Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way, shall we?
OKAY Y'ALL. Massive trigger warning: graphic violence, death, blood, murder, gun violence, dream sequence, PTSD, Anxiety, depression, self-isolation
Recommended Listening: The Manic by Amarante; Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright
Chapter 43: Bad Dreams and Worse Realities
He couldn't hear the words, but he knew they were those words. He could feel himself being pushed away and being replaced by something else, by the soldier. He tried to hold on, tried to fight it. "Your name is James Barnes. Your father's name is George. Your mother's name...your mother's name is..." The information was there, but it was blocked, shoved away, useless, obsolete.
" Soldier?"
" Ready to comply." He heard himself say the words, but it felt far away and warbled like he was underwater, trapped, drowning.
He was in the house again, Maggie's house. They were alone. Her dark eyes were wide with terror, an unfamiliar, foreign expression on her usually calm features. "Bucky...Bucky, this isn't you." She said, her voice shaking, her hands out as she backed away from him. It was a feeble attempt at self-defense, certainly no match for the soldier…for the asset.
He raised his gun. 'Run! Run!' He wanted to scream, but he couldn't.
It wouldn't have helped. Maggie didn't 't have time to react. No time to scream, no time to run, no time to plead or beg as he unloaded the magazine into her chest, and as she crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around her. Her shaking hands moved to the bullet wounds, which blossomed like bright flowers, and attempted to staunch the bleeding. But it would be no use, not against the solider, not when there were so many of them.
He...the soldier...stepped forward, placing his boot on her chest, forcing her all the way to the floor.
Maggie put her blood-stained hands on the boot and pushed ineffectually against it, too weak to put up much of a fight. Bucky wanted to look away, wanted to stop, but he couldn't. He watched, unable to stop the horror of what was happening.
Her eyes stared up at him. There wasn't anger or even fear in her eyes, but an overwhelming sadness. Then, just as he raised his gun, he found that he could move again.
"Maggie." His voice was his own now, but nearly drowned out by the thudding of his pulse in his ears."Maggie. Oh, God. Maggie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He fell to his knees beside her, scooping up her in his arms, trying to stem the bleeding, but there was blood everywhere. There was no way to stop it.
" It's okay, Bucky," She said, her hands slick with blood pushed his hand away."It's okay, let me go. It's okay."
" Maggie. No. No. Please." He begged, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. He cradled her head, watching helplessly as she slipped away, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his face.
" You killed her, Barnes."
He looked up to see Wilson walking toward him. "After all she did for you."
"Wilson...I..." Words failed him as the shadow of Steve loomed over them. "Steve...I...I tried to stop..." Bucky looked up into the face of his friend and found anger on Steve's face.
" You said you weren't going to kill anyone."
" I didn't mean—I couldn't."
" Who am I talking to? My friend? Or the Winter Soldier?" Steve stepped closer, "You did this! You killed her!"
" You killed her," Wilson repeated.
He looked down into Maggie's face as their voices echoed and bounced around the room, and mixed with the screams of all of the Winter Soldier's victims. His victims.
'No. It wasn't me. I didn't want to.' He would've screamed, but no one would listen, and he didn't deserve their pity, their justice, their forgiveness.
No.
No.
No.
Bucky jolted awake, drenched in sweat, breathing heavy, whole body shaking.
"You're in Wakanda. You're safe. They can't touch you. You're safe. Maggie's safe. Steve and Wilson, and Natasha, they're safe. Hydra can't make you them kill. Hydra can't make you hurt anyone. Hydra can't hurt you anymore." He breathed, trying to ground himself.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the hut's walls started to spin. He could hear their screams, their pleading. He could see their faces reaching out to him from the darkness behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw as his chest constricted.
He sucked in a breath, but the air was warm and stale as the walls moved closer in around him.
Coughing, he staggered to his feet and lurched outside into the night.
I couldn't stop it. I was there, I was in there, and I couldn't stop it. He could feel his whole body shaking.
He'd killed her, he'd killed her, and he hadn't been able to stop it.
"The Princess got the programming out, she got it out, she got it all out, they can't touch you." He whispered over and over.
