Once everyone has left, once Bucky has heard the jet leave, and once he's taken his sweet time to clean the kitchen, Bucky sits on the couch and sinks into the silence of the apartment. He gets the dog tags out of the pocket of his pants and stares at them until he loses track of time.
No mission, Bucky reminds himself as he hangs the tags around his neck and slides them under his t-shirt and sweater. There's no target, no debriefing before or after. No weapons are handed by Katy who will complain to Tom about how her son hasn't let her sleep all night. Katy who will morph into Pete after a wipe who will then turn into Aziz, into Talia into Sofia into Luca into—
Bucky lets out a controlled breath, his fingers rubbing Steve's name imprinted in the thin metal disc. "J.A.R.V.I.S., where can I find a computer—a laptop, that is?"
"Would you mind if Dum-E came to deliver one only for you, Mr. Barnes?"
"I wouldn't mind, no." Bucky can't help but smile at the mention of the robot.
To Bucky, these last few days have been like an awakening—a real one, nothing like thawing after cryo. This past week has been like opening his eyes, sitting up on the bed, stretching his arm over his head... It's been slow and it's been hard, and there are times when he believes his brain is really glitching, but he's had the opportunity to let his muscles stretch and his mind work without being punished for it—for taking his time.
But Bucky breathes and he reminds himself he's not just passing through time, not anymore; tomorrow he won't wake up another 70 years in the future. He's safe and he's making memories and keeping them. Tomorrow, when he wakes up he will still remember his ma and his little sister, he will remember Steve and he will remember Howard Stark.
The elevator chimes and Dum-E shoots out of it with a laptop carefully balanced in its claw. The bot offers it to Bucky and he accepts it with a thank you and a smile, and then the bot is gone again.
"Why are you called J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Bucky asks as he turns on the laptop.
"Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System," the A.I. says making Bucky smile. "But the real reason is because of the human Jarvis who took care of Mr. Stark when he was a child."
Bucky hums, shifting on the cushion. The moment will come when Bucky will have to tell what actually happened to Tony Stark's parents and who did it. It most certainly will mean that Bucky will find himself kicked out of the Tower but it may be better than his insides turning every time he sees Howard's son.
"Stark built an Artificial Intelligence because he needed a butler," Bucky comments with amusement.
"Simply put, yes." Bucky snorts at the A.I.'s words and tone; it's subtle but he can swear that J.A.R.V.I.S. is being sarcastic. J.A.R.V.I.S. may not be a physical presence but Bucky doesn't feel alone right now.
Bucky stares at the search box. The tiny magnifying glass stares back and waits for him to write. He has no clue what he will find, but Bucky types "shell shock" into the bar and presses enter, his father's face flashing before his eyes. "About 99,000,000 results" pop up in the screen and Bucky's grateful there are no images, something he hadn't even thought about.
"Shell shock is a term originally coined in 1915 by Charles Myers to describe soldiers who were involuntarily shivering, crying, fearful, and had constant intrusions of memory. It is not a term used in psychiatric practice today but remains in everyday use."
Bucky's started trembling and he would laugh at his body's reaction if nausea wasn't creeping up his throat. His hand searches for the metal around his neck, still cold just like his skin. It must have been warm every time it hung around Steve's neck.
Bucky keeps scrolling, reading the titles of the rest of web pages. Once again, he's reminded that he's traveled to the future—pushed, he was pushed into it. Bucky had expected to be forced to ask for J.A.R.V.I.S.' help to find information but it seems "shell shock" has turned into 'post-traumatic stress disorder' and there are thousands of studies in the public domain for people to find when needed. Dear God, Bucky even finds tests!
"Sir, are you feeling all right?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks when Bucky stares at the screen for a couple of minutes; his fingers thread through his hair and his uneven breaths fill the room.
"Yeah," Bucky exhales. He leans back on the couch. "Just… just a little overwhelmed."
