I've been working on this one for months and finally feel ready to start posting. I realize there are a few thousand Bucky recovery fics out there just like this one, but I wanted to put my own version out. I really appreciate anyone stopping by to check it out anyway!
Basically this is a slow Bucky recovery fic that will mostly be set from Bucky's POV. I've really tried putting my own spin on it based on how I think his mind would work at that point, and my own experience with mental health issues.
Title & lyrics from 'Touch' by Sleeping at Last'. Enjoy!
'Rain or shine, I don't feel a thing
Just some information upon my skin
All I want is to flip a switch
Before something breaks that cannot be fixed'
Chapter 1: Something that cannot be fixed
It takes Steve an embarrassingly long time to notice. In his defense, he never had to know about the world of assassins and spies, the one that can undo a person from the inside and spit out something brand new. Steve never had to know about that world before Natasha, who gave him a terrifying glimpse but never let the horrors slip past her carefully constructed concrete walls. And even then, he always thought of it as something distant, something that could never truly touch him. There were the bad guys and there were the good guys, and Steve would only glimpse the horrors as they spat out the former to the battlefield.
Steve knows now he's been naïve. Those horrors touched his world long before Natasha, before Steve himself even knew what to look out for. He just hadn't known it then, but now he's seen and it's personal in a way even his nightmares couldn't have foreseen. For the first time ever, Steve truly doesn't know what to do.
Here is how it happens.
Steve spends three months traveling country to country, continent to continent, busting every Hydra base he can find. He lingers in every horror room, rereads every file until he can recite the words in his sleep, searching for the puzzle pieces that might make up his best friend. The horrors bleed through into Steve's dreams, and Sam asks him to stop, take a break you can't keep going like this, but Steve never did learn how to walk away from a fight.
On the fourth month, the search takes them back to America. He still hasn't found any trace of Bucky presently, but he's got a lead on a base Bucky might have been kept in in 1991 so he gets on the next plane to New York.
He finds the base, burned to the ground. Recently. And he knows, he knows it could be the remains of Hydra covering their tracks, but- but Steve hopes. And he settles down in a small house in Brooklyn, makes it his own little base. He's there for a month, is already making plans to take his search back to Europe when he first notices it:
A shadow always vanishing just around a corner, a kid across the street swearing up and down he's glimpsed a shadowy man in his yard.
It takes Steve an embarrassingly long time to notice, but he's being watched. Steve isn't too surprised by the development since he can think of at least four different suspects off the top of his head. Fury with his eternal distrust, Hydra trying to finish the job, Natasha just because she feels like it, or Tony if he's bored enough. What has Steve's life turned into? He wonders with a wary chuckle. But then he brings it up to Natasha and the startled look in her eyes throws him because almost nothing gets past Natasha. As far as Steve knows, only one person ever has.
Oh my God, Steve whispers and rushes home, as if he could somehow catch the perpetrator in the act. As if that sort of thing was possible. Steve's house is empty, which is to be expected. Now that Steve thinks about it, he doesn't think his shadow has ever come inside. Steve needs to change that.
"You know I'm not actually a therapist, right?" Sam asks once Steve is done explaining the situation. "This is so far above my-"
"I don't have anyone else I can ask."
The sincerity seems to break Sam's resolve. "Fine. Fine, but don't expect Freud-level psychoanalysis here. And you owe me a beer, or ten."
"You got it." Steve smiles.
"I've seen guys return after years of being prisoners of war. Which in this case would be an oversimplification by… well at least a thousand? A million, actually."
"But?" Steve encourages.
"But, that kind of PTSD is all about regaining autonomy. Rebuilding trust. You will never help someone without trust."
"Something tells me that might be an issue." Steve mutters.
"Well, that's my point. From my perspective the best thing we can do is bring him in, probably with a lot of tranquilizers…" Sam sighs. "But, if you do that, you're taking away his choice, and probably destroying any chance of trust."
