Chapter 1

They said he was no one, but Bucky knew he recognized the blonde man from earlier and maybe even the redhead. The other guy, not so much. If that were true if he did not know him, why did he see images in his brain of the blonde looking skinny and malnourished, laughing up at him? Why did the blonde call out to him as if they knew each other?

They told him no, then strapped him down onto a chair, and his mind went dark.

Opening his eyes to a woman was startling; her soft fingers rubbed the tops of both his hands soothingly. It took him a minute to realize she was talking to him.

"James!" He frowned at the name. "We don't have very long- your memories- Steve- back home."

He heard some of what she was spewing at him, but he heard no command, which confused him further. His eyes focused on her hips first, following up the curve of her waist to her chest and the start of her head of brown curls. Finishing off at her face. He felt a jolt in his heart. Flashes of a young girl playing at his feet entered his mind.

Her big brown eyes matched those of the woman who was talking to him now. She did not wear a sterile white doctor's coat or army uniform and no suit and tie. No, she was in jeans that synched at her waist and a black curve-hugging top tucked into her pants.

What was she doing here? He was still at the facility, nowhere public, but she dressed like a civilian. He flinched; she had raised her hand to his cheek, silently asking him to look at her.

He complied, and her thumb stroked his cheek. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His mind exploded white hot as another image came forward. Women much taller than him getting down on one knee. Her warm hand stroked his cheek. She tucked his hair behind his ears and then kissed his forehead.

He leaned into her soft warmth as he did in the memory. Safe, warm, things alien to him. They were not Safe and warm and did not comfort the asset. Who was she?

"Are you listening? James. They are going to send you out again, and when they do, you need to find Captain America."

"Captain America." He reiterated.

Why did that name bring the scent of dirt, sweat and gunpowder into his nostrils?

"Yes." She smiled at him, "Find him. He will help."

He frowned. Help? Sometimes he was made to work with others, but usually, he worked alone.

She looked down at her watch, the smile dropping from her face. He did not like that.

"I'm not allowed in here." She tells him, "Don't tell them I was in here."

He blinked at her. She flashed him a quick smile taking her hand back. She snuck from the room. His muscles strained, his body wanting to follow her. Not too long after, white lab coats and suits with ties filled the room.

.

James pulled the man with robot wings from the sky, breaking off the appendage.

James, she had called him that. It sent warmth through his chest; he liked it. He repeated the name in his mind when they talked about him, around him. He repeated it when they gave him his orders, "Kill Captain America"

"Find Captain America; he will help." That's what the girl said.

After the guy with wings fell from the sky, James turned his gaze upward to where the blonde man was, kill Captain America.

His fist groaned, the silver covered in blood. The aircraft they were in sliced through another building, debris falling around them, shattering glass.

"I've known you my whole life." His head throbbed, a flash of that blonde little boy. "You're name is James Buchanan Barnes."

His chest heaved. "Shut up!" His fist flew, connecting tearing skin.

Images assaulted his mind, disorienting him. He groaned, trying to stay on his feet.

"You're. My. Mission!" He raged, fist connected repeatedly with the blonde's face.

Eye swelling, blood running over his face. James tightened his fist, feeling anger swelling in him. The younger blonde boy looked up at him, face beaten and bruised.

James pulled his arm back, "Then finish it, cause-i'm with you till the end of the line." His fist lowered, eyes softening.

Steve...

The floor fell out from under them, and James grabbed a nearby metal beam. He hung in the open air, watching 'Steve' fall the long distance to the water below.

"You're my friend." He had said before dropping his shield.

James let go, the air whipping his hair before water enveloped him. He kicked hard to swim down, grabbing Steve's arm and pulling up to the surface. James got them to shore, dropping the blonde. He could hear his laboured breathing.

He started walking away from the shore. He did not complete his mission. He shivered at the thought of the freezing cold shower that awaited him.

He listened to the distant sounds of sirens and, finally, when the Helicarrier crashed into the water. Suddenly there was a closer sound, one of running and laboured breath.

James's body tenses up and his gaze sharpens as he turns, prepared for another confrontation, no matter how tired he suddenly is. That's what he does; he keeps pushing. Flashes of a green uniform. A different soldier from a different time.

"James." That smile.

His body relaxes, but he's still guarded; he hears no one else nearby.

She walked up to him; he watched her eyes look him over. Her eyes narrowed at his forehead; he felt a dull ache there. He must have an injury from the fight. His head throbbed, and a little girl tottled toward him. Her eyes big and brown, a purple bunny tucked under her tiny arm.

"I have a kit to patch you up." She held her hand out to him.

