A/N:

This one has been rough for me to get written, but it's a longer chapter. I hope it proves worth the wait.


Bucky had to get out. Now. Taking Steve up on his offer of lunch sounded like a good idea when he offered it, but he'd made a mistake. Their run was good, he'd had a good morning free from anxiety attacks this time, and when Steve suggested they stop by the café for some food, he agreed enthusiastically. He was hungry, they'd eat. Easy. Except it wasn't.

Now that they were sitting there in the cafe, he just wanted to be gone. There were people behind him, and that was a problem. People on each side, and the exit wasn't in sight. The walls were too close, the lights were too bright, and Steve's voice too loud. He tried the thing with the breathing, but Steve was asking him if he was all right, and no. No, no he wasn't and he couldn't count his breaths when Steve wouldn't stop.

He pushed back out of his chair and bolted. If he didn't get out of there he was going to lose it. What if he lost it with all those people around? He could hurt someone. Goodbye sanctuary, for him and for Steve, and Steve wasn't as good at hiding.

He jogged down the hall, swiped through security as quickly as he could, and shut himself inside his room. His breathing quickened, coming in hard pants. His heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He sank to the floor, folding in on himself, covering his head with his arm. Not again. Not again.

Steve pounded on his door, "Bucky! Let me in. Bucky?"

"Go the fuck away!" Bucky grated out.

He pounded on the door again, but it broke off abruptly. A low voice outside the door. Steve's was raised, angry… then his footfalls as he walked away.

Another knock, softer. "Bucky? I'm coming in," Hilly said.

Bucky ignored her, focused on trying very hard not to throw up. His hair stuck to his face, sweat dripping into his eyes. He thought he just might be dying, and he would know. He'd done it before. Oh, god. My chest hurts. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ride it out.

Hilly swiped her card against his door lock and entered, flicking the lock to open in case she needed a quick rescue. She knelt down next to him and sighed. He was in the middle of a full blown attack. He said they rarely happened anymore, but here in this setting, he was under considerably more stress. He'd beat himself up about this one, she was sure. Not his fault, none of it was, but it was her job to make him see that, because he sure didn't see it now. His breathing was what was really concerning her right now. He was hyperventilating, and he was never going to get through this one if he couldn't slow down his breathing.

"Bucky, I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?"

His body was shaking so hard, he was into this one deep. She wasn't sure he heard her. She knew better than to touch him. Yes, he was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, and her heart wanted to wrap herself around him and make him feel safe, but that was a monumentally bad idea. Number one, psychiatrists weren't allowed to hug clients. Big, big, no go, even for her. Number two, it would be a good way to get her neck snapped. Bucky could kill her in the space of one blink, and despite what he might believe, she never forgot that.

After a moment she saw him give a nod. Good. She let out the breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

"Okay. Good. In with me… hold… out on my count, two, three, four."

He was doing it. Shaky, but he was following her through the cycle, and his tremors had diminished. On the fourth repetition, he reached out and gripped her hand. She stared down at his hand, holding on to hers like it was his lifeline.

"You're okay, Bucky. You're safe."

He pressed her hand to his chest, palm down, right over his furiously beating heart. His eyes cracked open, brilliant blue and terrified.

"I know," she said gently. "It feels like you're having a heart attack right?"

He nodded.

"You're not. I promise. Can you speak to me right now?"

He licked his lips, squeezed his eyes shut again briefly. "Yeah. Can now."

"Can you describe something you feel or see for me?"

Bucky drew in a shaky breath, "Okay. Yeah." He flexed his hand over hers where it still lay over his heart. "Your hand is soft, long fingers. You keep your fingernails short." He brought her wrist to his nose, his lips brushing across the delicate skin as he inhaled, "And you smell of soap, jasmine, and… something I can barely catch… it's bourbon?"

"You can take the girl out of Kentucky, but not the Kentucky out of the girl," she said in answer. He smelled that on her from last night, even after a shower?

He circled his fingers around her wrist, "Your wrist is tiny, and your fingers are so small." Clench his fist, and the tiny bones would break. His eyes locked on hers, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… " He started to disengage. "I'll hurt you."

"No," she stopped him, capturing his hand in hers. "You won't."

The attack receded. He was coming back to himself again, and how he wished he wasn't. Heat rushed into his face. How was he going to face her? How could he face Steve after he ran out on him like that? What the hell was wrong with him that he could deal with a firefight, but a meal with his friend was enough to send him running away, a quivering mess? He let go of her hand and pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"I don't know why this happened," he muttered.

"You've been awaken out of cryosleep very recently, your oldest friend and constant reminder of who you used to be lives across the hall from you, and some asshole has forced you to talk to a psychiatrist every day, and oh yeah, anti-anxiety meds don't work on you because you're a super soldier."

Bucky shook his head, "I was doing better than this. Before."

Hilly cocked a brow, "Yeah, I'm sure you were when you isolated yourself from meaningful social contact and anything familiar."

Bucky chewed on his lip, "Noted."

"Hey, this is going to happen. It's supposed to happen." If a little later in the process, she thought to herself. "There's a reason why we worked on these tools, okay? I'm going to teach Steve how to use them too so he can help you."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"One day at a time, right?" Hilly offered.

