A/N: This is a little different for me. I usually write in past tense and my stories are largely dialogue-driven. But I got this prompt on avengerkink and it was just so gloriously sad and I could see it happening so I had to write it. It's not my usual style, so it may not be the same quality I usually write, but I actually kind of like it. Thoughts?
Disclaimer: Poor Bucky. Poor, poor Bucky. I just want to give him a hug after all he's been through and well, if it was up to me he wouldn't have to suffer because I don't like all the torture-y stuff but oh Bucky what have I done to you
He's broken.
Just bits and pieces of the man, the men, he once was.
Bucky, the Winter Soldier. Both identities are equally foreign to him now.
There are nights when he wakes up from a swirl of nightmarish images of blood, bullets, bodies lying in the snow. And his mind is a complete blank. He doesn't know who he is or where he is. But Steve is always there, stroking his shoulder and whispering, "It's okay, Bucky. You're safe. I won't let them get to you."
Steve is real. He can trust Steve, even if he can't trust himself.
And he can trust the people Steve trusts.
Tony and Bruce are Steve's friends. "I'd die for them," Steve says. "And they'd do the same for me."
That's all he needs to hear.
He spends hours in Bruce and Tony's lab. They're good people. Kind, patient, understanding. They call him Bucky, just like Steve does. That, more than anything, reassures him that they just want to help.
Bruce teaches him meditation. His calm, soothing voice grounds him in the moment. When he talks with Bruce about what he remembers, Bruce sits quietly and listens. He pours him a cup of tea and doesn't say anything when his hand starts to shake.
Tony doesn't listen. He just talks, about everything from Steve's first moments out of the ice, to the upgrades he wants to make to the mechanical arm. Tony's enthusiasm is infectious. He acts as if he can fix everything. And maybe, maybe he starts to believe Tony can even fix him.
But there are plenty of bad days. There are days when a knock on the door sounds like a gunshot, when a butter knife becomes a deadly weapon he has to knock out of Bruce's hands. And every time Natasha stops by, they all have to hold him back. No matter how many times Steve tells him she's a friend, he can't fight down the impulse to grab a knife and hurl it at her.
It's not right. He knows it's not right. Steve doesn't want him killing people. But he can't stop himself. Not even for Steve.
After every encounter with Natasha, Steve takes him to the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian. It feels like a refuge. He isn't sure of too many things these days, but he's sure of Steve. And Steve's face is plastered all over the exhibit. Maybe that's why he knew to look for him here in the aftermath.
They take their time walking through every inch of the exhibit, looking at every picture. There are some faces that are achingly familiar. Men in WWII uniforms, smiling and laughing together. The Howling Commandos. He knows he should know them, but the memories are just out of reach.
Right before they leave, they always stop in front of the display dedicated to James "Bucky" Barnes. It's his picture on the wall. And the bio under it is all about his life and actions in the war. But it's like reading about a stranger.
Steve is better at hiding his disappointment now, but it's still there in the set of his jaw.
He's so tired of disappointing Steve. He wants to remember. He wants to be the Bucky that Steve always talks about so highly. They tell him he's making progress, but that's what they told him the month before. And the month before that.
But they have the machine now.
It's in a corner of the lab, partially covered with a tarp. He pulled off the tarp once, curious to see what new project Tony was working on. And there it was.
He didn't know he was capable of such a pathetic whimper.
Bruce was at his side instantly, hastily tossing the tarp back over the machine. "We're not going to hurt you," he said in a voice reserved for injured animals. "We just want to help."
"Help me get better," he said, repeating what Steve kept telling him.
There was a look of desperate relief on Bruce's face.
He told himself that he could do it. That Steve's friends were doing this for his own good. That they would be gentle.
But Bruce steered him over to the other side of the lab and Tony began rambling on about the synthetic skin he was going to put over his mechanical arm, how it was going to look completely natural, and wouldn't it be nice to finally look normal again?
It would be nicer to feel normal.
Days passed anxiously anticipating being put back into the machine. Every time Steve sent him down to spend time in the lab, he felt fear in the pit of his stomach. The nightmares got worse. Faceless people screamed in terror and he watched himself put a bullet through their heads. He woke kicking and thrashing.
He's unstable. Erratic. They should put him back in the machine. Fix him. Make him the person Steve wants him to be.
But they don't.
It's a test, he decides. To see how badly he wants to get better. When he's ready to be Bucky, they won't have to force him into the machine. He'll volunteer.
And he will. Eventually. He does want to be Bucky again, after all. He really does. But right now, his fear of the pain is stronger than his desire to get better. He remembers the taste of the plastic mouthpiece wedged between his teeth and the bite of the metal straps against his wrist and he doesn't think he can do that ever again. Not even for Steve.
