A/N: Hello. I am a huge Marvel fan and Bucky Barnes is one of my favorite characters in the MCU. I saw Falcon and the Winter Soldier and I really liked the scene with Ayo and Bucky back in Wakanda. The series addressed the mental health issues that Bucky faces really well, and since that is an issue that is very close to my heart, I wanted to explore what happened to Bucky when he was in Wakanda. I am trying to depict depression realistically, but I am using my own experiences as a lens to try and express how it feels. Everyone experiences it differently. I hope you guys enjoy this story.

XxXxX

Chapter 1.

Wake Up.

Bucky Barnes opened his eyes. His mind raced, reaching for memories, thoughts, feelings, anticipating cold metal on his wrists, waiting for the words to be spoken.

His thoughts remained his own.

Bucky was on the floor of a small metal room. He was alone – no scientists, no soldiers, no stasis chamber. It was not bright and cold, but warmly lit. He tried to sit up, tried to lean on his left arm, only to fall on his face. It was gone. He had a fleshy stump, wrapped in soft fabrics. Bucky stared at it, processing the memory of losing it.

A voice came from above him,

"Hello Sergeant Barnes, this is Shuri. Do you remember where you are?"

He was in the street fighting the man with the shield.

He was beating his face in as a helicarrier crashed around them.

He was looking for answers, reading about himself, about Steve Rogers and the war that tore them apart. He remembered seeing his own face on a newspaper, the vengeance of the Black Panther, the fight that brought him to this room.

"I remember." His voice was thick, croaky.

"It has been three months since you were put in stasis. Do you feel calm?"

Bucky looked around for the speaker, for a face to talk to. "I'm not going to hurt anyone, if that's what you're asking."

The door opened, letting in sterile white light from the hallway.

Shuri came in, a string of numbers projecting from a platinum band on her wrist. She was a teenager, no more than sixteen, but already a brilliant scientist – and the sister of the king. A bald woman in red-and-gold armor came in behind her, a vibranium spear in hand. She stood by Shuri, still as a statue, her sharp eyes never leaving Bucky.

It was almost comical, the way Shuri looked around the room at eye level, and then saw him sitting on the floor. "Why are you on the floor? I brought this perfectly good bed for you!"

Bucky looked over his shoulder, finding a metal-framed bed in the corner of the room. Its mattress was crooked, the sheets ripped off one corner. "I don't remember."

"I can assure you we put you in the bed, not on the floor," Shuri said. "You can stay down there, if that is what you want. I woke you because I have some theories about your condition. I have access to a few old Hydra databases, and I need information to narrow my search."

Bucky pulled himself onto the bed, sitting on the edge, sighing as he went to put his hands together. It was just one now. Hydra had given him that arm before his first activation, and he had been living with it for over seventy years. He never really experienced life as an amputee.

When he moved, the woman in red stepped closer, tipping the spear in his direction.

Bucky said, "You gonna stab me with that?"

She said, "Give me a reason, Colonizer."

Shuri stepped between them. "Enough. Please do not stab my patient." And to Bucky, "And you, do not provoke her. She is Dora Milaje."

Bucky said, "Nice to meet you, Dora."

Shuri laughed. "No, no."

The warrior was not amused. "I am Ayo. I am here to kill you if you try to hurt anyone."

Bucky eyed the tip of her spear. It seemed sharp enough to do the job. "Good."

Shuri said, "That will not be necessary, Sergeant Barnes. I just have one question for now. In what year were you captured? I have seen conflicting accounts."

"1943."

Shuri consulted her wrist. The hologram became a flat surface, like a hovering sheet of paper, and words scrolled rapidly from top to bottom. It was German, and it was being translated into nonsensical symbols – probably Wakandan. He picked out a few things that gave him context. Winter Soldier. Experimentation. Cognition.

"Are those about me?" he said.

Shuri nodded. "I have many records from the 1940s. You were not recorded by name, but I have deduced which codewords they used to refer to you. One of them was… doll? I am not sure of this translation. In German, the word is marionette."

Bucky shuddered, and the vibranium spear edged closer to him.

Shuri gave Ayo a weary look, "He is fine. We are all fine."

Ayo drew the spear away.

"I will not say any others," Shuri said. She scrolled through the document, staying silent for several minutes. Bucky watched the words flash past, taking the risk and trying to read them. When she was at the bottom, Shuri said, "It appears you were the only one to survive their experimentation in this particular facility."

"Steve rescued us," Bucky said. It was one of the things he read in the museum, or a real memory. He could hardly tell them apart.