Bucky doesn't doubt Steve's intentions to help him, not anymore, but to know that he can find a way and learn to take care of himself… It's something hard to believe when you've spent most of your life being treated like something sub-human, handed from one blurry face to the next one. Bucky finds it hard to believe even when he has proof before his eyes. There are people discussing the subject, he finds out when he scrolls down the web, thanking the author of the post, offering additional information, encouraging others to seek help and get the needed therapy.
Bucky has to close the laptop and breathe. It's hard and irregular and after a few minutes, his head starts to feel heavy and his fingers to tingle. He curses as he rubs his face with a shaky hand, his head tilted back on the cushion.
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. calls out, voice calm but firm and Bucky opens his eyes. There's a translucent circle of blue light in front of him. He's about to open his mouth to question when the circle starts getting slowly smaller and J.A.R.V.I.S. instructs him to exhale. Bucky inhales when the blue circle expands again. He follows J.A.R.V.I.S.' instructions until he can feel the floor and couch under him again.
"What…?" Bucky swallows when his voice trembles and doesn't tear his eyes from the blue circle.
"It's a breathing technique, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him. "This one helps a person regulate their breath with a visual image."
"Thanks."
Bucky clenches and unclenches his fist as the feeling of ants crawling inside his veins recedes. He shakes his head and then surveys the living room, making sure it's still day.
"J.A.R.V.I.S… Stark said he's been searching for a therapist for me?" He clears his throat when his voice breaks.
"That is correct, Mr. Barnes. Given your peculiar situation, Mr. Stark has had a reduced list of professionals from which to choose, but he is convinced he's found the one who will be best equipped to help you."
Bucky swallows the first thing he wants to say—There is no way to fix this. "Zorina, right?"
"Yes, sir, Zorina Balan."
Bucky doesn't do more than breathe for a few minutes, thinking it over. It's not only that he can't wrap his head around the fact that apparently his brain can be fixed without—
"How will she help me?" Bucky's lips twist after the word—he can't help sounding skeptical.
"There are numerous types of therapy and Miss Balan will have to assess your symptoms before she can make sure your treatment is tailored to your needs." For once, J.A.R.V.I.S.' words don't alleviate Bucky's nerves.
Bucky's eyeing the closest exit when J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks again. "What I can assure you, Mr. Barnes, is that no one will harm you in any way, and I am sure Mr. Rogers would tell you that you can ask Miss Balan to leave the moment you are not feeling safe."
Bucky drags the laptop back over his knees, nodding pensively at J.A.R.V.I.S.' words; it does sound like something Steve would say to him. It's difficult to believe that someone other than Steve would do what Bucky asks of them, but just imagining Steve saying J.A.R.V.I.S.' words is enough to make Bucky hopeful. Steve's teammates have been obliging as well so it wouldn't be so ludicrous to believe other people will show kindness, too.
Bucky's spent almost his whole life with HYDRA and his world had been reduced to them. If he completed his missions it wasn't only because he knew pain would follow if he disobeyed; his brain couldn't conceive a world beyond the HYDRA facilities and if he tried his mind would go blank. When he had listened to HYDRA agents talking about their lives, he had been able to envision them; walking their kids to school, going to the supermarket, being late because of the traffic… But it had felt like watching a movie; you see it all unfurl before you but you know it's all fiction.
And now it's like Bucky is part of that fiction and he fears that any moment now he will be dragged back to the real world. Bucky would rather jump from the Tower than return to HYDRA.
His hand slides from the dog tags and it types the word 'safe' in the search box.
"Protected from or not exposed to danger or risk; not likely to be harmed or lost."
Bucky huffs a bitter laugh. Maybe he doesn't feel safe but he doesn't feel in immediate danger, which is as close he has been to it in the last seven decades. It will have to do.
Bucky is sucked back into the internet. There's an overwhelming amount of information but he reads fast and the serum helps him retain everything. He reads on the history of PTSD and tries to stop thinking about it as 'shell shock'. J.A.R.V.I.S. politely comments that he may be interested in some articles on complex PTSD and Bucky huffs with something that resembles humor when he reads the definition. J.A.R.V.I.S. warns him on the dangers of diagnosing oneself with only the help of the internet and Bucky thanks him after a surprised laugh is pulled out of him.
