Chapter 26: Twilight Soldier
Steve was in bed, staring into the darkness, listening to Bucky's hitched breathing. The neural sensors apparently weren't a magic cure for insomnia.
Dinner had been a quiet affair. Bucky seemed off. Shuri's sessions and lack of sleep were obviously taking their toll.
Almost an hour later, Bucky's breathing settled into a steady rhythm. Steve closed his eyes and did his best to clear his mind, but the images from the sessions were hard to push aside. He wondered how much more his friend would have to endure, and what condition he'd be in by the end.
Deconstructing Hydra's programming was slowly tearing Bucky apart, and all Steve could do was watch and hope to hell that Shuri and her team knew what they were doing.
Steve was drifting to sleep when frantic Russian words—what sounded like pleading—woke him. The panicked tone had him upright in the dark room. Bucky was on his feet, pressed into the corner of the room, his wide, terrified blue eyes visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the window.
Bucky's gaze snapped to him, and before Steve could get a word out, Bucky launched himself around the bed and toward the door.
"Bucky!"
What's happening? Steve had no idea whether Bucky was dreaming, having a flashback, or a panic attack, but when the locked door wouldn't budge, Bucky ripped it off its hinges.
"Bucky, stop! We can't leave the room." Steve wasn't sure how strict the King would hold to that edict, but he didn't want to test those boundaries.
Steve reached Bucky, grabbing his shoulder just as the other man stumbled into the hallway. The metal arm whipped out, made contact, and sent Steve sailing backward. Steve landed on his bed, rolled, and launched back to his feet.
He heard a commotion in the hallway—a woman's alarmed voice shouting a command to stop. Steve ran into the hallway in time to see the repulsors on the virbranium hand activate, sending Bucky staggering backward and flinging one of the Dora Milaje hard against the wall. From the panicked, perplexed look on Bucky's face, Steve got the impression the activation was inadvertent. Bucky seemed unaware of the repulsors in his palm.
Steve ran by Wanda's room and gave a loud knock in passing. "Wanda!" he yelled as he launched himself at Bucky and grabbed him from behind. The other guard lunged for Bucky.
"Don't hurt him!" Steve adjusted his hold to grab the spear and fling it away a moment before it would've pierced Bucky's kidney.
He linked his arms around Bucky's, but the vibranium arm was strong and getting the better of him. A desperate wail escaped Bucky's throat, and he flailed against the hold. His struggles were panicked. Steve recognized fear rather than anger. Whatever Bucky was experiencing, he was terrified.
Steve almost lost his grip as he wrapped his leg around Bucky's metal arm to restrain it. Wanda was above him suddenly, red energy floating between her palms. Her fingers touched Bucky's temples, and Bucky sagged bonelessly against Steve.
He heard T'Challa's voice. "What is going on here?"
Then Shuri's. "I believe I have an idea. We need to get him and Aneka to my lab."
Steve raised his head past Bucky's shoulder to see the siblings a few feet away. Shuri had a tablet in her hand and was hovering over the injured guard. The downed Dora Milaje held her right arm close to her side.
Steve eased his grip on Bucky's limp form. When there was no resistance, he risked letting go and eased Bucky to the floor. Bucky's eyes were glazed, staring blankly ahead, still under the spell of whatever vision Wanda had planted in his head.
"Brooklyn," Wanda told him, as though she were reading his thoughts. "I saw something when I touched his mind, but it was distorted by his emotions. I sent him to a safe place."
"What did you see?" Steve asked her.
Her eyes glistened, and she shook her head. "I hate that I helped Hydra." She raised her chin toward Bucky. "My brother and I," her voice quivered, "we didn't know what they were capable of."
"What matters is the choices you make now," Steve told her.
He didn't press further about what she'd seen in Bucky's mind.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve walked into in the lab. Wanda's spell had held long enough to get Bucky to the Design center. Shuri and T'Challa led the way, surrounded by Dora Milaje. Wanda and Steve took up positions on either side of Bucky. He was mobile, but nonresponsive, eyes glazed and blank.
