Warning: This chapter contains mentions and description of torture!

Hey guys! Thank you so much for your reviews! It really means a lot to me! So here, just as I promised, chapter 11 of Remembering. It's a little calmer than the past two ones (giving my poor heart a break). I really hope you enjoy! And don't forget to leave a review! (They still give me life xD)


Chapter 11

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Rank, sergeant. 32557038…" Bucky whispered out weakly while he lay motionlessly on a metal table. His legs were strapped down, so were his arms. He flinched when he felt his metal arm recalibrate- a feeling he hadn't had the chance to get accustomed to yet. His left arm was a foreign object to him anyway. It was Hydra. It was made for killing innocent people. He wasn't going to kill innocent people, no matter how much they tried to force him to.
"How are we feeling this morning Sergeant Barnes?" He didn't bother to look at the man that had walked into the stingy cement block of a room. He kept staring at the ceiling. Cold shivers ran up and down his body in dread of what was about to happen. He had lost track of the days completely, didn't know how long he'd been in here for. It was just one of the many tools Hydra used to break Bucky's spirit and remove any thread he had left connecting him to normality. His mind drifted to Steve who was probably still in Brooklyn, trying out for the army again. Thank God they hadn't taken him. Thank God that he wasn't going to be pulled right into hell itself. Bucky clung onto that while they began the procedure in the same way as they had the day before. Had it been a day? Maybe he'd been in another coma again, he couldn't remember. He felt something cold wrap around his big toe and he shivered, pinching his eyes closed. With one quick movement, the metal tongs were jerked to the side and a crack filled Bucky's ears at the same moment as searing pain shot up his foot and his leg. He held back his scream, regardless of how much his body was begging him to let it out. He heard a huff and the cold metal was wrapped around the next toe. Then the next and the one after that…

When there were no more toes left, they went on to his fingers. When there were no fingers left, they went on to the other bones in his hands and feet.

Bucky's voice was soon raw from screaming and he was dizzy. A single name circled around in his mind over and over again like an anchor, the only real thing in this world of pain and fear.

"Steve." The name slipped through his slightly parted lips just as another one of his bones was broken.

"What's your name solider?!" A gruff voice asked him and he sobbed, hitting his head back against the metal table.

"My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes you little fuck-." His voice slipped into a bloodcurdling scream when a hot iron was placed against the balls of his feet.

They kept going, for days, weeks, months and eventually Bucky forgot Brooklyn, he forgot the war, forgot his name but through it all, even during the countless wipes, there was one name that stayed on his lips; a name he screamed at the top of his lungs although he couldn't remember why he was screaming it.

Steve…

Bucky opened his eyes slowly, a frown drawing a line between his eyebrows. His body didn't feel cold like it usually did when he woke up from a coma but he couldn't remember what had happened last. "Sergeant Barnes?" Sergeant Barnes. Yes. He was Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Something clicked in his mind and he shifted, sitting up slowly to look at the man who had just spoken to him. His frown deepened when his eyes came to rest on Colonel Rhodes. Why was Rhodes here? Why not his hand- Why not Steve? "How are you feeling Sergeant?" Bucky ignored Rhodey's question, letting his alert eyes wander around the blue-painted room. Where was he? It looked like a cheap hospital room but weren't hospital rooms white?

Where was Steve? Was Steve okay? His skin felt like it was covered in a thousand fire ants and he forced himself to his feet, looking around the room one more time to see if Steve was there. It was a futile, unnecessary gesture but it made Bucky feel calmer for at least another moment. "Where's Steve?" He asked, or more, demanded to know, locking his eyes with those of the Colonel in a silent dare to refuse him that piece of information. Rhodes was tense but he knew to hide it. Sam had assured him that Bucky wouldn't be a threat but that didn't stop Rhodes from feeling uneasy around Bucky, especially considering that Bucky looked like a gun ready to go off at any moment. He was different without Steve, reminiscent of the volatile man that they had hauled out of a maximum-security cell in an armoured vehicle. "Captain Rogers is at home. Some of his friends brought him there after your therapy session." Rhodey said. Bucky averted his eyes, confusion and anxiety creeping onto his features while he did so. "Sam is ready to take you to Steve's home if you want to see him." Rhodes added quickly when he saw Bucky's unstable state of mind threaten to go over the edge. Without a word, Bucky made his way out of the room, recognizing the corridor of the police station immediately. He looking around the corridor to find Sam, spotting the man standing at the reception desk, talking to the lady perched at the edge of her seat behind the wooden construction. His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls and must have alerted Sam to Bucky's approach because Sam straightened up and averted his eyes from the woman in favour of looking at Bucky. He greeted the taller man with the warm smile he always wore, keeping his body language open and calm. "Hey there Bucky. How are you feeling?"

