Chapter 10: Homecoming

Clary

"This isn't Alexandria, is it?" I questioned as we drove up to a walled community, one that I've been at before. No, I haven't been inside it. I was sent to scout it about three weeks back by Hydra, as they wanted to make sure it was a community we wanted to do business with. And then Hydra had me watching them again, in the days after we made the deal but before I took out the compound. No, they. It's not 'we' anymore. I'm not part of it anymore.

"No, this is the Hilltop," Clint answered as the gate was pulled open, and Rick drove through. "Jesus lives here."

I turned my attention to the bearded man, asking, "You mean you don't live with them?"

"I've only known them for about a week," Jesus replied, leading the way out of the RV. I waited for Bucky, then followed him out, and up into the mansion in the middle of the community. "Most of the time, I live here. If I'm not out searching for other communities."

"You should be more careful when you're out there," I advised him.

"Yeah, you're not going to be there to save my ass every time," Jesus said, shooting me a grin.

"That's not what I meant. There's groups out there, ones that aren't as friendly as Alexandria. The wrong people get on your tail, follow you back… These people look like they couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. And your walls, they're made of wood. It wouldn't take much to burn them to the ground."

"We weren't lucky like your people," Jesus replied. "We didn't have the metal to make walls like that." He stopped as we climbed the front steps of the mansion, opening the door for us. "Welcome to the Barrington House, Clary."

I followed the others inside, and Jesus closed the door behind us. He led us into a study, where a balding man sat on a couch. "Oh, Jesus, you're back," he said. "And—oh my."

He cut himself off as his gaze drifted to Bucky and I, or me, more specifically. "Gregory," Jesus said, standing between the two of us. "This is Clary Dixon, Daryl's little sister. You know her as the Executioner." Jesus leaned down, lowering his voice where he thought that I couldn't hear, but I still could. "I'd choose your words carefully, Gregory. She's a bit… unpredictable. And don't think that she won't hesitate to off someone." Jesus straightened, then stepped back to me and gestured to Gregory. "Clary, this is Gregory. He's in charge of this place."

"He's already chosen his words," I said, staring straight at Gregory. "You, you'd better believe me when I say this. I remember every word you said to me and about me. A murderer, a weapon. 'Something that I can use,' I believe was your exact phrase. So I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to remember every word of it, you son of a bitch. You ready? Here goes. Pay attention." I stepped around Jesus, leaning down and wrapping my hand around Gregory's neck. He let out a gasp as my metal fingers closed around his neck, but I didn't squeeze tight enough to kill him. "You stay the fuck away from me, you understand? I am not your soldier. I'm not your weapon. I'm not a toy." I released him, taking the nearly empty bottle of whiskey off of the coffee table in front of him. "You stay the fuck away from me, or I will kill you. Otvali!" I swallowed the last bit of whiskey, then hurled the bottle at Gregory. He flinched as it shattered against the wall behind his head. "Or should I say, piss off!"

With that, I turned and walked out of the office, heading for the door. A duo of two men were coming in just as I was leaving, and leapt aside, making room for me to pass. I was down the steps and heading for the RV when I heard someone running after me, and I turned to throw a punch just as they arrived. Bucky leant backwards, then raised his left hand, stopping the punch. "What the hell are you doing?" Bucky snapped.

"Makin' damn sure I don't ever go back there again," I replied, pulling my hand free. I turned and started to walk away, but Bucky grabbed my arm before I could go any further. I spun, kicking him back. The people of Hilltop around us sucked in their breath, and I heard someone shouting, "Get back! Stay out of their way!"

I left my guns in the RV, so I reached behind me, taking one of my knives. Bucky sighed, "Oh, dammit. We're gonna do this, aren't we? Well, shit. You're gonna kill someone if I don't."

Bucky cracked his neck, then started forward as I shifted on my feet, heading towards him. He threw up a hand to block me as I swung my knife, then kicked me back while wrenching the knife from my hand. He threw it off to the side, causing a few people to jump back even further. We met in a headlock, arms thrown up to keep the other off while pushing against them. Bucky brought his knee up into my stomach, which I returned with an uppercut to his. I dodged a punch he threw, then used my metal arm to throw him off to the side. I continued after him, and he didn't hold back anymore, if he was before. Bucky threw a punch that landed, and I returned with one of my own, but he caught my fist again. "Didn't I tell you I knew your tricks?" he questioned.

He headbutted me twice, then, taking advantage of me being stunned, he used his left arm to throw me. I rolled as I landed, stirring up dirt as I stopped. "Alright," I growled, getting to my feet. "Now I'm pissed."

