A/N: Thanks to everyone that reviewed, fav'd, and followed! I'm happy so many other people ship Lucky (best ship name ever imho).
This took me a while to write, but I have good news! I am actually finished with the first draft of the rest of the story. Now my sister will descend like a dark angel of destruction wielding the red pen of death (her words), and then I can post the last two chapters of this! Yeah, you read right, there's only two more! (Having a hard time believing it over here, too.)
The room Bill will be removing the spell from his head in is small. It is also totally bare except for some very comfortable chairs, which seem out of place.
"Would you mind if I watched?" Shuri asks, bouncing in just as they have all taken a seat. She practically vibrates with excitement.
"I don't mind," he says, feeling the urge to smile at her. Shuri's eyes, for a moment - wide, brown, and full of spark - tug at him.
His sister, he vaguely recalls, his little sister was like this. But he can't remember her name, and he clenches a metal fist in frustration. He can't remember his own sister's name, but he has a clear flash of scrambling around the streets with her tagging along behind, insisting on following him everywhere. He always ended up carrying her home on his back, because her feet would get blisters. They could never afford good shoes, and she was always outgrowing the ones they could get.
He's almost smiling, until he remembers that she's probably gone now, too, and a sudden wave of grief and loneliness hits him. He looks, finds Luna already by his side, and tries not to make his exhale of relief too obvious.
She reaches out, brushing her fingers across his cheek momentarily, with that expression she gets sometimes, that makes her seem like something old and new, like she taught the stars how to dance, and knows the trill of every birdsong. It's something infinite and comforting, and nearly takes his breath away.
She pulls back, and the moment's broken, but he's ready now.
Bill explains everything he's going to do. It's a lot, but James does appreciate it, and Bill is particularly good at parsing the details. By the time he's done, James feels almost relaxed about this. Almost.
"Wait," he says, before they're about to start. "You should probably restrain me, or something." He gestures, mimicking a wand swishing.
"Why?" asks Bill, frowning.
"I, um… I destroyed the sofa last time, and that was only lookin' in my head."
"Only!" Hermione snorts. "It was a full memory-sweep, and he clenched his fist in it," she informs Bill, whose eyebrows shoot up.
"I don't think we need to worry about that," Bill reassures him. "This is actually less invasive, in comparison, and I would prefer you be able to tell me if something feels wrong."
James nods. He did suggest it, but the thought of being restrained was more stressful than he really wants to admit. It didn't exactly bring up good memories.
"All right then," Bill says, rolling up his sleeves. "Shuri, the wards, please."
Shuri flicks a finger at the walls, and they take on a slight blue glow.
"Just in case of backlash," Shuri says, at his curious glance.
"Ready?" Bill asks him. "And remember, if you ever need to, we can stop."
James doesn't think it's likely he'll ask the man to stop for anything, but he takes a deep breath.
"Yeah."
"Excellent. Let's see what we've got."
Bill's wand traces through the air, and golden glowing symbols appear, stacking up on top of each other as he continues. Then with a gentle push, the symbols float forward, directly towards James' head. He holds very still, not even flinching as they hit his skin, and disappear.
Red lines of what must be the Imperius spell slowly appear, mostly around his head, but a few are also connected to his arm. He eyes them distrustfully.
Bill gets to work immediately. He pokes at some strands with his wand, loosens others, detangles a little knot of lines and inspects it closely, puts it back together carefully, and mutters weird Latin-ish magic things. James has no idea how, but an hour later, there's only one glowing line of magic left, going from his head to his metal shoulder. He's also pretty sure it's longer and thicker than all the others were. Bill lowers his wand and examines it carefully for a minute.
"This one is going to give us trouble," he tells James. "It will most likely hurt as I remove it, and… I'm pretty sure you won't be able to use this arm anymore. Too much of your motor control is tied to the spell."
"That's okay," he says, quickly. "I can handle pain."
He purposefully ignores the second part. It won't be fun, not having two arms, but he doesn't really trust the metal one all that much. He's got no idea what went into it, or if they could somehow still control it. He'll be better off without it.
"Alright then," Bill says, and he doesn't hesitate, severing the final cord with a quick sketch of his wand. James gasps in pain, not only from the weirdly painful sensation of his entire arm abruptly vanishing from his senses, but also because there's an explosion in his head.
He feels the arm flopping to the side, dragging his limp body with it over the side of the chair, but it's a peripheral sensation. Memory floods his brain, everything the chair had ever erased all at once. None of it is good.
.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-
Sergeant James Buchanan-
Sergeant-
.
Lightning racing through his head.
Soldat?
Ready to comply.
.
The target is centered in his scope. He shoots; blood spatters. There's not even a sound.
.
Put him back in cryo.
.
He'll do anything we tell him.
Anything?
Yes.
.
He drags his knife across a throat. The target gargles his own blood.
.
He snaps a neck with his metal hand.
.
He's always cold. Warmth is not a luxury he is allowed.
.
The man is down on one knee, small box uplifted. He squeezes the trigger. The man's fiancée of two seconds shrieks. He dismantles his rifle without pause.
.
Your mission, Soldat.
A thousand bullets. None miss.
.
He shapes little girls into weapons almost as powerful as himself.
.
Lightning blasts away emotions. He wakes cold.
The garrote is a fine necklace against the pale skin of a slim neck.
.
He waits for days behind his scope utterly still.
.
Red hair. Natalia. He remembers. He runs with her, fights.
He forgets. The lightning stabs his brain.
.
Ready to comply.
.
He gasps quietly, eyes unfocused, trying to stop it, but he has no control - pain, torture, numbness, cold - it's everything all at once, and it burns in his head.
Somewhere, in the background, beyond what's playing out in his head, people are murmuring over him.
A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, and whispers in his ear, sleep.
He takes the invitation, gladly succumbing to oblivion.
Uhhhh... I promise I'll fix it?