A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone, my cousins had a high school graduation and much of my weekend was spent with family as a result.
A review of the last chapter reminded me that Disney created an animated short of The Steadfast Tin Soldier for Fantasia 2000 and revised the ending to not be soul-crushingly sad. So if you're interested in checking out that story and not sweeping your heart up off the floor, the short is on Youtube.
He spends a full week in the tower before he tries the thing that Sam calls therapy.
On the third day, the day with the sandwich and the memories the Soldier should have kept quiet, Steve finds him that evening and says that he has to leave in the morning, just for a few days, has to work. He reassures the Soldier that Stark and Sam and JARVIS will be there the whole time, says he will probably be back before he's even missed. He'll have a phone that the Soldier can text or call at any time and Steve will answer as soon as he can. But he has to go, has to set things right with the government after he dismantled SHIELD and let all their secrets slip online.
The Soldier listens and nods and does not send his metal fist slamming through something.
"I hate the government," he announces the next morning, while Stark is trying to introduce him to bacon. He doesn't quite remember what hate is, but he thinks if he knew, that is what he'd be feeling.
Stark pats his shoulder. "Don't we all, pal."
Sam raises an eyebrow and doesn't speak. The next time Pepper brings over picture books, they are about things like jealousy and loneliness. The Soldier decides this is some sort of commentary, but he cannot decide if he is offended by it. He tries to read the books anyway, as they are easier to follow than the ones without illustrations. But then he starts a book about a girl with a new baby brother and his mouth is smiling until he reaches the sentence "Lilly spent more time than usual in the uncooperative chair" and decides that is enough reading for one day.
He spends much of his time in Stark's lab. There are other robots he meets named Butterfingers and U, who both look like Dum-E but who do not try grabbing onto his arm. He tends to linger near them because of this, though he waves the flesh hand in Dum-E's direction whenever the opportunity presents itself. Dum-E does not pursue him, though he sometimes stares in their direction and make low clicking sounds that hurt the Soldier's chest when he hears them. But he doesn't want the robot decommissioned, so he keeps his distance.
Stark is bossy—he thinks that is the word—especially when they are in the lab, and the Soldier prefers that. Orders, even when they are as simple as Stark's, make the sudden expanse of waking time and new experiences easier. And Stark likes to talk about his inventions and plans. He talks very much about so many things and doesn't mind that the Soldier listens in silence. His face lights up in the rare moments when the Soldier does have questions, even more than the brightness that is always in his features. He finishes the glove that enables the Soldier's fingers to feel, and the Soldier takes to wearing it constantly because it is a gift and he is grateful, even if the sudden increase in feeling can be overwhelming.
But Stark isn't always in his lab, and the Soldier must find other ways to pass the time. He is getting better at the books, he thinks, able to turn pages with either hand and no longer taking an hour to make it through a page. He understands more words now, though the plots and the emotions of the characters elude him. There is also the Internet, and whatever the "parental controls" are that Sam enabled, they do not keep him from reading history. Sometimes he will read about a death and recall causing it, or know without remembering that a fatal "accident" wasn't. It makes his head ache and whenever it happens, he finds something else to do.
Stark has a large collection of movies and about half of them have been marked with red stickers, which indicate they are films the Soldier isn't ready for. He doesn't know what it means to be ready. Stark says it means "when you're older, kid," but the Soldier is probably twice Stark's age. Many of the movies that provide Stark's nicknames for the Soldier are on the restricted list, such as Star Wars and The Bourne Identity and Terminator. He can't decide whether he likes the movies he is permitted to watch. There was a musical with a flying car that was nice at the beginning and became progressively less so as it went on. There are very many cartoons and he feels a disproportionate number of them are about princesses. There is a movie about the little orphan Annie and he thinks Barnes would have liked the dancing in it.
Every night, when he lies under the heavy blanket and tries to remember how to fall asleep, he is struck by the lack of purpose.
Nothing with HYDRA was without purpose. He did not wake unless there was a reason, did not move or speak or hold a weapon without an objective. He was rarely ever conscious and every second that he was, there were grounds for it.
