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It’d been three weeks since the Wacandan scientists had figured out how to undo the conditioning that allowed Bucky’s trigger words to work. Even though they’d removed the ability for someone to turn him into a mindless soldier with a mission, there wasn’t anything they could do to remove the things Bucky had done as the winter soldier. There also wasn’t anything they could do to replace the memories HYDRA had taken from him, although they were hopeful that at least some of his memories would return in time.
That’s what led to nights like this, with him waking up suppressing a scream and then staring into the darkness as the sweat cooled on his skin. The nightmares were horrible, an endless loop of blood and bullets and breaking bones and screaming children. So many people pleading for their lives when his mission objective was to make it last, an equal number of bodies falling lifelessly to the ground from a distance when his mission objective was get it done and get out. The worst part though, was that in his nightmares, and after waking, and pretty much all the time, he felt every death as if he had done it just then. He hadn’t lied to Tony when he said he remembered them all. He’d had case files to memorize, he knew more about those strangers lives than most people know about their closest friends, and he remembered it all.
It was no wonder his own memories were lost; there wasn’t any room for them. The nightmares would wake him, but what would keep him awake the rest of night was that he had nothing good to think about that would push the bad dreams away. Even the recent memories he had of Steve weren’t good. Bucky coming back had pushed a wedge between Steve and his friends and that was something Bucky didn’t know if he could ever apologize for. He’d seen the interaction between Steve and Tony before Zemo had shown the surveillance footage; they really had been friends, and Bucky had all but ripped the man’s heart out. At the very least he made it impossible for him to get back home on his own.
Tony could have likely been another life that Bucky had taken and walked away from without another thought. He’d lost his arm of course, but he’d deserved to have that thing ripped off long ago. The pain had been blinding, he’d lost consciousness for a moment, but it was nothing compared to the pain he’d caused with that arm. They’d had another arm almost ready when they woke him up, but he’d refused it. He’d done so much damage with the other one, he didn’t know if he wanted another one, or even a regular prosthetic. He’d done well with one arm so far, and he still had time to figure it out. The doctors were considering the pros and cons of surgery to clean up some of the damage done during the original surgery HYDRA had done. At least that was something other than bad dreams to think about.
Bucky reached toward the bedside table and ran his finger along the sensor that would turn the lights up slowly and sighed as the darkness faded. He hated the dark these days; when there was nothing to look at the demons would crawl back into his mind and torment him with all the things he couldn’t forget.
Once his breathing and heart rate had returned to normal, Bucky’s eyes wandered around the room, letting himself remember that he was safe now, he wasn’t HYDRAs monster anymore. After a moment, his eyes fell upon the shoe box that Steve had sat on his coffee table.
“It might help you remember something,” Steve said as Bucky replayed their conversation from a few days earlier. They’d sat on the couch, the shoe box resting on Steve’s lap, his hands cradling it protectively. Steve’s presence was calming, an echo into the past he wanted so badly to remember and couldn’t, but it also made him feel unworthy of such loyalty and friendship. Steve had given up so much for Bucky and all Bucky had done to deserve that was be alive. He was grateful for Steve’s friendship of course, he just wasn’t sure he deserved it. Bucky’s psychiatrist had suggested, and Steve and Bucky had both agreed, that it was best for Steve not to crowd Bucky. Of course Bucky wanted Steve around, but he needed time to adjust to his freedom and life in a time he’d just recently been able to experience as something other than the soldier or a man on the run. So Steve came for a visit twice a week. Bucky looked forward to the visits and dreaded the despair he’d feel once Steve left.
With a heavy sigh, Bucky carefully rolled out of bed, favoring his still tender left shoulder, and went over to the box and sat down on the couch, his mind returning once again to the things Steve had said.
“I got it from Sharron. Apparently after I went into the ice, Peggy had gone to New York and visited Rebecca, told her she was good friends with you and I. I guess they hit it off pretty well because Sharron also gave me a bunch of letters that Becks had written Peggy. I don’t know how she got these things but I assume Rebecca gave them to her as a memento of us, and probably to keep them out of the hands of whoever started thinking of building shrines like the one in the Smithsonian.” He’d sighed then and laid the box gently and reverently on the table. “Anyway, they helped me remember some stuff I’d forgotten. Maybe they can do the same for you; I hope they can.”