He wanted to ask how many records they were, how many of his comrades they tried to turn into their puppet – and he wondered why he survived. It was cruel irony that he would be the one to live, so they could turn him on Steve decades later.

But he told himself none of that mattered. It was a long time ago in a faraway place, only relevant now because of the pieces still living in his head. He hoped those pieces would be burned out like infection from a wound.

"Are you okay?" Shuri asked.

Shuri looked at him like a person, not a killer. He got very little of that these days.

"I'm fine."

She gave him a kind smile. "We will talk again soon. You will find you have everything you need here. Someone will come with food for you."

Bucky said, "Have you heard from Steve? Is he okay?"

"Captain Rogers is very hard to reach."

He had only been reunited with his friend briefly. Steve was the only consistency in his long, awful life. He was the one to bring him back, even when Bucky attacked him, even when he almost killed him on that helicarrier. Losing him so quickly afterwards was cruel.

Shuri said, "He brought you here so that you could heal, and I am sure he wants you to worry about yourself for now, not him. I will return later."

"You're not putting me back under?"

"Why would I do that? While you are in Wakanda, you are not going back into stasis. It is time to wake up, Sergeant Barnes."

XxXxX

"You have not moved in hours," Shuri said from the door.

Bucky came slowly out of his thoughts, realizing he had been sitting there, staring at the wall, since she told him she was going to be back later. His eyes were dry, his back stiff, his mind a little sluggish. "I was trying to remember."

"Remember what?"

"Just… anything."

"Your food is cold."

Shuri had changed outfits, wearing something very traditional from the knees up, and a pair of high-top sneakers. Ayo was behind her, watching him silently. A tray of food had appeared on a little table by the door.

He took the food to his bed, aware of Ayo tracking his every move. His meal was a rice-based dish, displaying every color of the rainbow in berries, nuts, and vegetables. It was phenomenal. Bucky wolfed down the whole plate. "Who made this?"

Shuri said, "A'di. She brought it for you."

"Can you thank her for me?"

"She will be back soon. You can thank her yourself." Shuri came inside, surveying the room. "I put some clean clothes in the bathroom and something to shave with, if you wish."

It seemed like a hint to pull himself together.

Bucky stepped into a very American bathroom. It looked like one of the many hotels he had been to as the Winter Soldier – though his mission then was to kill whoever was staying in the room, not to get cleaned up. He had all the standard amenities lined up on the counter, an electric razor, and a neat stack of colorful, patterned clothing on a marble countertop. A small American flag was hanging from the mirror. Shuri must have put it there.

When he caught sight of his reflection, he paused. It was no wonder Ayo was so weary of him. He looked like a wild dog. His hair was too long. A thick, dark beard ringed his jaw. He had circles under his eyes. His expression was solemn, empty.

He unwrapped the cloth from his left shoulder. Before they put him under, the Wakandans carefully excised the remaining pieces of his metal arm, which had been blown to pieces by Tony Stark. It was back to the way it was meant to be all along – a short, scarred stump that only went a few inches past his shoulder. Bucky hated the sight of it, reminded of some of the worst pain he had ever been through. When they put the metal arm on, there was no anesthetic. He was awake and aware the entire time.

Bucky realized he was lingering.

When he worked for Hydra, he avoided mirrors. He remembered things when he saw himself, and memories prompted resets. Some of them clung to him, the ghosts of feelings and family, but Hydra had destroyed most of them completely. Even now, thousands of miles away, years later, he couldn't see himself without feeling their absence.

He showered, shaved his face, dressed in the clothes they left for him. He rewrapped his left shoulder and donned a colorful smock and baggy pants. Better was not the word for the way he felt, but it was a start.

When he came out, Shuri was standing in his doorway, looking at the holograms on her watch again. She said, "I did not want to hurt your feelings, but you looked a bit like a rat."

"Have you been standing there this whole time?"

She shrugged. "I can bring my work with me. I have more questions."

Bucky wandered the room, inspecting the strange light fixtures on the walls, the carefully carved feet of the little table his food was on. Wakanda was extravagant in every way, sparing no expense for details. He had never been one for aesthetics. If something had a practical use, there was no reason for it to be pretty. If it had no use, there was no reason for it to be.

But maybe that was Hydra talking.

Shuri asked him several questions about the facility he was kept in, the things he saw while he was there. His wandering became pacing as the memories of Hydra took root. He was careful to keep his distance from Shuri, not only afraid of hurting her, but afraid of getting a vibranium spear in his heart. Ayo watched him like a cat watches a mouse, waiting for an opportunity to attack. Shuri seemed unaware that he was moving, completely absorbed by her hologram.

