Work Text:
He looks at his face, or the man wearing his face, smiling with abandon at Captain America. They are happy. Happy is an emotion and emotions are-
He does not know why he saved the Captain. He has never failed a mission and the Captain was his mission and maybe is his mission still.
He is a weapon, of stealth and secrecy, and he does not know how to search without destroying.
He keeps a notebook. He bugs the townhouse that belongs to Sam Wilson and where the Captain now also lives.
It is - It is enlightening.
.
He goes to the Smithsonian every day and he looks at his face, or the man wearing his face. There is a little boy wearing a blue t-shirt with the Captain’s shield emblazoned on it. He catches his eye.
He raises his finger to his lips and the little boy runs away crying.
.
He could be anywhere, Steve-
I don’t think he’s gone far.
He’s not your friend anymore.
He’s not my enemy.
(Sometimes, he has to mute the surveillance feed because he cannot bear the sincerity in the Captain’s voice.)
.
He goes to Brooklyn. According to the museum exhibition and the scant remaining files, James Buchanan Barnes was born in Brooklyn.
He cannot quite believe it; he is a weapon and weapons are not born. They are forged and begotten in blood and pain and perhaps he is not so different from a human after all, forged and begotten in blood and pain. He goes to a cemetery. Here lies Matthew Rogers, born and died. Here lies Joseph Rogers, of the 107th. Here lies Sarah Rogers. The family of an unsaintly, perfect hero and the littlest one said-
He walks further and here lies George Barnes and Winifred Barnes and the souls of the righteous are in the hands of God.
He does not know what it is to be righteous. Alexander Pierce spoke often of such things, as though he had a care for anything but the mission.
.
He goes back to D.C. and spends the weekend listening to his surveillance feeds.
Sam Wilson and the Captain ate pizza and went for a run.
Sam Wilson and the Captain made plans to go to the veterans’ hospital.
Sam Wilson and the Captain have an easy friendship, with laughter and jokes that he struggles to understand.
Sam Wilson and the Captain have left D.C., answering a summons from the red-haired Russian.
.
If Brooklyn was a non-specific ache, like phantom limbs, Manhattan is a migraine of colour and noise. Sam Wilson and the Captain are in the Avengers Mansion and the Winter Soldier knows that there is no way in.
There was a mission, some decades ago. He tampered with the brakes. It was unsatisfying. It always is, when he can’t see the whites of their eyes. Nevertheless, Howard and Maria Stark are dead, like all the bones in Holy Cross Cemetery. They all rattle the same, those dead bones.
Anthony Stark was never a mission.
He sits at an outdoor table in a cafe near the Mansion and a pretty waitress smiles at him. She says nothing about his long sleeves, despite the heat, or the glove on his left hand.
He orders an americano. He enjoys the irony.
He opens a small notebook and keeps his eyes fixed on the high-rise building.
Manhattan is whiskey in a shady bar in Hell’s Kitchen and surveillance equipment cobbled together from equipment caches of uncertain provenance, buried deep in murky memories.
He does not have the knowledge or skill to circumvent Stark’s AI but he is not the only one who wants to listen. The CIA and the remnants of SHIELD are always listening to Stark and he is listening to them.
.
Maria Hill is a capable woman, implicitly trusted by Nicholas J Fury [whereabouts unknown]. She works for Stark Industries now.
He might be an empty vessel but even he knows that she still works for Fury.
He wonders how things might have been different if he had been Fury’s weapon and not the ace up Pierce’s sleeve. Fury is ruthless but not without humanity and he longs to understand humanity.
.
Bucky’s out there.
Are you suggesting we put out a saucer of milk, Cap?
(He doesn’t think he likes Stark very much. He doesn’t think the Captain likes him, either.)
.
He has a dream. Maybe this is humanity.
.
He is living (he thinks it is living) in a defunct HYDRA safehouse, in the shade of Stark’s monstrosity. We are all heroes here, with or without arc reactors and the internet.
(He likes the internet. There are pictures of cats with motivational slogans.)
.
Sharon Carter, or Agent 13, works for the CIA. She is not yet field-rated, which is absurd. He has seen the footage of her hand-to-hand skills when SHIELD imploded. Her loyalty to the Captain is admirable.
