Okay, prepare thy tissues and hankies, coz Sam didn't. Hopefully you read my A/Ns before jumping in, so you're prepared for this. I'd like to start off with how I decided to put this chapter up, because there's a hell lot of time skipped between the last chapter and now, but I already warned you about incoming unchronicled chapters. So. Yeah. This is going to be so sad...but at least there's Bucky? I mean. Things will be better, but. Uhm. This is the chapter for more feels than I ever thought Steve would pour out. She keeps everything so bottled but Sam's a professional feels poker. And he's got that way of acting like drama isn't drama. Steve knows her drama is drama, but she'd like someone to pretend with her just this once okay?
...Anyway, just note that I'm warning you of impending tears. Bucky plays backdoor spectator here, but obviously he's catching feels too. And before anyone asks why Steve didn't notice Bucky...he's the Winter Soldier. Steve's not god.
The door slammed as Bucky left. Steve didn't chase after him like she would have, before. Because she knows that he needed time to cool off, and that he'd be back.
(The latter part is the most important. It doesn't matter how much Tony will squawk, but she will leave for another 70 years if she has to.)
Instead, she slumps on the couch, sighs and wonders not for the first time if there was a way she could conjure up the Red Skull again and squeeze his head in her hands like a particularly stubborn pomegranate. She doesn't bother imagining sweeping away the kidnapping and the experimenting and the reprogramming. If there's one thing she's learnt in all her lives, it's that everything causes something.
(It may feel like a burning ache in her chest, but what's one more? As long as Bucky is still alive and well and with her, she could take it. She could take anything. She could take everything. And, guilty conscience aside, she'll put him through anything too. Bucky's always been the stronger one.)
The same door she'd been staring at slid open again, the gentle firmness telling her that it was Sam. He was probably 'passing by' again, and had seen Bucky storm off.
"You okay?" He gestured, not making any pretence that he wasn't concerned. She liked that—how honest and real he was. So solid it was comforting when she felt like she couldn't take being the solid one anymore. She would forever be thankful for Sam Wilson, and if she never met him again the next times she dies, she'll still never forget him.
(She might go jogging through New York City a little more until she finds him again, given how much she tries to hold onto her chances, but she'll never forget their first meeting and she'll always cherish it.)
"I will be," she nods back, because she's learnt to be honest with him in turn. It makes him happy, even when he complains that he's the only sane person in the tower, because if she's crazy at least she's the one person who'd give him a straight truth.
(Tony flakes and deflects, Natasha and Clint were trained to evade questions, Bruce waffles and demures, while Hulk'd just smash you to bits. Thor…Sam hasn't met Thor yet, but Steve's spoken to the 'god' enough to know that he has a bulletproof façade of cheerful obliviousness. Even Pepper answers questions in roundabout ways, so used to talking circles around people.)
He isn't satisfied this time though, because he goes to the couch and seats on the little one beside her, "Y'know, I don't think that's gonna cut it anymore. Time was I'd be alright with that sort of answer, coz it sounds like you're working towards getting better, but it's been weeks and I don't see no getting there, y'know what I mean?"
He punctuates his sentence with a sharp jab of his finger, which she imagines breaking but feels bad immediately.
"I'm not gonna get any better until Bucky does, Sam," she admits, because how can she be alright when her best guy is a mess of mixed-up memories and guilt and whatever else HYDRA had put into him?
"That's not how it goes, Steve," Sam immediately replies like he'd had practice, "Your own stability isn't based on another person's. You can feel down because your buddy is messed up, but you're messed up yourself."
She bites back the defensiveness, "I dunno if I can focus on that right now, Sam. It's not just that I'd feel bad about putting him aside and fixing myself, or that I'm using him as an excuse to put off dealing with my issues. I just…I just don't know if any of my problems can get fixed like his."
Sam takes a moment to blink at her, before his eyes go all wide and shocked. "Steve," he leans forward like he wants to take her hand, "How long have you been feeling like this? I can't believe I didn't see it 'til now, but—" and he spits out the words disbelievingly, "—you're depressed aren't you? Not the momentary kind, but the prolonged kind. Even before you found Barnes."
He straightens up, like he wants to—to do something, before he slumps again and presses, "How long, Steve. And be honest with me."
And Steve…smiles helplessly.
xXXx
Bucky—The Asset—James Barnes leaned against the door silently. He'd been halfway to the gym when he saw Falcon, and the way the man had spun around the moment he saw him had gotten him curious. When he saw that he was headed to Steve's floor, he'd followed discretely at a distance until he'd gone inside. Then, he had just wanted to ensure there was no threat (there usually wasn't) but the conversation had perked his…concern.