Still, he has the need to know more about it, to make sure there are people out there with similar struggles who have achieved some semblance of control over their condition.
"Mr. Barnes?" J.A.R.V.I.S. says a few minutes later.
Bucky's eyes are still fixed on the sentence "repeatedly witnessing violence or abuse" that's listed as one of the causes of complex PTSD. Bucky glances down the list until he finds "torture, kidnapping or slavery" and his breath catches. He shouldn't be taken by surprise, he reminds himself; he was expecting this. "Being a prisoner of war", reads the last one, and Bucky's stomach clenches. But he's present; he's not going to lose time, not again. Now he knows this is a pattern—a logical one—that the brain follows when it's damaged. He's not the first person this has happened to and specialists have found new ways to deal with it and neither one involves fucking lobotomy.
"You are more likely to develop complex PTSD if: the trauma lasted for a long time, escape or rescue were unlikely or impossible…"
Where can I find the blue circle? Bucky thinks when a hysterical laugh is startled out of him, followed by a sob he covers with his hand.
Bucky leaves the laptop on the coffee table as if it's on fire. He reminds himself that there's no need to panic and he lists off the reasons he's read online about why the brain reacts the way it does when a person is going through a flashback. Bucky is naïve enough to think it will stop the flood of panic.
"J.A.R.V.I.S." he gasps out as he folds so he can position his head between his knees, trying to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth. Bucky repeats the name but doesn't get an answer.
It's when he leans back that Bucky notices the laptop's screen; there is no site open but just three words on a red font blinking in the darkening living room: "MR. ROGERS' BEDROOM."
Bucky's heart stutters in his chest. Even when his hesitation and fear last only a fraction of a second, it feels like it encompasses whole hours. Bucky gets off the couch and takes the laptop as he steps on silent feet. He chances a quick glance through the large windows to the streets below—he finds nothing suspicious that attracts his attention. Bucky gets to Steve's room and he's about to reach and close the door when a metal barrier slides down; the same thing happens with the windows a second later.
Bucky looks back at the laptop. "BEDROOM SECURED."
There is no alarm and the only light in the room comes from the screen. If this is J.A.R.V.I.S.' only way to communicate with Bucky, then the security systems must be compromised.
The laptop doesn't show any new instructions or messages but there must be a reason why J.A.R.V.I.S. sent him to Steve's bedroom and not his own. Bucky searches for a weapon and it's not long until he finds a hunting knife between the headboard and the wall. The red light on the laptop lets him see the dust on the blade and Bucky's almost sure he won't be lucky enough to find a firearm.
"Steve, you punk kid," he hisses when he checks the last drawer. There are no loose floorboards, J.A.R.V.I.S. has sealed the air vents, and Bucky knows Steve's books are all real. So no, there are no guns—Bucky's going to throttle Steve.
There is no way for him to leave and he only has one knife; he would like to say he's had worse but never with so few weapons—he can only wait. Bucky grips the knife with his back wedged between the barred windows and a wall. His controlled breaths are the only sound in the room, and at some point Bucky believes he starts hearing the blood flowing through his veins. Ten minutes pass and nothing happens. The message on the laptop doesn't change and the walls keep the red tinge that comes from the screen.
It's after another ten minutes that Bucky hears a faint crackling noise, like a detuned radio. Bucky needs a few seconds to realize the buzzing must be coming from one of J.A.R.V.I.S.' speakers. It stops all of a sudden but it resumes after a minute. Bucky circles the room until he finds the right speaker and uses one of Steve's two armchairs to climb closer to hear what is being said.
"…dob—…vozr—" Bucky hears a male voice say. It's impossible to discern complete words even with his serum-enhanced hearing. The chopped words start again but this time it lasts longer. Bucky strains his hearing, either for the male voice or any other sound that could come from outside the bedroom.
"Odin—" Bucky hears before the voice is cut off again. It's definitely not J.A.R.V.I.S.' voice but the name sounds familiar.