He was in a loud room of people; he held his hand out toward a body in a silk dress.

James stayed put, even though he felt inclined to take her hand. She stood firm, hand unwavering as he took his time deciding what the hell to do with her gesture.

"Alexander Pierce is dead." She told him, watching the name register with a slight flicker of his lashes. "But they will still be looking for you to bring you back. I have a safe place for us to go if you're interested."

He blinked at her; she had just asked him a question. He stood unmoving and unsure how to answer. The girl dropped her outstretched hand; he wanted to grab for it.

"If I had to guess, your head must be killing you right now. You have a lot of memories to sift through, Sargent. You've been out here for almost three days and confronted with some familiar faces. One, in particular, I'm hoping you recognize."

"Steve."

She smiled brightly at him, "Yes, Steve. He's your best friend."

James's chest heaves, "James Buchanan Barnes."

She was calling him James, and Steve had used that name too. But he had also called him Bucky.

"That is your name. Your nickname is Bucky."

More memories flooded his vision. Everything was compounding on it's-self. He shook his head.

"You have options now. You do not have to go back to them. James." His eyes connected with hers. "You can go off on your own if that is what you need to do, or you can come with me. I'm really hoping you'll come with me."

.

He did not take her hand, but James followed her out of the woods and into her car. When she pulled off onto a dirt road outside the city, he tensed, eyes taking in his surroundings. They pulled up to a two-story house. She turned off the car and smiled at him.

She did not prompt him verbally, adamant that he make choices for himself. Something she knows he has not done in decades. She got out of the car, and moments later he followed; she left him to follow her into the house.

She disappeared into her kitchen to grab a first aid kit. Leaving him to look around and close the door on his own. She did not want him to feel like she was trapping him inside.

"Got it." She held the red back up to him, smiling. "The kitchen has the best lighting."

She turned and walked back into the kitchen; she did not hear his footsteps follow her. She patted one of the island stools for him to sit on, placing the bag on the counter and opening it up.

"This house belonged to my mom after she left my dad. When she died, she left it to me; we're safe here." She grabbed some cotton pads and some analeptic. "This is one of the only times I have been here; I live in the city. I can't bring myself to sell the place; this place was the start of her freedom."

She noticed how ridged James sat, like a soldier. Equipment in hand, she stepped between his legs to get a good look at his laceration. James's eyes widened slightly, and he looked down at her as she stopped inches from him.

"Ick. I'm guessing Steve's shield is responsible for this." She started to clean the area gently. "I'm just going to clean this up a little, but then you should go shower. I know you heal fast, but healing time will go slower if you get an infection. Not that I'm a doctor or anything, but I've picked up a few things over the last 26 years."

Her touch was so gentle, a juxtaposition to how the others treated him. He found himself wanting to lean into her touch as he had a couple of days ago. He trusted her not to lash out and harm him, why?

"There." She smiled, tilting her head as she inspected her work. "If you follow me, I will show you to the shower and then the bedroom so you can rest. It's been a long day, and things should be a little clearer in your mind in the morning. Sleep can heal a lot; it's like magic in that way."

"Leave your clothes in the hamper there, and I picked up these." She held a pile of clothes out to him. "I had to eyeball the size, but these should fit."

"Why." His voice was rougher than he meant for it to be.

A soft smile falls on her face; she looks up at him. "No one should ever be treated the way they treated you. No one deserves that. You are a good person, James. A son, brother, best friend, soldier and howling commando, Sargent. You had a life before them, and you deserve to have one after too."

Swallowing the thick emotion building in his throat, James reached out and took the clothes from her. He made his way into the shower.

The memories became louder as soon as he was alone, demanding his attention. Robotically he washed, letting the hot water run over him for a long time. He was showering with hot water. His headache became hard to manage as he exited the steamy room.

She was coming up the stairs when everything blurred for him.

She reached out for him, and this time he took her hand, letting her head him into a softly coloured bedroom. She encouraged him into the bed; he lay on top of the blankets, flesh fingers rubbing his forehead.

"I don't know if Tylenol will work on you, but it's here if you want some. They should make the pain less so you can fall asleep." She set the bottle and glass of water on the table for him.

Her brows frowned; she was no stranger to migraines. Blowing out a breath, she walked noisily around the bed so he would hear her. His eyes snapped open when she sat next to him on the bed.

"I get migraines a lot. I know something that should help if you like."

Slowly calculating, James laced both his hands together, placing them on his stomach. She smiled and moved closer to him, her knees brushing his arms.

Leaning over him slightly, she cupped her hands behind his neck and pressed inward, dragging her fingers upward. Once she reached his hairline, she moved her fingers down to the top of his spine and repeated the motion.