Steve wasn't fine.
It was a neverending source of frustration, how patient Steve Rogers could be. How utterly perfect and prepared and kind and accepting and patient and forgiving. It wasn't possible for a man to be such a saint, and yet there he was. It made him itch, made him want to crack that calm. Just a little.
To no avail. He'd screamed and yelled and said all sorts of things aimed to cut and twist and gouge. And Steve Rogers had just stood there and let him. And he'd still been as calm and collected and untouched as possible. Not because he was indifferent—it was so obvious how much he cared—but because he was so sure that Bucky—The Asset—James Barnes was still his friend. That there was still a soul in the wreckage of HYDRA brainwashing and experimentation, and that that soul was the kind, beautiful, perfect best friend to Captain America.
It made The Asset want to stab.
Except now he was hearing that maybe, Captain America wasn't so perfect. And it rankled, that now he had the proof he wanted and it just made him feel worse. And flawed as he was, Captain America—Steve Rogers—was someone whose boots he still couldn't touch. He wanted to be Bucky Barnes, if for no other reason than because that man had deserved to befriend Steve Rogers. He wanted to be kind and accepting and helpful and all the things Steve Rogers had described his friend to be.
(He wanted many confusing, conflicting, complicated things.
He wanted to drag Steve down. He wanted to Steve to be perfect. He wanted people to leave him alone. He wanted Steve to never give up. He wanted someone to accept that Bucky Barnes was dead and the only thing left was The Asset. He wanted someone to maybe hit him over the head and turn him back into that man. He wanted Steve to fix him.
He can't bear Steve's eyes on him. He can't bear him looking away.)
"You're depressed, aren't you? Not the momentary kind but the prolonged kind…"
Buc—The—James holds his breath and leans closer.
xXXx
"I don't really know if I've ever felt any differently," Steve starts explaining, hands moving a little as he tries to find a place to start. Sam catalogues that, stares at this great man who is concealing a great deal of pain. He sounds so matter-of-fact, so blasé, that it's no wonder everyone's been tricked into thinking that Captain America's alright. He's Captain America, but more than that, he's a man who's been through hell and come out so gently polite that it just throws them.
(Nobody expects crazy to be so functional. At least, not that crazy.)
"What do you mean?" Sam prompts, because he knows sometimes you need a bit of prompting to get a story started.
Steve hums for a bit, like he's trying to find words. And suddenly it clicks that every time he's looking for words he always uses the ones that don't sound dramatic or make something…big. Like he's always been automatically trivializing every single hurt he's been through, and not in the defensive way, but in the 'it really doesn't hurt as much' sorta way. And normal people might believe him because hello—Supersoldier anyone?
But him?
(Okay, maybe he gets a little starry-eyed sometimes but—)
He's seen Steve bruised up too much to believe that.
(And he never lets anybody else play down their injuries. Even Thor. And what a fucking hypocrite.)
"Since I was born," Steve says like a sigh, like he's a little unhappy he couldn't find some less shocking way to say it.
"What do you mean?" He asks immediately, because he actually believes this man when he says he's been feeling depressed since he was born.
The young superhero's next sentence is thoughtful, "I mean that…well, back when I was born it wasn't easy being the way I was. You know how I was sick all the time and had breathing problems?"
"Yeah?"
"Well it wasn't easy surviving like that. As far as I could remember, it was always a conscious decision not to die."
His mouth has fallen open, because Jesus Christ.
"It was always a close thing, how easily I could fall apart. Winter was a constant cold. Ma always worried that I wouldn't wake up again every night. She'd put her blanket on me, and I'd be so cold I couldn't tell her not to."
Jesus fucking Christ.
"Summer was bad too, because I had the worst asthma attacks then. Don't really know why, but I'd have at least one every week and sometimes Bucky had to carry my unconscious body back home."
Sam closed his eyes as he imagined a tiny Steve Rogers being carried by his friend while doing that erratic, desperate, fish-mouthing thing asthmatics do. Weekly. He scrubbed his face and had to tell himself not to cover his ears. He's heard stories like this. He's heard worse.
(No, he hasn't.)
"There was problem earning money too. Everyone was poor around here, though Ma barely made do with work as a nurse anddoing laundry for other people. Even during winter—it tore her hands up real bad too. It was worse whenever I got sick, and I always got sick again. Medicine wasn't cheap. It was a miracle she could keep a roof over our heads with how sick I kept getting.