I noticed Rick barely five feet from me, looking slightly terrified at the fight before him. I moved faster than him, grabbing his Colt Python before he could react. I aimed it at Bucky, distracting him by firing two shots that I knew he would block with his metal arm. I immediately fired a third shot around it, and he cried out as a bullet skimmed his side. "You know my tricks?" I questioned. "I know all of yours, too! I am you! I'm younger, I'm faster, I'm deadlier. I'm better than you."

From beside me, an arrow was fired. As it hit the gun, a flash went off; and I dropped the gun in surprise, covering my eyes. Clint moved to join the fight, then knowing that he was outmatched, spun and kicked me backwards. The crowd scattered as I landed on my back, then noticed my knife less than five feet away. I turned onto my stomach, crawling for it, but Bucky caught up to me just as I reached it. His hand closed around mine as my hand closed around the knife, and he lifted me up, one hand around my throat. I swiped at him with the knife, even though I missed, knowing I wouldn't be able to damage his metal arm as it held me up. Bucky threw me over his shoulder, kneeling behind me now. He wrapped one arm around mine, his hand coming to rest behind my shoulder, then held me down with his other arm. "Drop it!" he barked, and I tried to hit him, targeting the gunshot wound, but he was out of my reach. "Drop it! Now, Clary! I don't want to hurt you!"

I still didn't drop it, even though it felt like he was about to dislocate my shoulder. He lifted me suddenly, then fell back, landing on his back with me on top of him. Bucky wrapped one leg around the arm that held the knife, holding it down so I couldn't hurt him. He put his arms around my neck in a choke hold, and I raised my metal arm, trying to pry his hands off. I got one of them, pulling it away, but he wrapped his other leg around my metal arm, holding them both down as he returned his other arm to my neck. I did what I could to fight back, but I couldn't get any traction in the loose dirt to move. "I'm sorry," Bucky was whispering as I struggled to breathe. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I felt myself starting to black out, then got an idea, choosing to play possum. I let myself go limp before I actually passed out, closing my eyes as I dropped the knife. Bucky immediately released me, then took my knife. He gently lifted me up, taking my other knives and my ammunition belt. "I'm so sorry," Bucky said softly, holding me close to his chest. "I'm so sorry." His voice broke as it dropped to a whisper, so quiet I could barely hear it. "I swore I'd protect you. I swore I'd never hurt you. I can't even do that right." Bucky choked back a sob, begging, "Please, let me know you're still alive. Please, Clary. Anything."

I caved, unable to go on fighting him anymore after hearing that. My god, the poor man just needed a hug. I reached up, wrapping my arm around his neck as I leaned into him, whispering, "James..."

"Oh my god, Clary," he replied, squeezing me against him, his arms wrapped tightly around me. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I just couldn't let you hurt anybody."

"What the hell even happened?" I questioned. "I… I remember it, but it was like I wasn't there."

"All that programming Hydra put in there, it's still there," Bucky answered. "Oh, Clary, it's still there. I'm so sorry for all they did to you. You were a part of things I never wanted you to see, to even know about."

"I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" I asked as my fingers brushed his side. A spot that was warm, wet, and sticky. "Oh my god, Buck."

I pulled away from him, getting to my feet and backing away. I shot him because I couldn't control this darkness inside of me, and if I wasn't careful, I'd do more than just graze someone with a bullet. I turned on my heel, then ran off, around the back of the Barrington House. I was alone back there, but I still snuck in through the backdoor. I silently climbed the stairs, heading to the attic. I closed the door behind me, sinking to the floor. I put my head in my hands, sighing deeply as I dreaded facing the others again. They shouldn't have done it. They shouldn't have saved me. I'm not worth it.

I looked up as the door opened, Jesus calling, "Clary? Are you in here?"

"Get out," I snapped, getting to my feet.

"Hey, you okay?" he questioned, placing a hand on my arm. I jerked away, not trusting myself enough to control both my arm and the Executioner lurking inside, waiting to strike.

"I'm not okay," I said. "Fuck, man, I shot Bucky."

"You can't let the Executioner take control of you, Clary. You're stronger than it. But you can't live in fear of it. You're gonna hurt people, Clary. We all do, and we all will. It's human nature. It's just what we do. You can't let Hyde control the Jekyll in you."

"Jekyll couldn't control Hyde," I whispered, my voice shaking. "He was too strong. He couldn't hold it back. I can't hold it back. She's so strong. It's taking everything I have."

"But you're holding her back," Jesus assured me, cupping my face in his hands. "You're doing it, Clary. You can take control over her."

