Thank you to all my guest reviewers!
Strong language. Strong emotions.
-o0o-
"Bucky! C'mon, Bucky, stop! You're James Buchanan Barnes! Your name is James. You're Bucky. You're my fr—damn it… ow… stop! Okay… okay… shhh… I'm sorry. It's okay, you didn't mean it. You're safe. You're okay… okay… I got you. It's okay…"
Dark. Panicked voice in his ear. Pressure around his chest. Across his legs. Something hard beneath him. Lungs burning.
…32557038…
"C'mon, Bucky. It's me. It's Steve. You're okay."
"What…"
"You're okay. Guess you had a nightmare. Forgot where you were for a minute, but it's okay… it's okay…"
Warehouse… machines… needles… straps… Zola…
"Steve?" Pulling the name out of his memory was like slogging through a muddy bog. Why was it so hard to think? Zola musta done something… given him something…
"Yeah, it's Steve. I'm here, buddy." Steve sounded out of breath. "You're Bucky and I'm Steve."
…The man on the bridge… I knew him…
Bucky blinked. Tried to focus his eyes. Saw only shadows and realized it was his hair. Tried to reach up to shove it away, but Steve had his arm pinned to the floor.
… Your work has been a gift to mankind…
… I need you to do it one more time…
God, what had he done?
His injured ribs ached.
His head throbbed.
Past and present were all jumbled up in his brain.
…You're. My. Mission…
Dread and terror shoved bile up into his throat. "Steve," he croaked. "What… did I… are you…"
"You didn't do anything. It's okay. Just breathe."
"Did I hurt anyone?"
"No. I'm the only one here and I'm fine. Just breathe."
So Bucky breathed. In and out. In and out. Breathe. Focus. Breathe. Focus. Find himself despite the noise and static and confusion in his brain. After one last deep breath as the word Wakanda settled over his consciousness like a soft blanket, he sighed. "Okay. I'm okay. Let go."
Steve slowly loosened his death grip and lifted himself off of him, letting go of his arm last. Bucky shoved the hair out of his eyes and squinted up at Steve. There was blood flowing from his nose. "Aw, damn it, Steve. I'm sorry."
Steve dabbed at the flow with the back of his hand. "It's all right. Just a nosebleed. Didn't break anything."
Bucky looked around the room. He was on his back on the floor in front of the sectional couch. The coffee table was shattered into fragments. The back of the one section of the couch he could see was destroyed. There were fist-sized holes in the wall beyond it. He looked at his hand. The knuckles were bloody and swollen. "Oh god, no," he whispered. "No, no no…no… I thought I was just dreaming… I shouldn't have been able… I thought I had this under control… I thought…"
"It's okay, Bucky. It was just a flashback. You're okay."
"But I destroyed stuff. I hurt you!"
"Shh. I'm fine. It's just a nosebleed."
Bucky pushed himself up until he was sitting with his back against the couch. The view of the destruction was even worse from here. "Oh god. I destroyed the furniture. They're gonna kick me out. They're gonna kick you out because of me..." He tried to control his breathing, but panic was taking over.
Steve laid his arm across Bucky's shoulders and gave him a small hug. "Nobody's going to kick either of us out, Buck."
"I'll pay for it. I don't have a lot of money, but I'll work it off—"
"Bucky, stop. Calm down. No one's going to blame you. It was a flashback. You didn't have control."
Bucky pushed himself away from Steve and lurched to his feet. "That's just it! I don't have control. It's just like Berlin... damn it, I knew this would happen...I can't be trusted!" He staggered to his room and slammed the door. Steve didn't follow.
Bucky paced in the dark, quiet bedroom. Ran his shaking hand through his hair, over and over.
Just like Berlin.
No control.
He paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
He didn't have control.
He was dangerous.
If that had been someone besides Steve, they'd be dead.
Dead.
Steve said he wasn't to blame.
Steve was wrong.
The worst of it was, this wasn't just like Berlin. No one had said any trigger words. He had simply gone to sleep and somehow lost control.
"Damn it," he whispered.
More pacing.
No one seemed to understand that blame wasn't the issue… it didn't matter if he didn't mean to kill someone. Some poor soul would be dead and it would be his hands that had done it. Period. End of discussion.
End of discussion.