If she'd been by herself, she'd have been able to be comfortable—nurses got paid better than most other jobs. But she had me and…
I thought about doing her a favour by just not waking up one day. But she told me herself that I was all that kept her breathing after my Da died. So I kept on…but it was still a miracle that I managed to live to adulthood and take care of her a little before she passed."
Steve shrugs a little resignedly, "And I know she'd have lived longer and better without me around…whatever she said. She was young when she had me, there were stilled interested suitors—she was beautiful. She coulda remarried. She didn't…a little for me, a little for herself.
Which was fine. But if I'd been just a little healthier, got sick a little less…it woulda been a great help."
xXXx
The Asset leaned his head back against the door. He was sitting on the ground with a knee propped up. He had a good vantage point for passers-by and there was a vent directly on top so he'd know if there was someone there. The talking computer had been deactivated for Steve's floor except for emergencies, so he was a little more secure about privacy.
He stared at the metal screws on the vent as flashes of…something lit up in different parts of his brain. He'd worry that they were HYDRA bits but they all had Steve in them, so there was no way.
He remembers how Steve had looked like before the serum now.
"I wasn't…unhappy all the time," Steve insisted firmly in that righteous way he got, "but I was tired. There was always something else to worry about: rent, food, work, medicine…bullies. I kept getting into trouble and Bucky kept getting into trouble for me. I couldn't rightly accept his family's charity, no matter how close we were. Ma was like Winnie's sister and she never let them give us more than a neighbourly dinner."
"You know that that didn't matter, right? People wanna help because they care, not because they pity you. A good friend wouldn't watch you get into trouble without helping out."
"I know that, Sam. But I couldn't become dependent on them. Bucky had three siblings. His Ma and Da were barely keeping themselves in food and clothes. I was older than Becky and the rest. Being as I was as good as an older brother to them, it wasn't right to make them take care of me when I was already a grown man. I found work, Sam. I could work."
"…that's a tricky argument. Not that you're wrong, but you're also not right. But it's part of your moral code so I can't really convince you otherwise."
"Heh. Smart man. So that was before the war came and took Bucky. He got drafted, did you know that?"
Bucky tensed.
"He did? But the museum—"
"—is a crock of bull. Bucky didn't volunteer his service to his country. He didn't have a choice. I was the one who'd wanted to go. And he went along with it for my sake. Didn't run and hide because he wanted to do my share of fighting, because he wanted to carry my values for me."
"…damn."
"Came to my apartment with a big smile on his face like he'd applied for it himself, slapped me on the back all smug and stupid like he hadn't always been the one who wanted to find a quiet job, marry a whip smart dame, and live next door to all his sisters with half a dozen kids."
Something snapped in The Asset's mind and he was flooded with sounds and little flashes of pictures. He didn't recognize them—they didn't settle the way he imagined memories should, but he knew the people in them like he'd been given a briefing. And it was. Something. It didn't slip away again like all his previous attempts at remembering.
He ignored his throbbing head and focused back on the conversation.
"So…you were always tired, back then? Every single day, with the sickness and crap and the poverty?"
"Yeah," the word was a sigh that trembled through every part of his body and made his right arm ache, "When Bucky shipped out though, I knew I had to follow."
"You are trying to make me cry, aren't you? I hate you. You and your epic bromance."
A bark of laughter. It was genuine and real and not at all like it was from a person who was constantly depressed. "I wouldn't be anywhere without Bucky. Even with Ma, there were plenty of times I'd've died without him."
"You shut your face right now. Jesus Christ I need a tissue."
A snort, "Geez, Sam, here. Wipe your face."
"You are an adorable old man and I am not returning this hanky."
"I have plenty more. Go ahead."
A beat as Wilson blew his nose noisily. He snuffled a little more before prompting, "And then? So Bucky's life got stolen by Uncle Sam and you chased him…?"
"Well, it's all in the books, innit? I got rejected four times before Dr. Erskine took a chance on me and made me the subject of his serum experiment. And then, well. It was war. You know how that is."
"Just a little. But nothing like the Howling Commandos and Captain America. And I'm pretty sure war in the 1940s was less technologically advanced. You guys had a lot of other things to deal with."
"It wasn't so different. Less support I guess. We didn't have someone mapping things out as we went and giving instructions in our ear. There was a lot more planning for things that might happen, because we had to know how to coordinate if there were different movements."
"And given that you're the Man with the Plan, it was a piece of cake, huh?"