I closed my eyes, pulling myself out of his grasp. "Jekyll… he only took control long enough to end it. That was the only way to beat Hyde. He made John… Oh, Jesus, be my John. Please. Do it, Paul. Set me free. Set us all free."

"Stop that, dammit!" Jesus cried. "You're not dying on us. This isn't Jekyll and Hyde, okay? Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I've heard of the things that you've done, and not the bad things. No, I know about all the badass things you've done. Like that time you and Rick took on a damn herd of walkers out of rage. How you saved an entire town."

"I took out an entire town, too."

"You've saved your group more times than they can count. You're amazing, Clary, and you're not going to throw that away just because you've got a dark side. So come on, come with me." He held out a hand for me to take, and I hesitantly placed my hand in his. "We have a doctor. You should let him check you out. We don't know what all Hydra did while you were with them."

So I let him lead me, out of the mansion and to a trailer not too far from it. I hesitated when I saw Bucky sitting inside, wincing as the doctor bandaged the wound in his side. "So, she's Daryl's little sister?" the doctor was questioning, glancing at Bucky every now and then. "Didn't know he had one."

"We thought she died about three months back," Bucky told him. "She means a lot to all of us. After Glenn and Maggie told us they were expecting, he told me that if it was a girl, they were naming her after Clary. It became a rule, almost. You just didn't say her name, didn't mention her. Especially not around Daryl. That girl, she's everything to him."

"From what I've heard, she means a lot to you, too," Jesus said, announcing our presence. "Harlan, this is Clary. I'm assuming you've heard about her from Bucky. Would you mind looking her over, make sure Hydra didn't hurt her?"

I scoffed at that. "Didn't hurt me my ass. Believe me, they did."

"I want Harlan to make sure you're not physically hurt right now. That any injuries you had have healed."

Harlan gestured for me to take a seat on a bed, which I did. I kept my head down the entire time, avoiding Bucky's gaze, while Harlan gave me the once over. I glanced up at Bucky as he pulled his shirt back on, glancing down at the bloodstained portion of it. He looked up and caught me watching him, telling me, "You know, I'm kinda glad you shot me."

"What the hell does that mean?" I questioned.

"Well, you showed me my weaknesses. It's something I can work on to make sure it doesn't happen again. It's like Steve with his shield. All you have to do is shoot around it. That's what I did in DC."

"I'm sorry," I said, switching to Russian. "I… I can't seem to get the Executioner under control."

"It's okay, doll," he replied in English. "And it's gonna be okay."

"I wish I could believe you," I admitted, glancing down.

"I'll do everything that needs to be done," Bucky said. "I promise you. Whatever you need, I'll be there."

"You know, you're not alone," Rick said, appearing in the doorway. "There's a lot of people back in Alexandria that are willing to do just about anything for you. I think it's time we get you back there."

Bucky and I slid off the beds we were sitting on, following Rick and Jesus out of the doctor's trailer. The sun was high in the sky, probably just a little after noon. I could see Daryl and Clint standing by the RV, and I stopped to look at Jesus when he said, "I guess I'll see you guys some other time."

"You're not coming with us?" I questioned, while Rick and Bucky continued on.

He shook his head, holding out a hand for me to shake. "Stay safe, Clary."

I took his hand, then pulled him towards me, wrapping my other arm around him. "I don't want you to go," I whispered. "Please. Bucky probably hates me, and the others… I don't know them."

"Hey, hey, hey, don't think that for one second," Jesus said softly, leaning down to look in my eyes. "Don't think that. Bucky would never hate you. He loves you too much to. And the others, you don't remember them, but in time, you will." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "C'mon, I'll walk you down."

So I let him lead me down to the RV, the others saying a quick goodbye before climbing in the vehicle. Jesus turned to me as I opened the door, saying, "You remember what I told you?"

I glanced up at the sky, then down at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it will be okay."

Carl

It was safe to say that no one was expecting the person that walked through the door to be the one behind the Executioner's mask.

They left on the spur of the moment, my dad only stopping to tell me that he'd be back in a day, and he told Michonne as he was leaving the community. Once we spread the word that they were going off on a rescue mission, we sat gathered in the living room at the house my dad and I shared with Michonne, Daryl, Bucky, and Steve. We all turned as a door opened, but were slightly disappointed when Steve walked through. "Sorry," he apologized, knowing we were waiting for them to return. "But I did see the gate opening. They should be here soon."

"Did you see if she was with them?" Pietro questioned.

"Couldn't tell. Like I said, I saw the gate opening. I didn't stick around to see them come in."

