Blood rushes to his head as his world narrows down to the single book in his hands. There's a kind of ringing in his ears as he fumbles to flip the page, but he hardly pays it any mind as he skips the introduction and holds the book open to chapter one.

Chapter One: James "Bucky" Barnes: The Early Years, it reads, and he can hardly breathe.

("What's your name?" The little girl had asked.)

("You're Bucky, right?" That woman, Darcy had asked. "Bucky Barnes?")

His heart pounds and his mind races. He knows, he knows that this book – this whole thing, everything about it, he knows it's Important. But it's so… it's so much that he can hardly pause long enough to think about it. He's almost afraid to. It comes with so many implications that can to shatter everything he'd ever thought that he can't even…

He stares at the name, the title of the chapter captivating him. 'Bucky', his handler calls him. 'Barnes', Stark calls him. 'Bucky Barnes', Darcy had called him. But James… No one had ever— He blinks as a sudden memory rises in his brain. Him, with the BARF tech, one of the first times he'd tried it, and he'd been trying to mess up Handler-Karpov's triggering sequence and— and he'd made it say Yakov. Yakov. Russian for James and he hadn't known why

He breathes in slowly, swallowing thickly as he pulls the book closer to him, bending over it protectively as he tries to calm his thoughts. Observation first, he thinks, because it's easier to deal with it that way. He needs all the facts first, before he can figure out what they mean. He breathes out – shaking his head at his sudden light-headedness – before his legs give out and he sinks slowly down to sit cross-legged between the shelves, hunching over the book as he drops his eyes to read the first few lines.

James Buchanan Barnes, known as "Bucky" to his friends and family, was born on March 10th, 1917 to Winnifred (fig. 1) and George Barnes. A healthy baby boy of 7.8 lbs, Barnes was soon joined by three sisters, Rebecca "Becca" Barnes in 1920, Alice Barnes in 1924, and Hannah Barnes in 1926 (fig.2).

He stops reading. He stops reading but he doesn't move, instead staring blankly at the page as he tries to process even one word of what he'd read. First is the name, of course. The book had added another one, Buchanan, which he doesn't know what to do with, and it had confirmed that most people had apparently called him Bucky… but he still doesn't know why. Where did the name Bucky even come from? How had it become his name?

Besides that, the book is making it sound like— it's making it sound like he'd had— like he'd had a family. Like he'd had a mother and father like Stark had had and— and sisters. He'd had sisters. His eyes dart to the page and he reads their names over again. Those names… he can remember vaguely— he's had a few flashbacks with little girls, and they'd been called— he'd thought they'd been called Alice and Becca, and he can remember reading about someone named Becca who had been pregnant but—

But he doesn't remember a Hannah. He doesn't, and something yawns open and aches in his chest as he thinks about it, trying desperately to pull up an image of her. Even the mother – Winnifred – he can barely remember her— and he can't remember the father at all. (Except. Except. He'd given him a train once, for Christmas, right? He had remembered that when Beck had tried to trigger him.)

The memory of Beck's attempt and the things it had triggered rises in his mind, and he sits up slightly, his eyes wide as he thinks back. He can remember Alice, on her first birthday, being held by— by his Ma which— which—

He's not exactly sure what he had thought the word Ma had meant before now. Maybe some part of him had taken the word and decided it translated into some form of handler. He'd seen the word Ma before. His handler had used it in his journal when he'd talked about Ma Barnes and Becca and her baby, and he'd used it in his flashbacks, for someone named Ma and Ma Rogers. He stares dazedly ahead of himself and can't help thinking that 'Ma' and 'Pa' probably mean the same thing as 'Mother' and 'Father' or 'Mom' and 'Dad'.

He breathes out shakily and somehow manages to look back down at the page, focusing his eyes on the words again. His left hand clenches and he has to consciously move it to his knee so that he doesn't damage the book. The book is Important. He cannot wreck it.

He keeps reading.