James groaned, sighing heavily. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let her dull the pounding in his head. Eyeballs were racing back and forth under his lids, as he remembered.

.

James heard what he recognized as birds chirping; he felt a light gust of air on his cheek and felt the warmth of something on the back of his neck. Fluttering his eyes, he took in the space around him, the comfortable give of the mattress under him.

"Hi." A female voice muttered softly.

So it had been real. The dulled throbbing in his head centred him. However, his mind was clearer. Instead of flashes of moments, the memories were settled into place in his brain, which confused him more because the mall bits he did have did not make sense with his reality.

"How's your head?" She whispered.

"Better." He turned to take her in.

She was wearing the same pants and sweater as the night before. Clearly, she had slept beside him. Even though the puffy nature of her eyes told him she had not slept much. James sat up, rubbing his face, and she followed him into a seated position.

"What's your name?" He realized he did not know it.

She frowned slightly, cocking her head at him. She realized he may not have absorbed everything she had told him days ago, or his mind was so scrambled with memories he could not pick her apart. It had been years since she had seen him in person, and she was sure she looked a bit different too. Older.

"I'm Brooke." His eyes fluttered shut. "We've met before, a long time ago."

A little girl singing to herself, her warmth soaking into his legs from where she sat next to him for Hours. When she had tottled into the room, he felt like something had cracked in his mind. She was so out of place in this room it shocked him. 'Rebeca,' his mind had whispered a memory before it disappeared.

He had been standing for hours waiting for orders. Brooke was no taller than his mid-thigh. She had tried to engage with him at first, tugging on his pants and trying to take hold of his fingers. When she was unsuccessful, she dropped herself between his feet.

Brooke was nodding off against him when a group of men came in. One stepped forward to claim her, and Bucky watched Brooke's chubby little hand wave at him as she was taken away.

She finds him every time she is there. When she gets old enough, Brooke talks to him and blabbers on even though he is not talking back. James found calm during these moments, something he never had when she was gone.

Sometimes he saw her days in a row, then went weeks without seeing her. Every time she came back, he could see the differences in her.

Brooke went from drawing him crayon pictures and sitting between his legs to sitting next to him, reading poorly from a baby's book. Then she sat in front of him, talking about her friends and school. Then she would lay on the ground and play music after spending time telling him about herself, catching him up to speed.

The last time he saw her, she looked about fourteen. She comes running over to him, face red and tears streaming down her cute face. She hugs him around the waist, even though he does not hug her back. She used to hug him around the legs all the time when he first met her.

She sobbed into his shirt, telling him her mother had died. She was gone, and now she would have to go away. Brooke was being forced to go away.

The same man entered the room; he grabbed her around the waist and, with the help of another man, pulled the teen off of the soldier.

"James!" She had cried out to him, reaching back for him as if asking him to save her. For the first time in decades, James made to step forward of his own volition, but she was already gone.

A new set of memories hit him. That had not been the first time she had used his name.

When Brooke would tell him about school, she had told him about history class and her field trip to the museum. A museum where she learned about him. His name was James Buchanan Barnes, told him all about his life in the war and his best friend, Steve. She told him about the Howling commandos, all of it.

"You had a purple bunny."

Brooke nods, her curls bouncing. "So you do remember me."

"Bit's and piece."

"It's alright; you'll get a lot more back the longer you are away from them."

"Hydra."

"Yes." She touches his knee. "We can stay here till the end of the week. That should be enough to straighten your head out a little more. I can tell you anything you want to know. I will drop you near the Avengers Tower on my way out of town. Hydra's scattering, but those who are looking will need a few weeks to gather their shit before they start looking for you. By then, you will be with Steve. He'll keep you safe."

James rubbed his temples. "You said I was in a museum."

"Yes, the World War Two museum has a whole room dedicated to you and your life before and during the war. The tale of Bucky Barnes and Captain America."

"I want to see it."

Brooke bit her lip, "Okay. We'll have to disguise you so no one recognizes you. We can go today if you want. I'm sure it will trigger many memories and bring on another migraine. It's best to do that now when we have here to come back to."

.

She put him in an oversized jacket and a baseball cap pulled low to cast shadows over his face.

"I'll be just over here keeping an eye out. Take your time." Brooke told him as she led him into a large room full of memorabilia.

James went to each section, reading everything twice. The pressure was building in his head with each thing he was forced to remember. After three hours, he was no longer moving around the room but standing frozen in front of a tall picture of himself and Steve.

Brooke made her way over to him, placing a soft touch on his elbow. "We should go, the crowd is thinning out, and we don't want to risk anyone recognizing you."

