The Search for Rebecca Barnes

by KHB123

The Winter Soldier is in hiding, slowly recollecting his memories and struggling with his sanity, weeks after the battle with Captain America. At the Smithsonian, he meets a little girl whose kindness allows him to find pieces of his humanity. Through her, he also discovers a connection to someone from his past. Someone, besides Steve, who was the closest to him. His little sister.

1. Chapter 1

The Winter Soldier in the Smithsonian

This starts out when the Winter Soldier visits the Smithsonian museum to try to recover his memories, a few weeks after he left Steve Rogers injured on the shore during the events of Captain America 2. I actually picked this up off another head canon that I found really inspiring and just felt like there should be more added to the story, such as what happened to Bucky Barnes while Captain America was still searching for him, before Avenger 2. I have written a four part story about this and I hope you enjoy it. I also decided to mix it with some facts from the comic books that they should have hinted in the movie.

The Winter Soldier has remained undetected for weeks, now wearing a hat and worn clothes, the beard growth covering his face as he kept his head down, his dark hair strands and cap kept over his ice-blue eyes. Finally escaping the crowd, he stepped up to the exhibit he had been looking for, the one the man called Captain America had called him when he first saw his face...I knew him.

James Buchanan Barnes. 1917-1944. That face...it is me. Rogers was telling the truth...he was my friend. My friend! Oh God, what have I done? He continued staring at the face of Barnes, the person whom Rogers was best friends with his whole life...Steve Rogers, whom he had ruthlessly tried to murder...

"You should tie your hair back," a little voice piped up. He looks down and sees a fair-haired little girl with colorful pigtails looking up at the Winter Soldier. He stares down at her, silent, but she continues undeterred. "Mommy says that we need to have our hair tied back or we'll trip over things because we can't see. She makes me wear these—" She displays her wrist, which is encircled by a rainbow of different hair bands. "—because mine keeps falling out. You can't fight evil if you can't see it. I want to be a police officer when I grow up. Are you a…"

She trails off, her eyes steadily getting bigger. They dart to the large digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, then back to his face. The Winter Soldier's eyes dart, too, over the exits and the crowd and the girl's distracted mother—a dark-haired young woman, who looked around his age (in appearance), who was in deep conversation with another couple—before landing back on the girl's face, where an improbable grin had begun to grow.

"I knew it," she whispers.

The Winter Soldier blinks down at her, thrown off by the delight in her expression. No one is ever happy to see the Soldier. Not after everything he has done...what Pierce made him do...what he never questioned, until a few weeks ago...

The girl reins in her wide grin and does her own scan of the crowd. "Don't worry, I won't tell. People can't handle the truth. But I can." She turns her shining eyes back to the Soldier. "Do you want a hair tie? I think blue is more your color, like your eyes. And you do have nice eyes."

At first, he didn't know what to do. Her kindness was strange, alien...but in a good way. He didn't want it to go away; he didn't want to frighten her off. Slowly, very slowly, the Soldier reaches out with his real hand, one of the hands that have broken, maimed, strangled, shot, stabbed, and ripped apart human flesh. Without taking her eyes off him, the girl rolls a bright navy blue one out of the rainbow and hands it over.

His voice creaks out of him, rusty with disuse. "Thank you."

When the tie lands in his palm like a light feather, she then holds out her tiny hand with confidence. "I'm Maisie. Maisie Proctor. I'm six. What's your name?"

So small, so innocent, thoughts echoed in his head, while he was staring down at her tiny extended hand, and thought with a cold chill how easily it could be crushed in his metal grip.

"It's okay," said Maisie, encouragingly. "I know who you are, but if you don't use your real name, we can make something up."

The Soldier remembered what Rogers kept calling him, the memory burned in his mind like a headache, like something that would be "prepped" painfully from his mind between missions. The name seemed stupid to him, but despite his constant denials, it somehow felt right. After a long hesitation, he slowly and very gently took her hand, which was small and soft in his large, rough-callused one. "My name is Bucky," he said softly. Not a name that you shiver in fear, he realized. Not the Winter Soldier, but someone a child would appreciate. Someone I used to be.