"I had to learn somewhere. I messed up quite a bit at the start. Dum Dum nearly died 17 times before I started getting smarter and then Dernier spent 2 weeks being dragged around on his sleeping bag after a big mistake. There were a lot of close calls. They were really good about it, but everyone knew I was learning on the job and that if I failed they'd pay for it with their lives."
"…And that was another worry that added on to your load."
"More like it was swapped out. Don't really have to worry about rent or money when you're fighting. And I didn't get sick anymore. It was easier in some ways."
"Have you ever thought about going on a vacation?"
"You think HYDRA's gonna wait 'til I'm back to settle scores? Or any of the other organizations who want to take over the world?"
"We could…no we couldn't cover you. And it's all your fault for being so irreplaceable."
A laugh, "I do my best."
"But damn, you don't have anything that'll help you relax? You need to chill out, man."
"I guess I draw, but my counsellor told me that I keep dwelling on unhealthy subjects of the past."
"…you are one sad bastard, Steve."
"My mother had me after marriage, Sam."
"Oh don't give me that crap! Anyway, keep going…Jesus Christ."
"Right. So there was war. And Bucky recovering from Zola's experiments."
"Aw fuck you Steve! I thought it was just war, damnit."
"It's never 'just war', Sam. I'm insulted that you'd belittle my pain."
A wet laugh. "Jesus Fucking Christ, just continue already. I'm gonna soak through the entire hanky before we're done with this conversation."
"…So there was Bucky and he needed a break. Except he wouldn't let me go back to fighting alone, so even though he was terrified of getting captured again and completely sick of war, he still followed me…and I let him."
"HOLD THAT FUCKING SENTENCE. Just. HOLD. IT. There is…so much wrong with that I can't even…UGNNGHHHH!"
"I couldn't be Captain America the huge and successful raider who saved a hundred soldiers and just disappear. I'd have done it for Bucky if I could, but Dr. Erskine had put a lot of effort into the serum and it was both a chance to repay that and a way to minimise the losses inflicted on us. Because I could do a lot more than other people, and we could get to places easier. And there was also the chance that I was the catalyst to turning the tide of the war. I wasn't winning the thing by myself, but there was a lot I could do and great deal of morale generated…you know how war is."
Soft sniffles.
"It wasn't…too bad. Bucky had nightmares—so did the rest of the team—but being around people he trusted helped a lot. Figuring that he was still fit enough to win most fights helped too. And he got a hell lot better at sniping than he used to be."
"That makes so much fucking sense I just want to scream. I am actually screaming on the inside right now. Keep. Going. Goddamnit. Therapy is supposed to be with the victim crying, not meeeeee…"
*Really fucking loud nose-blowing sound*
"…I have another handkerchief. Here…Anyway. So we kept fighting and winning and then Bucky fell and I…I had to let go and keep going. And almost immediately after that there was the hassle with the cube and I fell into a freezing ocean and got turned into an ice cube while I was conscious. I thought I was dying."
A pause.
"And then I woke up and discovered I wasn't. And that I was seventy years in the future where everything I remember is gone and everybody who knew me is either dead or dying and the best friend I managed to let go was actually alive and had been taken by HYDRA while I slept and turned into a monster against his will. Oh, and aliens want to take over the world now. Heh."
The Asset gritted his teeth and restrained himself from punching the wall. His brain thumped hard against the inside of his skull and he could feel the onset of a nosebleed. There were names and pictures and people and…
"So tell me, doc. How do I fix me?"
The Winter Soldier stood up and walked down the hallway towards the gym.
xXXx
And this is the part where you curse me for making you cry and whyyyyyy...but you knew Steve was a sad sack all this time...you shoulda seen this coming! Bucky still calls himself The Asset. Steve the stubborn as fuck donkey insists on 'jolting' his memory with familiar terms. Which doesn't help as much as this talk lol. I guess I can explain more about that if anyone wants to know, but I'll leave it up to you guys. ^.^
Sam cries really ugly-ly. Like. He out and out bawls at some parts and keeps cursing Steve for making him such a wuss. And YES he knows feels are a good thing, but he's still got his donkey male pride damnit!
Steve is a little (strong as fuck) old man with half a dozen hankies in her pockets in preparation for all sorts of damsel situations. She's a little tired out from all that sharing, but eh. She's more British than the Queen. She'll keep keeping on thank you very much, ma'am.
Memory25
PS
Oh god ff, what you do to a perfectly good chapter...I fixed some screwed up parts. Ugh.