But what if she hadn't. What if she hadn't, and they come for you. They'll come for you and trigger you again, they'll make you kill her and Steve and Sam and T'Challa and The Princess and anyone and everyone who might stand in their way, and you won't be able to stop it.
Bucky could feel himself shaking as his thoughts raced. Both his body and his mind were working against him. He needed to move, needed to get out of his head.
He started walking. He walked and walked, not really minding where he was going, letting his feet guide him, his mind still racing.
It was only a dream.
He repeated that fact, repeated it over and over, hoping that with enough repetition, it might feel like it was only a dream.
It had felt real. For him, it had felt real, too real. Because for 70 years, it had been real. That had been his job, his mission, his entire purpose. He'd killed people, a lot of people, not just like that but close enough. Too close for comfort.
"Fuck." He breathed.
He remembered them all; he could see them all; only now Maggie was among them.
That wasn't new. He'd lived in the belief that he'd killed her for over a year. And when he'd been remembering, recovering everything that he'd lost and forgotten, she'd been amongst the fallen, amongst those killed by Hydra, killed by him.
But then she hadn't been dead, and in fact, had been trying to hunt him down. And then she'd come to Wakanda and had told him that she didn't blame him for what had happened. It hadn't been absolution. It had been understanding.
Only then they'd started talking about his sister, and then spending time with one another. Now it had evolved into something else. It had evolved into a friendship. It had become something normal, something constant, something separate from what his life had been to something that his life could be.
It had been nearly a month and a half since the museum and New Year's Eve, and during that time, they'd been seen a lot more of one another.
They'd zoomed through the next twenty films on the hundred greatest list, slipping in a few films here and there not from the list. Science fiction mostly, but it had been fun for him to see her suggestions and input. Beyond just seeing more of one another, she'd been staying the night on their movie nights. It just made the most sense for her to stay until morning to avoid anyone having to walk in the dark.
Unfortunately, while a lot had been good, with it had come some bad. This dream wasn't the first time of its particular kind. He'd started having them around the same time that she'd started staying over.
At first, the dreams had focused around him frightening or even accidentally harming her. He hadn't told her. He'd wanted to. But to what end? He'd wondered. Then there had been an escalation...to…well…to this.
How could he have been so stupid? How had he managed to delude himself into thinking that this whole thing wouldn't come back and bite him in the ass? Was it ignorance, naivety, stupidity, or had he really thought that he could ignore what he was? That he should let her ignore what he was. Ignore the truth that he was not just dangerous but a danger to her.
Bucky faltered as his brain finally realized where his feet had led him.
"Damn it." He muttered. He was no more than 100 yards from her front door.
His feet had guided him along to her house, as they had now almost three years ago. Right to her doorstep, to dump his problems on her.
You're already here. What's a little further? His brain coaxed, and he wanted to listen. She'd want to know about this. She has a right to know.
He wanted to go up and knock on her door. He wanted to wake her, just to know she was okay. If just to hear her voice.
What would he say when he did he wake her? 'Hi, sorry, had a bad dream about brutally murdering you in your home. You know the one that Hydra burned to the ground after they tortured you for harboring me in your barn and nursing me back to health?'
It wouldn't be a welcome wake up call.
It was only a dream.
He clung to the fact. It wasn't real. The whole thing had been his brain doing stupid shit to him. Yet despite that knowledge, for him, it had felt real, so real. He'd watched her die.
She would want to know.
Yeah, she would. She'd sit there and listen and nod along with those large dark eyes, and that kind mouth and gentle expression, and she'd tell him what he already knew. It was only a dream. It was just a dream and that it wasn't anything to worry too terribly much about. Then she'd spread a blanket out for them and would lay beside him until he fell back asleep under the night sky.
That's what would happen. He knew that and wanted that. In fact, he craved it down to the very fiber of his being.
No. You can't do that to her. You know what you have to do.
Would she see it that way? Would she understand?
Does it matter?
Well, of course, it mattered. Despite himself, despite all better judgment, and all good reason, he cared for Maggie, and he cared what she thought, and he didn't want to hurt her.
