I do not own Captain America anything.
Or a Bucky. It's probably for the best.
Pieces of a Broken Puzzle
He wrote down everything.
Every snippet, every whiff, every breath of a memory.
Anything. Everything.
No matter how insignificant seeming, he wrote it down.
Filed it away.
Trying desperately to recover what he had lost.
His mind. His memories.
His self.
Who am I?
He carried them with him.
Pored over them.
The little notebooks.
He filled every page.
With writings.
Drawings.
With himself.
When one was filled to completion, not an inch more space, he retrieved the backpack.
And added it to the stack.
Hid it away again in a safe place.
And obtained another notebook.
Who am I?
They were random. Scattered.
Broken.
His memories. His dreams.
His life.
Like him.
But he saved them anyway.
Because they were all he had.
When I was a kid, I stole a Baby Ruth from the newspaper stand.
I hid in an alley and ate it.
Then I started crying and told my mom.
She wiped the tears and chocolate off my face with her apron.
And we walked to the newspaper man and she gave me the nickel to pay him back and apologize.
We went home and she made me promise never to steal again.
I never did.
Snickers.
Twix.
Three Musketeers.
Baby Ruth.
Man cannot live on candy alone.
And neither could Bucky Barnes back in the day.
But they were awfully good.
Then he went off to war, was captured, tortured, experimented on, and eventually rescued.
Followed the little guy once again into service. This time as part of the Howling Commandos.
Fell away into ice and snow.
And at the merciless hands of Hydra, became the Winter Soldier.
For fifty long years.
Reunited with his friend.
Nearly killed him.
Broke free.
Saved his life.
And ran away.
And now, trying to rebuild himself, he lived as quietly as he could.
Moving from country to country.
City to city.
Hiding.
Surviving.
Trying to piece his shattered psyche back together.
In Bucharest, he saw them.
Sitting quietly on a shelf in a shop.
Thought he remembered.
And spent precious bani he didn't need to on them.
Candy bars.
He didn't eat them all the time, he didn't crave them.
But the first time James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes unwrapped a Baby Ruth.
Bit into the peanuty, nougaty, caramely confection, he was so overwhelmed with nostalgia and lost hope he almost cried.
Because it was the first time he thought he might truly remember what it felt like to be human again.
And him.
Tumblr via Pinterest called to my attention that among other important bits of things that will show up here, there are candy bars in Bucky's Bucharest hideout.
And I freaked.
So here I am. Just writing away tho I am sure I am not the first.
Wanna read?
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