Aneka was being cared for by a secondary medical team. Fortunately, she only had a broken wrist.
The moment Steve saw the vibranium exam chair in the room, he stopped in his tracks.
"The table was hard on his back." Shuri pointed to the monstrosity, apparently oblivious to what she had created. "This configuration should be more—"
She was cut off when Bucky snapped violently out of his spell. Steve was prepared and grabbed him, shielding Bucky the best he could from the tense Dora Milaje.
There was a flurry of barked commands in a language Steve didn't understand as he knocked Bucky to the ground and covered him, simultaneously trying to keep Bucky from hurting anyone.
Bucky got away from him, scrambling backward into the wall, staring right at him with no recognition in his face. His eyes were wild. His chest heaved.
The guards surrounded him, their spears pointed at his head and chest. Steve scrambled to his feet and was about to launch himself in front of Bucky as a shield when an impossibly strong hand grabbed him and yanked backward.
He spun around and locked eyes with Prince T'Challa.
"Stand down, Captain," the man ordered.
"Stop it!" Wanda's scream echoed through the lab, and crimson energy whipped out, pushing the Dora Milaje back.
Wanda stepped in front of Bucky, her back to him, her hands and eyes glowing as she stared down the Wakandans. "He's scared. He doesn't know where he is."
Steve pulled out of T'Challa's grip and flung a hand at the chair. "That looks like the chair they tortured him in to wipe his memory."
Shuri's face fell. "I'm sorry. I know they put him in a chair, but the display was from his perspective. I never saw what it looked like."
"Can we all just calm down?" Steve forced himself to relax his posture, his gaze going to T'Challa, assessing the man's state of mind.
Would the three of them have to fight their way out of this? A fight wasn't what they'd come here for, but he wasn't about to let one of the women put a spear through Bucky.
"I cannot allow him to harm anyone else," T'Challa said firmly.
"He won't." Wanda remained a shield in front of Bucky.
Steve risked a glance at his friend. Bucky was curled in on himself against the wall, his gaze locked on the chair, his eyes hooded and scared.
"What's wrong with him?" Steve faced Shuri. "Since we came here, he's regressed. He doesn't know me or where he is."
Shuri grabbed a tablet from her workstation. She studied it for a moment, then looked up at her brother. "This is my fault." She turned her attention to Steve, then said, "He was still wearing the neural scanners at the time, so I've been able to get data on his neural patterns before and during the incident. The readings indicate he's in an altered state, with high activation of the right amygdala. That region of the brain is involved with fear conditioning."
"It's obvious he's terrified. Is that what you're saying?"
Shuri nodded. "He is, but it's more than that." She pressed her lips into a firm line for a moment, apparently mulling over her words. Finally, she sighed and bowed her head slightly. "I believe the last session and the neural scanners caused this. We worked through three code words but never completed the process. He's in a hybrid mental state driven by the aversive conditioning to which Hydra subjected him. The Winter Soldier activation sequence started but never completed. The neural scanners were programmed to promote deep sleep to combat his insomnia. I didn't anticipate what effect that might have on his brain. He is in fight or flight mode and is not aware of the reality surrounding him."
Shuri looked at Wanda. "You have telepathic abilities. Are you able to provide further insight?"
Wanda lowered her hands. The energy she maintained at ready vanished. "He's terrified. In his mind, he's back with Hydra, in the past. He doesn't understand where he is or what's going on. He's operating on emotion, there's no rational thought. Just images and emotions."
"Can you free him of this?" T'Challa asked Wanda.
"I get glimpses of thoughts and emotions. I can plant visions in people's heads, pull from their own thoughts, desires, and fears. I was able to make him believe he was home in Brooklyn before the war."
"Yes or no?" T'Challa demanded.
Irritation flashed in Wanda's eyes. "I can try."
"That's all we ask," Steve said.
Bucky hadn't moved, locked into the nightmare going on behind his troubled eyes. Wanda turned and crouched in front of him. Oblivious to her presence, his gaze never left the chair.