Fuck. Damn it. He took a faltering step toward her house and stopped. I can't do this to her, not right now, not at this hour. He turned and rubbed his face before turning back toward her hut—his resolve wavering moment to moment, breath to breath.
It was Tuesday, or it was going to be. He could do it during his usual feed delivery. He was supposed to see her then anyway. It would be better than waking her up in the middle of the night, and it gave him more time to figure out what he was going to say.
But he wanted to talk to her now. It wouldn't make everything better. Nothing could make everything feel better, but Bucky had the distinct feeling that Maggie could help him make sense of everything.
He couldn't do that to her either. That wasn't her job, it wasn't her responsibility, and it went against everything he knew he had to do.
Bucky could feel his shoulders sag at the thought, at the idea of being alone yet again, but it felt selfish to do any differently. To knowingly and willingly put her in harm's way just because he was bored or lonely, or whatever.
He turned away from her hut and started the long walk back to his village. It was longer and far more fraught as he argued with himself and stumbled over the rocky terrain he traversed.
He couldn't get her anymore involved with him than she already was. And he knew he would have to find a way to divest himself from the situation. Remove himself before he hurt her before he hurt all of them.
Wasn't this why you went under? Why you let The Princess root around in your brain? So you wouldn't have to be worried about all of this?
That was the case. Bucky knew that was the case. That he shouldn't be worried about this anymore, they'd fixed this problem. He wasn't Hydra's tool.
But that's untested. We won't know unless it happens again. He couldn't help but fixate on that particular fact.
When he made it back to his hut, he couldn't bring himself to sit inside. The air still felt hot and sticky in his lungs. Instead, he sunk down on one of the logs outside and worked to rebuild the cooking fire.
The smoke stung his eyes, and he could feel as they watered. He blinked furiously but refused to wipe at his face as his tears started to stream.
This isn't fair. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
He wanted to scream, but it had never been fair, hadn't been fair for a long, long time.
So Bucky sat outside, working the fire into cooking coals, and watched as the sun came up, steeling his resolve for what he knew he had to do.
Then, when it was time, he made and ate breakfast, went and dressed, and started his day.
This is the right thing to do, she'll understand. He repeated to himself, over and over, hoping that if he said it enough, it would be true. That if he repeated it enough, he might even believe it himself.
An almost calm had washed over him as he guided Sally and the cart along their usual path for the feed delivery. The routine and familiarity were comforting. He was in control of himself. He could do what was necessary to protect his friends. To protect her.
Turning the last corner toward Jelani's village, Bucky spotted her. Sitting as usual under the large trees, reading one of her books. A trashy paperback romance novel, no doubt. She looked perfectly at ease, content with herself and the world around her, unaware of the walking shit storm about to hit her.
Maybe I can get in and out of the village without her noticing.
Now he was being a coward. Now he was afraid to face her.
If you're going to put her through this, you need to at least have the decency to explain what's going on.
He walked past their usual meeting spot and toward the storage shed, where he dropped off the usual feed order.
He would do this, it would just be after he finished his work, so he could make a quick break for it after he told her.
"Hey, Bucky!"
Or Not.
He had to stop himself from wincing as her voice broke the silence, echoing across the yard to greet him.
"Bucky! Wait! We can do that after lunch!"
He could hear her scrabble to her feet and rush to follow him. He stopped, turned, and watched as she approached, confusion wrinkling her brow.
"I can't stay." His voice came out low and gruff and harsher than he'd meant and he watched as her steps faltered, her eyes searching him.
"Oh. Okay." She said voice tinged in uncertainty as if she was testing her weight on a frozen pond. "Well, do you wanna do another movie on our list sometime this week?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
She paused, again allowing time to survey him with a careful and thoughtful expression. "What's going on, Bucky?"
"Nothing. It just...It just isn't a good idea for us to spend time together."
"What happened?" She pressed on.
"Nothing happened." He practically choked on the last word as he felt his throat tighten around the syllables.
Maggie nodded quickly, chewing on the corner of her mouth.
She didn't buy it for a moment, and she was going to call him on it, push him, force him to confess.