Barnes' father, George, was born in Brooklyn, New York, and met his sweetheart Winnifred in the mid 1910s. Having moved from Romania with her family when she was six years old, Winnifred was an accomplished seamstress and she and George were married in 1916. A year later, Barnes was born, and just as quickly, George was drafted to fight with the Allies in the Great War.

He blinks, and for half a second, he can see a brown uniform, pressed and hung carefully in the back closet. Pa only ever wore it for Memorial Day, but when he was younger, he'd been deeply curious about the whole thing. Of course, Pa didn't really talk about it—

His breath catches and he shakes his head, his right hand tightening on the cover of the book as he hunches in on himself, a fine tremor running through his shoulders. His breath is thin and laboured in his chest and he breathes in through his nose, trying to calm down. He swallows, breathing deep and deliberately before pressing his lips together, his teeth clenching. He doesn't understand— or maybe he does, but it's too big— too much to even fathom— but, but he doesn't need to understand yet. He just needs to read, so that he can know, and then he can figure out what it means later. Yes.

He breathes out and blinks his eyes into focus, looking back at the page. In the background, he's vaguely aware of someone taking a half-step into the aisle where he's sitting, only to step back out just as quickly, and he's aware on some level that most people do not sit on the floor, hunched protectively over their finds, but he does not care very much, his world meaningless beyond the book in his hands.

George's service was largely unremarkable, the book continues, and he returned uninjured to his wife and infant child in November of 1918, at the end of the war. The Barnes' were a working class family, although they generally seemed to make ends meet. George worked for a while in a canning factory, before moving on to working as an assistant grocer, which was not only closer to home, but also allowed him to bring in extra supplies.

Winnifred's time was primarily occupied by her four children, however, she continued to take in sewing and laundry work to help support the family. Both of Barnes' parents were educated, although it is hard to say to what degree. They were both literate – as evidenced by the journals and letters they left behind – and there are records of Winnifred's high school education, but it is unlikely that either of them continued schooling beyond that point. In any case, anecdotal evidence shows that Winnifred and George were highly invested in their children's education, something to which Barnes' exceptional academic record may be attributed to.

As he reads, he isn't really that aware of his surroundings, the book taking precedence over everything else. But, he does notice when a shadow falls over his lap, and he darts his head up to see Banner standing there, looking down on him with a neutral expression on his face. He finds himself instinctively clinging to the book, his shoulders tensing at the crushing, split-second worry that Banner might disapprove of it and try to take it away. He can't— he can't take it yet. He needs— he needs to finish it. He can't lose it yet.

After a drawn out second of tension, Banner crouches so that he's not looming over him anymore, and the Asset watches him go down with wary eyes, hardly daring to breathe as he presses the book into his lap. Maybe if he can keep Banner from seeing the title, he will let him keep reading, if he doesn't know what the book is about

"Do you want to borrow that?" Banner's eyes flick to the book before looking up to meet his gaze. "I brought my library card."

The Asset stares at him, frozen, and Banner lets the silence sit between them, seemingly infinitely patient. After a minute or two, the Asset manages to pull in a deep breath, reminding himself that he has yet to be punished by any of the Avengers, and that they don't approve of that sort of thing, and that Banner wouldn't offer to borrow the book if he wasn't serious, and that he probably won't take it away. And, if he wants to read the book, he's going to have to borrow it.

He nods mutely and Banner offers him a sliver of a smile. "Okay," he says softly. "We can do that now, if you want."

The Asset swallows, trying to steel himself, before he closes the book and clutches it to his chest in one smooth motion. He holds it close to himself with one arm, the cover hidden from Banner, while using his other arm to help lever himself up off the ground. Banner follows him up, his knees cracking as he stands up straight, and the Asset stands silently, his other arm coming up to wrap around the book while he stares at Banner, waiting until he turns to lead the way back to the library front desk.