She raised her hands slowly. Tendrils of red energy jumped from her fingertips to his forehead. His eyes flashed crimson and he sagged against the wall. Her fingers danced in the air, inches from his face.
Her expression mirrored his contorted face. Then she shook her head. Bucky's eyes glowed once more, and Wanda fell back onto her tailbone.
"I can't wake him up," Wanda lamented. "When I tried, I saw the Winter Soldier. I don't know how to bring him out of this without doing more harm than good, but I pulled from the images we saw in the longing session and sent him home in his mind again."
"We must finish the session," Shuri said. Her fingers danced over the table, and a mechanical hum rose as the chair shifted, sliding into a zero-gravity bed. "I'm sorry, Captain Rogers. I believe if we complete the process we started, we'll be able to wake him from this state."
Steve didn't like the thought of doing this when Bucky had no ability to consent, but they couldn't leave him in his present condition, and there was no telling how long it might last.
He nodded agreement, but he wanted to minimize manhandling Bucky and risk setting him off again. "Wanda, can you get him gently onto the table without disrupting the vision?"
"Of course." Her hands glowed again, and the energy surrounded Bucky, lifting him into the air and lowering him carefully onto the table.
The moment he was in position, the vibranium restraints slid into place along his arms and legs.
The Dora Milaje remained standing guard, their spears upright. Their eyes were on Wanda, obviously seeing her as the greater threat to the Prince and Princess. Up until now, they hadn't realized the extent of her abilities.
Shuri placed a set of neural scanners on Bucky's forehead. Steve wasn't sure what had happened to the other pair. They'd come off during the struggle earlier. She then worked an IV line into his vein.
"He's slightly dehydrated," Shuri explained, "and I'm not sure how long this session will take, so I'm putting him on fluids."
When the holographic image sprang to life, Steve saw Bucky's room in his folks' apartment. The POV was Bucky's, and he was face-forward on his bed, peering over the edge. Steve saw the younger version of himself sitting on couch cushions with a blanket and pillows piled around him, scribbling on a pad of paper while Billie Holiday's I Wished on the Moon played on the radio.
Steve remembered that morning, just after his mother died. Bucky convinced him to stay with him and his folks. The face he sketched was his mother's.
"Mom's making banana bread. Can you smell that?" Bucky said.
Steve worked on shading around the eyes. "Yeah."
"You have her nose and mouth."
Steve smiled up at him. "And my dad's eyes."
"Her determination."
Steve looked back down at his mother's face. "She had to be tough. She had me. I brought her nothing but problems, and after Dad died, she dealt with it all on her own."
"Hey." Bucky's voice was firm. "No one gets a choice about the body they're born with. You have never been a burden to anyone. You give way more than you take. Sometimes, too much. You always have."
Steve looked up shyly, the edges of his mouth lifting sadly. "Thanks, Buck."
"Now go shine my damn shoes."
Steve laughed. "You're a jerk."
"Seriously, though, man," Bucky's voice lowered, "I like having you here. It evens up the male to female ratio and gives me a fighting chance against the Barnes brats."
Steve rose to his feet and set the pad on the bed. "I better get these cushions back to the couch."
Shuri walked up to the exam table, studying Bucky's peaceful face. Regret flickered in her eyes, and she glanced at the others in the room, then leaned toward Bucky and said, "Rassvet."
-0- -0- -0-
Daybreak.
Siberia. Night. Ice, punishing and unrelenting.
He hung by his wrists from a beam twenty feet above the ground, his arms forced behind his back. His metal limb was dead, tethered limply to his right wrist with thick titanium cuffs. The nodes of the electric collar dug into the skin around his neck. Weights dangled from thick chains around his ankles.
His shoulders and back were a mass of agony. The cold stole feeling from the rest of his body. It cut like shards in his chest with each breath.
Guards dressed in thick clothes with heavy gloves and rifles surrounded him, keeping watch.
He felt the first rays of sunlight against his eyelids. Footsteps crunched on the ice.
