Peggy's Letters 7

A/N… Wow… Ep 1.05 (or was it 6?) left me with SO MUCH to ponder. This is the first thing that jumped out at me. Please enjoy while I think about what else Peggy may have told Steve after her first real mission with the SSR.

Warning—some heavy stuff here (flashbacks/PTSD)

Steve heard the screaming coming from Bucky's room in the blackness of night. Bolting upright, he sprang from bed, practically tearing James' door off the hinges.

Barnes lay curled in a fetal position on the floor as if he had thrown himself out of bed. A blood-curdling howl escaped him, "NO. No Not again! I won't do it … again. Please!"

"Bucky! Bucky!" Rogers crouched next to his best friend, who was drenched in sweat, shivering on the hard wood floor.

The howls became sobs, "I won't. I promise. Stop. It… hurts." James remained balled up on the floor, his knees in tight to his chest as if shielding himself from imaginary blows.

Sam had warned Cap that the flashbacks could happen anytime, anywhere and it had been months since Bucky had one. Steve's heart ached for his friend as he gently placed a hand on Barnes' trembling shoulder.

In an explosion of movement, Bucky rocketed away from the touch and cowered against the wall farthest from Cap. His eyes were wild and huge in his face, brown hair plastered to his forehead in strange angles. Steve put his hands up in supplication, speaking softly, "Bucky. It's me, Steve."

Panting, Barnes' expression regarded Rogers as if he were a terrified animal, then softened some as the humanity returned. The red mist faded from his view and all he saw was an alarmed and worried Steve sitting on the floor of the doorway to his room.

A feeling of shame swelled in his mind as James felt his cheeks flush, embarrassed. Running a shaky hand through his sweat stained hair, he uncoiled himself from against the wall. "I did it again, didn't I?" His voice was hoarse from the screaming.

"Yeah." Steve stated plainly, his worry etched on his features.

"Sorry." Bucky whispered, not meeting Rogers' eyes but instead drilling holes through the floor.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Cap replied soothingly, not moving from his spot. "You want something to drink? Eat?"

Bucky inhaled a shaky breath as if he didn't trust his body to not betray him again. Looking around the dark room, he saw his bed sheets torn from the mattress and pillow across the room. "No."

"Wanna talk about it?" Steve offered gently.

James' eyes locked sadly with his suggesting that he would never, ever be free from his demons and they were his burden carry, "They're just memories. Nothing to talk about."

Cap regarded his friend carefully, "Was it the beginning, middle or end?"

Barnes knew what he was asking; was his nightmares from when the Russians turned him in 1945, or between missions or when Pierce was using him. Putting on a brave face, he decided he would indulge Steve to show him he was not afraid of his PTSD. "The beginning." he answered in a firm voice, but still rough.

"How much do you remember?" Steve pressed, leaning on one arm as he sat. Sam suggested it may be useful to help Bucky process by remembering and seeing that his terror was not in the here and now.

Bucky glanced away for a moment then back to Steve, "Too much and not enough." He rose from the floor and began to remake his bed. Rogers stood as well and handed him his pillow. "G'night, Steve."

Rogers nodded seeing that there wouldn't' be any redeeming therapy tonight and James seemed alright enough, "G'night Buck."

Wearily stepping back into his bedroom, Steve was far too alert to sleep again. Looking at his nightstand, he pulled out the sheaf of letters from Peggy. As Steve sat down, he heard Bucky get into bed next door and soon after the sound of soft snoring was heard. Cap smiled slightly, happy that Barnes was able to return to slumber so quickly.

April 1946

Steve,

We made a trip back to Russia recently. I don't want to delve into details here as that would be poor form of me to do so. However, we were successful in gaining some information for the SSR.

There were a few peculiar things that I don't recall from our days on that front and I wish you were here so that I could discuss them with you. Your keen insight would have been invaluable with this information.

Steve noted that her handwriting didn't waiver here when she spoke of him in past tense like it had in previous letters. He smiled again. That trip to Russia must have really given her a confidence boost. Go get'em, Peggy! he thought eagerly and read on.

When reconnoitering the location, we stumbled upon a peculiar room with beds and handcuffs. They appeared to be child sized, which was very curious. Who in their right minds would handcuff children to bed? Unfortunately, Dum Dum found one of the occupants, a young girl, who used her youth as a ruse to fool us into thinking she was harmless. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She escaped us but then we discovered more.