The Asset follows, only now noticing that Banner has a book of his own, and he watches as the man places it on the desk in front of the librarian, chatting lightly with her as he pulls out his card and waits for her to scan the book. Transaction completed, he accepts his card and book back, and turns invitingly towards him, waiting as the Asset takes a step closer to the desk.

The librarian smiles at him as he comes closer, and the Asset stops in front of her, his tongue pressing into the roof of his mouth. He knows that now he needs to put the book down, so that the librarian can scan the barcode and tell him when it is due, but— but he can't seem to get his arms to unlock. He can't stop the persistent, terrifying thought that if he lets go of the book – even for a second – that it will get taken away, that he will lose it, and he can't— he can't lose it, not yet. He can't risk it. His arms tighten around the book.

"Maybe… we'll try self-check out," Banner tells the lady, and she nods amiably, clicking something on her computer as Banner prompts him towards the set of self-check out machines near the doors of the building. He doesn't touch him – which the Asset is grateful for, since he feels pulled taut like a string right now – and he stops a few feet away from the machines once they arrive, giving him space. "Here," he says, holding out his library card. "Just hold it under the red laser."

The Asset swallows and peels one arm away from its protective hold in order to take the offered card. He steps up to the machine and presents the card, waiting as the machine beeps and indicates for him to continue. He presses his lips together before he very carefully sets the book facedown under the scanner, keeping one hand firmly on the book as he waits for the barcode to register. The instant the machine beeps the book is back in his arms, the title carefully hidden away as he stiffly returns the card to Banner.

Banner doesn't seem disturbed by his odd behaviour, taking his card easily before turning towards the door leading outside, his one shoulder angled back towards him in an open invitation to follow. The Asset complies, silently falling into place a half-a-step behind Banner. Banner seems to wait for a moment longer, before he finally sets off, and the Asset follows quietly, the solid weight of the book in his arms the only thing keeping him grounded as he turns over what he'd been able to read in his head.

The information in the book is perplexing beyond degree. It doesn't make any sense because it's busy acting like— like he's a person, with a family and a childhood and— He breathes in and grits his teeth in frustration because, while the things in the book can't be true… at the same time… he knows some of the things it had been talking about. He knows girls named Alice and Becca and— and hadn't he already decided that he'd been born? He can remember having a birthday and— and— and babies aren't born already trained.

Babies aren't born with protocols. They have to be taught that sort of thing. So, if he'd been born to— to Winnifred and George Barnes, then… there would have been a period before— Before. Before he had been trained. Before he had been trained to be an asset for his handler.

Ahead of him, Banner stops at the crosswalk to wait for the light, and the Asset stops behind him, but his movements are mostly automatic at this point, his mind too preoccupied with the dilemma it had sunk its teeth into.

Can he… can he remember being trained before Handler-Steve? He can remember meeting his handler, he had introduced himself as Bucky Barnes and he must have started working with his handler after that but— but he can't remember any handlers during that period, and he can't remember getting trained before that. He can remember Hydra's training. Yes. He can remember that, but he can't remember how he'd been trained before that.

And he had worked with his handler before Hydra. He can remember going on missions with him when he'd gotten big. He can remember that. His handler had been his handler Before, he just— he just can't remember how he'd gone from being Bucky Barnes, to being the Asset.

He'd thought he'd been the Asset before. He'd thought he'd been the Asset always, just with different handlers. And Handler-Steve had been his best handler, and he'd been his handler before Hydra but— but he hadn't been called the Asset then. He'd been called Bucky and Sergeant Barnes.

He thinks back to the name the book had mentioned. James Buchanan Barnes. Had that been his name before Before? Known as "Bucky" to his friends and family, the book had said. His stomach churns and he doesn't know what to think. He can't remember enough to understand— he doesn't know what it means

He blinks and almost stumbles as he follows Banner weaving around the pedestrians in front of them, inspiration dawning. He might not know what it means but… but his handler had talked about Ma Barnes and Becca. He had— his heart leaps with his realisation and his hands tighten around his book. His handler had known these people. He'd known them at some point, so maybe if he asks—

His heart drops and despair closes over him, his breath catching in his chest. How can he— how can he possibly ask his handler about this? In front of him, the approaching tower looms and a weight in his stomach seems to grow the closer he and Banner get to it. The book presses accusingly into his chest and part of him suddenly wishes he hadn't borrowed it.