They’d talked for awhile after that, Bucky asked about Steve’s friends and if Tony was okay, he was genuinely concerned. Steve had told him that everyone was alright. Tony had helped create some walking braces for Rhodey, and with time and a lot of physical therapy he should be able to walk again. They’d had some tea and then Steve reluctantly left after giving Bucky a gentle hug with a brief squeeze at the end, and Bucky thought he heard a waver in the deep sigh Steve breathed before telling Bucky he’d see him next week.
Bucky hadn’t gotten the nerve to look, but now, after that horrendous nightmare, and remembering the shine in Steve’s eyes as he left the box, he was curious. So, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Bucky took the lid off the box, he took a couple deep calming breaths, and looked inside.
On top was a folded yellowed sheet of paper. Bucky picked it up and unfolded it as carefully as he could using only one hand. A small smile touched his lips as he read the words.
Stevie Rogers Grade 2
April 19, 1925
A poem for English class
Bucky Barnes is the greatest guy around,
He’s the biggest and the best and weighs more than a pound.
He’s always around with a hand to lend,
And that’s why I’m proud to call him my best friend.
There was a giant smiley face drawn on the top of the paper along with a big red A+. Bucky didn’t remember this, but he wished he did. He and Steve had been best friends almost a hundred years ago. As he pondered life and how time moves, Bucky’s mind slowly formed an image of a tiny little blonde boy walking down a dingy street with his hand held by a tall blonde woman. Small hands reached out as the blonde boy’s back came closer.
“Good morning James,” The blonde woman spoke and the perspective changed as whoever those small hands belonged to looked up at the pretty woman. The arm that hand was attached to reached out and draped over the blonde boy’s shoulder as a lock of dark colored hair skewed a portion of the vision.
“It’s okay Mrs. Rogers, Stevie can walk to school with me,” a rather young sounding voice spoke in Bucky’s mind. “My ma said you worked the all night shift.” The visual perspective in his mind shifted from the woman, to the blonde boy and back up to the woman, who looked a little unsure. “Aw don’t worry Mrs. Rogers, you know I’d never let anything bad happen to him. You go home and get some rest.” After a moment she smiled, and knelt down in front of the blonde boy and put her hands on his small shoulders, making the arm still draped over them move.
“You be careful, Stevie, and stay with James.”
“Ma,” the blonde boy complained and his voice was deeper than it probably should have been. “His name ain’t James, it’s Bucky.”
“Fine then, stay with Bucky, he’ll take care of you. Have a god day at school boys.”
They waved and watched as she turned to leave, then they ran off in the other direction.
Bucky choked back a sob as the image in his mind faded. Had that been a memory? Were those his child sized hands touching Steve’s shoulder? Did that really happen or did his mind just make it up to go along with the clues he’d been given? He had so many questions but he wanted to keep looking through the box, so he carefully refolded the paper and laid it aside before looking back into the box.
There was a picture. That was definitely Steve in a coat and tie, his head looked too big for his body with his shirt collar cinched so close to his neck. A boy was standing beside him in dark pants, a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and dark suspenders. Bucky rubbed his thumb across the photo, he barely recognized the boy in the picture as himself. The face was the same of course, but there was an innocence in that face that Bucky didn’t see when he looked in the mirror now. A smile that reached his eyes; Bucky didn’t think he could smile like that anymore.
He sighed and for some reason he thought ‘an innocence, but certainly not purity,’ and suddenly his mind supplied another scene.
Bucky was standing outside the drug store, leaning against the wall with his foot pulled up, smoking a cigarette. An old pickup truck pulled up and a man with red hair and tanned skin climbed out.
“Hey there Bucko,” he said and lowered the tail gate.
“Hey Clarence, how’s business?” Bucky asked.