God, he was so tired of talking about it. Tired of discussing. He hadn't even had a true first session with Dr. Lu yet, and he was already done with telling people how he felt. Tired of just the thought of someone trying to make him feel better about himself. There was nothing that could erase his past. Nothing that could make him feel better about it. Nothing. Everybody could yammer on all they wanted about brainwashing and torture and Stockholm syndrome and every other syndrome in the book, but it still came back around to the fact that he had done all those horrible things and he couldn't be sure the Winter Soldier wouldn't take over his brain and start doing them all over again.
He slumped to floor on his knees and hung his head.
He just couldn't do this anymore.
-o0o-
A light knock on the door roused Bucky from his fixation with the floor between his knees. It felt like lifting five-hundred pounds of bricks, but he looked up. "What?"
"Bucky, this is Dr. Lu. Your friend Steven tells me you are having a bad time?"
Dr. Lu? Damn it. Why would he be here? He should be at the funeral with everyone else.
Bucky was too tired for this.
He struggled to his feet. His legs were so stiff he wondered how long he'd been sitting there. He smoothed out his hair and clothes as best as he could, then opened the door. Dr. Lu smiled up at him. He must have come straight from the funeral, because he was dressed in traditional robes of black with a zigzag stripe of yellow and red. He wore a small, round flat-topped cap of the same colors and pattern. "Come in," Bucky mumbled. He didn't meet the doctor's eyes, just shuffled to his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Went back to staring at the floor and trying not to think about anything.
Dr. Lu's shoes made quiet clicks against the floor. "May I sit beside you?"
Bucky shrugged.
The mattress dipped as Dr. Lu settled down about an arm's length away. He made a tut-tutting noise. "Your hand, may I see it?"
Bucky shrugged. Dr. Lu gently took it, rotating it this way and that. "Can you make a fist?"
Bucky did.
"Does that hurt?"
A head-shake.
"All right. That is very good. I doubt there is a break of any sort. Now, just a moment please," he said as he got up and went into the bathroom. Bucky heard him run some water and then he was back, his sleeves rolled up and a wet washcloth in one hand. "I will clean this for you, if that is all right?"
Bucky nodded. "Sorry I dragged you away from the funeral."
"Do not fear, it had ended before I received the call. Even if it had not, care of the living comes before honoring the dead." Dr. Lu gently pressed a warm wash cloth here and there on Bucky's hand. "Steven told me what happened," he said, his tone mild. "Would you like to tell me about it yourself?"
Slow head-shake.
"All right." His voice remained calm. Undemanding. Which of course made Bucky feel like he should say something.
"I… don't remember much."
No answer, so he risked a glance. Dr. Lu looked up from his ministrations with his head cocked, a kind smile on his face. Bucky dropped his gaze back to his hand as he cleared his throat. "I musta been dreamin'. Don't really remember, but when I woke up Pierce's voice was in my head, so I guess it was probably in my head during my dream."
"Pierce being the late Alexander Pierce?"
"Yeah. My handler."
"The Winter Soldier's handler," Lu corrected gently. He continued carefully cleaning the blood off Bucky's hand.
Bucky shrugged. The line was apparently so fine between him and the Winter Soldier it might as well not exist.
"What was Pierce saying?"
A long hesitation. "Stuff he said to me in DC. Before he sent me out to defend the Project Insight helicarriers. They wiped me, but I remember bits and pieces, I guess. Like with other memories. Stuff comes back, you know?"
Dr. Lu folded the washcloth and set it on the floor as he gave Bucky an encouraging nod.
Bucky sighed deep and long and cradled his forehead in his hand. The need to cry—or maybe scream with rage—was pushing hard against his chest. "I don't know. I… I guess I fought Steve? I musta punched him. Maybe threw him around, if the busted-up furniture is anything to go by." He scrubbed at his face. "God, I'm such an idiot."
"Tell me, do you still hear Pierce's voice right now?"
Head-shake.
"All right then. That is good. You overcame the memories yourself. That is progress."
Bucky shook his head again.
"You do not agree?"
"Done that a lotta times. Isn't progress," he mumbled in a voice thick with unshed tears. He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Tried to still the tremble he felt in his arm and chest. He wrapped his arm around his waist and bounced one knee up and down. Stared at the floor. Do not break down… do not break down…
"Bucky, I can see you are feeling very upset, and that is completely normal after such an event. You told me in my office that deep breathing helps. So I would like you to do that now, if you can?"