A few minutes later, we could hear people walking down the street, Bucky conversing with someone in Russian. "She's with them," Natasha said. "He said 'Palach.' It means 'Executioner.'"

We turned as the door opened, getting to our feet, and my dad was the first person to come through. He took a deep breath, looking around at us. "You're going to have a hard time believing this," he said as Clint and Daryl walked in behind him. "But, um… this Executioner, she's…" He sighed. "I don't know how to explain it. I can't even begin to. But, um, you know her."

"It couldn't be someone we know," Glenn argued, shaking his head. "Who the hell's the Executioner?"

"Hey, everyone," a familiar voice said, causing everyone in the room to freeze at the two words that proved Glenn wrong.

There it was, the voice that I thought I'd never hear again. The voice that I last heard begging me to wake up, to open my eyes. The person I begged to not be dead.

I heard her, and she heard me.

As we all got over the initial shock, the sudden realization that holy shit Clary's alive, the room exploded with shouts. Cries of "how in the hell are you alive," "I never thought I'd see you again," and so on. I stood silent, staring at the girl that I finally accepted was never going to return. Her hair was a bit longer, growing as much as it would in three months. She wore a black bodysuit that looked to be made of the same material as Natasha's, and military boots, with a set of dog tags dangling around her neck. I froze when I saw her right arm. Metal, just like Bucky's. Same star and everything.

Beside me, Glenn was in tears, a sobbing mess at the girl he loved like a little sister. I started to take a step forward, then stopped, dropping to my knees. I felt a rush of wind, and Pietro was suddenly beside Clary. She jumped in surprise, and he took her face in his hands, rambling, "Oh my god, is it really you? You're here! Oh my god! Clary!" He kissed her, then immediately pulled back. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Clary. I'm sorry, Carl. You're here!" Pietro wrapped her in a hug, refusing to let go of her. He rambled on Romanian for about thirty seconds before he realized that he wasn't speaking English. "I'm so sorry, Clary. I wasn't there."

"Where the hell were you?" I questioned, shaking as Michonne pulled me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Clary, where were you?"

"Hydra had her," Bucky said, and I saw him standing in the doorway behind her. "She's not your Clary anymore."

"They took her brain and played," Clint added. "Pulled her out and stuffed something else back in."

"I'm not the person you all know," Clary said. "I don't remember any of you." She glanced up at Pietro, who still had his arms around her. "Hell, I don't even know who you are but what I do know is that you are a damn good kisser." Pietro chuckled, loosening his hold on her a bit. "Hydra took out the person you knew and put in the person I am now. The one they call the Executioner."

Behind me, Maggie let out a sob, pushing around me to hug Clary. Pietro stepped back as he saw Maggie approaching, and Clary mirrored his movement, but she backed up until she reached Bucky. "Maggie, you might want to hold off on that," Bucky recommended, placing a hand on Clary's back to keep her from backing out the door. "It's gonna take a while before she remembers any of you."

Bucky tugged her with him towards the living room, where we were all gathered. "It's alright, Clary," Bucky told her, seeing as she was hesitant to follow. "No one here would ever dream of hurting you. We're family."

I pulled away from Michonne, extending a hand for Clary to take. I moved the same way I did when I first met her—slowly, so I wouldn't scare her away. She was hesitant, then placed her hand in mine, staring down at the metal hand in mine. I raised an arm to wrap around her, but hesitated, asking, "Is it okay if I…"

She nodded once, and I pulled her against me, just holding her. Not tightly, the way Pietro did, but a gentle embrace, like you would hold a dance partner. I suddenly remembered the only Russian phrase I knew, which I heard Bucky say to Steve time after time, and I only learned what he was saying when I asked Natasha. I whispered, "YA lyublyu tebya."

Clary didn't reply, backing away from me until she reached Bucky. "I don't know these people," she said. "Bucky."

"It's alright," he assured her.

Natasha said something in Russian, and even though I didn't know what she said, I could tell she was pissed. Clary spun away from Bucky, taking his knife and holding it out to defend herself. "I'm not going back there," Clary snapped.

"Clary, Clary, Clary," Bucky rushed. "It's alright, it's alright. Hey, listen. It's okay. Nat's not Hydra. She's an Avenger, like you."

"I don't know any of these people," Clary said, not turning to face him. "I told you that. Vytashchi menya otsyuda. Bud'te dobry."

"Of course," he replied. "Just put the knife down. C'mon, give it back."