Now there is nothing but the waking, and nothing is achieved by it. The predominant sensations are apathy and confusion, and neither feeling is alleviated by anything he does. On the morning Steve comes back, the Soldier slips shaving his face. One second he is staring at his reflection and the next he recalls running a knife through a target's throat, and then there is a small amount of blood dripping into the sink. The little spark of pain is the most he has felt in days.
HYDRA said that order came from pain. He thinks if there were more order in his life, it would be easier to work out humanity.
The cut is healing by the time Steve comes home, tired and with a limp that he hides almost successfully. When he had said work, the Soldier assumed it was some sort of propaganda or negotiation. He had not thought of combat. He thinks James Buchanan Barnes would have accompanied Steve on such a mission and thinks that he should be doing so as well. But he barely understands how to care for himself and he has periods of instability and now the Soldier would be a liability.
He said he would rather die than return to the chair. That feeling has not changed. But order comes from pain and perhaps Stark can come up with some other way to fix him. Perhaps they can numb him somewhat before they strap him down. He thinks Steve's friends will be nicer about reprogramming him. He hopes that after they have taught him to be a person once, he will not need regular maintenance.
Sam called fixing the mind therapy. The morning after Steve's return, when Sam has come back to the tower after running, the Soldier finds him and asks for it.
"What's on your mind?" Sam asks once they are sitting down.
He forces his hands not to clench. The feel of his fingers pressing against his palms is overwhelming now that the left fingers can also sense the touch. He relays the information as he would with a mission report, or as he would list injuries to a medic if prompted. "I am restless." He knows the word because he looked it up before this conversation. "I lack direction and a clear goal. I want to be a person and I do not feel like one and don't know how it's meant to feel. I have no structure."
"All right," Sam says. His eyes are not disinterested as other handlers could look, but the Soldier cannot read intent into them past that. "Any ideas on what you'd like to do about that?"
The Soldier shakes his head, refuses to let his teeth clench. He wonders if this is a test, all the choosing that they permit him. He thinks choosing is what people do—didn't the English voice inside him say that once?—but he is not a person yet, and he can't do it properly. If he must fail this test for them to repair him, then he will. "I don't have ideas," he says. "I lack…I can't operate without orders. Tell me what to do. Please." The word sounds strange in his mouth.
"I can't do that, Bucky."
"Tell me what to do," the Soldier repeats, uncomprehending. His handlers have never had trouble with orders before.
Sam leans forward, sighs. "This isn't HYDRA, Bucky. We'll never treat you like that. You can choose for yourself now, and no one else can do that for you. I know it's a lot to take in, but—"
"Just once." Is his tone called pleading? "Teach me to be a person. Reprogram me. I'll make my own choices once I know how. You can put it in my head and I won't ask again. I won't have to. I'll know what you want."
The expression Sam makes in response to his words is slightly wide-eyed but controlled. The Soldier isn't sure what it means, but the growing adrenaline in his stomach suggests that the reply will not be favorable. "Bucky, we don't want anything from you, other than for you to be happy and safe. You don't have to follow orders anymore. We aren't going to give them to you—that isn't how people live. At least, it shouldn't be."
His words are nonsensical. James Buchanan Barnes followed orders. Even Steve follows orders, the Soldier thinks. They have more say in the matter than assets do, but there are still orders. What is life without orders? "I can't operate."
The words come out flat though he is shaking internally. He has no way to view the world without some form of command to provide a framework. He knows of no way to approach anything without orders. The Soldiers remembers, quite suddenly, a mission. An earthquake. The ground giving way beneath their transport. That sudden lack of stability is what he feels now. Anything could happen if there is no order against it. He could kill them all now, whether he wants it or not. There is nothing to prevent him.
"Bucky—" Sam is saying, but the Soldier is up, racing through the tower. He needs Steve because Steve is Captain America, and a captain will understand the importance of orders, the necessity of keeping men and weapons alike in line.
