I do not own anything. The backstory for Bucky in this fanfiction is to the best of my knowledge fictional and should not be considered actual Marvel facts.
My fingers twitch on the table. I glare at them, annoyed that I can't seem to keep them still.
I sigh, pushing myself out of the chair I've been trying to sit still in for what feels like hours. I lean on the door frame to the bedroom, Daisy's infection seems to have past, and her breathing is normal.
I shift my weight, trying to organize my brain. Ever since yesterday when those memories came back to me it is like I've woken up. Everything is clear, and though some parts are still missing I have enough to feel something concrete again.
My muscles seem to twitch under my skin, begging me to use them. I feel strong, ready for something, I'm just not sure what, and it's making me go stir crazy.
Finally I relent. I hastily write a note for Daisy in case she wakes up before I'm back. I burst out the door and onto the road. I sprint, the wind pushing back my long hair, my lungs filling with the fresh air. I feel like a kid again racing through the tall grass and weaving through trees. I can feel from deep in my chest a laugh forcing it way to the surface.
I come to a stop in front of a small pond and I dive, the rocky bottom scraping at my chest under my shirt. My eyes open in the murky green water and my fingers stretch out through the liquid as though trying to grasp it. I stay at the bottom until I need air and then a little longer until I am choking and coughing when I come up. I laugh into the warm breeze, looking up at the sky. Somewhere off to my left someone clicks a stopwatch. I whirl but no one is there.
"Soldier," a harsh man's voice rings out all too familiar. "That was pathetic, do it again." Suddenly I can feel the water seeping into my lungs, my arms frantically fighting the water closing in. The resolve forming in the pit of my stomach as I force myself to swim down, to swim away from the surface, with its firm ground and sweet air. Forcing my hand to reach out, to brush the bottom and grasp the small box. To swim up again as my vision begins to dim fading out and the panic returns as I realize that the surface is too far away. But I make it. Gagging on the water that found its way into my lungs, retching up whatever is left in my stomach, until finally I take a breath of sweet fresh air that soothes the panic and allows my vision to come back. And then the package is ripped from my hand and tossed back into the deep pit of water. More reprimanding from the man they call my trainer. And then I am back under the water fighting against every instinct in my body.
I realize that I'm standing on the bank, unsure of how I got there. My skin is itching profusely like the water is poison. I stare down at the small waves lapping up at land I'm standing on. I instinctively turn to leave. Then I stop and force myself to turn around again, facing the water. I take a step forward, my mind blank, my lungs inhaling panicked breaths. My mind goes back and forth screaming at itself. My hands are shaking when I hold them out in front of me. I can hear a voice in the back of my mind which brings back different memories, a man's voice that makes me feel warm, and calm, and safe.
"Bucky," it whispers. "Jump, don't be afraid, I'll catch you. I won't let anything bad happen to you. It'll be fun, I promise."
I clench my fists and raise them. I dive again. The water feels cold this time, closing off my airways, freezing my muscles. I lay on my back at the bottom of the pond. Small rocks and pebbles poke me through my clothes. I open my eyes and gaze up at the rays of sunlight that have been able to penetrate the murky surface. My metal arm clenches against the water trying to leak in.
I blow out the rest of my air and relax into the burning sensation in my lungs. I stay there until the water above me ripples and someone crashes into the water next to me. I immediately push away, my fighting instincts kicking in. I push up to the surface, aware that I can't fight without filling my lungs again.
Just before my head breaks the surface a thick arm wraps around my neck. My hands fly up, trying to dislodge the arm. My vision begins to cloud and I can feel myself begin to slip away, the urge to breath almost forcing me to open my mouth. The arm pushes my head up and I take a breath that ends up being half water. My left elbow swings violently trying to catch my captor in the stomach. It hits flesh and I head a grunt from behind me. Disoriented I swing my head back hard in an effort to dislodge my captor but he takes that moment to throw me onto the bank with surprising strength. I crack my head hard on the bank and stars flash in my vision, leaving me blindly flailing and coughing water.
"Son, you look like a fish out of water."
I look up to see an older man climbing out water next to me. I push myself to my feet, still gasping, and stare at the man across from me. He's about sixty with salt and pepper hair and a short wild beard. He's a little heavy in the stomach and is currently soaking wet, shaking his head like a dog.
"What're you tryna drown? Are ye?" He asks in sloppy english, his dark eyes twinkling. I remain still, staring at him unsure of his intentions.
"Well son, why don't you come on back to my house. It's right over there, get you all dried off. Come on son, I ain't gonna bite you."
He begins to walk away from the pond, clapping me on the shoulder on his way past. I stare at his back before making up my sluggish mind to follow. My feet squish in my sneakers as I jog to keep up with his fast pace.
We arrive at a wood cabin where two other men are arguing over something. I am more concerned with the rifles laying at their feet.
"Jimmy, Caspar, come see the fish I pulled in," says the first man.
The other two circle round, one a little younger than me with brown sun streaked with gold and green eyes. The other man is older than the first man with curly white hair and a long white beard that complements his clear blue eyes.
"Hi," I say waving awkwardly.
They all laugh as though I've said something really funny. One by one they introduce themselves. The first man who assaulted me in the pond is named Pat, his son, the younger man is named Casper, and his father, the older man is Jimmy. They usher me inside and offer me clothes and a bathroom to change in.
I return to the porch outside to find all three of the drinking. Somehow I get pushed into a chair and a cold beer is thrust into my hand.