"Take me to Steve."

"I'm doing fine thank you for asking." Sam muttered under his breath before saying a quick, maybe even slightly regretful goodbye to the woman behind the counter and making his way outside. Bucky followed him closely without a word. Every moment he spent not knowing how Steve was, felt like he was back in that heat chamber, his skin feeling like it was peeling off of his flesh and his metal arm- the thing felt like it was malfunctioning all over again. Bucky concentrated on keeping his breathing normal, knowing that Sam wouldn't let him see Steve if he noticed how erratic Bucky was. He was good at concealing his feelings though and so he switched back to old Hydra protocols and kept his body an empty canvas.
Bucky got into the passenger seat of Sam's sun-warmed Mustang, closing the door a little too forcefully maybe. Sam pushed the key into the ignition but didn't start the engine just yet. Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of the black hoodie he was wearing to hide the tight fists his hands had formed. He felt the urge to punch something or maybe yank Sam out of the driver's seat to drive himself or hold a gun to Sam's head and tell him to just drive.
"You don't remember what happened, do you?" Bucky didn't feel obliged to answer but he knew that if he wanted to see Steve, he would have to be cooperative.

"No."

"Steve broke down." Bucky sat up straight as an arrow, turning his head to look at Sam with wide eyes, "You remember asking him to trigger you, right?" Bucky nodded numbly. There was a feint, foggy memory of something like that having happened but he failed to form the context. His throat felt dry and the tight control he had over his body was slipping through his fingers. "Well I guess you could say that it was a little too much for him. I'm taking you to him because he needs to see you right now. He needs to see that you're back and that everything's alright."

"Is he okay?" He had to be okay! If Steve wasn't okay…. Oh gosh if Steve wasn't okay-!

"He'll be okay." Sam promised Bucky who looked like he was trying to blink away tears. The former soldier looked spooked, disconcerted; something that made Sam worry but he was well aware of the fact that Bucky wouldn't settle on seeing Steve at a later stage.

Bucky flinched when the engine roared to life. Sam eyed him for a moment, waiting for him to relax a little before putting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot in front of the police station.

The drive to Steve's apartment didn't take too long but it was filled with a tense silence. Bucky tried not to think about anything and yet what had once been like second nature to him when he was known as the asset, was now one of the most difficult things to do. His mind was racing and kept bringing forth reasons to blame himself for Steve's condition. Images of a sick, small Steve lying in bed kept coming back to him. He remembered making soup for that Steve. He remembered the worry that had tied a tight knot in his stomach while he fretted that his best friend might not make it. Bucky closed his eyes but the images kept coming, flashing behind his eyelids like a sepia movie on constant repeat.

"He'll be fine Bucky." Bucky's eyes flew open and he realized that his body was rigid. He chided himself for the lack of control over his body, forcing himself to relax again, "I know you're worried and that's totally okay. I'm worried too y'know." Bucky let out a slow breath, nodding in acknowledgement of what Sam had just said. Bucky watched the road for a moment, feeling oddly at ease all of a sudden. He hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't being punished. They were taking him back to Steve. He was allowed to be close to Steve. He was being rewarded.

"What happened?" Bucky asked when they came to a standstill at a red traffic light. Sam looked at Bucky briefly before focusing on the traffic light again, his eyes following the people that were rushing across the street. He gave himself a moment to decide on what to tell Bucky and which details were wiser to omit.


By the time they arrived at Steve's apartment building in Brooklyn, Sam had finished telling Bucky most of what had happened. The parts about the Winter Soldier hadn't phased Bucky in the slightest, the end though, the part about Steve crying and breaking down seemed to shake Bucky right to the bone. He had stared ahead of himself for the rest of the drive, looking like a pale statue. That is, until the car came to a halt at the side of the road. His large body shifted and he pulled at the handle immediately, forcing the car door open. As soon as Bucky was out of the car and had looked up at the apartment building, he froze, his eyes widening.