“Pretty good,” Clarence replied as he began pulling wooden crates off the truck and stacking them on the sidewalk. Each crate had six dark colored bottles in them and once Clarence had stacked five crates, he shoved a hand trolley beneath them and looked at Bucky. “Watch my truck while I make this delivery?”
“You got it,” Bucky answered and as soon as Clarence was in the building and the door had shut behind him, Bucky hurried over to the truck, reached in and pulled out one of the dark bottles. He laid it gently in the weeds that were growing near the building then resumed his relaxed position near the entrance of the drug store. A few minutes later the man came back out of the store, handed Bucky a pack of Lucky Strikes as thanks for keeping his alcohol safe, climbed back into his truck and drove away. Bucky grabbed the bottle he’d stolen, rushed home and burst through the door. “Look what I got for us, Steve,” he called into their shared apartment, a huge grin on his face.
Bucky smiled as the image became one of him and Steve leaning against one another on the cushions that had been pulled off the couch, both laughing hysterically as Steve drunkenly tried to draw Bucky. The lines making up Bucky’s face were squiggled as Steve’s laughter hindered his ability to draw, but each messed up line caused more laughter. Bucky thought they had framed that picture and had left it hanging in the living room for years.
Bucky rubbed his thumb across the photo again and laid it aside with the paper.
The next thing to come out of the box was a rectangular card printed in black and white and encased in hard clear plastic. As Bucky looked at the name scrawled across the bottom in blue ink, the silence in his room was replaced with the sounds of a cheering crowd and the sharp crack of a bat hitting a ball.
He and Steve sat high in the stands huddled under a thick blanket, a soda in one hand and a hotdog in the other.
“Come on…. Come on…. YEAH!!!” Bucky jumped and cheered as the loaded bases cleared and their team scored.
“Hey asshole!” The girl sitting in the seat next to his complained, his soda dripping from the ends of her hair and soaking her scarf.
“Sorry,” he said and smiled. She smiled back and shook her head. Steve rolled his eyes.
“There’s no stopping you, is there?” Steve asked.
Bucky shrugged and dipped his head a bit before reaching to pull the blanket tighter around Steve. “What was I thinking bringing you to a game at Ebbits field in November? You’re gonna get sick and Sarah’s gonna kill me.”
“Nah, you’re taking good care of me, Buck. You always treat me like just one of the guys. Thanks.”
“Don’t be silly, Steve, you are just one of the guys. You’re the best of ‘em, now stop getting all mushy and watch the game. The Dodgers are gonna win this one, I can feel it.”
“Damn it,” Bucky sighed hours later as the game ended 7 to 13 in the Giants favor. Steve groaned and sniffled as he folded the blanket. Bucky looked at him for a moment, taking in his red nose and pale lips. He shoulda known better than to bring Steve to this game, but it had taken him longer than he’d expected to save enough money for the tickets, and this was the Dodgers last home game for a while.
“Come on,” Bucky said, taking the blanket from Steve and pulling him off in the direction opposite of all the exiting baseball fans.
“Bucky, we’re not supposed to be back here,” Steve complained as Bucky led him through the maze of empty hallways.
“It’s fine,” Bucky assured him. The truth was they weren’t supposed to be there, but Bucky wanted to give Steve’s body a chance to warm up before they had to go wait for the bus. “Besides, if we get caught we’ll just say we got lost looking for the exit. You see how many halls there are? It’s believable.” Besides, maybe we’ll run into one of the players. That’d be swell, we’ll never get close enough to catch a ball and have them sign it, those seats cost a fortune.”
“That’ll never work, Bucky. No one would believe we got lost; all we’d have had to do was follow everyone else. No one else got lost.”
“Aw Steve, stop poking holes in my plans.” Bucky said through a chuckle, but Steve’s nose had stopped running and his lips had turned back to their pretty pink.
“Listen to your friend kid, that trick never works. There are signs that point to the exits.”
Steve and Bucky both froze at the unexpected voice and slowly turned around. Their eyes grew as big as dinner plates and their mouths fell open at the sight of the man standing before them.
“Close your mouths, boys. You don’t wanna catch flies.” The man laughed.
“Buck,” Steve whispered harshly and smacked Bucky’s left bicep.