Bucky rested his face in his hand, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Hey. Stop that. I'm positive you can. So is Steve. So is T'Challa."

Bucky gave a long groan, "Steve. I just ran out on him in there. How am I gonna—"

"Steve understands," Steve cut off, pushing the door open. "I brought you some lunch." He placed the container of food on Bucky's desk and sat down in the adjacent chair.

"Thanks." Bucky got up from the floor, feeling self-conscious of his position. He offered his hand to Hilly to help her up. He gestured for her to take the overstuffed upholstered chair while he took a seat at the foot of his bed.

Steve looked at his friend and shook his head, "You gotta let me help you, Buck. I know you'd do the same for me so stop being so stubborn about it. You think I don't know this is hard for you?"

Bucky just stared down at his feet. He couldn't understand. No one could.

Steve cleared his throat, glanced over at Hilly and gave a sigh of his own. "Wanda messed with my mind. She was fighting on the other side, and she took us all out, one by one, by getting in our heads. She did a number on mine. She made me see things, like I was there. It was a vision, a dream, but it felt real. Still does."

He cut his eyes towards Hilly, shifting in his seat. She got the feeling he wasn't overly fond of sharing. He had that in common with his friend.

"I was in a dance hall, and it felt like a war zone." He gave a short huff of laughter, "Someone spilled their wine and I thought it was blood. Heard gunshots when the champagne popped, gunfire for the cameras, you name it… and that wasn't even the worst part of it." He swallowed hard, deciding to keep that part to himself. He couldn't talk about it. Not yet. "If that's just a little bit like what you go through, pal, then believe me, I know it's hard."

Bucky looked between the two of them, stunned by their unwavering belief in him. Unexpected emotion rose in his throat, choking him. He didn't feel like he deserved this level of conviction, but obviously neither one of them agreed with him.


A rough morning followed by a meal and a hot shower, and he almost felt ready to face Dr. Jakande. Hilly would be with him, and that made it better. He hoped the doc would be able to tell him why he was feeling like he was losing his mind. It was like all the shit he'd waded through the first few months after he'd escaped Hydra had come roaring back. This place was supposed to help him get better, not make things worse.

He met Hilly in the hallway when he heard the door to her room open, falling into step with her in silence as she let him to the lab where they were to meet Dr. Jakande. She smiled at him in reassurance, but it didn't help much. The closer they got to the lab, the more his stomach lurched and roiled. By the time they arrived, he thought he might lose his lunch. Hilly gave his shoulder a squeeze and entered, smiling broadly at the doc. They were old friends, he remembered, trying to lose his frown. He tried not to feel jealous. She didn't belong to him and he had no right to feel possessive about anyone.

He and Hilly sat down across from Dr. Jakande, the two of them exchanging the typical social niceties. Bucky tuned out their conversation as he waited for what was likely to be bad news. It was always bad news, wasn't it?

"Your brain scans are remarkable," Dr. Jakande said.

Bucky looked up, embarrassed that he'd been lost in his own head while they'd started discussing his situation.

"Yeah? How?"

"You have these areas of significant damage," he pointed to the areas lit up in red and orange, "but they are healing. Your serum advances your healing rate somewhat, so that it to be expected, but some areas are healing at a truly remarkable rate. Specifically here," he gestured to the area on the front left portion of Bucky's brain, "and smaller areas here and here," as he gestured to the other side. "When you first came to us, this was the area where you'd recently suffered a concussion. My theory is that the new damage disrupted the, for lack of a better term, 'scarring.' When your cells are allowed to heal without the effects of multiple mental implantations, they revert to their primal form."

Bucky looked back and forth between Dr. Jakande and Hilly, "So that's a good thing, right?"

"Ultimately, yes. It means a quicker recovery, but there can be some negative effects from the speed at which you are healing. Brains heal slowly for good reason. Sometimes we need time."

Bucky's forehead creased, "Negative, how?"

"You might get strong flashbacks, nightmares, memories, some anxiety." He focused on Hilly, "PTSD arousal symptoms, primarily."

Bucky grimaced, "Worse than now, or at the current rate?"

Dr. Jakande frowned, "Are you experiencing an increase in symptoms since the concussion?"

Nightmare after nightmare, so bad he couldn't sleep. Anxiety, panic attacks… yes. A strong yes. "You could say that," he answered. It was a large part of the reason why he'd asked to be frozen again. That and the part where he turned into a killing machine against his will.

Dr. Jakande scribbled a note on the pad in front of him. "Depending on how quickly your pathways rebuild, it could get worse. Any memories you have suppressed due to trauma are likely to bubble up, at least in our experience. "

Bucky gnawed on the edge of his bottom lip, but he nodded. "Okay, but it'll go away? When everything in there is healed?"

Dr. Jakande looked to Hilly, "This is closer to your area of expertise." He looked between the two of them, silently asking if Hilly wanted him to leave. She tilted her head towards the door.

"If you need anything else, have any questions, please stop into my office any time," Jak said as he got up to leave.

"Thanks Jak. We'll be fine."