It was so strange. Everything he touched either died, broke, or bled; he had felt nothing but the cold within that remained frozen like ice, killed without a second thought, moved on without looking back (or at least tried to, in certain times of mental crisis)...but this was the first time since he had saved Steve Rogers from drowning that he had touched another human being without causing any fatal damage; a tiny little girl who felt no fear towards him. Everything that had made him who and what he was, the ice that had kept him solid and empty for so long, started to melt from the warmth of her smile and touch.

"Everybody's been talking about you," said Maisie with wide eyes. "They say you blew up a lot of places and attacked a lot of people and I was scared at first, but you saved Captain America when those big ships came down! Mommy and my friends still say you're a terrorist, but I think you're a hero, saving Captain America and all! Yeah, I know-" Seeing the surprised look on his face. "-it's was in the news: Captain America was found on shore when people thought he drowned. He was really badly hurt, but he's fine now. It was obvious. You two were the only ones there, so who else could have saved him? People don't believe me 'cause I'm weird, but I'm right, aren't I? The museum says you're Captain America's best friend, but you're supposed to be dead, and now here you are. How come you're not, like, old or something?" Then, for the first time, she looked a little worried. "Are you still hurting people?"

You mean am I still killing people? He said nothing, as he thought of the drunken construction worker he murdered only a week ago and was now wearing his clothes to hide himself. It had been a quick death, an act of survival he learned as a Soviet assassin, but he couldn't tell her that. He didn't like his kills, nor did he dislike them...he had learned to not feel anything when he killed, to not think about it once it was done. But ever since he had been about to end Rogers on the ship, when Steve told him those strongly familiar words "I'm with you until the end of the line," the Soldier had started to feel emotions that he had been trying so hard to deny: confusion, distress, horror, shame...everything had fallen apart. He couldn't kill Steve Rogers. He was the only link to his past, and he had felt a moment of familiar connection to the Captain, a moment that he craved to look deeper into, no matter how deeply frightening it felt. He needed to know the truth, no matter how badly it was going to turn out, but he was certainly not going back to Hydra to be used, tortured, and "wiped clean" over and over until he reached the breaking point of truly feeling like a cold, empty machine again. There had been a time when he didn't care anymore about what happened to him, or what they used him for, just as long the living hell they had over him eventually ended...but with little Maisie looking at him with innocent curiosity, the last thing he ever wanted to do now was to frighten her into thinking she was talking to the cold-hearted, killer machine he was.

"I don't want to hurt you," he finally answered.

"I know you don't. But what about other people?"

He glanced around to watch some people pass by. "They give me no reason to. They pose no occupational hazard on my life, or the attempt of crisis in the natural order."

"Occu-what?"

He had forgotten he was speaking to six year-old, and that he was basically repeating similar words that Pierce had used to manipulate the system. He was suddenly sickened by what he said and closed his eyes. "Forget it. Don't listen to me." He looked down at Maisie for a long minute, and whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

"Huh? I don't know what you mean." Maisie was confused.

His normally expressionless face was breaking again, his eyes wet and full of despair and confusion. Flashes of clouded memory threatened to surface, but had once-again failed like a burnt out cloud. "You shouldn't be near me. After everything I've done, you should be afraid of me. I have done things...things I can't even tell you about. They call me a ghost from the past, a shadow in the brink of war and destruction..." A killer of the innocent, like you. "He called my work a gift to mankind. Before he would shock me, 'prep' me for a mission, he would tell me I was 'shaping the century,' but I am the monster that your American hero should have killed, whom I was going to kill. A monster, Maisie..." They may have erased the memories of who he was before, but what Hydra never erased was the memories of the people he killed. Innocent people. It was only by looking at Maisie that he felt the shame overwhelm him again. "The picture in front of us, the man who was James Buchanan Barnes, is dead. I try to remember who I am, have always tried, but they burned it out of me...and even when I get flashes, I feel as if I'm falling apart. They had me try to kill a man I once knew, and anyone else who got in the way...I couldn't even remember my own name...why aren't you afraid of me?" he finished in a shaky whisper. He looked away, but somehow he couldn't walk away. He realized with guilt that every word he just said to Maisie was what he had wanted to tell Steve Rogers, but couldn't. The whole world was trapping him in one place, enclosing around him like the walls of his cryonic tube when in hibernation; cold, desolate, lonely, empty. He felt trapped, bathed in the blood of his victims, with barely any memory of who he was, surrounded by enemies from both SHIELD and HYDRA, and it seemed that the only friend he had in this world was a failed mission to kill and the only one he was truly hiding from because he wasn't sure that he could face him without starting another fight. It was only now that everything started to hit him; he felt that he would break down, here, in front of a picture of himself from 1944 and a little six year-old girl who had been nothing but friendly to him.