It was obvious she didn't want to, keeping an eye on Nat at all times, but she gave the knife back to Bucky. He put it back in his belt, then placed a hand on Clary's back, leading her towards the stairs. He leaned down when she tugged on his sleeve, nodding along as she whispered something in his ear. Bucky picked her up, then glanced back at Daryl, Clint, and my dad. "Will you tell them?"

The three nodded, and Bucky carried Clary upstairs. "Dad," I started. "What happened to her?"

"The same thing they did to Bucky," Steve said, breaking the silence that followed my question. He wasn't even there, but he didn't have to be. He's seen it before. "They took her memories, put in what information they wanted. Made her into a weapon."

"She's a new person," Rick said. "And I don't know if that's good or bad, but she doesn't know any of you." He looked from Daryl, to Glenn, and then to me. "Not matter how much you meant to her, she's forgotten you."

Bucky

Clary rested her head against my chest as I carried her upstairs and into the spare bedroom. She slid down from my arms, looking around. "Is this my room?" she inquired.

"It is for now," I said, and Clary looked up at me, head tilted to the side. "The boy in the hat, Carl Grimes, was your boyfriend. You two slept in another room together. You don't remember him, do you?"

Clary shook her head slightly. "Should I?"

"He loves you. A lot. When they took you, he cried for two days. Didn't speak for a week."

Clary glanced down. "I hate that I don't know him. I don't want to see them hurting like that."

I smiled softly, then chuckled lightly. "That's my girl. That's who you were."

"Who was the blond? The one that wasn't speaking English."

"Pietro Maximoff. The girl he was beside is his twin, Wanda. Pietro, he takes care of you, even when you think you don't need it. He's saved your life a few times."

She knelt on the ground, untying her boots and slipping them off along with her socks, then started to unzip her uniform before she paused. "Wait here a minute," I said, then left the room.

"Bucky?" she called after me, and I returned a minute later with one of my shirts. My room was closer than the one she shared with Carl, and I wasn't sure if he kept any of her clothing after we thought she died.

"Here," I said, tossing her a Metallica shirt. "Try that."

"Thanks, Buck," she said, looking down at the shirt in her hands. "Metallica?"

"It's a band," I told her. "One you like. I've got some records. I think you'll recognize them. Oh, um." I turned my back so she could change. "Tell me when you're done."

Behind me, I heard Clary unzipping her suit, dropping it to the ground. A few moments later, she said, "Okay."

I turned back around, smiling softly as she looked at home in the Metallica shirt. "I grabbed these, too," I said, tossing her a pair of sweatpants. "But they're probably too big."

Clary held them up to her waist, and I let out a chuckle. "Buck, I don't think these are gonna fit."

I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah, I didn't think they would. I can get you a pair that'll fit, but I don't know if Carl kept any of your clothes."

"No, don't leave me," Clary said, dropping the pants and moving to take my hand. She stopped as soon as she started, stepping backwards. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've done that."

"It's alright," I assured her, but she shook her head.

"No, it's not. I'm sorry. I know I'm not allowed to ask for things like that. I shouldn't've said that."

I almost took her hand, almost pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her, wanting to let her know that she was safe, but I didn't. I faltered, stepping away from her. Clary shifted on her feet, glancing towards the bed. "Hey, Clary," I said, and she looked up at me. "You don't have to ask permission to sit down."

She hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed, then flinched, waiting for the blow, when I raised my hand. I rested it on her shoulder, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Night, Cheyenne."

"Thank you, Bucky," Clary whispered. I gave a nod, turning to walk out the door. I stopped when she said, "Bucky?"

I turned back to her. "Yeah?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Nevermind, it's stupid. Forget I said anything."

I stepped closer, studying her as I neared. "Do you want me to stay?" Clary said nothing, looking away from me. I knelt in front of her, repeating my question. "Do you want me to stay? Clary, it's okay. If you need something, just ask. Should I stay?" She still didn't reply. "Clary, honey, you gotta tell me. Just say yes or no."

It was so quiet that for a second I think I imagined it, but when she wrapped her arms around my neck, I knew I had heard her right. I picked Clary up, holding her as I sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Clary was all but laying on top of me, her arms wrapped around me and her head on my chest. I rested my metal arm around her waist, using my right hand to run my fingers through her hair. It was something that used to calm her before she was taken, something that reminded her that not all touch had the intention of pain. It's why it worked for me. "I don't know anyone here," Clary murmured. "But they all know me. They all have these memories, and I can't remember a damn thing."

"But you remember me," I replied. "I mean, you recognized me. You said you knew who I was."

"Just your name and your face," Clary whispered, the hand that rested on my arm tightening around it. "And that you're the reason they made me into this. 'We lost our goddamn asset, so you're gonna replace him.' I was the new you."

