Hey everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter! I'm so so glad you enjoyed it! I'll be posting frequently atm becuase I've written quite a few chapters already. Once I start writing as I post it might take a little longer. Well here you have chapter 2! Enjoy and let me know what you guys think! 3

Chapter 2

James B. Barnes.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky Barnes.

Bucky.

His Bucky.

"Captain Rogers?" He heard a voice above the sound of his shallow breathing. He was staring at the grey marble floor beneath him. His arms were hanging limply at his sides, his shoulders slumped over and his back bent. "Steve?" A different voice spoke up and an arm was placed across his back, "Steve can you hear me?" A cold shiver raced through his entire body and he hunched over even more. His breath started coming out in trembling wheezes and his eyes began to burn with pending tears. Images raced back into the forefront of his mind; memories of hot summers and cheap ice-cream. Of two boys sneaking into the movie theatre when the security guards weren't looking. Of fights in alleys and plasters afterwards. Of strong hands holding him back when he wanted nothing more than to fight, fight, fight and Damn it Buck he had it comin'! I had him on the ropes! Come on! Le'me go Buck!

"Bucky." The word slipped out between his trembling lips and he swallowed his tears, trying to get a grasp on reality again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he was still in the police station, that people were no doubt staring at him. He had to get a grip. He focused on the grounding touch of Sam's arm against his back for a moment, it reminding him that he was still awake, still alive- that he wasn't losing his grip on reality. "Steve? Come on man, work with me here." It was Sam again, his hand brushed across Steve's back comfortingly, "You're okay." He assured him gently, "You're in the New York Police Department with me and Rhodey. You're in the reception area. It's kinda chilly in here, isn't it? Hey… Steve can you hear me?" Steve nodded numbly, clinging onto every word Sam was saying, letting them coax him out of his panicked frenzy, "Steve breathe with me." He was trying to breathe! Really, he was trying so hard but it just wasn't working and Stevie. Breathe with me. You gotta breathe Stevie! I ain't leaving ya! Just please breathe!

Another wave of anxiety washed through Steve and he bent forward even more, lifting his hands to press them against his face, ignoring the fact that the pressure against his eyes hurt. "Steve! Hey! Stop it! Stop thinking about it- no matter what it is. You're not there! You're here with me." Sam tried again, more firmly this time, pushing against Steve a little harder so that Steve could no longer ignore the touch. "I know it hurts but we can help you Steve. Listen to me man! You just gotta come back to us! You're in the police station remember? We're here to do a job. Remember that? Just breathe. Like this, okay?" Steve focused on the exaggerated breaths being taken next to him and he tried to match them. He felt like he was having an asthma attack again but he hadn't had those in absolute years.

Panic attack. He told himself, telling himself to calm down over and over again. He dug deep into the SWAT training he'd had all those years back, forcing his breaths to deepen and slow down, using Sam's breathing to assist him. He relaxed his body slowly, starting with his hands, then his arms, shoulders, back and so on until his body felt like a big bowel of jelly. Once he was sure he was in control of his body again, he lifted his head slowly, dreading the looks he was going to see on Rhodey and Sam's faces. Rhodey looked a lot more composed than Sam did and yet his eyes were still shimmering with a layer of deep concern. Sam looked like he had the first time he'd witnessed one of Steve's nightmares about Bucky. He looked helpless, his free hand hovering in the air like he wanted to do something with it but didn't know what.

"What happened there?" Sam asked Steve quietly, putting an arm under Steve's to help him up slowly. Steve reached out for the reception counter blindly, clinging onto it to keep himself upright. "James Buchanan Barnes." He choked out the name as if it were covered in barbed wire and tore at his throat when he said it, "The man's name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. He was born in Brooklyn, New York, he's 27 years old and he… he's my best friend."

"No way." Sam gasped, covering his face with his free hand, the other still keeping a firm grip on Steve, "Of all the people to find… damn Steve… Damn! Sorry. I'm so sorry man!"

"Care to fill me in?" Rhodey asked in a gentle, if not caring voice, his attentive eyes panning between Sam and Steve.

"He was filed as MIA close to four years ago." Sam began, saving Steve the agony of having to retell the story again, "They said there was no way he could have survived."

"But obviously he did… if this man is really Sergeant James Barnes." Rhodey bent down to pick up the dog tags, examining them as if they could tell him if all of this was really true. "Take me… take me to him." Steve wanted to demand but his voice came out sounding more like a desperate plea. "Captain, I asked you to come here because your combat skills are unparalleled in the entire United States. I wouldn't have called you here if I had known that this man meant something to you."

"Either way… it doesn't matter if I know him or not."

"You won't be able to stay objective."