Steve nods. "So, he has to come to me."
"Maybe. But Steve, if he's still a threat-"
"He's not." Steve snaps. "I know him."
"No, you knew him. There's a difference. If you want this to work, then you've gotta learn that. Because I can tell you right now if you go out there treating him like the guy you knew there's no way that's going to end well for either of you."
Steve clenches his jaw but nods. "What do I do?"
"Steve…"
"Imagine he's just another guy from your VA group. Now, what do you do?"
Sam has that look Steve has grown accustomed to, the one that says this is a terrible idea, but I can't stop you so I might as well have your back. "I would keep to small gestures, show him I'm there without crowding him. And then just hope that when he's ready, he chooses to come to me."
"Okay." Steve nods. "Okay, I can do that."
"Can you?" Sam seems skeptical. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of overeager. You reach out too fast and he will run… or worse, lash out. I don't want to find myself by your hospital bedside again, Steve."
Steve's eyes soften, but the determination stays put. He nods again. "I can do it." He says it like a promise. The promise isn't entirely directed at Sam.
That evening Steve leaves his window open. He doesn't expect the invitation to be accepted, but the thought is there, and maybe that's what matters. He also makes a sandwich and leaves it on the porch. I know you're there, the metaphorical sign says, you can come closer. But the next day the sandwich lays untouched. Steve tries the same tactic the next night, with similar results. That's when he has the sinking realization. It comes in the memory of Natasha, checking their water bottles for signs of tampering during their everyone we know is trying to kill us phase. Back then Steve had found it amusing, you think the vending machine is out to get us? He'd quipped. But that was before Steve met the Winter Soldier, and today the memory is accompanied by growing horror. Steve swallows it and goes out to buy premade sandwiches, sealed packaging. It's the third night and Steve leaves the packaged sandwiches on his porch.
The next morning, they are gone.
The Winter Soldier watches the man from the helicarrier. 6AM: Target steps out of the house, observes the empty porch, his demeanor changes. Note: The Target is experiencing an emotional response. Trigger? Undetermined.
In the beginning, the Winter Soldier left the country. Retreat was the logical course of action, considering unprecedented circumstances. He'd wondered between Hydra's old safe houses and long-abandoned buildings. The Target had followed him, but his tracking skills were novice at best. No doubt it was the Target's acquaintance with Black Widow that got him anywhere near the Winter Soldier's proximity. Eventually, the Soldier returned to the States to seek out the last Hydra base he could remember. Mission report: New York, 1991. Target: Senator P. Thomas. Eliminated August, 26th. Note: Failure to reach check-in point. Asset retrieved September, 2nd. Excessive force required.
Then – decades later – the Winter Soldier returned to that Hydra base in New York to find it empty, except for a computer. The Soldier didn't know he had that kind of knowledge, but his fingers knew what to do when he booted up the system and typed in the password.
'IDENTITY?' The system prompted.
Ironic, a strange, alien part of the Soldier pointed out.
W-I-N-T-E-R_S-O-L-D-I-E-R
'CODE?'
The second password came just as easily as the first, 1-8-3-W-5-S-3-J
'WELCOME, WS…
CONFIRM EMERGENCY EXTRACTION?'
The Winter Soldier's finger hovered over the Y key. Note: hesitation, failure to follow protocol. He looked around the room, eyes landing on the chair by the wall. There was a memory there. Note: memory unreliable. But the Soldier didn't need his memory for this one anyway, because his body knew what it was, and what had been done.
'CONFIRM EMERGENCY EXTRACTION?'
The soldier growled, and he burned it all to the ground.
After, he'd wanted to go back to Europe, but the instinct to run away was beaten by the urge to know more. There was a gravitational pull dragging the Soldier towards Brooklyn, towards a house and its new resident. There was no sense in seeking out the Target, a pointless risk. But no matter how many times the Soldier repeated this, he was still not able to fight the pull. He thought, perhaps his instincts were pushing him to finish a failed mission? Mission: kill Captain America. No, Mission: terminated. Note: ?