He expected her to run back to her mother in fear, but the little girl stepped forward and pointed at his left side. "Can I see your metal arm?"

Again, the Winter Soldier blinked in surprise, the flood of emotion still shown on his face. Very slowly, careful not to make a mechanical sound, he lifted his left hand-his robotic hand-from the deep pocket of his jacket and showed it to her while hiding it from everyone else.

Her eyes widened in awe. "Can I touch it?"

He watched uneasily as she came closer and reached for the metal hand. The sensors activated to her touch, and very, very gently, his metal fingers closed around her tiny, delicate hands. He was certain that it would be the last straw for him, that he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, if he so much as caused any damage to those hands.

As both of her hands gripped the steel of his robotic arm, her body shaking with excitement from either fear or thrill, she looked up at him, wide blue eyes twinkling as though there was wisdom in their innocence. "I don't think you're a monster, Bucky," she said softly. "I don't even think you're a bad guy. I just think you need a friend. A real friend."

"I'm not gonna fight you," Steve had said, dropping his shield and surrendering himself to the Winter Soldier like an open target. "You're my friend."

"You're my mission," growled the Winter Soldier, beating Steve over and over. Confusion and doubt threatened him, but he fought to ignore it. "YOU'RE. MY. MISSION." He raised his metal arm for the killing blow, but he hesitated.

"Then finish it," mumbled a brutally beaten Rogers, half-conscious and completely in defeat. As the Soldier began to feel doubt, it was then Steve looked up at him with sad affection and said softly, "'Cause I'm with you till the end of the line."

He had known those words. They sounded like his words. In that instant, for the first time, the Soldier was certain he knew Steve Rogers, believed that he was telling the truth...but he just froze, lowering his fist, staring down at the "friend" he had savagely damaged in complete confusion, self-horror, and realization that what he was doing felt very wrong, completely going against everything he would ever do to Steve.* That he would do to his closest friend, whom he didn't remember ever having, but he believed him. It was then he felt shame and terrified for the victim's life, but he had managed to save Rogers from the water, take one last look at him to make sure he was alive, and then walked away, forcing himself not to look back. He had been in hiding ever since.

"I think it's too late for that, kid," the Soldier said softly.

"No, it's never too late," Maisie insisted. "Captain America is your friend. I think you should go back to him. He'll help you. He helps everyone."

The Winter Soldier felt a small, humorless chuckle escape-he couldn't remember having ever cracked a smile in his life with Hydra-but it died quickly when he stared at the picture again of him and Steve laughing together, like everything important in the world was found within each other. "Help me? I don't think anyone can help me. I don't think I can even face him. I didn't leave him in the best shape.''

"He'll forgive you," insisted Maisie. She held on to his robotic hand and pointed at the video of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. "He wants to find you, I know he does! Captain America never gives up on friends. And now that you remember him, neither should you."*

And apparently there was no better way to prove it than risking me killing him, he thought bitterly. "I don't remember everything about him yet, kid..." He then looked down to her and continued, "but when the time comes, I will come to him when he least expects it. We'll see how it ends."

"But you'll try, won't you, Bucky? You'll be good for now on?"

"I'm not the good guy, Maisie, and I don't know if I'll ever be," he said sadly, "but I intend to do everything in my power to right my mistakes. I am done working with those who control me. I control myself now...and I will choose who my enemies are and where I stand when this is all over." When I take down all of those who had tortured, brainwashed, and controlled me after all these years, perhaps then I will end myself. But he didn't tell her that. Instead, he said, "I will do my best to reconcile with this Steve Rogers, your Captain America."