When she was satisfied, Shuri said, "I have some promising theories. I will need to take further images of your brain."

"Further?"

"I took quite a few pictures while you were sleeping." She paused, and then added, "That sounded bad. It was purely scientific."

Bucky almost smiled. He liked Shuri. She was a refreshing contrast to the pain and fear that had marred much of his life. Interacting with her was easy, simple.

He sank into the chair in the corner, the last piece of furniture to inspect. It was uncomfortable, but beautiful. Someone had taken the time to carve every inch of wood. Bucky ran his fingers over birds, antelope, flowers, and symbols, admiring the artistry. He had seen furniture like this in the war – or he thought he did. It seemed so familiar, but the most crippling of his issues was that he no longer trusted his own mind. No matter what he thought he knew, he always had the creeping suspicion that it was put there by Hydra.

Shuri noticed his interest. "We do not use very much wood. What we do use is treasured. Americans cut down even the trees that give them shade."

Bucky said, "I've never cut down a tree."

Shuri snorted, regarding him warmly. She checked her watch. "You have been awake for six hours now. How are you feeling?"

He was honest. "I feel… like this isn't real."

"Elaborate."

Bucky struggled to explain it. He ended up gesturing around the whole room. "This is insane. I was born in 1917 and you have a TV coming out of your wrist. I've been awake sometimes, you know, on missions, but… everything just happened so fast. I'm not even used to cellphones yet, and you have that," he pointed again to her wrist.

Shuri nodded along, sympathetic. "I am sorry. I will try to be considerate."

"No, you're great," Bucky said. "I'm just… not adapting well."

"I think you are adapting quite well, given the circumstances. I can assure you that this is real, though that is something your imagination would say, isn't it? Do you want me to pinch you?"

He smiled. It felt like the expression was cracking his face. It was not something he did often – not since he was completely human. "No. But thanks for the offer."

"Any time."

A woman joined them, placing a tray of food on his claw-footed table. His first thought was that she was very strange, and the second was that she was very beautiful.

She was different than Shuri and Ayo, dressed in a gown that showed off every shade of green. Her arms were adorned with bangles and beads. A volleyball-sized headwrap made her a foot taller, the cloth sewn with images of zebra trotting along diagonal lines. Her skin was much darker than theirs, her eyes warmer, her face fuller.

"I have brought you dinner," the woman said. "It appears you are awake this time."

Bucky said, "Are you A'di?"

She smiled. "You have pronounced it poorly, but yes, I am A'di."

"Sorry."

"Do you want bread? It is made with bananas."

"Yes, please."

A'di stepped further into the room, unwrapping a hunk of cinnamon-colored bread and handing it to him. "It was made this morning."

"Thank you – for the rice, too."

"You are very welcome." Her voice was soft, her accent musical.

Bucky liked hearing the Wakandans talk, appreciating variety in his own language. His time with Hydra had made him hate many European accents – mostly German and Russian – but he had never been sent on a mission to Africa, let alone anywhere near Wakanda.

"You are very polite," Shuri noted, after A'di left the room. "I was told you would be a difficult patient, possibly combative, history of noncompliance."

It was clearly a joke, but Bucky responded in earnest, "I haven't been myself in a while."

Bucky turned the bread over in his hand, finding banana slices baked into it, caramelized on the outside. It smelled heavenly – and evoked a memory. "We had these in Brooklyn," he said, the sounds and smells of a busy street coming into focus. "Bananas were everywhere. You couldn't throw a rock without hitting a peel in the street. I think that's where they got the idea for those cartoons, you know, when someone slips on a banana peel?"

He hesitated, the memory faltering, becoming nothing. He had no specific context, no street name, no year, no faces. In the end it was just a shell, a ghost, a trick. Maybe not even real.

Shuri was watching him silently, sadly.

Bucky shook the memory away. "How long do you think it'll take to fix my head?"

Shuri sounded older, more serious. It was easy to forget her youth, when paired with her wisdom. "I don't know. I can only say that the issue is complicated. It is not just chemistry, and not purely psychological. It is a new concept to me. I am still trying to pin down what exactly gives them control over you. But I will succeed."

"And if you don't?"

"Shame on you, for doubting me."

XxXxX

Bucky tossed a rubber ball at the far wall, finding respite in hours of mindless throwing and catching. His sense of balance was tied to having both arms, so he had to stand for a while, retraining his mind to deal with this new reality.