"I don't care." He replied, lifting his head to lock his eyes with those of the Colonel, "I have to see him myself. I have to make sure that it's really him."

"Steve… if what the Colonel says is true, he won't know you." Sam stated carefully.

"He will." Steve's face hardened and he got that same look in his eyes again- the look of pure determination. Sam sighed. There was no point in arguing with Steve when he got like this so Sam saved himself the hassle. "Steve is the only one of us that can tell if the man in there really is James Barnes." He took Steve's side reluctantly and Rhodey nodded his head with equal reluctance.

"If Sam thinks it's safe…" Rhodey let his voice drift off and Steve gave him a grateful look.

Sam led Steve along a narrow passage, following Rhodey until they got to the back of the police station. "In here." He opened the second last door to the right of the passage, letting Sam and Steve in first. Steve's eyes found the window immediately but it was blacked out. Irritated, he searched for a way to make it reveal what was behind the darkness. He knew that Bucky was right there on the other side of the glass- he could feel it. His body felt like it was burning up and his muscles were itching uncomfortably beneath his skin. Once the door was closed behind them, Rhodey picked up a small remote that had been lying next to the microphone on the desk in front of the mirrored glass. "Are you sure you want to do this Steve?" Rhodey asked him one last time and when Steve nodded resolutely, a button was pushed and the dark screen lifted. The interrogation room was much like any other interrogation room Steve had seen during his time with the SWAT team. A metal table, that would usually be standing in the middle of the room, had been thrown against the wall and was now lying on its side opposite to the door, broken and bent. The metal walls had dents and scratches in them and pieces of torn cloth were lying scattered across the floor. Steve held his breath, walking right up to the window and pressing his forehead against it. There, in the far corner of the room, sat an incredibly muscular man with long brown hair. He was sitting on the only metal chair in the room. His head was bowed and he looked like he was staring down at his hands. One of his hands, the left one, gleamed in the light cast by the lamp above his head. It was unmistakably made of metal. The man was wearing a long-sleeved torn wine red shirt that stuck to his sweaty torso. The sleeves were pulled up to just below his elbows. His imposing chest was heaving up and down with his deep breaths. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days and from what Steve could see, the man had stubble on his chin.

This man, whoever he was, looked nothing like the Bucky he had known all those years back. Bucky had been tall, much like this man, and had had enough muscle to show and yet he would almost have been considered lean. He had been incredibly popular with the ladies thanks to his great sense of humour and his immaculate posture. Then of course there were his sparkling steel-blue eyes and the catty curve to his plump lips. His confidence and good will had shone through in both his mimicry and his body language and it had drawn people to him like a swarm of bees to a beautiful flower. This man however, was hunched over like he had been beaten repeatedly, cowering in the corner like a hurt Rottweiler. His body was telling Steve that he wanted nothing to do with the outside world. He was like a tightly wound spring, ready to lash out at whatever might set him off. Steve yearned to see the man's face that was curtained by his long, unkempt hair. "And? You recognize him?" Sam asked after a long, deafening silence. Steve let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I need to see his face." Steve said, "It's been four years since I've seen Bucky. A lot can change in four years." He would know. Bucky would probably never believe him if he saw him now. He'd gone from small, skinny and sickly to big, strong and incredibly healthy. "I doubt I can get him to lift his head." Rhodey admitted ruefully, "He won't listen to a damn thing we tell him to do."

"You said you thought I stood a good chance against him?"

"Oh hell no!" Sam interrupted Steve and Rhodey before this could get any worse, "You are not going in there with that guy! He's a freaking wolverine! Have you seen the movies?! People die when Logan goes crazy!"

"Come on Sam. It's Bucky." Steve pleaded but all Sam did was cross his arms across his chest to underline his point.

"That man is nothing like the man you described to me that one time! How do you know it's Bucky? And even if it is him, does Bucky know it's you? Whoever he used to be Steve, the man he is now… I don't think he's the kind you save, he's the kind you stop and lock away."

"I don't think I can let that happen."

"He might not give you a choice." Sam argued.

"But that doesn't mean I can't try. You heard Rhodey Sam- I can do this! As soon as things get out of hand I'll come out of there okay? Please! I have to do this!" Sam stared into Steve's eyes for a long time before throwing his hands up above his head and letting out a frustrated groan. "Well if you get yourself killed in there Steve, it ain't my problem!"

"Thank you so much Sam!" Steve grinned at him before turning to Rhodey and giving him a nod.

"Be careful Steve!" Sam called after him when they left the room.