It takes a particularly bad nightmare to change his mind. In the dream, he's walking towards Steve, firing another shot at him with each step. Steve's face is anguished as he whispers, "Bucky, it's me. Don't you remember?"
But he keeps advancing until Steve is backed against the wall and the gun is pressed against his forehead. Steve closes his eyes and drops his shield.
He wakes up right before he pulls the trigger, panting and gasping, desperately reaching for Steve.
Steve is already awake. "Shh, Bucky," he says, threading fingers through his hair. "It was just a dream. You're safe now."
Safe. He's safe. But is Steve safe?
"You want me to get better, don't you?" he asks.
"More than anything," Steve says with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "And you will. Don't worry, Buck."
Steve smiles, but it's strained. It doesn't reach his eyes.
Ad it hits him suddenly. He's breaking Steve.
He sees it in Steve's bloodshot eyes, the lines of exhaustion in his face. The supersoldier serum has made Steve stronger, but even Steve can't keep going on like this forever.
"Let's get back to sleep," Steve mumbles. He stifles a yawn.
Steve has a mission in the morning, he remembers. He's spending the day with Tony and Bruce while Steve, Natasha and Sam take out another Hydra base.
He should be there with them, cleaning up the damage. After all, he was once part of Hydra. It's his mess to clean up, not Steve's.
But he sits home like an invalid while Steve runs himself ragged.
He was a soldier once. He should be fighting by their side. Be helpful, be useful, be an asset to Steve's team.
But first, he has to get better.
His resolve is strengthened when Steve comes back from his mission battered and bloody. Natasha and Sam have their arms around him, helping him limp his way into the tower.
He rushes to Steve's side.
Natasha immediately backs into a defensive stance. But he couldn't care less about her right now. Not when all his focus is on Steve.
He's never seen Steve in such terrible shape. His costume is torn in several places and he looks like he's been shot in the chest a few times and once in the hip. It doesn't make sense. Steve is usually so good with his shield. He doesn't get hurt this badly.
He takes Natasha's place at Steve's side and helps ease him down onto the couch.
"Thanks, Buck," Steve says tiredly. He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. "God, what a shitty day."
Steve will heal. Of course he will. His body always heals. But seeing him like this is so hard. He runs his hand over a bloody gash on Steve's shoulder. Getting beaten up like this has to leave scars somewhere. They won't be visible anymore, but they'll still be there, scarring Steve's spirit.
"Hey, none of that," Steve says, opening one eye. "I'll be fine." He puts a hand over his. "Tell me about how it went down in the lab. Tony said he was going to have you listening to old records today."
He opens his mouth to begin and then changes his mind. Steve doesn't need any more disappointment today. He doesn't need to hear how he can't recognize any of the big band tunes Tony says was popular back in the day.
He settles onto the sofa next to Steve and tries not to panic when he sees the bloody hand print on his shirt after Steve pats his shoulder.
Sam disappears downstairs to find Bruce, and when he returns Tony is trailing after them.
"What the hell happened?" Tony exclaims.
Natasha shushes him and draws back into a private corner of the room. But he still picks up bits and pieces of their conversation.
"He didn't see the sniper. It was-"
"That's not like him."
"-hasn't been focused lately."
Tony snorts and stalks back to the elevators.
No, it's not like Steve to mess up a mission. Steve is brave, Steve is strong, Steve is perfect.
And he's ruining him.
He needs to stop being a coward. Steve is more important than he is. The world needs Captain America. It doesn't really need Bucky.
"I think I'll stay down in the lab tonight," he whispers in Steve's ear.
Steve tenses and looks at him with a mixture of confusion and hurt.
"Just for tonight," he assures him. If everything goes according to plan, one night will be all he needs.
"It's probably for the best," Bruce agrees as he lays a bandage over Steve's shoulder. "You'll heal a lot faster if your wounds aren't jostled in the middle of the night."
He doesn't mention the fact that a full night's sleep will probably help Steve heal, too.
Steve just nods. Too tired to argue, probably.
Bruce pats Steve's good shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of him."
With a heavy groan, Steve lifts himself off the couch and staggers in the direction of his bedroom. Bruce walks beside him, murmuring encouragements.
He can't watch this. He flees back down to the lab.
Tony is deep in the middle of a new project. He spares him only a brief glance and cranks up a Glenn Miller record.
This is it. Time to stop letting everyone down. Time to stop endangering Steve's life.
He tugs off the tarp and carefully eases himself into the chair. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
He can do this.