He nodded, letting her lead them back to her car.

As soon as they got back into the house, James hit the shower and let the hot water help him pull his memories into place. Brooke was waiting in the bedroom for him once he was done, and they repeated the same routine as the night before.

When he woke the following morning, she was not beside him. He felt panic flood his body before he heard her muttering to herself downstairs. He stayed lying in bed, letting his mind relax as he thought over the new information and memories he had gotten back last night.

He remembered Steve from Brooklyn and the war. He remembered Hydra and the howling commandos. He remembered falling off the train, Hydra. The torture, the pain. James forced himself up and out of bed as he began to spiral.

He followed the smell from the kitchen, assuming he would find Brooke there. He did not expect to see her naked legs at eye level. She was currently standing on a counter, digging through the top shelf of a cabinet.

James felt his lips pull up slightly; the sight was endearing.

Brooke was dressed in black shorts that were long enough to cover her bum and tight to her curves. Over top, she wore an oversized grey sweater that also fell just under her bum.

"Good morning; feeling better?"

He nodded but then realized she was not looking at him. "Yea."

"Good! I realized we didn't eat anything yesterday. I'm starving, so I'm making breakfast, but I can't find the stupid waffle mix." She stumbled on the counter, and James took a rushed step forward. "HA! Found you!"

She pulled the large box to her body and shut the cabinet door. She bent forward and reached down for the countertop, dropping her butt down onto the counter, legs swinging. Bucky's heart raced, thinking she would face plant onto the ground.

Her feet were covered in long comfy comfy-looking socks. "Do you like waffles?"

He realized he was staring, James shook his head. Did he? Hydra fed him a lot of meat and protein bars. Before the war, well those memories were still pretty far away and fuzzy.

"I don't know."

Brooke nodded, sliding off the counter. "Waffles are thee best breakfast food. I was obsessed when I was a kid."

He thinks he remembers her telling him that years ago. Pigtails bounced as she played around at his feet.

"Get comfortable." She smirks at him, "Stay a while, Sargent."

He finds himself smirking back at her, dropping himself into one of the stools across from her. She slides a glass of orange juice his way. He does not touch the glass.

"It's orange juice."

He shoots her a look, "I know what it is."

Brooke smacks her lips. "You seemed confused."

"Do you work for Hydra?"

"After these last few days, you think I work for Hydra?"

"You were in the facility. When you were a kid and a couple of days ago."

Brooke put down the batter bowl, pulling out her waffle maker. "My father was a scientist. He and my mom split up, so he had me every month for a week. I was either stuck in some office building or the facility where I met you."

"I remember."

Brooke nodded. "I loved going there, seeing you. Before he sent me away, I was still too young to put together what they were doing to you. When I was old enough to understand, Steve had been found. I realized they must have also given you the super soldier serum to have kept you alive all this time."

"I snuck into my father's office in the city one night. I spent hours reading about you until the sun came up. I knew they had moved you out to DC, and it just made everything so much easier. I hopped on a flight and, reached out to my father, got connected to Alexander Pierce. Apparently, my father died a couple of months back. When Fury was killed, I knew they had sent you, so I hailed Hydra, spouted pretty words, and let Pierce catch glances down my shirt, anything to get access to your room."

"They took you into the room that whipped your mind. They left you there afterwards to recover, I guess. I slipped in and tried to spark your memory of me, hoping that that little girl had some impact on you, enough for you to remember me and hopefully trust me. I knew they would send you out again soon after you failed to kill Steve the first time, so I waited and followed you downtown. Lost you for a while, but when I say that Helicarrier exploding. I headed toward the waterfront and watched you fall into the water."

"Why?"

"I already told you. No one deserves to be used and treated like that. I never forgot about you, always wondered where you were if you were still alive. You're what? 30? That was ancient to me back then. I also found a letter from my mom explaining how dangerous my father was and how she knew I was smart and brave. How she fought with him to keep me to herself, but the courts sided with him. I think he tried to make me into something he could use, but she wouldn't let him. I think he mainly used that threat to torment her. When she died, he had no use for me anymore."

"I ran away days after her funeral. Never saw him again."

James stared at her, ingesting all of that information. "They would have killed you if they caught you inside the facility."

Brooke nodded in agreement. He was not wrong. "I did what I had to do to get access to your room.

"You decided to infiltrate Hydra to save a stranger." His tone suggests that he thought she was a complete idiot.

Brooke scoffed. "You're welcome."

She turned to the waffle maker and started pouring in the batter. Brooke smiled to herself, pulling blueberries from the fridge. James watched her, utterly confused by her words and actions. Why? Why do something so reckless and dangerous for a stranger?