"If I've done something, you know you can tell me, right?" Her voice was small as she said it. "If-I mean-I know-"
"It wasn't you." He cut her off. "It's...I'm..." He stammered his resolve wavering. "I'm dangerous." Bucky managed shortly. "I thought I was responsible for your death once. I won't put you in harm's way again."
Maggie nodded slowly. "I understand." She stopped, her expression smoothing a moment, and she cleared her throat. "Before I go any further. I have to say, this is therapist Maggie speaking, not your friend Maggie."
"Okay."
"Are you having thoughts of harming yourself or others?"
That, of course, had been her first thought. Yourself or others. Not, 'do you want to hurt me?' She was trying to decide how to react, trying to figure out how best to respond for his sake, she wasn't thinking about herself
"No. No." He shook his head. Bucky took a deep breath. What was he supposed to say? No. He wasn't thinking of harming himself or others. He was grappling with the reality that he might be forced to harm himself or others. What would she say to that? There was only one way to find out. "I had a dream." Bucky began slowly. "I had a dream that Hydra triggered me and that they made me kill you."
It sounded stupid, even as he said it, and Bucky waited for her to laugh at him.
"Oh." She said. It was a short little sound, with tremendous heft.
She was going to tell him that it was just a dream or that he was being ridiculous. She wouldn't be wrong, he was being ridiculous, it was only a dream, and yet he wasn't sure what he would if she told him so. He wasn't sure what he wanted her to say, only that he wanted her to say something.
"I can understand why that would be upsetting and why you're shaken." Maggie continued after a moment. "You've been through a lot, you're still processing, it makes sense since we've been around one another with some frequency that your mind would latch on to me while working through what you're dealing with."
Bucky stared. That's it? That's all she's going to say? It took absolutely everything he had for him to not unhinge his jaw and drop it on the ground. "You're taking all of this pretty well." He examined her critically.
"You are talking to the dame who lied to the cops and performed light surgery on the Winter Soldier. My threshold for fucked up is a little bit out of whack." She laughed weakly.
Bucky knew it wasn't a joke. What was worse was that Maggie was being honest. And unfortunately, he agreed. Her "threshold for fucked up" was well, frankly that, fucked up. That was the problem, and it seemed like she didn't realize that it was a problem. Furthermore, Bucky knew he couldn't let her use that as an excuse or a reason to allow him to endanger her. He wouldn't.
"So what? You want to continue on like I'm not a health hazard?" He bit out, each syllable hard and sharp and brittle.
She didn't flinch, didn't pull away or look hurt. Instead, she just shook her head before glancing up to meet his gaze. "That's not up to me. That's something you're going to have to work out." She paused. "Have you thought about talking to a therapist?" He froze, uncertain of where this was going or what he could do to stop her on the course she was headed. Unaware of this, Maggie charged on, "someone who isn't me who can help you talk through some of these things. I mean, I can do it. If you want me to, it would just mean I can't be your friend. A professional thing, being able to keep myself out of it to help you work through some of this stuff."
"I understand." He said, almost automatically, before the meaning, the actual meaning of her words sunk in. "Wait. What? You'd be willing to give up our friendship to be my therapist?"
"If you wanted. Frankly, I'm not sure I'm qualified, but if you asked me to, I would."
Bucky didn't know what to say. What could he say to that?
"You don't have to decide right now. But you shouldn't force yourself muddle through this all alone."
He nodded.
"Now, I'll help you offload the feed so you can be on your way." She said lightly, but there wasn't a smile on her face or a bright glint in her eyes. A weight had settled on her shoulders and expression, and she moved as if every motion was laborious.
Yet she said nothing, and Bucky was content to work in silence. It was better than trying to find something to say. When they finished, they paused, looking one another over, waiting for the other person to say something, anything.
Maggie broke first. "Well, I'm around if you need anything." She paused, cringing as she shook her head. "I really don't like the idea of you being alone."
It's better this way, safer this way. This was true, of course, but he could already feel the dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of being trapped inside his own head.
That 's not her problem. It's yours, and you'll deal with it.
"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine."
She nodded. "All right, I'll see you around then."
"I'll see you around then," he echoed.
Bucky watched as she walked away, back to where she'd been eating lunch. No tears, no gnashing of teeth, just a simple set of very pointed questions, and an almost numb acceptance.