I took a deep breath, not quite sure how to process everything she was telling me. Was she blaming me, or was it all just spilling out? As she continued, recounting some of the events she witnessed, took part in, I knew it was the latter. But that still didn't stop me from feeling guilty. I was free, but then Hydra went looking for someone else to make into their supersoldier, and Clary drew the short stick. "Clary," I said softly, interrupting her as she began to tell me about her single-handed take down of the Saviors compound. "You might not remember this, or even know it, but I love you, Clary. You're my best girl. Now, c'mon. Get some sleep, okay? You need it."

"I can't," she whispered, her voice wavering, showing her fright. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm back there. And when I open 'em again, I think they're gonna be here, waiting for me. I don't wanna go back, Bucky."

"Shh, it's alright, Clary," I whispered, dropping my hand from her hair to rub her back. "I won't let them near you. When we met, you made that promise to me. That if Hydra came back, you'd defend me till your last breath. And that's the same promise I'm making you. I will never let them touch you again. Now, c'mon, doll, let's get some sleep."

Clary closed her eyes, but every time she started to drift off, she'd jerk awake. Eventually, I started humming, hoping that she'd recognize the song, which was one of her favorites, and hoping it'd lull her to sleep. "That song," Clary murmured after hearing me hum it for the third time. "It sounds familiar."

"'Every Rose Has Its Thorn,'" I told her. "It's one of your favorites."

By the sixth time, Clary was asleep, and I was all but there. As I drifted off, I tightened my hold around her waist, not ready to let her go.

Pietro was the one that remembered that Clary promised to watch The Lion King with us when she returned from her run. He brought Wanda along with him, and the two carried snacks and drinks when they showed up at our door. Rick didn't know what to think when he walked into the house to find a quartet of ex-Hydra soldiers, two of them assassins, singing along to a children's movie that evening. He called everyone together for a family dinner, as he called it, wanting everyone around because Clary was back and she was alive.

"I swear to god, if I hear those fucking Disney nerds singing 'Hakuna Matata' one more time, I'm going to shoot someone," Stark grumbled, thinking we couldn't hear him.

"Hey, it means 'no worries,' not 'all the worries!'" I called.

"Mufasa," Pietro said, causing Wanda to start giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, I'm surrounded by idiots," Clary sighed, causing the twins to laugh harder. Everyone was making their way from the kitchen into the living room, sitting around on couches, chairs, and the floor. We were silent for a long time, no one saying anything, and Clary finally broke the silence by saying, "I killed over thirty people when I was with them. Thirty was where I stopped counting. And the first month, I was out of action."

"Clary, you don't have to talk about it," I said, placing a hand on her arm.

"I do, Buck," she replied. "I gotta say it. I was their puppet, and they were my master. They labeled me the Executioner, so I labeled them dead. Living up to the name, I suppose. What I felt, what I've known, I couldn't let it shine through what I was shown. I was never free, never me. What they did, it can only be unforgiven. What they did to me, the games they played, I don't remember who I was. I don't remember any of you. I don't know you, not like I used to. I've got an idea, thanks to Daryl and Bucky, but I don't remember you. I don't remember me. You're just a familiar face, a ghost in the crowd." Clary looked down, speaking just to speak, as if she forgot everyone was there. "When Bucky said my name, back there in that place… I remembered. Not everything, not who I was. But I did remember him. My Bucky. He said 'Clary,' and suddenly, I was the sixteen year old from before Hydra again. Out of all of it, all of this information hidden away up here, the only thing I can remember is my Bucky."

Everyone was completely silent, lost in their thoughts, and we all jumped when Maggie let out a sob. Glenn wrapped an arm around his wife, who buried her face in his shoulder as she cried. Clary looked down, not having expected a reaction like that after she said what she wanted to say. "I'm sorry," Clary whispered. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I didn't… I wasn't tryin' to upset you."

"How can you say that you're sorry after everything that's happened to you?" Maggie questioned, sniffling as she lifted her head from Glenn's shoulder.

"I don't know. I don't know."

Glenn gave her a sad smile, then said, "I think we're gonna head home. It's getting late."

There was a round of goodnights and the two left, and others followed after them. Soon, the only people that were left were Rick, Michonne, Daryl, Carl, Steve, Clary, and I. Daryl was holding Judith, trying to get her to fall asleep after Rick couldn't. He sighed, giving up and passing her off to Michonne, who chuckled and took the baby. She took Judith upstairs, and was followed by Rick, and after a few minutes, Carl. Steve disappeared upstairs after saying goodnight, leaving Clary, Daryl, and I. "So now what?" I questioned.