He might be an empty vessel but even he knows that she still works for Fury.
The CIA is less trusting than Stark, it seems.
He sees her at the firing range and she is lethal.
She goes for coffee with the Captain and he does not know how he feels about it. They smile at each other and the Captain blushes prettily.
.
He dreams. He is punching someone until there are splinters of bone in his metal knuckles and the face of his opponent (his victim) is unrecognisable, a bloody pulp, a mess of teeth and gore. There is a chain around his victim’s neck and his fingers tremble as he hooks it out to read the dog tags.
[BARNES, J.B.]
He wakes up in a cold sweat.
I thought you-
I thought-
.
He goes back to the cafe. It is a good place to think. The city hums around him and ignores him. He is still trembling after the dream; there are electric currents thrumming under his skin.
“You used to be so elusive.”
His head jerks up and the red-haired Russian is sitting in front of him. (Romanova, Natalia Alianovna).
“If it wasn’t for the scar, I’d have thought you were a complete fantasy.” Her hair is short now, like a boy’s, and her lips are full and curved into a smirk that he thinks might be characteristic.
He wonders at the sort of woman who fantasises about assassins.
“You hit your head hard,” he says. His voice is almost inaudible. “You would have been acceptable collateral damage.”
“But you’re not,” she says. “You’re coming in.”
“Not to SHIELD,” he says, standing up hurriedly.
“Haven’t you heard?” She stands up, too, her body curved and ready for flight, or fight. “SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore.”
“A likely story, Black Widow,” he says. “You must think I was born yesterday.”
“On another day,” she says, “You might have been.” She puts her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. “But you’ve still got to come in. You’re making Stark twitchy.”
“It’s character-building,” he says. He is learning about humour. Humour is-
.
When they step foot into Stark’s building, sirens sound and a cage instantly descends. He growls and crouches down and his heart is hammering in his chest and this might be fear. He’s not certain. It has been so long since he has felt anything of the sort.
(When he is manhandled into the cryochamber and he instinctively reaches out to touch the glass, to ward off the relentless cold.)
.
They cuff his arms together, behind his back. He could break out of them easily but he says nothing.
“So,” says Stark. “You’re Cap’s old flame.”
He is pretty sure that the Captain was always the spark to his blue touch paper.
“What do we know about him?”
“Recovered by HYDRA in forty-five and trained by the Russians,” says the Black Widow. He supposes she must be right. “Alexander Pierce’s pet assassin for the last twenty or thirty years.”
He probably shouldn’t tell Stark how his parents screamed but it was over fast. Is that a comfort? He doesn’t know.
“What do you remember, Barnes?” Stark asks.
“Barnes.” The name sounds foreign on his own lips. Here lies, here lies. “The Captain is my mission.”
Stark’s gaze grows sharp. “You here to kill him, Barnes? ‘Cause we can’t let you do that. We’re quite attached.”
He shakes his head. “He is- I’m with him.”
“I’m with the band, I get it,” says Stark.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t get it at all.
“Where is the Captain?”
“Somewhere on the West coast with his avian menagerie.”
“You sent him on a wild goose chase,” he says, defeated. The Captain is not here.
“Way to embrace the theme, Barnes,” says Stark, “but Coulson’s no goose.”
“When will he be back?”
.
“Maria Hill is still working for Fury,” he says. “So is Sharon Carter.”
“Okay, you guys, if the defrosting assassin can figure that out maybe we should revisit our definition of covert ops,” says Stark.
“Speak for yourself, Director Stark,” says the Black Widow.
“A form-fitting catsuit does not a covert operative make,” says Stark.
He blinks, looking between them both.
“Stark Industries is a cover for SHIELD?”
“Technically, Stark Industries is Stark Industries. We’re just subletting to SHIELD.”
“And you’re the director?”
“Well, you know. We needed to restructure. You look surprised. Why does the guy look surprised? He hasn’t exactly had his finger on the pulse of the twenty-first century.”
He’s had his fingers wrapped around necks, compressing carotid arteries.
“I didn’t think you had much time for SHIELD, Stark.”
.
The thing is, Tony Stark has developed a certain fondness for legacy.
.