"And you're sure you don't want to wear any protective gear?" Rhodey asked him again. They were standing in front of the last room on the right in front of a door that read Interrogation Room 1 in bold white letters on a black background. A piece of paper was stuck to the door with the words Do not enter! scrawled on it. Yes, Steve would definitely feel safer wearing a SWAT uniform when facing off against a man that could probably snap his head clean off his shoulders. Something told him that that wouldn't be a good idea though. He thought about how he would feel if he was locked away in a strange room, subjected to strange people one after the other like a circus animal- he wouldn't want a man wearing armoured clothing to walk in on him as if he were some kind of monster. "I have my hands." Steve assured him, "It's all I need."

"Take this at least." Rhodey turned to the left of the door, picking up a round metal shield that Steve hadn't noticed before. It had been silently leaning against the wall next to the door, waiting for someone to pick it up. "What's this?" He asked, taking it from Rhodey and slipping his arm through the leather straps at the back of the silver shield. "It's something our tech guys have been working on. It's made of vibranium, the hardest metal on earth. We want to use this shield for heavy duty missions that involve bazookas and other explosives. I figured that it might help you against that metal arm of his."

"Are you comparing the strength of that metal arm to the strength of a bazooka or a bomb?" Steve asked him warily, swallowing when Rhodey nodded, "I'll keep that in mind." He added, looking down at the shield. Maybe the thing wasn't such a bad idea after all. In fact, he kind of liked the way it felt to hold it. "Don't interrupt until I say so." Steve insisted, waiting for Rhodey to nod before turning to the door.

"Captain?" Steve stopped with his free hand on the door handle, "Be careful in there."

"Yes sir." Rhodey left him there to gather his thoughts, disappearing into the room next door where Sam was still standing, glaring daggers at the man in the interrogation room. The hallway was dead quiet and Steve could hear his own racing heartbeat clearly. Was this really Bucky? Was Bucky really still alive? And if so, what on earth had happened to him over the past four years? Where had he been and who in all of hell had done this to him? A tight knot formed in Steve's stomach and he tried not to focus on it, dreading that he would have to throw up if he did. He'd never had a strong stomach and Come on Stevie it's just a little roller coaster! You'll do fine!

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door.
He was terrified.

What if it wasn't Bucky?

And what if the man in there was Bucky but would never remember him ever again?

He pulled back to shake his head vigorously. This was not the time to think about those type of things! He had to help! Even if this wasn't Bucky, he had come here to do a job and he was going to help this man if it was the last damn thing he did!

With that thought hovering in the forefront of his mind like an anchor, he pushed down on the door handle and slipped inside. He knew that those type of doors could only be opened from the outside, meaning he was locked in with this man now. The air in the room was stale and heavy and he could smell the unmistakable smell of blood. His eyes found the red droplets all over the floor and he frowned.

His body felt frozen on the spot. He was too afraid to move, to make a noise, to breathe but he knew he had to. He could see the tension in the man's shoulders build up- he was obviously not happy about having someone else in the room. Steve watched him carefully, watching for any signs of that big red button being activated in his mind. He edged closer, coming to a standstill next to the broken metal table. There were indents all over it, depicting a hand and imprints obviously made by fingers. Blood was smeared over the surface of the table. What on earth had happened in here?!

"Hello." Steve whispered hoarsely. As the word left his mouth the man erupted into a flurry of quick movements and before he could blink, Steve found himself pinned against the wall next to the door with a cold hand made of metal wrapped around his throat. He would have gasped for air, would have kicked out or tried to pry the hand from his throat. He would have done all of those things if he hadn't looked at the man's face. Dead steel-blue eyes were glaring back at him with a ferocity that made a cold shiver run down Steve's spine. Chapped, red lips were pursed and bent awkwardly into a furious frown. His body was unnaturally still and Steve almost felt like he was towering above him despite Steve being slightly taller than him.

Bucky.

Strong, sharp jawline, unique chin, perfectly shaped lips that could smile like no-one else he'd ever met. Eyes that could light up the darkest night.

It really was Bucky.

Steve's eyes widened and his body went slack again, all his will to fight this man having drained right out of his body.

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky… Bucky! Tears filled his eyes and rested on his lower eyelid in a sparkling line of agony. The blood drained from his face and his body began to tremble. Bucky stared at him, his grip on his throat relentless despite Steve's lack of will to fight back. In fact, it seemed to upset Bucky that Steve was doing nothing to put up a fight.

For a moment, Steve felt like he was being swallowed up by the rage that was rolling off of Bucky in waves but then his mind snapped back to reality and he remembered what he had come here to do.