"Put a movie in," Daryl suggested. "Someone had season two of Supernatural, put it in this house. We could watch that."

"Clary picks the episode," I said, deciding that we'd watch the show.

"Let me see 'em," she said, sitting up and looking at the list. "Ooh, 'Born Under a Bad Sign' sounds good."

"You heard the lady," I said, and Daryl flicked to the fourteenth episode. We settled back, Clary cocking her head to the side like a certain angel as she watched the "previously on," trying to figure out the show. On screen, Dean demanded, "Sammy, where the hell are you?"

"Sammy," Clary breathed, eyes widening at the name. Daryl looked at me, both of us trying to figure out what was going on with her, before it finally clicked. "Oh, god, Sammy."

"She's remembering," I said, climbing off the couch and kneeling in front of Clary. "Hey, Clary, you with me?" I glanced at Daryl over my shoulder. "That's what she called him, wasn't it? She called him 'Sammy.'" I looked back up at Clary, fear in her eyes as she remembered the end of her friend, one that was a brother to her. "Clary? Can you hear me? Clary!"

Clary looked down at me, swallowing before she said, "Who the hell is Sammy? Who was he?"

"He was your friend," Daryl said solemnly. "He died early on. You were holding onto him. Bucky, can I talk with you?"

"Stay right here," I ordered Clary, echoing Dean, then got up and followed Daryl to the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"Every now and then, I hear a word from my past, and it triggers memories that I thought I'd forgotten. The first time I heard 'Coney Island,' I remembered going there with Steve. She heard Sammy, and she remembered him."

"You think she'll remember anything else?"

"It's possible," I answered. "I mean, she wasn't with them as long as I was. I'd say it's probably easier for her to remember than it was for me."

Daryl looked past me, staring sadly at Clary, who sat in silence on the couch, staring down at her hands. He followed me back into the living room, taking a seat in a chair while I sat next to Clary. Immediately, she curled up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. A little under fifteen minutes in, Clary shifted beside me, almost as if she was uncomfortable, as Dean said, "No one can control you but you."

"It sure doesn't seem like that, Dean," Sam replied. "It feels like no matter what I do, slowly but surely, I'm just becoming who I'm meant to be. You said it once yourself, Dean. I gotta face up to who I am."

"I didn't mean this!" Dean cried.

"But it's still true! You know that. Dad knew that, too. That's why he told you if it ever came to this—"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, you promised him. You promised me."

"Hey, Bucky?" Clary questioned, taking my attention from the show.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"You think I'll end up like that? Like Sam? A monster that kills their own?"

"Clary, why would you say something like that? Of course not. And hey, Sam's not a monster. Neither of you are."

"I'm already close to it," she mumbled. "If I ain't there already."

I wrapped my arm around her, kissing her forehead. "It's okay," I told her. "You're okay now."

"You can't make things better just by saying that they're okay. I mean, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, but that won't stop me from trying."

Clary went silent, lost in either her thoughts or the show. Once the episode was over, Daryl got to his feet, announcing, "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed."

"Night," Clary and I called as he headed to his room. I looked down at the girl beside me. "What about you? Ready for bed?"

Clary nodded, and I shut the tv off, walking her to her room. I leaned against her doorframe, watching as she climbed into her bed. "Night, Clary," I said. "I'm the next door over if you need anything."

She nodded, then whispered, "Night, James."

"Hey," I said, and she looked up. "Love you."

She finally smiled at that, giving me a small grin. "Love you."

I turned away from the door as she laid down, climbing in bed with Steve in the next room. He stirred slightly as I climbed in, opening his eyes. "Hey," he murmured.

"Hey," I replied.

"I thought you'd be over with her again."

"Clary knows I'm right next door." I glanced up at the wall separating the two rooms. "She'll be okay. She has to be."

I looked back to Steve, but he was already asleep again. I kissed his forehead, then closed my eyes, drifting off.

I jerked awake in the middle of the night to a scream, lifting my head from my pillow, unsure if I imagined it. At the next cry, I had already leapt out of bed, running out the door. I rushed into Clary's room, to find her on her bed, trying to fight back against whatever was in her dream. I took her by her arms, holding her down so she didn't hurt me or herself. "Clary, Clary, hey," I rushed. "Clary, wake up. Wake up! It's okay, just wake up!"

Clary snapped awake, wrapping her hands around my biceps. It took her a minute to realize what was going on, where she was at. Her voice was hoarse from screaming herself awake as she croaked, "James?"

