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Dark; cold; wet; lonely. Bucky lay, broken, in the corner of a pile of rubble, the ruined stone floor atop earth bathed with rain, everything soaked, put-out fires smoking into the night air. Blood seeped from his side as he remain stilled, in a pain he shouldn't be feeling according to Hydra's standards, and he closed his eyes. He was weakened, knocked down; all he could do was hope he'd find enough strength to get out of it alive, or die shortly. It couldn't get any worse.
Across the collapsed bridge, was the fellow fallen soldier. Steve Rogers, barely hanging on to a tipped over vehicle, beaten as much as his opponent. He lifted his head to look around, everything a slight blur, glaring lights in the distance and smoke from the fires blending together in a smog. He rolled off the vehicle, hitting the ground with a thud, onto the broken glass from the windows of the van. His suit was designed just right to prevent such a thing to penetrate it.
Steve pushed himself off the ground to stand, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision and taking another look around. The streets were empty, destroyed - but there, not far off, lay a battered man. Steve meant to call out his name, but all that emerged were coughs, blood joining them. He stepped past the remains of the road to his friend, the brainwashed. Dropping to his knees, he rested his hand on Bucky's shoulder for a moment before pulling him back to lay on his back. The man winced, clenching his jaw as he applied stronger pressure to the bleeding wound in his side.
"Bucky..." Steve said in almost a whisper, hand cupped to the other's cheek, his thumb brushing the strands of hair from his face. A moment of silence ensued before Bucky winced again and slowly opened his eyes, the image of Steve nothing but a watercolour painting of blues and reds in his messed up sight. Tears spilled from his eyes, moonlight dancing in them. With the last of his strength, he lifted his metal hand to attack Steve but his wrist was caught in time and his arm slipped heavily back to the ground.
"Stop fighting," Steve breathed. "You can stop fighting."
"Who are you?" Bucky replied, voice quiet. Steve smiled the kind of smile meant to hide tears.
"Your best friend." he said, voice shaken.
The two stared at each other, Steve's own tears falling onto Bucky's chest and after awhile, the other looked down, just to the left of Steve, eyelashes still damp.
"Best friend." he repeated, so quiet you could barely hear it, and his eyes closed again as he drifted off into sleep. Steve called his name again, once, then twice, fearing he was going through this a second time--losing his best friend. He held two fingers to Bucky's neck to check for a pulse, and as one was surely felt, Steve exhaled in relief.
He stood once again, taking Bucky with him, his body heavy and limp. Steve lifted the unconscious man and began the long walk back to a safe place, carrying Bucky the whole time.
Upon reaching the underground apartment Steve had begun staying in, he laid Bucky down on his bed, gently setting his arms at his sides, his legs straight out, his head resting on the pillow. In his slumber, as broken as he may be, he finally looked like he was at peace, and it was beautiful.
"You hold on, Buck. I'm gonna fix you up." Steve said and took another moment to look at his lost friend before leaving the room to gather supplies. He'd found a sewing kit he used on a friend once before for wounds, rubbing alcohol, cloths, clean water; everything necessary for what he was about to do.
He brought the items along with a bottle of water and a bottle of beer back to his bedroom, setting them down to use later. He figured he would let Bucky rest for awhile before he started putting him in more pain by digging his fingers around in his wounds and stabbing a needle through him repeatedly and burning him with alcohol. He'd passed out - he needed sleep. In the meantime, Steve dragged an armchair into the room and took a seat, sipping at his beer before passing out himself, beer still in hand.
It seemed like a century had passed by the time Bucky woke up. He felt worse than he did when he was last awake - migraine, heavy aches all throughout his body, stiffness. He coughed a few times to clear his throat and stared up at the ceiling. It took him a moment to catch on and realize he wasn't where he was before. Turning his head to look around, he saw the blonde-haired man asleep in a chair a few feet away, bottle held tightly in his sleep. He looked for a long while, searching for memories of this man who claimed to be his best friend. Bucky had never had a best friend, as far as he was aware. It pulled at his heart strings, to think that he did in fact have someone there for him. And yet, he was fighting him, following orders to bring him back dead. His mission was to beat him, stop his heart, murder him.
Bucky swallowed hard, throat dry and he closed his eyes for just a moment before opening them again and looking around more to find a water bottle on the nightstand beside the bed. He tried to sit up and reach for it but it was taking more effort than he thought, a strange kind of unknown sensation coursing through his veins. He'd just about reached the bottle before a muscle in his back strained and he pulled his arm back quickly, gasping.
Steve stirred in his sleep, beginning to come out of it and awaken possibly at the sound Bucky just made, or at the mental awareness that his friend was in pain and needed attention again. He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Bucky, lying stiff on the bed clenching his jaw, staring at the ceiling. He swallowed again, adam's apple bobbing and he turned his head again to look at Steve, then at the water bottle.
Taking the hint, Steve rose from the chair and stumbled over, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and handing it over to Bucky, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his legs. Close, but still a respectable distance. Just enough.
Bucky nodded in thanks, drinking the water like he'd been quenched for days, downing most of it in a few seconds before stopping to catch his breath and handing it back to Steve, who set it back down on the nightstand. He tried to sit up again and after struggling, he managed to, hand pressed to his side once again.