Bucky managed a jerky nod.
"All right, then. Follow my lead. Breathe in through your nose, slowly. Hold… hold… hold… now let it out through pursed lips, slowly. Relax your shoulders, your neck and jaw... yes, just like that. And again…"
He led Bucky several more times through the cycle and Bucky finally started feeling a little less like he was about to explode.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better."
"All right then. That is very good. Now, may I ask a question?"
He nodded.
"Steven told me you were afraid that you would be kicked out of Wakanda, because of the damage you caused during this episode. Does that still concern you?"
A nod.
"All right. Let me assure you, that is definitely not going to happen. We could hardly call ourselves compassionate if we deported struggling people over a few broken sticks of wood and fabric."
"Thank you," Bucky whispered. He still kept his gaze on the floor.
"Steve also said that you offered to pay for the furniture that was broken."
This time he did look up and straight into Dr. Lu's eyes. "I will. I promise. I don't have a lot of money but I'll work it off in trade. Anything you ask."
"Restitution is very important to you, is it not?"
Bucky nodded. "Everybody keeps telling me nothin's my fault, but my hands did it, so I, uh..." He took a breath, cleared his throat. "I mean, I can't go back in time, undo what I did. Give all those people their lives back, but I figure since my hands did those things, my hands should do something good now. It's, uh, the only way I can live with everything I—I…" His voice broke so he just sort of waved his hand. Hopefully Dr. Lu would know what it meant.
Dr. Lu's voice was gentle. "All right. That is very good. Very, very good."
Bucky shook his head, but his breathing was all messed up again. He held himself rigid against the overwhelming shame. Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. You don't deserve the comfort of tears.
"If you need to cry, there is no shame in it."
Another head-shake, this one more violent. "Shouldn't cry. Not about this."
After a pause, Dr. Lu asked quietly, "Were you ever punished for crying?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice too rough for his liking, but he knew no amount of clearing his throat would help. "This ain't because of that, though. It's just that… I remember when I was seven or eight, my dog died. Got hit by a car when we were playin' fetch and I threw the ball too hard and it went into the street. My fault he died. Cried my eyes out. But…" His voice locked up.
"Take your time."
He clenched his jaw, forced himself to breathe. "I remember killin' Howard and Maria Stark… he had been a friend… and I didn't feel anything. How fuckin' screwed up is that? I cry for a dead dog but not for a man I murdered?"
"Did you cry when the memory of Howard Stark's death returned, once you were freed from HYDRA's control?"
He nodded.
"All right. Tell me, if you can, and I do not need details, but when you were imprisoned by HYDRA, did they use pain as the punishment for crying, in order to keep your emotions in check?"
Another nod.
"All right. Think on that. Can you understand why you would not have cried while the Winter Soldier was killing those people, but then recently, you were able to cry at the memory of what happened?"
"Yeah. I guess." It still cut him like a knife that he had been able to kill people without feeling remorse. Without feeling anything. "It just… to cry now feels like too little, too late. Like I'm just being self-indulgent or something." He remembered crying in the hospital room a few days ago. Yeah. Self-indulgent.
"What are your thoughts now, when you think of Howard Stark?"
A tear ran down the side of his nose and dripped into his lap. "Regret. Lotta regret and rage that I let the Soldier do it. He had been a friend. He had a family. A son. Tony. He became an orphan because of me." He sighed. "We fought, in Siberia. Me and Tony. Guess you know that. I might have let him kill me if it weren't for Steve. I was afraid he'd go after Steve. Couldn't let him do that. But it tore me up, just standing there helpless while he watched that video of me killing his parents. A part of me wanted to smash the monitor, keep the truth from him, but I knew I couldn't do that. Had to see it through. Deserved whatever punishment he'd dish out, 'cept Steve was there and that made everything more complicated. But I hate that I wanted to hide the truth. I can't do that. Never want to do that. I gotta own up." Another deep breath.
After a long moment where Dr. Lu must have been making sure that was all Bucky had to say, he said, "I am glad to hear you say that you want to own up to your past, to be responsible even down to feeling the need to make recompense for the furniture you damaged. That is a strong sign that you are in control, even though it may not always feel like it."
"Not so sure it says I'm in control. Just says I know it's the right thing to do."
"And what is it that makes you feel that way?"
"The way I was raised, I guess. Just… I mean, you break something, you replace it."