"You promise?"

The glow of hope on her face and her touch on his metal arm gave him a surge of warmth that made him hopeful, doubtful, and guilty at once. Still, whether he was man or machine, he did not want to disappoint her. He felt his lips twitch to the side-another strange impulse that seemed alien to him-though his attempt to smile felt more like a grimace. "I promise."

Maisie smiled back, hers definitely much brighter than his. "I know you can do it. You want it; you just don't know it yet."

The Winter Soldier then looked over at the woman who could be Maisie's mother, who was still chatting with other parents. Realizing his metal hand was still holding hers, he hastily let go and took a step back, hoping to remain discreet despite her standing next to him.

The little girl followed his gaze. "Oh, don't worry. Once Mommy starts talking with other grown-ups, she doesn't even notice that I'm gone." Maisie almost looked sad. "She works at the front desk for Health Insurance. She doesn't like it when I talk to strangers, but she ignores me anyway."

"I find that hard to believe," said the Soldier. "I don't have much experience with families, nor do I associate with them-" Except when I assassinate them. "-but I would never have any reason to ignore you. I would never have trouble letting you out of my sight. One of my areas of expertise."

Maisie giggled. "Yeah, I bet. You being a soldier and all. I think that's why I like you, 'cause we're both weird in our own way. I have a rainbow arm and you have a metal arm, but we both want to do good things. I guess if I want to be a police officer, I have get rid of all my hair ties, huh?"

The Soldier shook his head, lips twitching again. "No...please don't. It's a part of who you are, and...you will grow up someday, have to face the world as it is, but I hope you never have to change who you are, Maisie. Most people I run into usually...well, let's just say the conversation never ends well, especially for them."

"Do you kill 'em?" gasped Maisie.

The Soldier was silent and just gave her a look. She slumped and dropped her gaze. "Oh, okay. Sorry."

Then after a moment's thought, he sighed and then knelt down until his gaze was leveled at her height. He knew some people were watching and had the impulsive urge to rip their eyes out, but he ignored them and looked the little girl in the eye. "Maisie, it's not that it doesn't upset me that I'm already aware of the things I did, but the life I've lead...for years, I trained, fought, and killed in a world of merciless killers and sociopaths, all who have done destructive things that you can never imagine. Not only that I can't tell you about the organization I worked for, but now that I have left them, I would never forgive myself if you left this museum with even the slightest evidence that you have met me discovered by them. That would put you and your family in danger."

"Okay," she nodded sadly. Then she said with wide eyes, "Can we still be friends, Bucky?"

Friends. Her face was so hopeful that he had to look away for a moment, feeling a flood of emotions rise in his throat, but he swallowed it down and met her gaze with forced calm. "I wouldn't be a good friend to you, Maisie. I...once you leave this area, this will have to be the last time you ever have to see me."

"What? Why?" Her eyes became teary.

"If you know me as well as you think, then you would know why you can't ever be around me," he whispered. Then he gently took both her hands in both of his, careful to keep his metal hand hidden. "For as long as I can remember, I have never met anyone as young, bright, and funny as you are, and I have never felt more honored to have met you next to my exhibit...as a human being, not a machine. You have even brought out the longest conversation I ever had with anyone for many years." His tone wavered a bit, but he steadied it. "But you're way too young, and I can't get you involved in my problems. You deserve so much more."

"But I really like you, Bucky, I really do," Maisie croaked. "I don't want to not see you ever again. I really want you to be my friend."

When someone wants to be friends, do you just accept and leave? The Winter Soldier never had friends; only enemies, assets, doctors, and missions. "Then we already are," he finally told her.

"And I want you to know that you're good and I'll never forget about you." A tear ran down her cheek as she sniffled. "I believe in you."*

The Winter Soldier, intrigued by her tear, reached up and gently wiped it away. He had shed tears before; a few times, when they had put his head between two chargers and electrocuted him, when they wiped out his memory over and over. It was more of terror than pain, one of the few things that he dreaded the most, when Hydra was not only messing with his body, but worst of all, his mind. He still had terrible nightmares of those nights in the Hydra lab. But seeing Maisie cry made him think of them putting her into that chair, putting her little head between those prods...the thought terrified him so greatly that he definitely would have taken her place a hundred times over if it meant to keep her away from such agonizing torture.