"Rassvet, Soldat. The dawn brings an end to your suffering."
The chain clattered. He was falling, his body slamming into hard ice. A thick blanket wrapped around him. He opened his eyes, blinking at the budding sun over the white horizon. A warm mug touched his lips. Hot broth slid over his tongue. He swallowed greedily even as it scorched his throat.
"You have seven and a half hours until nightfall, Soldat." The words sounded almost apologetic. "For now, rest and be warm. We'll start again soon."
-0- -0- -0-
Pech'. Furnace.
He was brought inside, his number fingers clutching at the blanket as two soldiers dragged him into a room. It was blessedly warm. Orange flames from a large furnace danced on the metal walls.
The soldiers dropped him on the floor. He crumpled, curled into himself, and slept near the fire.
-0- -0- -0-
Devyat'. Nine.
He was in a chair in front of a screen, shackles on his wrists and ankles. A timer ran in the corner.
36:23:08
36:23:09.
36:23:10, the seconds continued to count upward.
A man's voice spoke in a monotone in Russian.
"Gidra. Zmey s devyat'yu golovami. Otrezh'te odnu, na yeye meste vyrastut dve." Hydra. A serpent with nine heads. Cut off one, two grow in its place.
Images of the proverbial creature played on the screen, fading to footage of black-clad Hydra soldiers with large guns marching across European landscapes.
"Hail Hydra."
-0- -0- -0-
"Dobroserdechnyy." Benign.
Images continued to play on the screen. The timer read 48:37:13, and the seconds continued to tick upward.
"Hydra izmenit mir k luchshemu. Hydra - dobryy blagodetel', spasitel' chelovechestva. Privet, Hydra." Hydra will remake the world into a better one. Hydra is the benign benefactor, savior of humanity. Hail, Hydra.
-0- -0- -0-
Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Homecoming.
"Gde tvoy dom?" Where is your home?
"Brooklyn."
The electricity was so intense, he couldn't breathe to scream. When it stopped, he sagged in the chair.
"Gde tvoy dom?"
"Brooklyn, asshole."
The electricity hit him again, more intense than the last. He blacked out. When he came to, the voice repeated the question.
He gritted his teeth and sucked air into his lungs. "Your wife's bed."
He woke up to the smell of urine and a throbbing in his head.
"Gde tvoy dom?"
"Fuck you."
He came to in darkness. Fear slivered through him, along with a dizzying wave of disorientation. He didn't know where he was.
How did he…? His brow crinkled.
He couldn't remember his name. Panic gripped him.
"Gde tvoy dom?"
"Hello?"
Pain shot through him. He screamed. When it stopped, he sagged forward. Restraints on his arms and legs held him in place. His cheeks were wet.
"I don't understand."
"Your home is Hydra. You will always come home to Hydra."
"Who are you?"
"Hydra. Gde tvoy dom? Where is your home?"
"Um… I don't…." How could he not remember? "I don't know."
The pain sent him away. He drifted, the voice in his head demanding, asking, interrupted by needles, hands, being stripped and sprayed with freezing water, then put back in the chair.
Until one day, he gave the answer they wanted. "Hydra."
Hydra was his home.
"Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu."
Gentle hands pulled him out of the chair, set him on something soft, and welcomed him home.
-0- -0- -0-
Odin. One.
"Kto sluzhit Hydra?" Who is the one that serves Hydra?
"Soldat."
"Kto tot, kto podchinyayetsya bez voprosov" Who is the one that obeys without question?
"Soldat."
"Kto takoy kulak Hydra?" Who is the Fist of Hydra?
"Soldat."
-0- -0- -0-
"Tovarnyy vagon." Freight Car.
He was falling, screaming. He died. Hydra found him. He was reborn.
He was the Fist of Hydra.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve felt like his insides were torn out. The holographic display had careened through chaotic images and thoughts with each word—scenes of torture, the sizzle of electricity, screams that sounded more animal than human.
As Shuri finished the last word, he threw himself out of his chair and stumbled to the bathroom. He barreled into a stall and retched bile into the toilet, giving release to the horror of the past three hours.