"Would the Soldier care if things were broken?"
"No."
Dr. Lu nodded as he crossed his legs and laced his fingers over his knee. "Here is how I see it: for a brief moment today, perhaps twenty or thirty minutes at most, the Soldier made an unwelcome reappearance. You were, however, able to overcome his influence."
Frustrated tears burned in Bucky's eyes as he shook his head. "I didn't, though. It was Steve. It was all Steve. He held me down, called to me until I came back to myself." His leg started bouncing again as he tried to take some deeper breaths.
"Tell me what you are feeling right now."
It took a few minutes for Bucky to put his fear into words, and when he did, all he said was, "Steve's leaving."
"And you are afraid you cannot overcome the Soldier on your own?"
"I can't do it. Don't know how. Not strong enough or somethin', I dunno. I just know that without Steve around to rein me in, it's a damn certainty I'll hurt someone." The tears spilled over and down his cheeks. "I can't do that. Can't live with knowing I might hurt someone."
"Let me offer you some hope. Tomorrow, I want you to come to my office. After we chat some more about today and how the rest of your night went, I will take you to meet our security personnel, the men and women charged with keeping both the staff and our patients safe. I think it will allay your fears quite a bit."
He doubted it, but he nodded.
"Let me tell you something else to think about: it is good to see that HYDRA and the Russians did not, in the end, destroy your conscience. A man with a conscience has formidable strength of will."
"Not sure I have enough conscience left to be as strong as I need to be."
"I think you do, young man. And I also think you will learn this sooner rather than later."
Bucky hoped so. God, did he hope so. The thought of Steve leaving left him all hollow inside. But if there were someone here as strong as Steve... maybe. Maybe. He refused to allow himself much hope, though.
"Now, before I go, I must ask if you feel you might try to harm yourself."
"I don't. I admit, I'm scared and unsure and worried, but… yeah, I won't kill myself. Can't do that to Steve." He stared at his hand, then added slowly. "Can't do that to Bucky Barnes."
"Can you explain what you mean by that?"
"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 32557028, United States Army. He had a mom, a dad, sisters, friends in the Army… he had a life, once upon a time. He was a soldier, fought and died, sort of, for what's right. He deserves to have a life again, if I can figure out how to give it to him."
"I have no doubt you will be able to figure out how to let Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes live his life once more. The desire to do so is the most important step, after all."
Bucky gave him a wan smile. "Thanks."
Dr. Lu stood up. "I think you will be all right for now, so I will leave and let you rest. But yes, I want to see you first thing in the morning. I will arrange a driver to bring you to my office."
Maybe the race driver gal… "I'll be there."
"Steven may come, of course, though I will want to speak a good portion of the time with you alone."
"Okay."
Dr. Lu started for the door, but suddenly turned on his heel and came back to stand in front of him. He leaned forward and looked into Bucky's eyes. "Do not think for a minute that this episode has undone all the progress you have made. Remember the spiral of progress."
"I will. Thank you."
Dr. Lu patted his shoulder. "I will have Steven bring you antibiotic ointment and bandages for your hand. There should be some in the first-aid kit in the kitchen. Also ice. Hold it on your knuckles for ten minutes every hour until bedtime. If it swells more or becomes more painful as time goes by, we may need to x-ray it to be certain nothing is broken."
Bucky couldn't help but smile a little. "No MRI, though."
Dr. Lu slapped his forehead. "Oh, the scolding I got from that technician! He threatened to tattoo it on my hand!" He laughed. "You are quite right. No MRI. Until tomorrow, then."
"Yes, sir."
One last smile and a pat on his shoulder, then Dr. Lu left. Bucky heard Steve's voice murmuring and the door to the apartment open and shut. He counted quietly in his head. He'd barely gotten to five when Steve knocked softly on the door. "Buck?"
Bucky crawled into bed and rolled up in the blanket. "Yeah."
The door opened. Steve stuck his head in but didn't enter. "Need anything?" was all he said.
"A new brain," he mumbled under his breath, but then a little louder, "No. I'm okay."
Steve nodded. He started to close the door, but Bucky sat up. "Wait."
Steve stopped.
Bucky crawled out of bed and went to the door. "Let me help clean this place up."
"There's a maintenance crew coming that'll take care of it."
Bucky shook his head. "Needs to be me."
Steve nodded, and Bucky followed him out. He had a lot of work to do.