And so now, a month later, the Winter Soldier watches Captain America from afar. There is a noted absence of the urge to finish the mission. The Soldier decides not to dwell on this - if the last mission has been terminated, then there is nothing more to that. He waits for a new mission to come, from where he does not know. He's forced to admit there are many things he doesn't know, and the urge to question them is new. Why did he fail the mission? What is he waiting for? Why did he allow the Target to know he is being watched? If there is a part of the Soldier that wants to be caught, then that is a threat that must be eliminated immediately. It's a flaw in the system, one Hydra could've easily taken care of for him.
No, Hydra is the problem. Hydra did this to him. Mission: Hydra? Note: clarification needed.
Now, the Target is observing his surroundings. Note: …target should know better. The Winter Soldier is a ghost, especially to the untrained eye of the Target. And yet the Target spends a full twenty minutes standing on that porch, eyes searching out movement. Every once in a while, an early jogger passes the house, and the Target perks up, only for his shoulders to slump with disappointment shortly after. The Soldier watches this with interest. He can't understand the Target's actions, but he's learning to question things now.
That day the Soldier makes his way to a local museum. He finds the section on Captain America. There are pictures in black and white: people the Soldier doesn't recognize, the Target, battlefields. The Soldier passes all of them before his attention is finally drawn. It's a picture of a scrawny kid, squinting against the sun and staring at something behind the camera. It's the Target, but not. The Soldier stares. Blinks once. Twice.
He's laughing at something, but the camera is steady in his hands.
'We can't afford you to break that thing, you know.'
'Then you better stay still, punk.' He says and grins at the answering scowl.
The Soldier is frozen. He's back at the museum, but if he reaches hard enough, he can almost see himself taking that picture…
'Would you look at that, we might still make a model out of you- Whoa, hey don't you dare!' He snatches the picture back before Steve can rip it up.
The Soldier leans against the display, and he can just make out the tiny tear in the corner of the photograph. He steps away, slowly. Note: Steve. Note: connection to Target confirmed.
The Soldier wonders further down the displays when a second section manages to make him freeze.
'James Buchanan Barnes'
The man in the picture is young but holds himself with pride. There's a light in his eyes and it's not something the Soldier knows how to recognize, but he can see it… can almost feel it. The Soldier doesn't know if that's what he looks like. It's a startling realization – he can't recall looking at himself in a mirror, or even lingering on a reflection. It's one of those things he never knew to do. And yet the face is familiar enough. He will need to study himself later for confirmation, but at the moment, he can't deny that this feels like the truth.
It's evening and the Soldier watches the Target leave a package on his porch again. The previous night it'd been two sandwiches, and the Soldier had reluctantly accepted. It had been too long since his last meal. His body needing food is another one of those things he's having difficulty keeping up with now that he's on his own. Note: the Target is leaving him food. Cause: undetermined. Proceed with caution.
The Soldier waits for the sun to finish setting, the lights inside the house to go out, and then he waits some more. Finally, reluctantly, he makes his way across the street and towards the house. There is always a chance this is a trap. In fact, the risk of a trap is so high the Soldier should be nowhere near this country. But he has been watching the Target for a month now, and he would've noticed any wires or traps being set in place. With that thought in mind, the Soldier makes his way to the porch and inspects the package. There are the same kinds of sandwiches as last night, and the sight of them reminds the Soldier of that nasty need for food, so he snatches them up before he can think better of it and inspects the other object with more caution. It's a clear plastic bag with a simple black hoodie inside. The soldier unwraps and carefully inspects the fabric for hidden trackers or any other devices, but there is nothing to be found. Just a hoodie. Inconspicuous, good for blending in, made from warm material the Soldier can't begin to try to find the word for. For a long moment, the Soldier stares at the object in his hands. He almost puts it back in its original position on the ground, but halts and stares some more. Note: Target is offering clothes. No wires found. But, if the Target hasn't planted anything inside the hoodie, then what is the agenda? Perhaps the Target is attempting to lure the Soldier into a false sense of security to set a more elaborate trap? The thought is a strange one and he struggles with it, tries to fathom anyone trying to give him a sense of security. The Soldier is aware of this tactic but has never used it himself, and no one has ever tried to use it on him. It would have been pointless – weapons don't feel, and they certainly don't care for the concept of security, outside the terms of a mission. But maybe the Target isn't aware of that? It would explain some of this bizarre behavior.