Hilly gave Bucky a strained smile. She could read the tension in his shoulders; he was playing it off pretty well, but he was troubled.

"Bucky, think of it this way. Your symptoms are a result of your trauma, and we will deal with how you can manage them through our sessions. Your healing factor is going to turn up the volume on those symptoms while it is actively working to heal these areas. When they're healed, the volume should turn back down, but it won't turn off. And there's two parts to this. The physical, and the mental. They effect each other, but fixing one doesn't automatically fix the other."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Right." He narrowed his eyes, "But that's not all, is it?"

Hilly swallowed hard. "No. Our former patients didn't have the benefit of your healing factor, but the uptake in symptoms usually indicated that they were getting close to absorbing their other persona. Normally it was because we started getting into those memories in our sessions. In your case, it might be that your particular physiology has a similar effect. To be honest, we can't be entirely sure. You have some significant differences from the people we treated."

Bucky's lips flattened into a thin line. He didn't just dislike what he was hearing, he was getting well and truly pissed off. Hilly knew he wouldn't hurt anyone just because he was angry, but that wasn't what made her so nervous. They were building a fragile trust between them, and right now it was in danger of breaking down. Might as well rip off the band-aid and get it all out there at once, then. She'd promised him the truth, painful as it might be.

"Your brain is healing, forcing the memories to the surface, much like if we brought them out in therapy, but without the benefit of the filter that therapy provides. When I take a patient through those memories, where the other persona still resides, I can do it from a sort of distance, as if they are an observer or watching a movie. It's less traumatic that way. Remembering is key to recovering that fractured portion of the personality. We do it slowly, but it's difficult even in the best circumstances." She drew in a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye, "I said I wouldn't lie to you. It was where we usually lost them."

Bucky laughed, dark and angry. "You lost them, and I'm going to go through what they did, but worse."

"No, you're different. You can do this. You have done this, you just don't remember."

Bucky stilled, "What do you mean?"

"It's in your file. Hydra had to freeze you in between missions and implant you when they woke you each time because you would throw off their programming if you were out for too long."

"Just because I know who I am doesn't mean I'm free. Nine words, and Zimo had me. Nine."

"That's not what I mean. The trigger words are just part of what was done to you. We can break that hold. I have broken it in others. It's the other part that caused the failures. You're different Bucky. You never..." she lifted her chin, determined to give him the whole truth, "You never had an alternate persona, even though Hydra tried. I reviewed your file, everything in it. I watched the surveillance footage, the training footage, everything. They twisted your perceptions, forced your compliance with pain, sensory deprivation, and with the trigger words and took away your choices, but it was you. You never became another person. It took twenty years, but they figured out a way around your resistance; they just kept you wiped and implanted your psyche with lies. They controlled you with trigger words and by keeping you from remembering who you are."

Bucky's face drained of its color. "I am not him," he retorted. He clenched his fist so tight the knuckles turned white. That couldn't be true, could it? He was afraid it was. The killer was him, and always had been. They hadn't created the Winter Soldier, he'd been inside of him all along.

Hilly laid her hand on his hand, stroking the knuckles until he unclenched his fist, "That's not what I'm saying. The Winter Soldier was you, but twisted to Hydra's purpose. They took that fierce loyalty that's part of you, and made you believe it was loyalty you owed to Hydra. You were doing what was right, what was just, by following orders, by executing the mission. It was you, but acting on false knowledge. They stole your frame of reference, replaced it with their own. Believe me, you fought it. Even without knowing who you were, you kept fighting to remember, rebelling in small ways. As soon as you started asking questions, speaking English without being told to, they knew they had to wipe you again. It happened every time, Bucky. You did all you could. More than anyone else could have."

Bucky's brow furrowed, "I remember that asking questions was bad. Pain, and the chair." He shuddered at the sensory memory, unable suppress it.

"And now you have yourself back. You have your memories they stole, and control of your mind once we break the triggers. The others we tried to help as part of The Project didn't have that. Their minds were broken. That's why you can do this, even though they couldn't."

Bucky scrubbed his face with his hand, "I don't know what that means."

"You were never broken, instead you were lied to manipulated and used. And when I said it was still you, lets be clear, I don't mean it was your fault. None of it was. You should never carry guilt for what you were forced to do. It wasn't your choice."

He shook his head, "I did it. I did it for years. I remember how it feels to take a kill shot. The satisfaction of a clean kill. Tell me how I'm gonna not feel like that's on me. Tell me how I'm gonna get through that." He looked down at his feet again, unwilling to face her forgiveness. "The things I see when I close my eyes—"

"Your mind is incredibly strong. You're a survivor. If anyone can do this, you can."

Bucky sighed. Easy to say when you weren't the one living through it.

TBC


A/N: This one took longer than I like, and I'm sorry for that. I'll be honest, I had the flu and then I also go so little feedback from the last chapter I couldn't even make myself sit and write for a week and a half. I kept telling myself it was pointless and I was thinking maybe I'd just forgotten how to write anything good anymore. So yeah, I was in a bit of a pity party. I published and got so excited wondering what people would think… silence. Anyway, I always finish what I start. I hope you like it. If you'd like to help my muse work faster, please tell her if you liked it.