"I know you won't," he said softly. "And I won't ever forget you either, Maisie Proctor." He held up the blue hair tie she gave him. "Thanks for the hair tie."

Wiping her nose, she then smiled. "Thanks for letting me see your robot arm." Then she leaned in and added in a whisper, "I still won't tell anyone I saw you."

The Winter Soldier-Bucky-then smiled a real smile, and this time, it felt very familiar to him, like the video of James Barnes laughing with Steve Rogers.

"Maisie? What are you doing?" The little girl turned around when her mom noticed, hurrying over to the Barnes exhibit. "Honey, who were you talking to?"

"I-" Maisie turned and to her shock, Bucky had vanished, like he had never been there. She hadn't even felt or heard him leave. He was really that good. She felt like crying, but that would take some explaining to her mom, so she swallowed it down and faced her. "Just some man. He was telling me about the man in the picture, Bucky Barnes. He was Captain America's best friend. He died in battle," she added quickly, but her mother was fishing out her phone.

"That's nice, sweetie," she said, while texting, before putting it away and taking Maisie's hand, "but we have to go now. Your great-Granny's not feeling too well, so we need to go pay her a visit. Your Aunt Kimberly is with her."

Maisie's eyes widened. "Is Granny okay?"

"She was wandering around thinking that she was a teenager and World War II was still happening. The usual." She looked at the exhibit. "So you liked this one, huh?"

"Yep." Maisie nodded. "I think he's a hero." Her mom had no idea who this hero turned out to be.

Mrs. Proctor smiled. "You know what, baby...me too. And someday, your granny and I will tell you why."

"Oh, I already know," said Maisie. "He was the only commando who died 'cause he saved Captain America's life on a train."

"Yes, I know, but that's not what I meant," her mom shook her head. "Look, we need to leave-"

"Wait, Mommy, what do you mean?" Maisie pulled out of her mother's grasp and stood closer to the exhibit. "I want you to tell me now. Please?"

"Well...I was going to wait for Granny to tell you, because it's not really me who should tell you, but..." Mrs. Proctor sighed, and then knelt down next to her daughter. "Alright. You know that your Granny Becca had a big brother. She told you that, after your daddy left?"

Maisie was confused. "Yeah, she said that he died in the war. She was in a boarding school, I think, and he joined the army. She was fourteen and she never saw him again. It was so sad. She said she had a few pictures, but she never showed me 'cause she got sick."

Maisie had barely turned three when her father, Scott Proctor, had left, right after her grandparents both died in a bus accident. Her great-grandfather, Granny Becca's husband, died in his sleep years before she was born, but Maisie remembered that when she was healthier, she and Maisie would visit the Smithsonian, mainly to see the exhibit Captain America and his Howling Commandos, because Granny Becca had only been a kid when the war was happening. She remembered that every time they passed by James Buchanan Barnes exhibit, her great-granny would start crying and three year-old Maisie would ask why she was so sad. "Because he was the only one who died on Captain America's missions," her granny said. "They were like brothers, James and Steve. That sort of loyalty is hard to find these days, sweetie."

Since then, Maisie always kept in mind to remain positive and try to see the best in people, even if they seemed bad. She hoped to prove to Granny Becca that the same spark of loyalty can be found in people, all in different colors-hence, the rainbow of hair ties she wore on her arm.

"Did she ever tell you what her brother's name was?" her mom asked. Maisie shook her head. "Well, this is him."

"What?" The little girl's jaw dropped, staring at her mother the same way she did when recognizing the Winter Soldier. She pointed at the picture. "Him? He's Granny Becca's brother?" Did that mean she just met her great-great uncle, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier? "You knew, and you didn't tell me?"