You're doing the right thing. He repeated to himself over and over.
So why didn't it feel that way?
Bucky didn't know, and so instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and taking one deep breath in and exhaling one breath out, all the way to the next village, and the next village until he could go back to his hut and collapse into bed.
Maggie watched as he went, shock, denial, and then a sort of numbness fell over her.
He'd had a dream that Hydra had forced him to kill her.
She could understand why he wanted to push her away.
Maggie could still remember the dreams she'd had with the Winter Soldier present, the ones where Hydra had tortured her, and he'd stood by and watched. She'd almost told him. She'd wanted to tell him, but she'd hesitated. What good would it have done? To what end and effect? She didn't know, and so she hadn't said anything.
Maybe he was right. Perhaps he was dangerous, and distance was the best, but that didn't feel right, not after everything she'd seen.
He was capable of great violence, but also tremendous kindness and gentleness. Never once in his presence, since she'd come to Wakanda, not even when she'd been patching him up after the whole instance with the goat had she felt like she was in danger.
Maggie sat on the blanket, feeling somehow like she'd done something wrong. Like she should chase him down and say something, tell him he was being a self-loathing moron. That he shouldn't isolate himself. But that wasn't her place.
You basically just got "it's not you it's me-ed."
So she had, and it was his right. She'd said so herself. Friendship was a moment by moment exercise in consent. He had a right to say he didn't want to see her again, and she had a right to go sit down and cry somewhere.
"Heyi, Cowgirl! Where is White Wolf?" Jelani inquired as he walked by.
"He's come and gone, had something to take care of, and couldn't stay for lunch." She explained, perhaps a little too quickly.
Jelani nodded. "Take the rest of the day. Stretch your legs, take a ride to the western ridge."
Was it that obvious? That she was upset? She didn't know, but opened her mouth to protest.
"That wasn't a suggestion, Cowgirl. Go."
"Okay, okay." She said, putting her hands up in surrender.
"Good."
Maggie rose, collecting her things. She'd go to her hut and grab some stuff. Water, food, treats for Skywalker, and her journal and a few pens. She'd have to take her own advice and do a bit of journaling. She didn't need all of this in her head, not when she needed her head firmly planted on her shoulders, and her brain solidly between her ears.
I can't believe you offered to be his therapist.
It was a bad idea, she knew it was a bad idea, but now it was a bad idea that had been planted in the man's brain.
What if he says yes? What if he prefers you as his therapist than as his friend?
Maggie wasn't sure if she could handle that. Her only point of consistent social interaction transforming into another business transaction. Perhaps that was all she was to him, maybe that was all she'd ever been to him.
Well, you'll soon find out soon enough.
Yet she couldn't get that look of terror in his eyes. That raw fear, and that near animalistic expression as if her proximity was a threat to him. He might not think twice about completely isolating himself and rejecting both her friendship and her offer to try to help him process some of his shit.
Maggie shook her head, adjusting the saddle straps and double-checking the saddlebag. There literally wasn't anything she could do. She couldn't help Barnes if he didn't want her to. So there was nothing to be gained by sitting around obsessing over the what ifs of the thing.
A good ride would help clear her head. It would certainly give her a good work out, and beyond that, it was something to do that didn't involve prying eyes and even more prying questions.
Mounting Skywalker, she urged him into a trot and pointed him toward the western ridge and started off to try to make some sense of the muddled world currently transpiring around her.
While he'd tried to bend all of his focus around his breathing and walking, by the time Bucky made it back to the village, he felt on the verge of a panic attack.
He'd done everything right, hadn't he? He'd told her what he was doing and why. He hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't just all of a sudden served all communications and contact between them.
She hadn't been upset or hadn't seemed to be. She'd been, if anything, concerned for him. That made everything worse.
She offered to forego friendship so she could help you, to help you sort through all this... all this shit.
What did that mean?
Well, it meant what it meant, and what it meant was that he had a decision to make.
No!
Bucky shook his head. No. That wasn't it at all. He'd made his decision, that decision was to get her out of his life. His decision was to protect her, by removing himself so that he didn't hurt her when inevitably this went sideways.