He'd wanted to keep it hidden from Banner, on the off chance that it isn't allowed, and part of him had been subconsciously planning on keeping it hidden from his handler too, but of course that is hardly practical. Even if he manages to get it into his room and tucked away in his drawer without his handler noticing – which is unlikely – he won't actually be able to read the thing with his handler around.

And, even if he managed all that, JARVIS could still report him if the book is truly not allowed, and he still won't know what it means.

Tears of frustration prick at his eyes and he ducks his head as he and Banner approach the entrance to the building. Banner holds the door open for him, and the Asset steps through, a familiar feeling of dread settling in his stomach as he tries to find a solution to his problem. No matter how he thinks about it, he can't stop coming back to the conclusion that he's going to have to ask his handler about the book.

If he wants answers, and if he wants to be able to read the book, he's going to need to show it to his handler. The only problem is that if his handler does not want him to have the book, then he will lose it without ever getting the chance to finish it.

Handler-Steve has never taken anything away from me before, he reminds himself, thinking of his secret stash in his dresser. He is a good handler. That doesn't ease the sick feeling that settles in his stomach as he separates from Banner and rides the elevator up to his rooms. His pulse pounds heavy in his head as he exits the elevator and nears the door to his room, and after a moment, he stumbles to a halt outside, his breath tight in his chest.

He fumbles with the book, holding it out so that he can open it again—just one last time before he does anything else, just so that he can look at it again, just in case. He pulls it open without much of a plan, but the book has a collection of photographs in the middle, and the glossy texture of the pages causes it to open automatically to the first picture.

He stares at the pencil portrait of a smiling woman that fills the page. Her hair is pinned up in curls and a bit of lace sits at her throat before the image fades away. Her eyes seem to twinkle and catch on his as his gaze drops down to read the caption for the photo. Fig. 1, it reads, Winnifred Barnes. c.1935. Steve Rogers.

He stands frozen for a moment before the words come together and make sense. Steve Rogers… is the artist. His handler is the artist. He had drawn Winnifred Barnes. He had drawn his mother.

Tears rise again in his eyes and he closes the book, ducking his head. His handler had known these people – these people who might be his family – there is no question about it. And… and surely, if his handler had been willing to draw Winnifred… he wouldn't mind if the Asset were to ask about her, right?

He takes in a deep breath and squares his shoulders, his hands tightening on the book as he sets his jaw. He glances down again for half-a-second and stares at the recoloured image of himself on the cover, standing proudly amid the rest of the Howling Commandos, before he breathes in through his nose and steps over to let himself inside the room.

There's music going when he steps inside, one of the records his handler had gotten, and despite his resolve, his stomach still somersaults at the knowledge that his handler is currently home, and that he will have to confront him right away. The plastic cover of the book crinkles under his hand as he clutches at it protectively and closes the door behind him as quietly as possible.

His heart pounds loud in his ears as he edges down the short hallway towards the living room, and he stops just short of entering, watching as his handler hums to himself on the couch, a few files in his lap and a stack on the coffee table in front of him. He flips through his current file, his shoulders relaxed as he skims its contents, perfectly at ease as he twirls a pen in his hand. The Asset wonders if he will be just as relaxed in a few minutes.

There's no way to avoid it, and he takes a step forward, alerting his handler to his presence. Handler-Steve jumps slightly, fumbling with his pen but smiling amiably as he turns to him. "Oh Bucky, I didn't know you were back," he says. "Did you have a good trip?"