"So son, tell us your name," Pat says, reclining farther into his folding chair.
"Uhh, James," I say, staring aggressively at the beer in my hands.
"Once," Jimmy rambles sounding decidedly drunk, "I was called James." He laughs as though this is the funniest thing he's ever heard.
"Come on son," Pat says, nudging the beer in my hands. "Drink up."
Tentatively I lift the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back. The liquid hits my lips and enters my mouth, stinging the skin and taste buds. The smell hits to my nose and suddenly I'm in the dark room. The smell of alcohol sets fire to the hairs in my nose, smoke wafting around my head. The man on the other side of the bar leans back, his greasy hair flopping in his face. I brush past a table and the man on the other side. As I do I feel his hand brush mine and a piece of paper is transferred and held held loosely in my fingers. I step out of the bar to the dark alley behind. I unfold the paper scroll. On it is an address, a name, and a description. 7734 Odision Drive. Marcus Overy, white male, 6'2, Dark hair and eyes.
I walk down the street toward the house. I look up and as I walk I see her. The flash of the gun as she tucks it into her waist band, the glint of her teeth as she smiles a sweet smile, the glitter in her green eyes as she brushes past me clipping me in the hip.
"Hey soldier," she says. Then she leans closer. "Hail Hydra."
And she was gone, she feet clicking on the concrete, that flash of red I wasn't sure I'd seen disappearing into a sleeve. She smirks at me over her shoulder, and my blood chills as I am absolutely certain that this girl was not an agent of Hydra, she was an asset.
I blink back to where the bottle was still pressed to my lips. I quickly swallow trying not to choke on how much I've taken. I take a moment to realize that the normal flashback symptoms aren't present, thankfully, and the three men sitting around me have no idea what happened.
"So," Casper leans forward. "Tell me about the tattoo."
"What tattoo?" I ask, thoroughly confused. Casper gestures to my metal arm and I realize for the first time that it's out in the open.
"I always wanted to get one. Never seen one that sick before. Can I copy it?"
"Um, well it was kind of an accident."
"Sick," Casper says. "That kind of accident ain't never happened to me." I nod, slowly trying to act normal.
"Uh-hu."
"So son, where are you from?"
"I own a house." I pause and gesture to the woods in front of me. "That way, I think."
"Haven't seen you before, Son." Pat says, slapping down cards on the table. "You play?"
"Um, no, I don't think so." I stand up. "I actually have to go, someone's waiting for me." Casper bounces in his seat like he wants to come with me.
Jimmy leans forward. "You ain't runnin from us, are ye boy?"
"No," I stall. "I gotta, gotta get back to my girl."
Casper bounces more like he really wants to come now. Jimmy leans back and grins lighting a cigarette. He waves his hand.
"Off with ye."
I give a small smile, and walk towards the direction I'm pretty sure I came from. I have to control my legs to keep from running away from the cabin.
It takes me a full three hours to find the road. I blame the time I spend under water for my lousy sense of direction as I can't seem to decide with direction leads back to my house. I pick a side and walk for about 45 minutes until I hitchhike and am told that I've been heading in the wrong direction. The driver is a little old lady who tells me about a hundred times that I smell of alcohol and smoke, but all I see is those green eyes. I see glimpses of other things to weapons, plans, that were never carried out. Other assets who had missions not so unlike mine. Names that I didn't see on the list of casualties I looked up two months ago to keep myself sane.
The sun is setting when I finally stand in front of my door, reflecting how different the day has gone from the way I planned. I push the door open, to see Daisy stepping out of the bedroom dressed in the S.H.I.E.L.D. suit she was wearing when I brought her here.
"Your leaving?" I ask my mind working with the possibilities I haven't yet decided on.
"What? You thought I'd stay?" She snorts, not really looking at me. I look at her, trying to formulate what to say next.
"Why'd you start working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" I ask, moistening my lips. She looks taken aback.
"Alot of reasons, helping people-" She begins, but I cut her off.
"I need," I take a breath. "I could use your help. You know if you're looking for something to do, someone to fight. That is why you got shot, right?"
She crosses her arms defensively.
"I can kick your-" She starts and I cut her off again.
"That's why you fought Hydra, right?"
"And how would you know I fought Hydra?"
"Don't all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents fight Hydra?" I roll my eyes at the incredulous look she's giving me. "I mean the ones who aren't traitors?"
"Look Jimmy," she says, stepping closer to the door, but all I can think about is old, drunk Jimmy I met today. "This has been fun, thanks for saving my life and all but I'm leaving now. Good luck with the rest of your life and all that."
She steps past me toward the door. I turn around and staring at her back receding into the dark.
"I was the Winter Soldier," I hear myself say, my voice hoarse.
She stops.
"I can barely remember who I am sometimes, but other times I feel so clear. I can feel the important stuff. My mind, it's getting better everyday, and there are things from the Winter Soldier days that I'm just remembering. Weapons left in the field. Dangers I can still prevent. I think maybe that's the path. A way to the redemption I've been looking for."
I study my shoes. My heart is pounding out of my chest. The fear of a new disaster, an overlooked threat I can stop. I can feel other memories floating in my mind, glimpse slivers of faces, weapons, missions, and names. For the first time in a long time I am one hundred percent certain of something.
"So, if you want," I say. "I'll let you on board. Maybe you can find your redemption too."
There are things from the Winter Soldier days that I'm just remembering. Weapons left in the field... Dangers I can still prevent. I think maybe that's the path... A way to the redemption I've been looking for.
- Bucky Barnes