When he walked back into the lab, Shuri was gone, but Wanda, three Dora Milaje, and the medical team remained. A pitcher of water and a stack of glasses were on a table near the far wall, away from the workstation and other equipment.
Steve filled a glass and downed it quickly. Bucky was unconscious on the table, the neural sensors blinking slowly. Wanda stared at Steve from the corner of the room, her face pale.
"Where's Shuri?" He asked, doing his best to keep a steady voice when his throat felt stuffed with cotton.
"She will return shortly," Ayo replied.
Wanda walked up to him and lowered her voice. "Taking a break. She looked unwell."
Steve nodded his understanding. Shuri was a child. No matter how smart she was, her youth and status provided a shelter from the darkest horrors of the world. He couldn't imagine she was prepared to witness some of the things inside Bucky's head.
Hell, he hadn't been prepared for it, and his imagination had already taken him to dark places the moment he found out Bucky was alive.
Steve walked to the exam table and stared down at his friend. The skin beneath Bucky's eyes was puffy and the creases in his forehead more pronounced. A huge part of him wanted to rip the neural scanners off Bucky's head, load him and Wanda into the Quinjet, and go back to the Avenger's compound.
But that wasn't his decision to make. They'd started this process with Shuri, and Steve hoped they hadn't made a mistake. The Shuri who helped future Bucky was at least a couple of years more experienced.
Those years could've made all the difference in Bucky's treatment.
Shuri walked in, one of the Dora Milaje behind her. The princess looked solemnly at Steve as she walked up to the exam table, then her eyes moved to Bucky.
"What's next?" he asked her.
"I'll wake him up, assess his mental state, and determine what treatment options to proceed with."
She grabbed the tablet from the workstation, studying it for several seconds. The neural scanners on Bucky's temples beeped twice, and the blinking lights died. After a moment, Bucky opened his eyes.
Shuri moved a few steps closer to the exam table. "Bucky, do you know where you are?"
His gaze darted to her, but it was flat, without recognition.
"Do you know your name?" she asked him.
When he remained nonresponsive, she turned her attention to the tablet in her hands, her fingers dancing over the screen. The neural scanners began blinking again.
"Do you recognize anyone in this room?" she looked back up.
Bucky's eyes shifted to Steve, but that was the only reaction he gave. Shuri frowned and took a breath. "James Barnes is your name," she told him, pausing a moment to gauge his reaction. When he gave none, she continued, "You're in a medical lab. You're safe. We're trying to help you. Do you understand?"
A muscle in the side of Bucky's jaw twitched.
Shuri caught Steve's gaze and tilted her head. He followed her to the far side of the room. He didn't like how Bucky continued to regress after each treatment, and he began to wonder again if traveling to Wakanda had been the right decision.
"What's going on with him?" he asked, keeping his voice low enough that he hoped Bucky couldn't overhear.
"We went through the code words, but with a long delay between sets. The first few were spoken yesterday. The rest this morning. Most of the neural pathways associated with the Winter Soldier programming are active, but several key areas remain dormant."
"And that means?"
"I'll need to fully activate the pathways by running through the activation sequence again. It should act as a type of reboot of his brain."
"Will you be able to get him back out of it?"
"I hope so," she sighed. "I attempted a few moments ago, but the dormant areas lit up as other pathways went inactive."
Steve rubbed at his forehead. "I'll do it."
He hated each time they had to go through this, but they had to see this through together, and Bucky wouldn't want anyone else controlling the Winter Soldier.
Steve walked to the table. Bucky's eyes tracked him. He stopped a couple of feet away and began to speak the words, moving methodically through each one until the last phrase left his lips.
Steve swallowed, then gave the query that felt like ice in his throat. "Soldat?"
Bucky's blank eyes focused straight ahead. "Gotov podchinit'sya." Ready to comply.
Steve looked to Shuri. She was studying the tablet, making adjustments. The neural scanners beeped, and the blinking lights turned to a steady purple glow.