In a separate room, there was evidence of brainwashing activities aimed at young girls. Again, we didn't have time to investigate further, but I remember the scene as clearly as when you recalled those HYDRA manufacturing sites from the Red Skull's lair. I will have to explore this more when I have time back at the SSR. Imagine that, me being too busy with actual SSR work, instead of lunch orders!

Steve, using his 20/20 hindsight recognized Peggy's description immediately as that of the early Red Room where Black Widows were churned out by the Communists to do their evil bidding. What he read next took his breath away.

We split off as our team approached the basement looking for signs of our mission. Providence did not yield me the intel I was searching for but another bizarre lab of sorts.

An operating table was at the center of the room, although it looked like it had not be used in several months, at the very least. Operating lights were neatly arranged around the table, like sentinels. A bank of strange electrical equipment was nearby with trays of probes, surgical apparatus and other implements of unknown function. The place vaguely reminded me of Stark's labs but owned by a scientist more unhinged than he. There were some animatronic materials that looked like a metallic mannequin. I recall several arms, left arms to be exact, lined up on the workbench.

One workstation contained neat rows of various bottles and syringes for injections. Several of the bottles had been moved it appeared by haste. Although I can read Russian, I did not recognize the compounds for any purpose that I could fathom.

There was the smell of antiseptic, relatively fresh, and a bank of what appeared to be steel coffin-shaped containers lining the wall. Each was attached to what I surmised to be a tank of liquid nitrogen. As I studied the setup for any sign of our mission, I noted one of the coffins was missing in the lot.

A great mess of papers were strewn about the room as if whomever used this space had left in a great hurry. Glancing about, I saw a photo on the floor. It had been stepped on and scuffed but was still clear. Picking it up, I recognised it as the enlistment photo of your good friend James Barnes. It still puzzles me why they would have his photo, being that he is a fallen soldier. I tucked it away for further thought later.

I suppose I can take small comfort that you are both together- the greatest reward a fallen soldier can have is to be with their brothers in arms. I am happy that you are not alone.

Steve's blood ran cold as the letters fell from his numbed grasp. Suddenly, he was underwater and couldn't breathe as the heaviness of what Peggy had stumbled upon siezed heart with an iron fist, squeezing hard. She had found the room where the Russians had "made" Bucky. From what she wrote, she had been just moments away from his captors as they made their escape.

Rogers stood up abruptly, forcing his body to move away from the terrible revelation on the floor. His stomach felt tight and suddenly sick. Stumbling to the bathroom, he dry heaved for a few moments as the waves of guilt and pain seeped into him like a slow, creeping sickness seeking out all his cracks and flaws.

The crying came next. Great rending sobs of anguish tore themselves from Steve's chest. He cried for Peggy, for Bucky and himself. Peggy could have saved Bucky. He could have had a normal life, perhaps, instead of seventy years of killing for the enemy as a machine of war. That slimmest of misses felt like a boulder of blame crushing Roger's head. How could she have known? She couldn't have. There was no fault for Peggy or her crew, but Steve felt the deep knife of remorse.

Collapsing beside the toilet, back to the bead board wall, Cap hugged his knees to his chest tightly, face buried, just as Bucky had done moments ago, crying. His nose ran and tears stained his pajama pants when he heard a familiar voice, "You ok?"

Hiccupping and trying in vain to regain his composure, Steve looked up at Bucky standing in the doorway of the bathroom, metal arm propped on the frame. The irony was not lost on Rogers. "Yeah." It was his turn to sound damaged.

"Wanna talk about it?" Bucky offered with a kind lopsided smile. Steve ran a hand across his snotty nose and James suddenly saw the small boy he used to know sitting on the floor. His big brother instincts kicked as he approached the super soldier who was an ungraceful heap on the bathroom floor. Crouching down, he put his flesh hand on Cap's knee in support.

Steve looked up in appreciation at his best friend with his blood shot eyes and quoted Bucky from earlier, "They're just memories. Nothing to talk about."

Bucky chuckled softly, leaning away from Steve, "Well, looks like us two old bastards have some memories that won't go away. Let's both get them out of our heads, hmm?" Standing up he offered Rogers a hand, "Get up off the floor you punk. Mamma taught you better than that."

With a small snicker, Steve took the hand and stood up. "I'll make us some coffee."

Barnes stepped out into their family room, "Yeah, and don't make it too light like those … baristas do."

"Ok Buck." Steve replied with humor, wiping the rest of his tears from his cheek as he briefly glanced into his room where the pile of beautiful ivory stationary lay scattered on the floor where he had dropped them. Turning his head, he knew he'd pick them up later and mentally begged Peggy's forgiveness but right now, those ghosts needed to stay right there, in the past.