He tried not to think, ignoring thoughts of Steve, fantasies about being free again. It was all untouchable, unreachable, and letting it into his mind was a slippery slope into misery. Playing with the ball was a distraction. His endurance allowed him to go on and on, passing nights into mornings, not even glancing at the clock over the door. It was therapy, in a way, helping him cope with waking up and not being reset. Hydra never did that. He never had to live with the memories of what happened before he was put in stasis.

Bucky slept occasionally, curling up on the floor next to the bed, having given up entirely on the bed itself. He woke underneath it sometimes, or in the corner, or in the bathtub. Dreams were fleeting, precious, and nightmares were almost constant. He ran through a gauntlet every time he shut his eyes, waking up with grief and guilt that threatened to consume him.

A'di brought him food three times a day, usually accompanied by a guard. She left American magazines on his table, avoiding interrupting his game, or his sleep. She found him sleeping in the bathtub once, saying nothing of it, just telling him that she had left him a meal.

"Your other arm is going to fall off if you keep doing that," she said one day.

Bucky paused his game, joining her by the door. "What, no bread?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry. I was kidding. Thank you."

Bucky glanced habitually into the empty hallway. A'di usually left the door open when she was in his room so her guard could stand in the doorway, looking menacing. But for the past few days, she had come alone. Every day, she said, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

And every day he said, "No."

She brought him books with his food that day, pulling them from the front pocket of her eccentric, bright cobalt dress. She never failed to impress with her outfits, with her daily, complicated hairdos. "You need something else to occupy your mind."

Bucky examined the covers, the symbols, "I don't speak Wakandan."

"I thought you might enjoy the pictures."

He tried not to be insulted by that. "What are they about?"

She tapped the cover of the top book, "This one is about the first war that Wakanda faced, from the perspective of a warrior. You might find it relatable. And this one," she touched the bottom book, which had an elaborate, embroidered cover, "is a book of Wakandan songs. You were humming in your sleep."

Bucky was puzzled. "Humming what?"

A'di hummed a familiar melody. It struck a chord inside, made him shudder.

He backed away from her, alarmed.

She said, "What is it?"

Bucky dropped the books, backing away, tripping over the blankets lying on the floor. "Get away. Please." A'di came closer, and he doubled down, "Stay over there. I don't want to hurt you."

She was convinced. She went into the hall, shutting the door between them.

Bucky heard muffled voices, saw the tip of a spear bobbing in the window. His heart raced as he tried to decipher the song. He knew it. Each note was deafening. He hit his knees, trying to resist what it was doing to him, trying to maintain control. But as the seconds ticked past, he realized the song was not taking control.

It was breaking his heart.

Ayo opened the door, stepping inside, clicking her spear on the ground. Shuri and A'di were behind her. Shuri had a sheet of numbers projecting from her wristwatch.

"I have derived a few patterns from the tune," Shuri said. "It could be the key-"

She stopped when she got a look at his face.

Bucky realized he was crying. And he was smiling. "I know what it is." And he sang, "Little, little soldier, standing on the mantle, letter in his left hand, in the right a candle."

Shuri tipped her head, thoughtful, worried, "What is that?"

He wiped away the tears, letting the memories flood back. He knew the voice. "A song. I can't remember the rest of it. I think my mom made it up when I was a kid."

Shuri said, "I think this is a good sign."

Bucky took a deep breath, grasping at blurry shapes, missing faces. It broke his heart because she was gone, and because her face was another thing Hydra stole from him. He said, "I can't remember what she looked like, or where we lived. I know the address, but I can't remember being there."

Shuri walked around Ayo, giving her a pointed look, and crouched beside Bucky. She put her hand on his shoulder. "I am sure the memories will return as we move forward with your treatment. Do not lose hope."

She and Ayo left.

A'di remained.

She picked up the books, dusting the covers, and handed them back to him. Bucky sat on the corner of the bed and flipped through the songs, appreciating the distraction from the grief he had just experienced. He hoped that Shuri was right. Wakandan was a cryptic language, but there was something soothing about the way it flowed over the page.

Bucky pointed out a song, "What's this one about?"

A'di said, "It is the song of Bi'i – the Trader. She was one of the first negotiators of peace amongst the warring tribes during the reign of the first Black Panther."

"Traitor or trader?"

A'di enunciated, "Trader. As in one who exchanges goods. It is a strong story."

He turned the page. "What about this one?"

"Ironsi the Baobab. It is about a baobab tree that witnessed much history." She took the book. "It makes more sense if you can read Wakandan."

A'di turned pages, showed him pictures, explained the stories behind them. She spoke with reverence, passion, running her fingers over images of trees, flowers, and birds. Her musical voice was a lot like that fleeting memory he had of his mother.