“I know,” Bucky whispered back just as harshly and the man in the uniform laughed.
“Come on, fellas, I’ll take you to the front.” They both nodded and followed their favorite baseball star through the halls.
“Alright boys,” the man said once they were at the front exit, he pointed a finger at Bucky. “Now you stop tryin’ to get your pal in trouble,” he said playfully.
Bucky blushed and bowed his head. The man chuckled again and turned to walk away.
“Sir,” Steve called boldly and Bucky’s eyes grew large for a second. “Think you could sign our card?” Steve asked as the man turned back to them.
“Sure thing,” he replied and reached out his hand. Steve handed over the brand new baseball card. Bucky’d had to trade Ike Boone, Lefty O’Doul and Val Picinich for it, but at that moment, it was all worth it.
“Just one?” The player asked as he pulled a blue marker off the waistband of his uniform.
“Oh yeah, me and Buck share everything.”
“Well what if one day you find yourselves on different sides of the line?”
“No way,” Steve said firmly and put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “We’re together to the end of the line.”
The man smiled, scribbled his name across the bottom of the card, shook it for a moment and handed it back to Steve. “Well, best of luck to you both then,” and he walked away.
They watched as he walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner. “Holy shit, Buck,” Steve said, his tone telling Bucky that his best friend was as in awe as he was. “We just met Tony Cuccinello.”
“I know,” Bucky deadpanned, he couldn’t actually find his voice at the moment.
“And you clammed up like a virgin on prom night.”
Bucky jerked his head up and looked at Steve, stunned that he would use that kind of language. Steve raised his eyebrows and waggled them slightly and Bucky burst out laughing. “Shut up, punk,” he said and playfully punched Steve in the shoulder, then they walked out into the cold November air.
Bucky’s eyes stung as he looked down at the card. It had obviously been well loved before someone had thoughtfully encased it in plastic. The edges were worn, a corner had been bent and the signature had started to fade with age, but it didn’t matter. Even if this old card that had come out of a bubble gum package was worth his weight in gold, he wouldn’t do anything more than tuck it safely back into the box of his and Steve’s memories.
That’s what these were, he realized as he looked at the few things he’d already pulled out. These small objects were part of their lives, a life Bucky couldn’t remember, but those memories were being unlocked one by one. Each thing that Bucky held in his hand was so deeply rooted in a time in their lives that the memory was just pulled back into existence and Bucky couldn’t believe he’d been able to forget them in the first place. Just the sight of Steve on the bridge had jogged his memory enough to make him question, and that was something he hadn’t done since becoming The Soldier. Steve was the biggest part of his life, and he was getting that back.
Bucky’s stomach fluttered with that thought. The thought that he could have Steve back, they way they’d been in the memories contained in this small box. He smiled as the tiny butterflies flitted around in his belly, and for the first time in a long time, it actually felt like a real smile. He eagerly but carefully set the card aside and looked back at the box. He couldn’t wait to see what he and Steve would do next.
This time he didn’t look into the box. He just closed his eyes and reached in, moving his hand blindly over the objects until his fingers closed on a small thin piece of paper. He pulled it out and opened his eyes, it was part of a ticket. Coney Island was printed on it and half of a Ferris wheel where the ticket had been ripped. The date on the ticket was July, 4, 1938. Steve’s 19th birthday, Bucky had saved the money, the Coney Island trip was his gift.
Suddenly he felt light headed, dizzy and nauseous. He couldn’t recall anything visually but his senses were all over the place. The date on the ticket was the middle of summer but Bucky felt cold, felt sharp wind and the bite of snow on his face. He tasted cotton candy, heard people laughing and screaming, he heard carnival music but underneath that he heard the sound of a train on its tracks.
“I can’t believe you spent all our train money,” that was Steve’s voice in his head, but he still couldn’t visualize their trip to the fair.
“Yeah, but I got her number,” his own younger voice spoke.