Steve hadn't moved. He still lived exactly where he had when Bucky had last visited him. He knew that the walls of Steve's apartment were all a creamy beige, knew that the wood panelling on the floor was fake. He knew that the water in the shower tended more towards way too hot than anything else. He knew that the working surface next to the stove had a tiny chip in it from when Steve had dropped a pan on it. He knew about the picture Steve had hanging in the living room of his mother. He knew what sound the doorbell made and that the apartment smelled so much of Steve that it could sometimes be slightly overwhelming in the most positive way imaginable.

But why did seeing this place hurt so much?

"Are you okay Bucky?" Sam's voice yanked Bucky back to reality and the latter nodded, letting out a breath he had been holding in.

"I remember this place." Bucky answered distractedly, "I remember it." He repeated, as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he remembered.

"That's a good thing though." Sam offered Bucky an encouraging smile, "I'll let you in and then I'll be on my way. I still 'got some errands to run." Bucky didn't respond, instead took in all the different details of the small apartment building, trying to see what else he remembered, trying to figure out why it hurt to be here again.

Sam opened the door to the building, letting Bucky in first to see if he knew which one was Steve's apartment. True enough, Bucky walked up to the first door on the left on the ground floor, stopping in front of it and waiting for Sam impatiently. Sam's eyebrows arched in surprise but he didn't say anything, instead unlocked the door with the spare key Steve had given him once.

As soon as Bucky heard the lock click, he pushed the door open, walking in without hesitation. Sam smiled, closing the door behind Bucky and turning to leave again with his smile not faltering for a second.

He had a good feeling about this.


Bucky had stopped in the entrance hall.
The entrance area was made up of a corridor decorated with numerous framed pictures hanging on the walls. The door to the left led to the bathroom while the one on the right led to Steve's study which he often misused as an art studio. The corridor opened to the living area complete with kitchen. The last door, which was closed, was situated at the far end of the living area between the living room and the kitchen. Steve was behind that door- Bucky was sure of it. His feet carried him over the fake wood panelling swiftly until he was standing in front of the door. He felt odd, maybe nervous? He didn't quite remember what nervousness felt like. He shook the feeling off quickly and pushed down on the door handle, making his way into Steve's bedroom quietly.

Steve was lying in his bed with his eyes closed. It was still the same bed from all those years ago. Bucky faintly remembered spending a lot of time sitting on that bed, watching Steve sketch. The bedframe was made of dark wood that stood in sharp contrast to the beige walls. The duvet was blue with the pillowcase being a slightly darker shade of blue. Steve's face was vacant, pale and his hair was a mess. The skin around his eyes looked swollen and red, making Bucky sink into himself.

"Steve…"

Steve heard his name, knew that it belonged to him and yet he didn't want to respond. He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to face the world again. He wanted to stay just like he was. He wanted to stop thinking, stop talking, stop feeling! The bed next to Steve dipped and part of him, probably the part with all his SWAT training, wanted to open his eyes to look at who it was but the part that was still broken won over in the end. "Stevie… look at me." His heart felt like it had skipped a beat and although he still didn't want to open his eyes, his eyes did whatever the voice told them to. He squinted against the light for a moment, resisting the urge to groan when the sunlight streaming through his open curtains hit his pupils. He stared up at the ceiling resolutely, studying the cracks that he knew off by heart by now "Steve it's me- Bucky." Steve's tired eyes shifted to look at Bucky and the latter cringed when he saw how empty but sorrowful his eyes were. Eyes looked like that after a person had cried enough tears to empty out all the sadness they had carried with them, leaving them feeling numb and empty. Had he been selfish asking Steve to listen to what had been done to him? Had he been selfish for wanting Steve to know? To understand? Sam had said that everything was okay… was it really? He wasn't being punished and yet… he felt pain. Pain was punishment and Bucky felt he deserved it. It was his fault that Steve was like this, after all.

"Buck?" Steve's voice was rough form lack of use but still, Bucky was relieved that Steve was talking.