Bucky jumps off the armchair and heads to his previous spot. The barrier at the other side of the room groans and Bucky freezes in place; he hadn't turned his back to the entrance and he can see that the barrier starts lifting one struggling inch after another. With three silent strides, Bucky places himself at the right of the door, the hunting knife at the ready in his steady hand.
The barrier stops moving when it's five feet off the floor. Bucky waits with his eyes trained on the empty space at the other side of the door—no light spills from it so the rest of the windows must be barred too. The whole Tower must be on lock-down and Bucky's first thought is Sam Wilson, who is still in a coma in the medical wing. He already knows this is HYDRA's doing so they won't be going for him.
Nothing else follows and Bucky doesn't hear any noises—except for the male voice that crackles every so often from J.A.R.V.I.S.' one speaker. Bucky crouches, and with one swift movement exits the room. He would have preferred to take the laptop to have some source of light but that would've meant putting away his only weapon. He had looked for a flashlight too, but there weren't any—it made sense since Steve wouldn't need one with his enhanced sight.
Idiot, Bucky curses mentally. He's going to teach Steve everything necessary for an emergency kit. Not one damn matchbox.
Bucky's convinced he's still alone but he combs the place just in case. After making sure, he takes the laptop and places it in the center of the apartment, the light still enough for his enhanced eyes to discern what's around him.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Bucky calls under his breath even when he knows it will be futile.
He gets to the elevator, crouching again to pass the kitchen's half lifted barrier. He makes sure he can't open the door to the emergency stairs (completely barred) before he tries to push open the elevator doors. It's way harder with only one flesh arm and he feels something pull in his shoulder, but he gets the job done. He curses Steve again and goes to retrieve the laptop so he can see how long the fall is. Bucky's about to climb down the steel cable when he thinks twice and secures the laptop in the front of his pants and the knife between his teeth.
Nothing breaks when he steps on the cabin roof, be it one of his limbs or the laptop. He opens the safety hatch and slips into the empty cabin. His forehead beads with sweat when he opens the door enough to slide out and into a hallway. Bucky takes a moment to breathe and to make sure no one has heard his arrival.
Everything stays dark and mute.
He's on his feet, about to turn a corner when he hears voices. Bucky closes the laptop and places it gently on the floor. The silence had made him feel on edge and unsure of what to expect—he'd felt almost like a kid who had woken up from a nightmare and only wanted his ma to make it all better. Now that he has tangible targets, Bucky's chest swells with rage—it's not an emotion he has experienced while completing a mission but he welcomes it.
There are five heavy armed agents; three of them with SMGs and the other two with handguns—all five with body armor and weapons at the ready. Bucky hears their radios come to life and listens to the one at the head answer. Clear.
Just when the man is about to turn the corner and make sure everything stays clear, Bucky sinks his knife in the guy's thigh and pulls down the muscle before anyone can react. The man screams and Bucky rips the SMG off his hand, kicking him in the head for good measure when he falls to his knees. He shoots a woman between eye and eye before the previous guy has had the opportunity to fall unconscious on the floor, and another one before anyone's brain has had time to process what just happened.
They shouldn't have taught me how to use a sub with only one arm, Bucky thinks with something between delight and fury taking over him. The next agent falls dead to the floor with an expression of horror etched on his face.
Bucky is retreating behind the corner when a bullet grazes his thigh and another one his cheek. He can hear the HYDRA agents radioing for reinforcements. They have turned the flashlights off, instead using their night vision goggles.
"You must be idiots," Bucky mutters. Bullets fly as he takes the knife from the dead agent's thigh with one quick move—a bullet goes through his hand. He doesn't hiss or take a look at the wound but takes advantage of the instantaneous light to fling the knife into the face of the person on the right, the blade going through the helmet without meeting much resistance. The last one doesn't have time to think before Bucky is shooting at him. No grace or efficiency this time, he just shoots blindly and only stops when he hears the body thud on the carpeted floor.