"Hey, it's okay," I told her. "It's me, it's me, it's okay. You're okay."

"Bucky?" I heard Rick ask from the door, and I turned to see him standing there, Carl behind him. "What's going on?"

"I've got her," I told them. "It's okay."

Rick turned away, satisfied, but Carl remained. He walked in, wrapping an arm around Clary as he leaned down to hug her. "You're safe," he told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "It's okay now. You're with us." Carl pulled away, looking down at me. "Take care of her. Please."

"Always," I promised him.

Carl squeezed my shoulder as he passed. "You're a good man, Buck."

He gently closed the door behind him, leaving me with Clary. "It's okay," I told her. "I'm here. It's gonna be okay." Clary was silent, staring at something that wasn't there. "Hey. You wanna go for a walk? It helps."

After a moment, Clary nodded, and she climbed out of bed, pulling on her boots. I did the same, resting a hand on her back as we ventured down the stairs and out the front door. Glenn was walking towards the front porch as we stepped out onto it, asking, "Hey, what's going on? I heard Clary scream."

"A dream," I said. "It's the PTSD. It happens when you were with Hydra."

Glenn looked us over, asking, "You guys going for a walk?"

"It helps," I told him. "Join us?"

Glenn nodded once, waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, where he walked on Clary's other side. "Maggie," Clary eventually said. "Is she okay?"

"She's alright," Glenn told her, taking Clary's hand. "She's just worried about you. Maggie cares about you, Clary. She can't take anyone hurting you like that. The thought of someone doing that to you upset her."

"So… she's not mad at me?"

"Why would you say something like that? No, never! Maggie could never be mad at you. You did nothing wrong." I suddenly came to a halt, realizing where I led them to. I wasn't paying attention, and I was so used to walking alone at nights that I ended up taking my usual route. "Bucky?"

"I didn't mean to lead us here," I said. "I'd come here when I couldn't sleep."

"This is where you went off to at night?" Glenn asked. "To the graveyard?" I turned to him, wondering how he knew I left the house most nights. He didn't live with us, not anymore. "I saw you leave a couple times."

I knelt like I used to, staring at the piece of wood with the name "Cheyenne Clarissa Dixon" painted on it. Natasha was the one that did it, since she had the most beautiful handwriting out of all of us. I ran my fingers over the words, the ones I knew all too well. "Teach me how to say goodbye," Clary read.

"I didn't think you'd ever come back, and you always had a problem with saying goodbye," I told her, staring ahead at the board that served as her tombstone. Beside her, the only member of that run team that made it back was buried. Alycia, who couldn't take the survivor's guilt and killed herself about two weeks after we thought Clary died. "I wish she could see you. Alycia never got to know you were alive."

"I remember that day," Glenn said. "Your funeral. Steve… he thought you should have a twenty-one gun salute. Daryl said no way in hell. He knew you'd give us hell for using bullets on something that wasn't walkers or the enemy, and then there was the matter of the sound attracting them."

"I still don't know what made him think that would be the best tribute," I said, shaking my head. "We were ready to go to war with the Saviors for you. We were doing it in your name, but you… you beat us to the punch." Clary suddenly shivered, rubbing her arms to warm them. "You cold?" She nodded. "Why didn't you bring a jacket?" Clary shrugged, and I shook my head, taking off mine and putting it over her shoulders. "C'mon. It's late. Let's get back."

Clary was silent as she walked between us again, heading back to the house. We stopped at Glenn's, waving him goodbye and bidding him goodnight. We waited until he closed the door to head back to our house, making as little noise as possible as we climbed the stairs. I closed her door behind us, hanging my jacket on the back of a chair as she crawled back into her bed after kicking off her shoes. "James?" Clary whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay?"

"Of course," I told her. I laid down on my stomach, throwing one of my arms across her stomach. She wrapped one of her arms around mine, stretching the other one out, which I rested my head on. Clary took my hand in hers, using her other hand to run her fingers through my hair, as if to reassure herself that I wasn't going to disappear. "What would I do without you, James?" she whispered.

"Don't think about it," I recommended.

"But one day, you'll be gone. Like you thought I was."

"Shh, Clary, stop," I said, opening my eyes to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm here, with you. Let's focus on that, okay? On the here and now. Close your eyes, doll, and sleep. It's okay. I'm here."

Clary closed her eyes, and I did the same. About fifteen minutes later, I heard Clary's breathing even out, signaling she was asleep again. Hopefully it's for the rest of the night. She needs sleep. I opened my eyes, looking down at her. I muttered, "I won't always be here. What are you going to do without me?"