Yes, that makes sense. Note: Target is oblivious to the Soldier's nature. Target is setting a trap. The Soldier decides not to worry about the trap yet, these tactics are no threat to him. He takes the hoodie, tells himself it's more convenient than stealing clothes. Perhaps, the Soldier can lure the Target into a false sense of security. Let the Target think the trap is working, and then-
And then figure out his next mission.
After that, each night there is a new package on the Target's porch. There's always food and bottled water, but sometimes there are also clothes or money. One night the Soldier finds a sleeping bag and thinks - really? But there's a tug at his lips, and it takes the Soldier a long time to realize they're trying to form some sort of a smile. Note: facial expressions are a thing people do. Sometimes.
Two weeks pass in this strange routine before the Target does something different. He still leaves out food, but then he spends the next half hour rearranging furniture in his living room, the one the Soldier can view through the front-facing window that is never closed. The living room goes through a variety of changes before the Target seems satisfied, leaving the television screen in the middle of the room facing the window, and the couch just behind it. Now, when the Target sits his back is to the open window – a terrible idea, the Soldier doesn't even dignify that with a note – and when he turns on the television the Soldier can make out the screen, even from his position across the street. The Soldier has barely seen the Target watch television, but today he sits there for hours watching something that appears to be animated, before finally going to bed.
The next evening is the same story. The Soldier stays in his cover, watching the outline of the Target's back and the screen, but something is gnawing at him. For a while he tries to fight it, but eventually that gravitational pull is too strong. The porch is familiar enough, but this time the Target is right there and so the Soldier is careful, using all his skills to sneak across the street, flatten himself against the wall of the house and sneak towards the window. Now the sound is clear, and when he peaks through the window the Soldier sees animated people on the screen - a girl, a princess? And a lot of short people. The Target is leaning against the backrest, his back fully to the window. The Soldier watches him, studies the back of the man's head as if he can will some answers out. He glances at the screen too, and he knows what a movie is, has some sort of theory of the concept buried in his mind, but what is the point in watching these fake lives? Even if there is, the Soldier's focus must be on his surroundings first. He lingers for another moment before grabbing the food and retreating.
The next evening the Target is watching television again. The Soldier approaches the house, takes up his previous position against the wall by the window. It's a different movie, still animated but something about the style is different. There's a blonde-haired woman in a blue dress and a crown, walking through a snowstorm. She looks… the Soldier searches for the word and eventually settles on lost. But not the, my target lives on Cross street and my intel was wrong, so now I have to wonder around this city kind of lost. More of the I just failed my mission on purpose, and now I have no idea what to do or where to go variety.
For a moment, the Soldier wonders what it might be like to climb in through that window and talk to the Target. What might he say? I no longer have a mission? Who do you think I am? What is the point of all these packages? God, Steve I don't-
The Soldier backs away. He would not do that. He would not say that. He needs to get away, now.
He leaves the porch, goes right past his cover across the street, and keeps on walking.
Not the longest chapter ever but it felt like a good place to end it.
Okay, so as soon as he starts making some sort of progress he runs away. Progress isn't linear so there's going to be a lot of back and forth, unfortunately. I feel bad for all the angst I'm about to put these characters through...
Next chapter coming on Monday.