You live for your friends. He told himself. There was no use in dying now. He wanted to help Bucky didn't he? How was he supposed to do that when dead? And besides, he had just gotten Bucky back. His Bucky! There was no way in hell anything was going to kill him now, not even Bucky himself! His muscles tensed, his body bursting to life and with one power movement, Steve brought the shield up, slamming its sharp edge into the metal arm just below the elbow as hard as he could. The metal plates covering the surface of the arm whirred, shifting to compensate for the blow. The hand was removed from his throat and Steve kicked out, bringing his booted foot down on Bucky's knee. Bucky cried out, the sound sending waves of agony pulsing through Steve. He wanted to wrap his arms around Bucky and apologize! Just keep apologizing and apologizing till Bucky snapped out of it and wrapped his strong arms around him because winters were cold and Steve got sick so damn quickly.

A flash of metal snapped him out of it and he reflexively lifted the shield in front of his body. With an incredible amount of force, the metal fist was brought down on the shield, sending a loud ringing noise bouncing off the walls and surging into Steve's ears like a needle piercing his eardrum, making him flinch. Bucky flinched too, the pressure lessening for only a moment before his eyes cleared to display nothing but rage and he began pushing against Steve as if he was trying to crush him between his shield and the metal wall. Steve cringed. He wanted to cry out when his arms, his shoulders and his back screamed under the force.

He wasn't strong enough.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for someone this incredibly strong! Fear coursed through Steve like poison and he wanted to back away even more but he was already being held against the wall. Thousands of possible scenarios ran through his well-trained mind but no matter how plausible a scenario seemed, all of them included seriously injuring Bucky to put him out of commission and Steve couldn't for the life of him convince himself to hurt Bucky any more than he already had. Not Bucky. He had suffered enough. He'd rather take on all of Bucky's rage if it meant he didn't have to hurt his best friend. It felt like Steve's shoulders were about to dislodge from his torso and his back was writhing with jolts of pain that shot up and down his spine. The anger in Bucky's eyes didn't become less with his exertion and Steve began to doubt that Bucky would ever calm down. How was Steve supposed to come out of this without any serious injuries? How was he supposed to help Bucky if this is the way things were going to go from now on? How was he supposed to help someone that was so far gone? Someone that didn't know who he was, didn't recognize his best friend and worst of all- wanted to hurt him?
Desperation surged through Steve, forcing his mouth open and forcing him to take a deep breath before he yelled at Bucky to, "Snap out of it!" He gritted his teeth for a moment, pushing back against Bucky's fist as hard as he could, "Bucky!" Steve yelled Bucky's name so loudly that the veins in his neck popped out and his voice cracked painfully. Bucky took a few hasty steps back and Steve stumbled forward, not having expected the lack of resistance against his shield. Once he had regained his footing, he held the shield in front of his body, eying Bucky warily. Bucky was staring at him. The anger in his eyes was ebbing, making room for something else, something Steve was desperate to identify but couldn't. Bucky's body wavered and he took another step back, averting his eyes for a moment before looking back at Steve. "Bucky?"
"Who the hell is Bucky?" Steve's breath hitched at the sound of Bucky's voice. It sounded exactly the same as it had all those years back. Now there was not an inkling of doubt left in Steve's mind whether it really was Bucky or not. Just that Bucky had gone and forgotten everything and that was probably more painful than having been told that Bucky was dead. Knowing that Bucky didn't recognize him, and he clearly didn't, felt to Steve as if he himself had died. He was dead to Bucky and part of him wanted to let Bucky beat him into a coma because of it; because the pain he felt made him want to tear his own body apart to stop it.

He would worry about that later thought because right now, Bucky, his best friend Bucky was standing in front of him and he had every intention of helping him because I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Steve said slowly and the jerk in Bucky's shoulder told him that Bucky was holding back, he was stopping himself from lashing out again. Hope swelled up in Steve's chest and he wanted to reach out and touch him but he knew better, knew that he shouldn't push any boundaries whatsoever. Bucky was like a land mine- ready to tear you into oblivion if you tripped his switch. He had been reduced to one thought: killing; Steve could see it in his eyes, in his body, in the blood splatters on the floor.

Someone had taken Bucky's humanity and had turned him into a weapon. That was the only way Steve could explain it, explain the tormented look on his face and the ghosts of past torture carved into the skin all over his body.

All of it made Steve want to scream until he lost his voice. He wasn't cut out for this! Bucky was beyond suffering from PTSD and maybe he was even beyond repair. He looked like Bucky, sounded like him but Bucky, his best friend was buried somewhere deep in that man's mind, cowering in a corner like a scared child while the weapon had violently and forcefully taken over for one purpose: to murder and survive.

"My name is Steve Rogers." Steve spoke quietly, trying to look past the wary, angry look in Bucky's eyes, trying to find any shred of his best friend in that empty shell of his, "And I'm here to help you."

Sooo there you go~ Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!