"I've got stuff to fix you up; did you want to start now, or do you need more rest?" Steve asked.
"What stuff?" Bucky asked.
"You know, medical supplies to clean your wound there," Steve pointed at Bucky's wound. "And patch it up. I've got it all right over there on that table by my chair."
Bucky looked over to the mentioned table and saw everything on it. He stared at it, not saying anything.
"...I'm... Not just gonna let you suffer, Buck," Steve said, bringing Bucky's attention back to him.
"And why wouldn't you? I tried to kill you. Now I'm in your home, on your bed, bleeding out and experiencing something they told me I wouldn't experience, and you want to help me."
"You're my friend. Whether you remember it or not, you're my friend. I know you. You know me. I wouldn't lie to you.
Bucky stared at Steve with a bit of a glare, and feeling overwhelmed, Steve looked away and stood, moving towards the table by the armchair and pulled it towards the bed. The lamp in the corner was enough light, Steve decided, so he avoided the main light as he sat back down on the bed and started prepping everything, avoiding looking at the other man, who continued to stare.
"...Steve." Bucky suddenly said. "Did you say your name was Steve?"
Steve just nodded in response, fiddling with the items on the table. Bucky pulled his legs towards himself and turned so his injured side was facing Steve, and they were sitting side by side, facing opposite directions. He started to remove his vest, having difficulty with it. Steve looked towards him and saw the struggle.
"There's a belt in the back with the snap, right in the middle." Bucky said, dropping his arms and twisting his back. Steve examined his back, trying to find said belt, and sure enough, found it quick enough, but he took a moment to just look. Bucky wasn't fighting him now, and he was in a position that could easily get him killed if Steve wanted to. He breathed out slowly and started to undo the snap, and the belt on the back of Bucky's vest, loosening it and Bucky pulled it off, along with his shirt, exposing his torso, the oxygen hitting the wound causing him another spike of pain.
Bucky hissed and went to clutch at the wound again but Steve caught his hand in time and gently pushed it back. Slow, timid, he went to reach for Bucky's metal arm, wondering if he could feel anything in it, wondering how it worked, wondering why he had it, wondering if they found him dismembered or if they ripped off his arm to replace it with a metal one. It was as if he was carrying a newborn child, he held his arm so gently and moved it out of the way to see the puncture in his side better. Bucky followed along and moved his arm out of the way, curious about Steve's behaviour.
Steve leaned down to examine the wound. It wasn't bleeding so much anymore, but it looked wretched. He sighed in worry as he lifted the bottle of alcohol from the table with a cloth and cupped the cloth beneath the wound to catch the alcohol.
"This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch. Fair warning. Do what you need to do to deal with it." Steve said. He meant, Bucky could hold Steve's arm or something if he needed to, but doubted he'd go for it. The other nodded quickly, taking a deep breath and bracing himself.
Tipping the bottle, the alcohol spilled out into the bloody mess, bubbling, sizzling, burning. Immediately, Bucky yelped, grabbing at Steve's arm to pus hit away with his metal arm, forgetting for a moment how strong it was. It caused Steve to drop the bottle of alcohol, the rest of it dumping into the wound and falling to the floor. When he clued back in, he let go, seeing the markings of his metal hand and fingers around Steve's arm, red, and probably about to bruise up.
"I... sorry." Bucky muttered. Steve looked at his arm for a moment, rubbing it before ignoring the sensation in it and returning to what he was doing. The wound looked cleaner already and the splash of alcohol had stripped away the dried blood, to reveal it wasn't as big a wound as both of the men thought it was.
Steve took the cloth, which was now soaked in the liquid, and dabbed it around and in the wound, earning repetitive hisses and whimpers every time it hit the exposed flesh. He mumbled sorry and dropped the cloth, wiping his hands on his pants to dry them and grabbing the needle and thread.
"This won't be so bad. I just need to close the wound now. It's clean... with all that alcohol." Steve said, threading the needle and tying a knot in the opposite end, Bucky's face reddening in embarrassment over reacting as he did.
Without any warning, Steve jabbed the needle through Bucky's skin and inner flesh and started sewing the wound up, carefully, but quickly; it didn't take long at all. When sewn up and closed, he applied a healing cream on and all around the wound.
"There." He said, looking up at Bucky, who was looking away the entirety of the time Steve was working on him. "Sorry about the extra pain."
"Don't apologize." Bucky said, voice low, possibly angry. He turned back to the blonde and his eyes said it all. They thanked Steve, they apologized, and they continued to try and recognize him.
"Tell me." he said, out of nowhere.
"What?" Steve responded, confused.
"Tell me. Tell me about us. Tell me who I am. Tell me who you are." He looked down. "Help me remember..."
It took a minute for Steve to get his mind working.
"Well... where do I begin? We've been friends since we were real young. Your name's James Buchanan Barnes - some people called you Bucky. I did. You saved me when others would pick on me. You were my best friend."
Bucky blinked, picturing everything in his head as best he could.