"Yeah. It's me."

"Bu-." Steve took in a sharp, shaky breath, "Bucky!" All at once Steve's eyes came to life and he sat up as if he'd just been shocked by electricity. It was like Steve was only really looking now that he realized who was sitting in front of him. Bucky only just had enough time to register the anxious look on Steve's face before said face was buried in Bucky's chest. He was pushing against Bucky's chest with so much force that Bucky was sure he'd get bruises from it but that didn't matter- they'd disappear soon enough anyway. "Oh my gosh Bucky!" Steve whispered breathlessly, moving to wrap his arms around Bucky's neck and pull him closer. He did this, again, with so much force that Bucky was pulled forward, forced to lean over Steve. He ended up leaning over him with his legs pressing against Steve's thigs and a hand placed on each side of his head. Steve pulled himself up towards Bucky, lifting himself off of the mattress and pushing his upper body flush against Bucky's. A wave of goosebumps rushed through Bucky at the same time as the instinct to free his neck rose in him. He forced it down though, bracing his arms a little more to carry both of their weight. "Bucky I'm so sorry!" Steve was totally disconcerted, his composure completely dishevelled and probably still lying on the floor of Sam's office. Bucky let Steve hold him for a moment longer until the need to see Steve's face became too strong to ignore. He pried Steve's arms off of his neck carefully, letting Steve back onto the mattress before settling down next to Steve, his back resting against the headrest of the bed. "Sam told me what happened." Bucky said calmly after Steve had calmed down a little. Everything was okay now that he was with Steve again. Now all he had to do was make sure that Steve was going to be okay. "How much?" Steve bowed his head like a child afraid of being scolded.

"A little bit of what you asked me and then that you broke down."

"Great." Steve huffed, rubbing his face with his hands, still looking slightly dazed, if not disorientated.

"How are you Steve?" Bucky leant to the side a little, his right arm pressing into Steve's left.

"I don't know." Steve admitted quietly, looking up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers to Bucky's questions.

"I'm… sorry for what happened." Bucky said, matching Steve's quiet tone.

"It's not your fault Buck." Steve was quick to object and did it in such an earnest way that Bucky had no choice but to believe him, "It was good that you told me all of that! Now that I know what happened to you, we can help you a lot more. Besides, I wanted to know what happened to you Buck." Bucky didn't seem completely convinced to Steve but Steve knew that Bucky rarely disagreed with what Steve said nowadays. Sometimes Steve wished he would but he was confident that he would again with time. "Why does it hurt?"

"Why does what hurt Buck?" And just like that their roles were reversed again and Steve was ready to be there for Bucky all over again. Bucky accepted the change but part of him knew that Steve shouldn't be trying to shoulder more, knew that he should stop relying so much on Steve but he couldn't- no matter how much he wanted to be there for Steve instead, he wasn't ready. "Why does it hurt to be here?" Steve's eyes widened at Bucky question. He stared at Bucky for a moment before averting his eyes, looking ashamed and angry. "You don't remember, do you?" It was a rhetorical question so Bucky waited, "The last time you were here… we had a fight." Out of habit Steve's eyes found the framed photograph on his wooden dresser. Bucky followed Steve's eyes. He recognized the blond as Steve, the Steve from his memories; small, frail with arms as thin as sticks and long, bony fingers. The other man… was that him? Was that what he had looked like before Hydra had taken him and turned him into something he wasn't? Bucky got up from the bed, walked over to the dresser and picked up the picture with his right hand. He studied the two men on the photo critically, wanting to commit what he saw to memory, a concentrated frown on his face. The brown-haired man had his arm around Steve who had his arm wrapped firmly around his waist. They were both grinning. This was the man Steve remembered. This was his Bucky. It felt strange for Bucky to look at a photo he couldn't remember having been taken. On top of that he felt like he was looking at a stranger. He considered his short brown hair in the photo, wondering if Steve would like it more if he had short hair like that again. "That picture was taken on my eighteenth birthday at Peggy's house." Steve finally decided to speak up, "Up until now it's my favourite photo of the two of us." Bucky's mind lingered on the 'for now'. This photo was the definition of joy; how did Steve want to trump a photo like this with Bucky the way he was now?