Yet it had been like she'd completely ignored that part like she'd jumped from 'I need you out of my life for your protection' to 'Therapist or Friend?'
Damn it, Maggie.
How did she always manage that? How could she possibly be so ignorant that she was still willing to put herself in danger when she knew, she KNEW what he was capable of.
It was almost too much for him to bear.
My threshold for fucked up is a little out of whack.
No shit. Bucky would've laughed if not for the very truth of the thing. And he froze at the sound of approaching footsteps, near the barn where Bucky was returning Sally and the cart.
"You're back early., Omondi commented brightly as he entered Bucky's periphery.
He nodded. The old man was fishing, if word hadn't already spread from Jelani's village, it soon would.
"Well, since you're back, come play a game with me and some of the others. You'll enjoy it."
"No, thank you. Perhaps another time." He answered as politely as he could manage.
"Indeed," Omondi said flatly, giving him a once over he nodded, before returning wordlessly the way he'd come.
What was that all about?
If Jelani had said something, if Maggie had said something to Jelani who'd then relayed it on to Omondi, Bucky would've expected more of a push, more persistence. Instead, the old man had simply left him alone. Perhaps he was simply curious, and the question had been harmless. At the very least it felt harmless.
Perhaps she hadn't said anything, maybe no one other than the two of them knew what had transpired. Maybe, just maybe, he'd actually be left alone.
After he finished his chores, Bucky returned wordlessly to his hut. Flipping open his journal, he started writing as a stream of words flowed from his pen. As all of the foggy thoughts, and feelings, and words sprang forth, practically fully formed and landed on the page. He tried to ignore how his stomach twinged, or how his whole body felt like it was shaking, making his handwriting jittery and erratic.
Bucky knew he wasn't calm, cool, or collected, and he couldn't fathom how Maggie had managed to maintain that when they'd been talking. He was scared. He was scared of what he could do, of what he was capable of. But perhaps what was most frightening was that she knew, knew who he was, what he'd done, and didn't seem to care, didn't seem to grasp that he was a danger to her.
Steve, Wilson, Natasha, T'Challa, and The Dora, they were all enhanced or highly trained and capable of defending themselves. He wasn't a threat to them. They could take him down if necessary.
Maggie...Ramirez...she was vulnerable.
He squeezed his aching eyes shut. He could still see her, see her staring up at him, wide but unafraid when he'd...as he'd...he couldn't even think it.
It had only been a dream.
But could he risk it?
And what about all of the others for whom that hadn't been a dream? All the others that had died at the hand of the Winter Soldier. Sure, that had all been coerced action, he hadn't had a choice, he hadn't wanted to do any of it. Yet, those people were still dead, regardless of his intention, regardless of anything he might have meant or not meant. It really didn't matter if he'd meant to do any of it.
Bucky exhaled a strangled sigh. Setting down the pen a moment, he rubbed at his stinging eyes. He wanted to talk to Natasha. She would have something novel and insightful to say. She knew what he was, really knew. She'd been there, in Hydra, when he'd been the Winter Soldier. She'd been able to see him for what he was and give him the answers he needed to hear.
But he couldn't get ahold of her. Trying to get in touch with Steve would be difficult enough, but it would raise serious alarms if he reached out to Natasha.
Besides, he didn't want anyone to worry about him, not when they were out in the field. Not when they had so much to concern themselves with without him adding his shit to the pile. No. He'd have to deal with this on his own.
Exactly like Maggie was worried, you would.
Bucky shook his head, picking up his pen back up. That didn't matter. None of that mattered. There was no decision to be made, no odds to be weighed, no choices. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve being stranded here in Wakanda with him, didn't deserve having her life destroyed because of him. Didn't deserve to die because she'd extended the hand of friendship, and like a hopeful, stupid idiot, he'd accepted it without a second thought of his true nature.
Twilight eventually set in around him, signaling the end of yet another day, and Bucky knew he was on his own. And although he might not like it, this was what was best for everyone.