The Captain returns, with Sam Wilson, and Codename Hawkeye and Agent Coulson.
“Bucky,” he says. “You - you’re here.”
“Bucky,” says Agent Coulson. “Barnes?”
“Untwist your panties, Coulson,” says Stark. “Your cards are still worth something. This one’s got a lot of mileage. One careful gentleman driver.”
“Stark,” says the Captain, faintly. “Shut up.” He’s looking at him like he’s never seen anything like him. “Bucky. I was looking for you.”
“I know,” he says. “I was watching.”
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” says Sam.
.
“I don’t know who I am,” he says.
“You’re Bucky,” says the Captain, his voice cracking.
“I don’t know who I am,” he says, again, “But I think I know who you are. Our families are buried in the same cemetery.”
The Captain nods, jerkily.
“I think I followed you,” he says.
“You did,” says the Captain. “Like, a lot.”
He smiles.
What is better is the Captain smiling back.
.
He dreams. He is punching someone and both his hands are flesh and blood. The pain is glorious.
Pick on someone your own size.
.
He wakes up, trembling, and makes his way into the living room. It has been decided that he is as safe as any man or woman in this building. If Stephen Strange says it is so, then it is so.
“What if I never remember?”
The Captain cranes his neck to look up at him. “You will,” he says, with such confidence that it leaves him breathless. “Want to watch a movie?”
The world could be ending outside the windows and he’s not sure he could look away.
“Sure,” he says, helplessly.
The Captain’s smile is radiant, even in the flickering blue light of the television.
.
“What if I never remember?”
“Well, I reckon Steve’ll still think the sun shines out of your ass.”
He likes Sam Wilson.
“Are you in love with him?” he asks.
Sam splutters. “Don’t get me wrong, man, I’d have to be dead not to find that attractive but no.” He shrugs. “Still hung up on a dead guy.”
It’s going around.
.
They go for a run in Central Park. They lap Sam twice, on either side (on your left and on your right) and he swears at them.
.
“I think Sam has a thing for Natasha,” he says.
“I think Natasha has a thing for Sharon,” says Steve.
“I cannot believe that our nonagenarian soldiers are such goddamned gossips,” says Stark.
“I can,” says Codename Hawkeye.
.
He dreams. He is kissing someone.
He is -
.
He wakes up and this is new. He was not designed for seduction or self-discovery.
His cheeks burn when he goes into the living room after a hasty shower.
The Captain is watching television and playing around with a tablet.
“Hi, Bucky,” he says. “Wanna watch a movie?”
He wonders, suddenly, if the Captain ever has urges.
.
“You are my mission,” he says to the Captain, over breakfast one morning.
“That’s not Army speak, is it?” asks Stark.
“Sometimes,” says the Captain, “I don’t like you very much, Tony.”
.
“Sometimes I think about touching you,” he says, one day.
The Captain goes pink.
“I dream about you, sometimes,” he says, conversationally. “And we touch and kiss. I like it.”
“We did that,” says the Captain. “Before.”
Before everyone died. Here lies, here lies.
“They’re maybe not dreams,” says the Captain. “They could be memories. We could compare notes, maybe.”
He doesn’t think he’s imagining the longing in the Captain’s voice but in this world of transference and counter-transference, it’s hard to be sure.
“I knew you,” he says. “I’ve never known anyone before.”
“I’ve never known anyone as well as I know you,” says the Captain, in a guilty rush. The Captain touches his fingers to his cheek so briefly that maybe he imagines how they feel; he wishes he could engrave the Captain’s fingerprints on his face.
.
“Seriously?” asks Stark. “You sure you don’t wanna just buy a t-shirt?”
He thinks about the little boy in the Smithsonian, who ran away crying.
“No,” he says, resolutely.
“I guess it’s not as bad as a tattoo,” Stark says. “Unless you’ve already got that tramp stamp. If found, please return to Captain Rogers..”
It’s not the worst idea.
.
When the Captain sees the new star on his arm, surrounded by concentric blue and white and red circles, he can barely speak.
“I don’t know who I am,” he says. “But I know who you are.”
“You’re Bucky,” says the Captain, choked up and unable to keep from touching the star.
“Yes,” he says. “Okay.”