"Sergeant Barnes?" Shuri asked.
Bucky gave no response. Steve saw the anxiety in Shuri's eyes, and it sent shivers down his spine.
Shuri worked the tablet again. The neural scanners gave a long beep, and Bucky grunted as his body jolted hard, slamming his head into the table.
Steve was shocked by the brutality of Shuri's treatment. "What the hell are you doing?" His voice was harsh and clipped, causing the Dora Milaje in the room to stiffen.
"Steve."
The whisper from the table had Steve at Bucky's side immediately, his anger forgotten. "Hey, there."
Confused blue eyes scanned the room, then stared up at him. "What happened?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Steve asked.
Bucky's brow furrowed. "Uh…going to bed, I think."
The vibranium restraints slid away, and Bucky looked down, taking in the new configuration of the table. He slid his legs over the side to stand, teetering forward unexpectedly.
Steve caught him. "Take it easy. How do you feel?"
"Dizzy. Wiped." He steadied himself and threw a questioning look around the room. "What happened?"
"You had an incident," Shuri answered.
Bucky closed his eyes and took a breath. "Did I hurt anyone?"
"One minor injury only," Shuri told him.
Bucky ran a shaking hand over his face and leaned back against the table. "What's next?"
"Sleep." Shuri put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Your brain does not cycle through normal sleep cycles during the sessions, and given how poorly you've been sleeping, you need a solid night of restorative sleep.
Bucky's bottom lip trembled, and he bit it quickly. Exhaustion was evident in his eyes and the slouch of his shoulders. Steve recognized his friend's struggle to maintain control. Bucky might not remember the last few grueling hours, but it was obvious they had left their mark both physically and emotionally.
"I'm hesitant to use the neural scanners overnight again, as I believe they contributed to the incident," Shuri explained. "I will check with you in the morning. If you have difficulty sleeping again tonight, there are medications we can try."
"They probably won't work," Bucky muttered.
"I can adjust the dosage for your metabolism."
Bucky shrugged. "We'll see how it goes, I guess." Then he cleared his throat, and his eyes turned to the Dora Milaje standing guard in the room. "How minor an injury and who?"
"Just a wrist fracture," Shuri told him. "One of the Dora Milaje stationed outside your room."
Bucky gave Shuri a bewildered look. "Why don't I remember? I remember most of what I did as the Winter Soldier."
"You weren't the Winter Soldier," Steve told him.
"What?" Dread filled Bucky's eyes.
"We started but did not complete the Winter Soldier sequence," Shuri said. "That session activated only a portion of the neural pathways involved in Hydra's programming. The neural scanners were modified to induce sleep. Readings from the sensors indicate your brain was in an altered state, unable to differentiate dream from reality."
"Can this happen again?" Bucky asked.
"I don't believe it will unless we repeat the conditions precedent."
"It's gonna be okay, Bucky." Steve wasn't confident about that, but his friend needed the reassurance. "The last few hours were touch and go, but we're making progress."
Steve desperately hoped the words didn't end up being a lie.
-0- -0- -0-
When they were alone, back in the room, Bucky removed his vibranium arm, opened the empty bottom drawer of the dresser, and placed the limb inside.
"What are you doing?" Steve asked.
Bucky straightened and turned to him. "As long as I'm here, the arm stays there."
For a moment, Steve looked as though he were going to protest, but then his eyes softened, and he nodded.
Bucky sank into the armchair. "Tell me what happened."
Steve sighed and dropped onto the edge of his bed. "You woke up in middle of the night, pushed past me to get out of the room, ripped the door off the hinges." He gestured to the new door. "The Dora Milaje outside tried to stop you. The repulsors on your arm fired—I don't think that was intentional—and I grabbed you. Wanda calmed you by sending you into a memory of Brooklyn. We got you to the lab, and Shuri worked through finishing the session she started yesterday. We had to fully activate the Winter Soldier to reboot your brain—that's how Shuri explained it. She was able to pull you out of that, and here we are."
"Tell me the truth. How badly did I hurt the woman?"