"You really don't remember what happened the day you left, do you?" Steve's voice sounded subdued and it drove Bucky to tear his eyes away from the photo and put it back down again. He turned back to Steve who looked small and vulnerable, his shoulders slumped forward as if he were trying to hide. Something in Bucky clicked and he walked over to the bed without thinking, sitting back down next to Steve so closely that their shoulders pressed together. "I don't." Bucky admitted and Steve let out a slow breath. Steve wondered whether or not he should just wait until Bucky remembered all on his own or whether he should just tell him. He knew that Bucky was bound to want to know the story now that Steve had brought it up like this. The problem was, Steve really wasn't very proud of what had happened. "Shortly after your 23rd Birthday you enrolled in the army. You wanted to get into the 107th, the special forces division." Steve started quietly, tracing patters on the duvet that covered his thigs, his eyes following the movements his fingers made, "Your father had served in the 107th so it was a pretty big deal for you. I tried to support you wherever I could. I even tried to enrol myself. They didn't take me of course." Steve chuckled sadly, "I mean I was far too skinny back then and my asthma was a quick deal-breaker. They took you- of course they did- and you left for basic a few weeks later." Steve paused, swallowing hard before pressing on, "After your training, you were given a day to say goodbye to relatives and friends before you were to leave for Afghanistan with the 107th. You came to my apartment wearing the uniform they gave you. It suited you." Steve's usually bright and expressive eyes were dull and distant and it made Bucky want to say something or do something to comfort Steve but he chose to listen instead. "I was so angry; more at myself than anything else but in the end, I let it out on you. I didn't let you in, refused to talk to you properly. I told you to get lost, shoved your promises to stick around and look after me in your face. God I was so stupid." Steve lifted his hands to cover his face, "That was the last bloody thing I said to you before you had to leave. Eight months later, two men from the army were standing at my door with their stupid army hats in their hands, offering me their condolences."

"I told you not to do anything stupid until I got back." Bucky muttered, "Then I left and took a cab to the train station. I had wanted you to come along until the very moment I had to leave but you refused to even look at me."
A dry sob escaped Steve's mouth and Bucky lifted his arm out of instinct and Steve accepted the offer readily, pushing into Bucky's right side. "I'm so sorry Bucky." Steve whispered sorrowfully, "I should have let you in. I should have hugged you and told you that I support you. I should have gone out with you to enjoy your last day, should'a made you a nice meal, sat down with you to watch some TV. I should have done something... anything. I should have been a better best friend. I'm so, so sorry!" Those were all the words Steve had wished he could have told Bucky ever since he'd been told Bucky was dead. A weight lifted off Steve's shoulders and he sighed a quivering sigh, bowing his head as if exhausted.
Bucky felt something rise up in him, something that reminded him more of the man in the photograph on Steve's dresser. He let old memories guide him, let them tell him what to do, what to say, knowing that the man in the photo knew how to make Steve feel better. "S'fine Steve. I'm back aren't I? I said I'd be back and I am. There's nothing you need to apologize for. I'm not mad at'cha or anything. I hated myself for leaving you so I didn't blame ya for being mad. I could hear that you were crying and I wanted to punch myself in the face for hurting you. I just wanted to do the right thing, the way you did too."
Steve blinked up at Bucky through his lashes, trying to convince himself that Bucky had really just said all that, and that he sounded more like the Bucky from four years ago than he ever had. "Thanks Buck." Steve smiled at Bucky, looking relieved and like Bucky had just hung the moon in the sky for him and Bucky realized, much to his relief, that he had acted appropriately. Bucky felt strange, like something was bubbling up in him steadily. It was the same sort of feeling he used to get when he was out on long assignments and the trigger words and the wiping would start wearing off. Hydra had called it malfunctioning, saying that he had to go in for maintenance directly after the assignment to prevent any lasting damage. He had believed them, of course he did. Now he knew better though...

"32557038" He formed the numbers on his lips soundlessly, letting his eyes find the photo taken on Steve's Birthday.

This wasn't malfunctioning.

This was Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.


There you go!
Hopefully Steve will be back to his old self soon!

I really hope you enjoyed the chapter. Like I said, it was more of a quiet one. Please let me know what you think and thank you SO MUCH for reading my ff!
See you next week~