found that he cannot stop his mind from wandering back to Steve and what could have become of him. He finds himself hoping that wherever he is that he is happy— hell, maybe even married to Peggy with kids of his own (even though the thought of Steve being with someone else utterly destroys him inside).
The Winter Soldier pauses, wondering who Peggy could be before shaking off the thought. He ascends the fire escape until he reaches The Target's level. He kneels in front of the window, using his metal arm to force open the window so he can slip inside. His footfalls are nonexistent as he silently makes his way through the apartment, opening the door to the master bedroom and finding The Target asleep on her back with her husband on her left, both unaware of the killer lurking inches from their pulls out his knife, creeping next to The Target and rising to his feet so he is hovering over her. With a quick flick of his wrist, The Target's throat is open and leaking blood, her chest stilling as a single noticeable sigh escapes her lips.
Mission completed, The Winter Soldier leaves the bedroom with the intention of reporting to the safe house in Suoranda when something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He turns his head, finding some sort of green plant dangling above the kitchen door. The Winter Soldier cocks his head to the side, wondering why a plant he has seen before appears so familiar to him.
"It's mistletoe, Buck."
Bucky rolls his eyes before going back to tending to the soup, which is more water than noodles, but at least it will keep them sustained for the rest of the night. "Where'd ya find that?"
"Downstairs, someone left it on top of the mailbox."
Bucky hums and turns down the burner so their food does not burn. He walks away from the stove and over to Steve, who is sitting at the table, twirling the plant between his long fingers. He crouches down, resting his forearms on Steve's bony knees and looking at the plant curiously.
"You know what they say about mistletoe?"
"That if you catch someone under it, you have'ta kiss them or else it's bad luck."
Steve nods. He stops twirling the mistletoe and tucks it behind Bucky's ear, both hands moving to cup either side of Bucky's face. Steve's lips part and he moves, gently placing his mouth over Bucky's and it takes less than second for Bucky to respond, bracing his hands on Steve's knees and raising himself up so they have a better angle. Steve's arms wind around Bucky's neck, tugging him closer and deepening their kiss.
"Been thinking about doing that since we danced," Bucky admits after they part breathlessly.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve asks, a soft smile on his reddened lips.
"Why didn't you?" Bucky counters gently. "How long?"
"Since we danced."
Bucky shakes his head fondly at their daftness. He leans up to connect their mouths together again before he pauses, looking at Steve suspiciously. "That's not real mistletoe is it?"
Steve purses his lips and shakes his head, eyes glinting mischievously. "No. It's pine needles from the Tree in the lobby that I tied a ribbon around."
Bucky laughs. "Yer a fucking punk," is all he manages to say before Steve's mouth is on his.
"Hey!"
The Winter Soldier whirls around, forcibly pulled from the depths of his mind only to discover that he's on the wrong end of a shotgun. The Target's husband is behind him, unrestrained anger visible in his eyes as he cocks the gun. The Winter Soldier throws the knife still clasped in his hand, watching as the tip of the blade slides squarely between the husband's eyes.
The husband's body falls to the ground in a crumpled heap as the shotgun clatters on the ground next to him. The Winter Soldier moves, removing his knife from the husband's skull and sheathing it. He walks away from the body and slips back out the window from which he entered, shutting it behind him with a barely audible click.
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Suoranda, U.S.S.R.
14 December 1973
01:00
It is the middle of the night when The Winter Soldier arrives at the safe house. He picks the lock and enters the run down building. He runs hand along the wall until he finds a light switch, flipping it and watching as the room is illuminated by a dim glow. His eyes wander over the covered furniture as he breathes in the stale air that reeks of mothballs.
There is a kitchenette in the far left corner that only contains a small sink and a radio resting on top of the dusty countertop. He does not know what possess him to turn on the radio, but he does, listening as a voice he does not recognize fills the silent space around him. The Winter Soldier turns the nob next to the sink out of curiosity and is surprised when clean water spews from the pipes after an unknown number of years of disuse. He is reaching for his dirty knife right as the song changes, the lyrics causing him to freeze in place as they register with his mind.
Blue skies
Smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see
Bluebirds
Singing a song
Nothing but blue birds
All day long
The Winter Soldier clutches the edge of the sink, listening as the metal is crushed beneath his metal hand. He is furious. He had a life, a name, and a lover, but it was all taken from him. Everything he had ever known and valued was taken from him and for what purpose?
He is lost in his memories that he does not notice the air shifting around him until it has been lingering for some time. The Winter Soldier whirls around, eyeing the silhouette in the doorway and cursing himself for allowing his guard to drop completely. He opens his mouth to demand to know who managed to sneak up on him, but only one word comes out:
"Steve?"
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"The Asset is remembering—requesting an immediate wipe."
"Permission granted."
The Winter Soldier fights against the restraints of The Chair, which he woke up in after The Red Room's foot soldiers tranquilized him and brought him back to The Red Room's Main Faculty in Moscow. The safe house was being monitored for his returned, and he should have known better, but he was so wrapped in his head—so focused on Steve, that he forgot to sweep the area and now he is paying for his amateur mistake.
Lukin, his current handler, watches almost gleefully from the other side of the room while The Winter Soldier struggles, arms crossed over his chest and pleased smile planted on his lips.
"You won't take my memories from me," The Winter Soldier blurts, knowing full well that he could be punished for speaking out of tern.
Lukin raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asks amused. "We've successfully preformed this procedure multiple times in the past. What's going to prevent us from doing it now?"
"Steve," The Winter Soldier declares confidently, despite his mind screaming that confirming that he remembers his former life has sealed his fate. "I know him. He won't stop looking until he finds me and when he does, he's going to kill every single one of you motherfuckers starting with you."
Lukin laughs, a low, harsh noise that makes it sound like he is choking. "Soldier, are you aware of the date? Today is December Fourteenth, Nineteen-Seventy Three, approximately," he pauses to check his watch, "Eleven hundred hours. This year marks the twenty-eighth anniversary of your Captain's death."
The Winter Soldier feels his breath leave him at the reveal of this new information. It could not be possible—not Steve. Steve had become strong, he was healthy, he could breathe, he could walk upstairs without wheezing, he did not get sick. He could run, he could fight—how could he . . . he could he be . . .
The Winter Soldier is so distracted by his utter shock that he does not realize Lukin has moved until a mouth guard is shoved between his slacked lips and The Chair is slowly shifting backwards. As the electric pads above The Chair lower onto his head, cracking with energy, The Winter Soldier clings to his memories of Steve, vowing never to forget him again . . .
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Dancing bears, painted wings
Things I almost remember
And a song, someone sings
Once upon a December.