The Asset nods mutely and moves closer to the couch, the edges of his book digging into his arms. His handler watches his approach, seeming to sense something coming as his eyes flick from his face down to the book in his arms. "What did you find?" He asks, quieter than before, shifting so that the Asset can sit down on the couch next to him.

The Asset complies, coming around to sit on the far side, breathing in slowly through his nose and swallowing heavily as he tries to work up his courage. He grits his teeth for a moment and his handler continues to watch him silently as he finally manages to move his arms jerkily away from his chest, placing the book on the cushion between them and spinning it around so that his handler can read the title. The song on the record ends, the newfound silence doing nothing for the Asset's nerves as he pulls his hand away from the book.

Handler-Steve's eyes flick over the cover and the Asset can tell when he picks up on its implications, his eyes widening slightly as they dart up to look at him, his gaze suddenly tense.

The look sends anxious tendrils squirming through his gut, and he presses his metal hand to his stomach, trying to ground himself. He breathes in slowly, the knuckles of his right hand whitening as he grips the couch cushion next to him. "That's… that's me," he gets out thinly, darting his eyes over his handler before dropping them down to the book. "This book…'s 'bout me," he gets out. "An'— And it said I had—" He sucks in another breath, his hand continuing to press into his stomach. "It said I had a family. That I was born to them, an' I had sisters and parents but I don't— I don't understand."

He has to look away because his vision is getting blurry and for several seconds, his handler doesn't respond, the silence crawling up and down the Asset's spine like an anxious spider.

At last, his handler lets out a long slow sigh, and the Asset blinks his vision clear enough to look back up at him. Handler-Steve's face a strained, his eyes now distantly focused on the window behind the TV. After a moment, he looks back at him and runs a hand through his hair. "You're right," he says softly, tapping the book cover with one finger, the plastic crinkling. "This book is about you, and – I haven't read it – but I imagine the things it says about your family are true."

The Asset's mouth drops open in mute shock, and he stares at his handler, trying to wrap his brain around what he'd just said. His handler watches him for a minute before setting the files in his lap onto the coffee table and running a hand down his face, letting out a low groan. "Buck–" He looks up at him. "I'm sorry. I don't know how much you remember. I know you remember some things, but I— but I wasn't sure how much, and I had no idea how to bring this up at all."

The Asset looks down at the book and then back up at his handler, his mind desperately grappling for facts he can be sure about. "I don't understand," he says, trying to keep the desperate tone out of his voice. "Why did I have a family? Why did the Asset have a family?"

"Why did—" His handler's face twists into something painful for a second before he leans forward. "Bucky," he says intently, trying to catch his eye. "Buck, you weren't the Asset before this. You weren't the Asset before Hydra."

The Asset tries to say something, but he ends up just staring open-mouthed at his handler, his mind glitching like a broken record. A thin sort of whine escapes his throat and he shakes his head. "No," he says, trying to grab at the pieces of his life he'd thought he'd figured out. "No. You were my handler before. I remember. When you were small. And we went on missions when you were big."

His handler's eyes flick over him, something deeply sad in their depths, and he breathes in slowly, leaning back. "Okay," he says slowly, before pressing a hand to his mouth. He nods to himself and drops his hand to run along his pants, his eyes focusing on the Asset shoulder. "Okay, I thought that might be what you thought, from some of the things you've said." He takes in a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him. "I wasn't your handler before this, Buck," he says softly. "You didn't have handlers before Hydra."

The Asset can barely feel his left hand pressing into his stomach anymore, everything is numb, like he isn't quite attached to his body anymore, and there's a ringing in his ears. "But–" He sucks in a breath. "But we went on missions together." He holds onto that fact with both hands because he knows it's true. His eyes jump to the cover of the book, with the Howling Commandos, before looking back up at his handler. He can remember going on missions with him.

His handler nods slowly. "Yes," he concedes, following his gaze to the book and back up again. "Yes, we did but–" He runs a hand over his face and looks at him. "We worked together Buck. We were a team. Like I am with the Avengers now. You followed me because you trusted me, not because you were afraid I'd hurt you if you didn't."