Maggie rode and rode, and then when she'd reached the western ridge, sat and journaled for a good hour. It had been a long, long time since she'd written anything for herself, and the words came in long, slow, frustrated, bursts, but as she wrote, she felt less like crying and started feeling more resolved.
Ultimately, she couldn't do shit. What was worse, perhaps, was that she knew she couldn't do shit. It was no one's fault. This was something that Bucky was going to have to sort through. Maggie only wished that he wasn't doing it alone.
Not that she wasn't the poster child for just absolutely clamming up and refusing to address her own mental health. In fact, Barnes had been an excellent distraction from her own problems for a while now.
Maggie sighed, looking up at the long horizon stretched out before her. It was a vast sea of green as far as the eye could see. The grass was so green it almost shone blue under the sunlight, and looking over the fast empty openness, Maggie couldn't help but feel small. Small and alone and insignificant. She felt like a feather being tossed around in a hurricane. Fragile and helpless, and at the mercy of forces beyond her control.
She took a deep breath, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had started to build behind them.
"Put on your own oxygen mask before helping others." She murmured to the empty grassland before her, repeating it over and over like a mantra.
That was the first rule of being a therapist, being a first responder, activist, whatever. You're no good to anyone if you're out of sorts yourself. It was advice that she'd given a hundred times over to her volunteers, and had received a thousand times over from Sam.
What would that even look like in this situation? How am I supposed to put on my own oxygen mask before helping others?
Well, she'd put the ball in Barnes's court. She hadn't washed her hands of him, but she also hadn't immediately jumped into therapist mode, determined to fix his problems, or at the very least determined to make him process his trauma and start to help him address that trauma. She'd told him to decide what he wanted and what he wanted to do but had left it open to him whether or not to pursue any of those options.
But you know he's just going isolate himself, right?
Of course, she knew that. Just by the way he'd reacted after his nightmare. He was going to push people away. It was a typical reaction to trauma. Self-isolation. Many thought it was easier to go it alone than drag other people along for the ride.
Maggie could certainly understand that. She didn't condone it but knew it would've been absolutely hypocritical if she hadn't admitted, at least to her self, that she understood where he was coming from.
Okay. So. I should tell someone about this. I should seek out advice. Or at very least get someone who ISN'T me to talk to Barnes.
But who? The Wakandans? She wasn't entirely sure of the relationship there. Willing to remove Hydra programming? Yes. Willing to provide counseling? Currently unknown. Besides, she wasn't the one to be asking these questions for Barnes. This was his deal, and he'd have to find his way through it, and right now, it looked like he didn't want her involved in that, for a variety of reasons.
Should she try to get ahold of Steve? What would she even say to Rogers? Hey! Your friend had an apparently rather graphic dream where he brutally murdered me, and now he won't talk to me, will you check in on him? Because THAT would go over real well. Not only would it freak out Steve, and possibly endanger the Secret Avengers (or whatever the hell they were calling themselves), it would totally betray Bucky's trust.
Bucky's trust?
At this point, that really shouldn't matter, should it? He was in crisis, she was a therapist, the next course of action was to reach out to the appropriate points of contact in his support network.
With or without his consent? He 's not suicidal, Mags. He had a bad dream, and it freaked him out. He needed a friend, whether he knows it or not, he doesn't need to be institutionalized.
"The fuck am I supposed to do then?"
That really was the question then, wasn't it? The sun had started to set, as Maggie made her way back to the village, puzzling through her predicament the entire way.
Maggie had just nearly reached a solution by the time she'd reached the halfway mark and had the workings of a basic plan by the time that she'd arrived back to the village. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than just sitting around with her thumb up her ass, hoping things worked out for the best.
Her mind was racing. There was a risk involved. Risk that her message wouldn't be well received. That this whole thing could backfire and that everyone involved would either A) hate her, or B) laugh her off as being a reactionary. Regardless, she couldn't let this just lie. Now, she'd just have to wait for the right moment to ask a favor.
"Heyi, Cowgirl!" Jelani's voice made her jump, and she looked up to see the man approaching as she tied off Skywalker and started to remove the horse's tack so she could do a thorough brush down. "Good ride?"
"Yeah." She nodded.
"Good."
"Jelani?" Maggie began.