Bucky shook his head and sat the ticket stub aside. He wrapped his arm around himself and pressed his fingers into his left side to ground himself. He equalized his breathing and focused on his heartbeat. It felt like he was spiraling into a panic attack, similar to the rush of thoughts he’d get when something triggered a long lost memory when he’d been out of the cryo-freeze for too long. That piece of a ticket had elicited so many feelings and emotions, but it felt like a puzzle that had been put together with a couple of pieces in the wrong places, making the entire thing make no sense. He was confused, he felt unmoored and he hated that feeling.
Slowly, his skin warmed and the sounds in his head faded back to silence. He took a deep breath and looked at the small collection of items he’d taken out of the box. He had the urge to pick up his cell phone and call Steve. Bucky needed him to clear up the sensations he’d just felt. Steve would know why he felt snow and cold in July, and why he heard a train and carnival music. He remembered Coney Island, at least somewhat. He’d mentioned it to Steve on the Quinjet in Siberia. He knew that Coney Island was a thing for them, he’d saved the money for the tickets. He didn’t know exactly how he knew that, but it just felt right. He didn’t understand why he felt so many things for that one scrap of a ticket.
After a moment he decided not to call Steve. He’d told Bucky to call any time, but it was three in the morning and there were only a few more days until Steve’s visit. He could wait; maybe something would come to him in the meantime. Taking another deep breath, Bucky looked at the box on the table in front of him. There was still so much to go through, so many memories just waiting to be unlocked, and Bucky wanted to unlock them all, but he was suddenly exhausted and there was a dull ache in the back of his brain.
He stood up carefully; making sure his legs would support him, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The confusion surrounding the Coney Island ticket had locked his mind back up. If he went through the rest of the box tonight he’d just be wasting his time. He could feel that there would be no more memories tonight. Not to mention, he was tired and thankfully he couldn’t even remember the nightmare that had woken him.
He felt his body relax as he drank the cold water, and his mind wandered back to Steve and he smiled. Even when Steve wasn’t physically with Bucky he was helping him heal. Bucky put his glass in the drain rack and made his way back to his bed. He turned the light off, got as comfortable as he could, and let his mind wander through his newly remembered past. There were still so many things he hadn’t remembered, but at least now he has some good things to think about as he lay in bed.
His body began to feel heavy as he got closer to sleep. He thought about meeting Tony Cuccinello and what Steve had said to him. “No way, we’re together to the end of the line.”
Those words were the first thing Bucky remembered when he stopped being The Winter Soldier. Steve had said them as he laid there taking the beating the Soldier was giving him. Those words had given the Soldier pause, nothing else Steve had said that day had made it into Bucky’s mind. But those nine words, uttered in Steve’s raspy blood filled voice as he lay there, willing to give up his own life rather than kill Bucky, had sunk in and made the Soldier pause. Those words had essentially been the Winter Soldier’s undoing. They’d reached deep into the asset’s mind and called to Bucky, beckoned him forward, pleaded with him to fight for Steve, for their friendship. They were the most powerful words ever spoken.
As he lay there, drifting on the edge of sleep, Bucky wondered how many times those words had been spoken between them, and slowly Steve’s pale ashen face appeared in Bucky’s mind. His chest was heaving as he took difficult breaths. “No Buck,” Steve said through a cough. “You’ve been saving that money.”
“Steve, your medicine is more important that a ride on the Cyclone. We’ll get to Coney Island later.”
“No Bucky, I’m okay.”
“Steve look at me,” Bucky commanded and Steve did. His face had the red splotches that made it impossible for him to lie about having a fever. The dark rings under his eyes told Bucky that he wasn’t sleeping well, the phlegm in his chest wreaking havoc on his asthma. His eyes were dim and distant with fever and his face was pinched, probably as much with guilt as with the sickness. “I’ve got you, Steve,” Bucky said softly, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ll always have you. To the end of the line, right?”
Bucky watched as some of the light came back into Steve’s eyes and his furrowed brow smoothed. The skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled as much as the flu would let him, and his shoulders relaxed as the fight left him and he accepted that Bucky was going to take care of him, just as Sarah had promised. “Yeah, Buck, to the end of the line.”
Bucky finally drifted into sleep as the horizon outside his window slowly turned pink.
FIN? lol