There is no time to take a bulletproof vest off of one of the bodies so Bucky takes a sub that still has its mounted flashlight intact and retrieves Steve's knife, cleaning it in the woman's clothes and tucking it in the waistband of his pants. Finally, Bucky takes one of the radios and clips it to his sweater. He quickly discovers that this floor's emergency stairs are also blocked—it must be the same with the rest. He checks a few vents; more of the same. It seems like there is no exit.
Bucky crawls under another half lifted barrier and finds himself in a conference room. He's not alone. Bucky had forgotten the Tower is a building where people come to work but the suited people cowering under the table remind him of the fact. Their gasps and screams also remind him of what it means to be the Winter Soldier. No one has been scared of him for almost a week and for a short moment he thinks a HYDRA agent must have followed him. He imagines what he must look like: a one-armed man covered in blood carrying a submachine gun—it's like he's come from a nightmare. Bucky looks down at himself and realizes he's barefoot as well.
"I'm one of the good guys." Bucky cringes after hearing himself. "I'm not going to hurt you."
No one seems to believe him. Bucky notices a young boy between the middle-aged suits, probably 22 years old. He squirms under Bucky's too long stare as he ponders for a minute what he could do to make him stop crying.
"Do any of your phones work?" Bucky asks in a hushed tone. Seven heads shake as an answer. He was already expecting it but he had to make sure. He nods calmly.
He hears someone mumble something and he looks for the owner of the voice. "J.A.R.V.I.S. should finish rebooting—" The woman is cut off by a sob that comes from the woman that's under her arm. She shushes her as another man starts muttering something soothing.
"Are the systems going to come back to normal?" Bucky questions the room at large, none of his anxiety seeping into his words.
"Yes," says the young man with a firm tone. "It may take some time but it will… eventually."
Bucky cocks his head to the side. "Stay here and don't make any sound." He sees a few heads nodding franticly in response and then he slips through the opening. His flashlight is turned off but it won't really matter if they're going to hunt him with night vision goggles.
"Fuck." The bloody footprints he's left lead straight to the conference room.
Bucky sees light from the direction he came, where he left the bodies. He strides to the corner where the two hallways meet and puts his back to the wall. He hears the reinforcements coming, booted feet stomping in his direction.
Bucky inhales and the Soldier is the one who breathes out, steadily. Time seems to slow down as he tracks the beam of light that comes closer… closer... One heartbeat and the Soldier feels his mind settle—but this is a different Soldier, one that's surviving and not being a puppet on strings. He positions the sub at the right height and presses the trigger at the exact moment the HYDRA agent comes into view. The man fires but Bucky sidesteps him with ease. He lets go of his own weapon and grabs the gun from the guy's thigh holster. Some of the agents are already firing, heedless of the command that is being shouted at them.
"Don't kill the Asset!"
Bucky sticks his arm through the guy's vest before his body can hit the floor and holds him up as they keep firing. The Soldier looks over his shield's shoulder to assess the situation. He hears two agents reloading and fires at their heads. One hits its target and the other grazes a helmet—the Soldier doesn't miss a beat and shoots at the man's knee.
The shots should be deafening but Bucky isn't listening anymore; not to the weapons being fired, not to the screams. He sees everything that's taking place with an eerie kind of calmness, concentrated on the bullets hissing past him and the ones he's sending their way, scoring bullseye almost every time he presses the trigger—the body hanging from his arm is hindering his aim.
When the clip is empty, the Soldier ducks and covers himself with the bloodied body, extracting his arm from the vest and taking hold of one of the knifes the man is carrying. Breathe in, breathe out… and the knife cuts through the air. Someone yells the name of the agent that goes down, knife sticking from her goggles.
Everyone has already turned their flashlights on and gotten rid of the night vision goggles, now more of an inconvenience than any kind of aid. When less than half of the unit is left standing, the Soldier charges forward with the battered body, knowing from experience that things will go faster if he gets closer. He gets rid of the body when he throws it to his teammates, knocking a few of them down. A kick breaks the leg of one of the HYDRA still standing and a punch to the temple knocks him out.