The older man stopped and turned to face her, curiosity dancing on his expression. "Yes?"
"Is there..." She faltered, uncertain if she should continue. If you don't do it now, you might never get another chance until it's too late. "Is there any way I could get a message to my friend, Samuel Wilson? Like I did in December?"
The older man frowned, nodding thoughtfully before he spoke. "I don't know if our King has kept in constant contact with the Captain, and your friend Samuel, but I will see what can be done. Record your message on one of your Kimoyo beads, and I will get it to the appropriate people."
"Thank you, I appreciate it tremendously." Maggie smiled weakly.
"Is all well with you and theWhite Wolf?" Jelani inquired, looking her up and down.
"Yes. We're all well." She lied. "A little homesick and I miss my friend, I wanted to send him a message."
Her voice felt pinched and manic, but it was the best she could come up with on the spot.
"Uh, huh." He nodded voice skeptical as he scratched his chin, combing his fingers through his short beard. "I will get the message to my King."
"Thank you."
"I will leave you to it, you will take dinner with me and my family, will you not?"
"I would be honored."
"Good. Teela had some things for you. I think she wanted to give you a loom."
"A loom?"
"You mentioned wanting to know how Wakandan fabric was manufactured."
"Ah." Maggie chuckled, nodding. "Yes. I will join you and your family for dinner. I look forward to Tee's instruction."
"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, Cowgirl."
"No, I suppose I haven't. What time do you want me over?"
"I'll send Sisay over when dinner is ready."
"That sounds good. I'll see you all then."
"Yes, we will, Cowgirl." He waved, continuing about his business and leaving Maggie to hers.
Maggie fell back into her usual rhythm as she worked, and by the time she was done, she had a plan. She was going to get a message to Sam. Make it clear that everyone was fine, but that Bucky needed an ear, from someone who wasn't her. She wouldn't mention the dream. That would be difficult to convey over message. Sam would know there was something she wasn't saying and would be able to translate for Steve. With any luck, Sam would be able to return a message, but Maggie knew well enough not to hold her breath.
This is your plan? Really? Sam doesn 't deserve ANY of this shit.
Maggie knew that she was asking a lot yet again from Sam. Sam was on the run after fighting half of the avengers and then being locked away on a floating super-max prison because of Bucky because they were going to execute an innocent man. He was there because of Steve. He loved Steve, and he believed in Steve and all that Steve and, for that matter, all that Captain America stood for. She just hoped, when it came down to it, that Sam was looking out for himself.
And now you're asking him to pass a message along to Steve for you because Steve's Cyborg formerly brainwashed assassin boyfriend is having a hard time.
No. Ultimately, she was doing this because she didn't know what else to do. She wasn't asking Sam to fix the problem, by any stretch of the imagination, she just wanted a bit of help getting word to Steve without raising alarms. Hopefully, Sam would understand. Hopefully, she'd get a chance to talk with him. Hopefully, at some point in the future, they would all look back and be able to laugh about it or some such shit. Well...probably not laugh, but be able to move past all of this.
Right now, everything felt grim, and Maggie was scared. She was scared for her friend, scared what her action or inaction might mean, and scared that once again, she might be facing a whole bunch of shit virtually on her own.
But there was nothing she could do about that right now. She had work to be getting on with. She would let Barnes try to figure out some of this shit on his own, but that didn't mean that she wasn't going to reach out for help. Whatever happened next, she knew she couldn't face it alone, nor should Barnes have to face it alone.
And you said you didn't want to be therapist, Maggie.
Well, she hadn't, and until such time Barnes said that he wanted her as his therapist, she would continue to act as his friend and only his friend. Right now, that friend was worried and was going to pass that along the line to make sure that all of his other friends were a little worried too. It was the very least she could do.
I know that was heavy, but I promise we're not going to have another one like this for a while! I hope you enjoyed the update, and I can't wait to share with you what I have cooking for the next few chapters!
Thank you to everyone who has commented. You really do make this hobby all that more fulfilling. And I appreciate the patience with my update schedule being wonky. I hope everyone is having a good October and excellent holidays all around!
As always, thanks for following along. Happy Reading!
