The next time Bucky loses control I'm there. And I immediately can tell there's something wrong.

It's a Saturday, I just finished getting dressed and showered. Bucky and I were going to go out to lunch. I walk into the livingroom and the guy standing in the hallway is not Bucky. For one he's holding a kitchen knife in his metal arm, the one Bucky never uses unless it's completely necessary. For two he has this look of pure hatred in his eyes, and beneath that there's nothing.

"Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head," he says with a thick Russian accent.

"Bucky," I say feebly, "Come on, this isn't you."

His expression doesn't give any indication he can even hear me, its like he's in a trance.

"You aren't my target," he growls, "Keep quiet and I won't hurt you."

"Bucky come on," I try again.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he barks, his grip tightening on the knife.

"You, you're Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. I know you can hear me, somewhere in there, come on!" He doesn't even acknowledge what I say and I'm suddenly aware that he can't hear me. Bucky's not Bucky right now, he's The Winter Soldier.

"I have to find my target," Bucky spits, "So shut up!"

My mind is racing, there has to be away to bring him back into his own mind, some sort of tether. I think about what Steve said, from when he and Bucky fought on the helicarrier. It was like Bucky was trapped somewhere in this big hulking thing, and he was scared but there was nothing he could do to stop himself…

"Do you remember Steve?" I ask hopefully, "Steve Rogers, your friend?"

"No," Bucky says curtly, "I don't."

"Sure you do, he's Captain America. I'm sure you've heard that name before."

"I said shut up!"

"Sorry, sorry. I just figured you'd remember him, he was your best friend after all."

His flesh fist is curled tightly into a fist and shaking with rage, "Shut. Up. Or I will kill you."

"No, you won't. Bucky, come on, this isn't you," I do my best to hide the wavering in my voice.

"Stop calling me that!"

"It's your name," I say firmly, "Unless there's something else you'd like to go by now. What about James? Is that better?"

He makes a move and I think he's going to stab me so I duck out of the way, but instead his fist goes straight through the wall. He lets out an animalistic noise and then swings again. When he turns to face me his gaze falls to the floor. "Stop talking!" he shouts, obviously furious.

There's a small tear rolling down my cheek but I muster up my best authoritative tone and try again. "Bucky, you have to stop this, you're going to do something you don't mean to do. Put the knife down."

"I'm not Bucky! Just stop!"

"You are! You are Bucky! Maybe not right now, but somewhere inside of you, he's there!"

There's a large pause in conversation and then Bucky drops to the ground like a boulder falling off a cliff. His body is totally limp when I rush to his side, but he's still breathing. I take out my phone and call Steve, not knowing who else to call. I sob into the phone as I tell him what happened. Steve stays on the line the whole ride to my apartment.

"Do you remember anything?" the doctor asks him gently.

"It's like I was watching a movie," Bucky says, voice shaking.

"So you remember, but not from your own perspective?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Hm, well that's actually promising," the doctor tells him.

Bucky squeezes my hand and I squeeze back.

"If you're experiencing out of body episodes, we can definitely treat you. That's something I can work with, Mr. Barnes."

I offer Bucky a comforting smile and he gives me a feeble smile back.

"I'll need to scan your brain to locate the areas where this disruption is taking place, and then we can figure out what our next step is. I will probably start you on a regimen of anti-anxiety medications to try to keep your stress level down as that seems to be a big factor in these episodes. And you'll meet with me to discuss your progress and develop proper coping techniques. I wouldn't worry at all, these are quite typical symptoms for dissociative disorders, and we've had a lot of improvements in treatment techniques. Most of the time people with mild cases like yours are able to lead healthy lives once they get the right help."

A month after Bucky's doctor visit I have a surprise for him. "What would you say if I told you I knew someone who could make you a much more inconspicuous prosthetic?"

"I'd say it's really not necessary, and probably too expensive."

"Bucky, you hardly use it. You act like its a diseased part of you that you have to hide. And besides, the guy I know would do it for free."

"It just… Doesn't feel right to use it, never has. It's made to be a weapon, a tool, its hard to make sure it works gently for everyday use."

"So it would be better if you had an arm that would function more naturally, right? And maybe a little less shiny metal this time?"

Bucky lets out a soft laugh, and rolls his eyes, "What? You don't like the chrome?"

"Its not me that has to deal with covering it up in public. I feel like that's all you do when we go out, worry about if people can see it."

"Alright, fine, what's the deal then? Who is this guy?"

"My boss, Tony Stark."

"Iron Man?"

"Yep, that's the guy. I talked to him the other day because he wanted to know how the treatments were going, and he asked about if the doctor's have said anything about your arm. He's fascinated with technology, I'm sure you've heard."

"Yeah, what's that thing he made? Jarvis?"

"Mmhmm, and he wants to make you a different arm. All American made, free of charge, and whatever material you'd like."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not? He lives for projects like this, and if anyone can make you a more naturalistic prosthetic its him."

He's holding back a grin, but I can see it in his eyes. I know that this will be an opportunity for him to leave another part of his past behind, a part of The Winter Soldier behind. And on top of that it will be something he can look forward to and be a lot more proud of. I know it bothers him to think that he's somehow still destined to carry out Hydra's missions for him, but maybe with a Stark-made arm he'll feel more like one of the Avengers.

"Do you think Steve would kill me if I get a star-spangled arm?"

I'm caught off guard by his jest and choke on my laugh, "I doubt it, Bucky, he's your friend. He'd probably think it was hysterical."

Bucky taps his fingers on the table, deep in thought, "You know, okay, I think this is a good idea. Are you sure he's willing to do this for me?"

"Yes, he is," I reply, "In fact, he's already starting the design process."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "Of course he is."

And just like that, we're making progress again. And this time it just might last.