"Rebecca was in one of her delusions, and she thought that I was a random woman who flirted with her brother, Jimmy, back in the late '30's. When she woke up, I had to ask and she told me everything, starting with Barnes being her maiden name. She also wanted me to keep it quiet so that she can tell you about him herself, when you were older. I'm sorry, baby."

"Does that mean Granny knows Captain America?"

"Yes, but like her brother, she hasn't seen Steve Rogers since she was leaving to a Girls Academy," her mother explained, "which was, like, seventy years ago."

"But Captain America was just in the city, fighting the bad guys! Why didn't she-"

"Maisie, honey, you have to remember that your great-grandmother is old, and she's suffering from Alzheimer's right now. Besides, I'm sure if Captain Rogers knew, and wanted to see Rebecca, he would have done so already. I couldn't imagine having to see my friends suddenly much older than me, after waking up from decades of sleep, right?"

Maisie knew her mother was right. "That's so sad." But it was better than not remembering them, like Bucky. She still couldn't believe she was related to him. She almost wanted to tell her mother that she just met him, met Granny's long-lost older brother who still looked young, strong, and apparently brainwashed, but she remembered her promise to the Winter Soldier and kept it silent. She even wondered if he was still around, hiding and listening; it was hard to tell, but she could imagine the shock he must be feeling.

"It is." Her mother stood up. "But if it really means that much to you, if Captain America isn't too busy saving the world, we can give him a call. It would be tough, but I know a few people who know other people, and they can get in touch with him."

"Really?" squeaked Maisie, a grin spreading. She went over and hugged her mother. "You're the best mom in whole wide world!"

"You'd better believe it," her mom said, smiling and hugging her daughter back.

When they started to leave, Maisie was holding her mother's hand, but looked around the crowd for the Winter Soldier. Finally she spotted him stepping out from a crowd of people; a tall, silent figure with his hair and cap half covering his face, both hands tucked deeply into his pockets. He was staring after her, his blue eyes wide and expression full of astonishment. They were also full of sadness and longing, which is exactly how anyone should feel when discovering they have a family that they can never be a part of.

He was listening. She smiled and, while her mom wasn't looking, waved at him. "Bye," she mouthed, as the crowd dispersed.

Good-bye. The Winter Soldier watched sadly as the little girl-and it turned out, his beautiful great grandniece-walked out the exit of the museum.

I have a sister. Granny Becca. The mother called her Rebecca. Rebecca Barnes Proctor. My little sister. Another link to his past. Here, of all places. He wondered if Rogers knew she was somewhere in the state, in her eighties and suffering from memory loss. Like I did, he thought, and the emotion came back, but this time it was layered with guilt and the new sense of loss. The name was familiar to him, and now that he tried to think back on the times Hydra erased his memory, he might have had flashes of her very briefly-a pretty, dark-haired teenage girl hugging him goodbye with a suitcase and a train waiting for her...1941, both parents died recently...and did I go join the war, with Steve Rogers? No...he was smaller...he couldn't...he wanted to...there was an experiment...a rescue...Bit by bit, the flashes of memory and thought made sense. The more he started to remember, he more awful he felt. The Winter Soldier knew he had much to make up for, to remember and pay for his sins, but there were three important things he knew that would be his top list of priorities: destroying all connections and members of Hydra, confronting Steve Rogers (hopefully, in peaceful terms and to stir some more memories) to seek reconciliation, and reuniting with his sister, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, and Maisie Proctor, his grandniece.

Taking one last look at the digital image of James Buchanan Barnes, feeling already that he was parting with two sides of himself, the old one and the present one, he parted the floor and marched towards the exit, his metal arm flexing mechanically from his pockets. Perhaps he will always be the Winter Soldier, but he was also James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, and he was not dead yet. He will see Steve Rogers again, but not yet. There were still things he had to do alone. It would not change what he did or who he was, but it will satisfy him to know that his old masters and torturers will suffer in his wrath. The cold expression in his eyes hardened and the blue hair tie slipped over his wrist. You can't fight evil if you can't see it, her little voice echoed, sounding much wiser than Alexander Pierce had ever been. He not only made a promise to a faithful little girl to seek redemption, he made a promise to himself. Starting now.