"I was so skinny back then... I hated bullies. Hated fighting, hated inflicting pain on others. But I wanted to join the army. I wanted to fight with you, but they wouldn't let me... at first. We went to a convention together, you and me, and you danced with the girls before you... before you left. 107th."
"After that, I... made it in, and they told me that those from the 107th were missing. They announced you dead. You. My best friend. They told me you were dead. I didn't believe them. I went looking for you - I infiltrated the base, I killed who I had to, and I released four hundred men from the prison. I found you last, in a separate room. When you saw me," Steve chuckled, staring down at the floor, smiling in remembrance. "You smiled and said my name and I carried you out of there. We were reunited and everything was alright."
Bucky had started watching Steve now. Steve's smile faded then, and he swallowed, a painful memory resurfacing that hurt him beyond explanation because it was the day he lost his friend not only to death, but to memory as well.
"We went on a mission. You were first in line with me, by my side. Something happened while we were in the train and you were outside of it, hanging on and when I finally got out there... I tried to save you, Buck. I tried, I--"
"I died..." Bucky said, and Steve looked at him.
"...You fell as you tried to reach for my hand, into the canyon... it broke me. After that, I don't even know. I apparently gave my life. I had a date with Agent Carter, this amazing woman, and... I was submerged in water, to save New York City. I was awoken seventy years later. They told me I was asleep, for seventy years. My first thoughts were of you. I then discovered I was in the future. It scared me, but I wouldn't admit it. And then... fast forward, and... you're suddenly back, but... not."
"They must have wiped your memory. Bucky, you would remember me. I know you would. They took away your memory. Hydra destroyed you."
Steve couldn't hold his cool anymore. He leaned forwards and he wept. He wept for the lost memories, he wept for his best friend. Silence ensued. A long while passed before anything was said or done.
Bucky started piecing together all that Steve had told him, drawing a picture, creating a movie in his mind and then, a spark. Small, but it was there. He remembered something. He looked into it more, zoning out to think. The more he pushed, the faster everything came back to him, and it was like a rewind on his life.
"I remember," he suddenly burst out, eyes wide.
Steve sat up and looked at the other. They stared at each other.
"Something... something we both said once. We were... we would fight someone, and then we would say, 'I had him on the ropes'. Right...?"
Steve smiled, starting to laugh and Bucky smiled, too. Bucky was coming back. Bucky Barnes was coming back to him.
"A-and you're Steve Rogers, best friend of many years. We lived in New York and we both wanted to join the army and I left before you and I saved you from some asshole bully in an alley and..."
Tears were flowing again and Steve just smiled, breathing quickly. He nodded, the light back in his eyes.
"That's right. That's right, Buck."
"Bucky... you always called me that. Always. Stevie, I remember you."
The two hugged, rapid heartbeats between them moving in sync, and they rejoiced. Everything was back to normal - at least, it seemed that way. Maybe not all of Bucky was back yet, but some was. Enough that he could remember Steve, and that's what mattered.
Upon ending the hug, Bucky went back to thinking about his past, unlocking more hidden memories, when the smile left his face. He looked down at his arm... He examined the metal aspects of it, the red star on his shoulder, the falsity of it. He clenched his jaw and stared at his hand in anger.
"This... this is what keeps me from my past. This isn't me. This is... wrong." he said. Steve noticed the change of mood and looked down with Bucky at his hand.
"Buc--"
"I'm not human. I'm not normal. There's something wrong with me." He continued to stare at his hand, rage filling him.
"Of course you're hu--"
"This..." he said it in such distaste, such hatred, such anger. It was cold, venomous. "This is not mine."
Bucky started to pull at his metal arm with his real hand, grabbing at his shoulder and trying to rip it off, but his nails just slid down the metal aimlessly and began to wear down. He continued to scratch at his arm, trying to get it off of himself, desperate to remove the one thing that indicated his time of memory loss, when Steve grabbed his hand. Bucky continued to try and pull, tear, anything to get the arm off, whimpering with angry tears.
"Bucky. Bucky, stop it. Bucky!" Steve said, and when he had gotten Bucky to stop, he leaned into him, head on Steve's shoulder as he let Steve hold his human hand.
"Let me tell you somethin'. Listen closely. You all here? You listening, Buck?"
In between whimpers, Bucky muttered a 'yes'.
"You are more human than anyone I've ever met. You're a soldier. You're a friend. You're a man of his word and you are strong. You never stopped fighting, and you wouldn't leave me behind. We fought together but you were always better than me. Bucky, you were my protector. There's nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me?"
Steve pushed Bucky off and held his face in his hands, forcing the other to stare at him.
"There is nothing... wrong with you. James Barnes. You are not flawed. This metal arm... it's a part of you now. And that's okay. Just let it tell you that even with those filthy fuckers' brainwashing, their torture to you, their mem wipes, their metal implants... you remembered me. You remembered us. And I fucking love you."
Not really sure what it might mean in the long run, Steve kissed Bucky, shocking the other man at first. Bucky kissed him back, using his new hand to place it on the back of Steve's neck and when they broke the kiss, he blinked slowly.
"You're you."
"I'm me."
"And you are perfect."
"I am... perfectly human."