"A team," the Asset echoes, trying to wrap his brain around the concept.

Handler-Steve nods before chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "I know this is confusing Buck," he says. "I don't know how much you remember… but there was a war going on. The missions we went on were because we were fighting a war."

The Asset sits up slightly. "The Great War," he quotes, remembering the line from the book.

His handler shakes his head. "That was the first one," he says. "Our dads fought in that one. There was another one, the Second World War, twenty years later, in 1939." He runs a hand through his hair and looks over at the Asset. "You got drafted," he says flatly, an old pain in his eyes. "You didn't actually tell me that's why you joined, and you didn't know I knew… but I found the letter in your jacket, and you left for training in 1943."

The Asset blinks, staring as a vague memory of when he had snuck into his handler's room to find evidence of the small boy rises in his mind. A war happened, his handler had said. And my friend got taken away to fight. And I couldn't do anything because I was too small. His mouth drops open and he snaps his eyes up to look at his handler because he realises abruptly that he might have been that friend. The friend his handler had gone after, once he had gotten the serum.

"I couldn't join because I was too sick," his handler continues to explain as the Asset stares at him, sucking in his information like a man dying of thirst. "But once I got the serum…" He rolls his shoulders. "I got big," he says, matter-of-fact. "But they didn't want me to fight because my serum was valuable, and they couldn't recreate it." His mouth twitches. "I worked with a tour group instead, going around raising war bonds." His eyes go distant for a second and they flick to somewhere behind the Asset's head.

"But…" The Asset shifts and looks down at the book again. "But you did fight." He glances up at his handler. "You led the Howling Commandos."

His handler's eyes refocus, and he flashes him a small smile. "Yeah," he says. "But that was only after I broke protocol to go after you." The Asset blinks and his handler's smile twitches. "I was in Italy, with the tour group," he says. "And I learned your unit was captured." A glimmer of pain flickers in his eyes and he looks away. "They told me you were dead, and that they couldn't mount a rescue operation. But I was tired of being put on the sidelines." He looks back at him, a familiar stubbornness in his eyes. "If I couldn't go and try and rescue my friend, what was even the point of getting the serum?"

Friend. He'd said friend. He'd been right about that.

"You rescued us," the Asset says, suddenly absolutely certain of the fact.

His handler nods. "Yeah," he says. "Looking back, it was reckless. But–" He looks at him, his eyes suddenly bright. "But you were alive. I found you, and got you and the rest of the POWs out of there, and I don't regret it for a minute." His eyes dim for a moment and flick over him. "Zola was experimenting on you though," he says, a mournful tone to his voice. "I didn't know it at the time, but he gave you a knock-off version of the serum I got."

The Asset's eyes widen as he remembers flashes of a freezing metal table, a multitude of needles and of a man staring at him over a pair of round glasses. "That's when I got the serum," he breathes, because he hadn't thought about it before. He'd known he'd been given it, but, like everything else, he'd assumed it had been done to him Before, when he'd been younger. Now, like everything else it seems, Hydra had done it to him, After.

"Yes," his handler says softly. "You didn't tell me. I don't know why and, really, I guess it was your business but…" He grimaces. "It meant that I didn't know you could survive when you fell."

The Asset nods slowly. "I fell from the train…" He remembers, his eyes flicking to his handler. "We were going after Zola."

His handler breathes in and rubs a hand over his mouth. "Yeah," he says finally. "And I thought you'd died when you fell." His eyes glance up at his, their depths forlorn and pleading. "Hydra found you after, and I didn't know you were alive until they brought me to you a few months ago and wanted me to be your handler."

His throat flexes and his hands clench on his pants. "I didn't want to," he says, his eyes staring into him. "I swear to you Buck, if I could have taken you out of there immediately, I would have." He breathes in and his hands shake slightly on his legs. "We were trying to take down Hydra and figure out what their plan was, and I couldn't take you out until we had taken them down but…" He grimaces and looks down.