"Помоги мне." The Soldier grabs Steve's arm, his breathing fast and shallow. His chest feels as if restraints are clamping around him, but with none of the repair that accompanies being bound. "Fix me. I require maintenance."
"Bucky, what?"
Steve is holding him, concerned, trying to make their eyes meet, but the Soldier can't look because Steve was his last mission and if these people are not handlers then technically he is still HYDRA's and the mission is still active and he's likely not enough of a person to refuse it and the Soldier is scared. "Help me," he begs, and behind him he hears Sam enter the room, feels Steve look at the other man.
"What's going on?" Steve asks, and the Soldier can hear that same deliberately steadiness in his tone that was there the other day.
"He thought we were in charge of him," Sam says. "That we'd be giving commands."
Steve's hand brushes the Soldier's jaw line, tilts his head up so they are looking at each other. The Soldier has not felt so wide-eyed and stunned with shock since he recognized Steve on the helicarrier. He feels too much, not just in his hand but everywhere. "Bucky," Steve begins, "we're going to help you," and the Soldier can almost breathe. But then he adds, "We'll help you, but we aren't your masters, all right? You're a person, you—"
"Fix me." His voice is small and he is tense and trembling as if he's just come out of the chair, and for once that would be a welcome occurrence and why are these people so nonchalant as if the world isn't falling apart, as if he won't destroy them? "Reprogram me, пожалуйста, пожалуйста, I'll be good, I won't scream, I won't—"
"Bucky." Both of Steve's hands are on his face now, holding him still. His eyes look wet and the Soldier doesn't understand because the recalibration doesn't hurt the handler. "Bucky, listen to me, all right? I will do whatever I can to help you. But I won't do that. Not ever. I will never hurt you that way. I've read what they did to you, I've seen—I won't. You don't ever have to be afraid of that."
His mouth won't move to say he's not afraid. He cannot lie. But he's more afraid, much more afraid, of what will happen without the chair.
"That won't help you, Bucky." Steve draws him closer, runs a hand up and down the Soldier's back. It's a familiar motion, one used to help his body overcome the uncontrollable tremors after a memory wipe. It doesn't stop his trembling now. "Trust me, okay? I won't hurt you, no one will, we'll find something else that will help—"
The memory feels like a blow to his head, it is so sudden. He remembers struggling against a chair, pushing one-armed to free himself from it while hands tried to force him down. He remembers sickness, shaking, crying, and most of all he remembers Steve. Steve standing before him, looking down at him. And Steve's words: They're trying to help you…you have to trust me.
"Лицемер!" he snarls, hands slamming into the center of Steve's chest, knocking him back. "You're the one who said I should let them do it!"
His breathing grows more labored as it strikes him that Steve can lie.
A/N: Translations for the Russian are as follows:
Помоги мне = Help me
пожалуйста = please
Лицемер = Hypocrite
By "work with the government," Steve means "go blow the crap out of HYDRA bases they're finding so that I can vent my considerable rage about my friend's treatment."
The book with the "uncooperative chair" is Kevin Henkes's Julius, The Baby of the World and it is one of the greatest children's books of all time (my household has a copy autographed by the author, that's how much we loved it growing up). The uncooperative chair means being sent to time out, but with that phrasing, Winter would of course interpret it rather differently.
Winter's not allowed to watch Star Wars: A New Hope because of the arm sliced off in Mos Eisley, and because then he would want to watch Empire Strikes Back, with its carbonite freezing and its hand-chopping. He is not allowed to watch the prequels because almost everything about Anakin Skywalker would be a trigger. The Bourne movies are about brainwashing and amnesia, and the Terminator franchise is too violent for his current state.
The musical with the flying car is Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and if the child catcher in that movie didn't upset him, the lyrics to Doll on a Music Box probably would.
Honestly, though, I can see him reacting adversely to almost any movie. Even most Disney cartoons, because most Disney cartoons are actually quite distressing.
The memory of the earthquake comes from the seventh chapter of this story, way back. The memory of the chair and Steve is from the third chapter.