Steve held his gaze firmly. "Just a cracked wrist. She's fine."
"Did I hurt anyone else?"
"No."
Bucky gave into the relief, sagging forward.
"It wasn't your fault," Steve told him.
People kept saying that. "I know."
It didn't change the fact that he kept hurting people. When Steve told him he had an incident, but not as the Winter Soldier, one of his worst fears had come true.
Code words or not—his brain was unstable, and he wasn't safe to be free. The nighttime sleep hallucinations were bad enough, but Dr. Abodon said they were normal.
Blacking out and attacking people wasn't normal. If he couldn't trust himself even when the Winter Soldier wasn't active, he couldn't live.
Steve swiveled closer to him. "What's going through your head right now?"
Bucky had already burdened Steve enough. The strain on his friend was obvious to anyone who knew him well, and despite all that had happened, Bucky still figured he knew Steve better than anyone. Steve wasn't a quitter. He never backed down from a fight. He'd tackle guys bigger and stronger than him, jump alone behind enemy lines, and take on all of Hydra with nothing more than his fists and shield.
But he often took on too much. He was only human. Bucky spent most of his youth trying to save Steve Rogers from himself. Now that Steve was tall, strong, and Captain America, people let him take the entire world on his shoulders. Few ever thought about the toll that burden would take—least of all Steve.
But Bucky did, so he smiled, rose, and stretched. "I need a shower. That's all I'm thinking about right now…. then sleep."
Steve looked unconvinced, but he nodded and slipped out of his shoes and socks while Bucky headed into the bathroom.
Bucky turned on the shower, stripped, and walked under the hot spray. Showers were the only truly havens of privacy. Even after Steve had the cameras turned off in the Veronica room, FRIDAY was always listening, and Tony or Steve could enter the room at any time.
But people tended to leave you alone when you were standing naked beneath a spray of water. The roar of the running water was soothing white noise, masking his shuddered breaths and washing the tears from his eyes before they fell.
He hoped Shuri was right. If he blacked out again and hurt someone, that would be it. He'd have to be the one to call it. Do the responsible thing. Make them lock him up or put him cryofreeze.
Steve wouldn't like it, but it wouldn't be his decision. He'd come around eventually. Bucky had seen the uncertainty in Steve's face back at the lab. Even Steve was beginning to doubt that it was possible to unfuck Bucky's brain.
Hydra had 70 years to break his mind, and breaking something was always a hell of a lot easier than fixing it.
He flattened his palm against the warm slate of the shower wall, bowed his head, and gave himself permission to let go.
-0- -0- -0-
Steve lay in bed, exhausted. His aching back and shoulders found relief in the cradle of the bed. He'd darkened the window enough that the room was dim but not completely dark.
His body was feeling the stress of the last day. It had been a difficult one for everyone. The images he'd seen were burnt into his mind and soul, but they were mere glimpses at the 70 years of brutality Hydra had inflicted on Bucky.
The sheer magnitude of it was incomprehensible. Steve tried to shut down that part of his mind and focused on the low roar of the shower. He heard something beneath the noise of the water and lifted his head to better listen. A shuddering mewl lifted him instantly to his feet.
He took a step toward the bathroom and stopped. Peggy's words from long ago echoed in his mind with new relevance.
'Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him? Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice.'
Steve sighed and eased back onto the bed. Bucky made a choice to lick his wounds in private, and privacy was something he'd been denied for most of a century. So, when the shower turned off and Bucky emerged a few minutes later, Steve kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and steady.
As he pretended to sleep, he listened to Bucky slip onto bed. There was no sound of fabric rustling. Bucky was on top of the covers, probably staring up at the ceiling. The breathing from the other bed was quick and shallow. After some time, it settled into a slow, steady rhythm, and Steve focused on that soothing sound until it followed him into sleep.
His dreams were nightmare images of torture and soul-shattering screams.
Author Note:
I love hearing your thoughts. In honor of the holiday weekend, I'll post two chapters, so expect Chapter 27 tomorrow!