The Asset swallows and tries to pull up a few hazy memories of his time with his handler in the Vault. It makes a bit more sense now, why his handler had been such a better handler than the rest. Also… it also explains a little why he'd followed his handler's orders over Hydra's. Not because his handler had been his original handler, but because he'd been his friend.

"Once we got back to the tower…" His handler looks up at him, his face slightly pale. "I didn't know what to do. You still thought I was your handler and you were so—" He presses his lips together and clenches his teeth. "I mean… you were afraid to even use my hairbrush, Buck. I didn't know how to explain to you that you were a person."

The Asset blinks as he remembers the first few terrifying days in the tower, where he'd constantly been on edge, intent on pleasing his handler at all costs. Even his handler's assurances and decency had been met with suspicion, and it had taken months for him to slowly learn to trust in his new situation.

"Maybe I should have told you earlier," his handler continues, a look of conflict on his face. "The Avengers and I talked about it sometimes. We weren't sure how much to tell you or not." He runs a restless hand through his hair and looks at him. "I wanted you to be able to remember on your own. I was afraid that if I tried to tell you too much too quickly you would think your memories were just… complying with what I wanted. I wanted you to be able to trust what you were remembering."

The Asset finds himself nodding slowly as he digests what his handler is saying. It's so… much, that he can hardly comprehend it all. But he can remember when his handler had told him he'd been captured by Hydra and given the trigger words. At the time, he'd thought that Hydra had stolen him, and that they had had to make the trigger words because they weren't his real handlers. And… he hadn't been wrong exactly. They weren't his handler, because he hadn't had handlers before them.

He glances down at the book between them and looks up at his handler. "We were fighting Hydra," he says. "In the war."

His handler nods in confirmation. "Yes," he says. "And everyone thought we had beaten them, but I found them again, after I woke up, and they've been working undercover since the end of the war."

The Asset nods, because there's nothing else he can do at this point. His handler's explanation of his life fits better than the explanation he'd come up with. It makes sense now, why Handler-Steve had been such a lax handler in his memories, especially when they had been small, because… they hadn't been Asset and Handler. They had just been kids.

A sudden thought sparks in his mind and he reaches forward for the book, flipping it open to the collection of photos in the middle. The first page is the portrait of his mother, but he can remember that there had been a reference to a Fig. 2 in the first chapter. He flips the page and finds himself confronted by the sepia image of a smiling family. He looks up at his handler before dropping his gaze back down.

It's a staged photo. A woman – Winnifred, he can recognise her – sits in a wicker chair, wearing a spotted dress, a small smile on her face. Next to her, on another chair, a man sits in a pressed suit, his hair slicked back away from his face. On the floor, a girl of about ten sits, leaning against his knee, her hair in styled ringlets. Another, older girl sits on a stool at the feet of Winnifred, her hands clasped on her knees and a brightness in her eyes. Winnifred has one hand on her shoulder, mirroring the pose of the oldest girl as she stands behind her mother, her hair pinned up. Finally, his own face stares back at him, his hair slicked back like his father's, looking younger and livelier in his spot behind his father's shoulder.

The Barnes family, the caption reads. c.1936.

His vision blurs again as he looks over the picture and he pulls the book closer to himself. Their faces are both familiar and foreign, but he can remember just barely enough. Bits and pieces that let him know the truth of everything his handler and the book have been saying. His fingers glance over the glossy finish of the page as the monumental truth settles over him. "This…" He swallows against the lump rising in his throat. "This is my family."


AN: So it finally happened! Bucky finally knows that he has not been the Asset for forever, and that he has a family. Of course, this is only the beginning. Bucky hasn't even begun to explore what this revelation actually means and what it means for him, but now he can start.

Besides that, I thought Banner was really sensitive here while Bucky was busy panicking about his book, poor guy was really confused for this chapter. And Steve also was probably not expecting a book to be what pushes this revelation on Bucky.