Bucky blinks and when he opens his eyes again he's choking someone. Blink. He's punched someone's face in. Blink. His foot breaks a trachea. Blink. He's standing over the last person left. His face is bear and Bucky can see the horror there—he doesn't feel any remorse as his knuckles land on flesh one time and again, the motion familiar enough. The radio still clipped to his sweater dislodges itself with the swings of Bucky's arm and flies in an arch until it hits a wall.
His ears ring as he catches his breath, his hand pressed to the soiled carpet as he kneels over the body. Bucky shakes his head and his hair hits his face—he tastes blood on his lips. Bucky struggles to his feet, slipping over a sticky puddle and catching himself on the wall. He looks at his hand, the hole in it that's still bleeding transfixing enough for Bucky to lose himself a couple of minutes.
Fluorescents start blinking into life and Bucky winces at the sudden brightness. He lets his eyes close for a few seconds.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" he tries again, voice gruff like he's waking up from a deep sleep—but this time he didn't lose hours of his life.
Bucky looks at the scene under the white light and he covers his mouth, afraid he's going to start retching. He did this to survive, he reminds himself, to see Steve again, to make it to a day when he will get out of this damn Tower.
His eyes fly to the ceiling when he hears a sound come from the speakers.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"
Another crackle followed by the sound of the metal barriers scraping as they start lifting. He feels the tension starting to bleed out of his muscles and he fears his legs are about to give out. He knows Steve won't be the one behind the doors—he has to finish his mission—but Bucky doesn't care if it's the nurse that hit him when he woke up in the medical wing as long as they get him out of here.
Him and the people still in the conference room, he remembers. Bucky turns on his feet and makes his way to the other hallway, dodging bodies.
"Hey," Bucky's voice cracks as he calls for the Tower's employees to come out. "It's safe now!" he screams, feeling the floor move under him and he has to lean on a wall and wait for everything to stop spinning.
"Hey, you can—"
Bucky hears a word crackle through the speakers, clear as day and he feels the ground being pulled under his feet. There's a sound coming from his left and he snaps his head in that direction, his round eyes meeting with a bunch of terrified civilians. He tries to push words past his lips but the speaker comes to life again.
"Stay back!" he barks, his hand coming up as if they are the dangerous ones instead of him. "Get back inside!" They listen this time, closing the door and Bucky hears a click when it's being locked from the inside.
"Семнадцать," the voice says and Bucky backs away until he feels a wall hit his shoulders. His face pales. "Рассвет."
The doors to the emergency stairs open and Bucky sees a man with a book—a red book in his hands. He's close enough that Bucky can hear his voice clearly but the speakers still repeat his next word. "Печь."
"No no no no." The man looks at him with an expression of mild curiosity as Bucky's knees hit the floor. He can't cover his ears—he has the fleeting idea of stabbing them but the knife slips from his trembling fingers.
Bucky gets to his feet before the man can pronounce the next word and he staggers through the hallways.
"Девять."
He enters an empty room and closes the door as if it will stop anyone from getting to him.
"Добросердечный."
He tries breaking the speakers but his head already feels foggy, his legs numb. He crashes to the floor. His eyes scan the room with panic but his vision blurs.
"Возвращение на родину."
They can't do this. Please don't please.
"Oh God, Steve," he hears himself mumble through numb lips.
He gets to his feet, leaning his weight on the table, and stumbles to the windows; he can see the sky and the streets and the buildings below. No one is coming for him. His mind is slipping, like water between fingers.
"Один."
He flings a chair to the windows and it lands on the floor in pieces. He tries his way with his fist but the glass won't crack.
The Soldier rests his cheek against the cold glass and wonders if he ever had a mother.
And the last words are said.
"Товарный вагон."
And it doesn't matter anymore.
"Солдат?" asks a figure looming over him. He opens his mouth to answer but a stun baton hits his abdomen, the voltage running through his body until the Soldier's head hits the glass and he sinks into darkness.