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James Buchanan Barnes died in 1945.
So, who was "Bucky," and why was that the name in the Soldier's head?
He knew him. That man from the helicarrier. And somehow… he knew Bucky Barnes. Not well. Not as someone who he associated with himself. But he knew him.
The museum claimed he was a hero. A soldier fighting a war where the world was at stake. He had fought alongside Captain America. He'd been his friend. He'd been a brother. A son. A man.
He'd had dreams, once. Of a world without war. Without torture. Without the deaths of so many by his own hands. He remembered how foolish he and… Steven Grant Rogers had once been. Anxious for glory in bloodshed. Now when he dreams, he hears screams. Sometimes those of his victims. Most times his own.
His mind isn't his anymore. Not completely. Behind Sgt./James/Bucky/Barnes, Soldat/The Asset/Winter Soldier constantly lurk. He can't outrun them. Any of them. But he can try.
He makes it to a small city in a small country whose name he can't recall but whose mountains are familiar in an unpleasant way. It had taken a considerable number of skills he doesn't completely remember learning to get here, but he'd finally found the one person in the world who may be able to help him.
"Hello," he hedges, clutching the old newspaper pages that had inspired his search.
"Yes? Who is it?" responds an unsteady voice within the small house.
"My name is… It was James. Are you Dr. Bruce Banner?" he asks hopefully, thrusting the paper out for the man to see.
Surprise and mistrust colour the intelligent eyes, which take a long moment to assess the visitor, before glancing at the proffered photo.
"I used to be," he responds in a tired, resigned voice. "I guess it doesn't matter where I go, huh? You guys will always find me."
The soldier turns the paper of the respected scientist around, pulling the one behind it forward.
"You become him." He points to the Hulk, green and bellowing in the midst of mindless destruction.
"Only when provoked," the doctor's voice takes on a hard, warning edge.
"I am like you," the visitor replies in a stilted cadence. It is enough to surprise Dr. Bruce Banner to lower his guard, if only a bit.
"Gamma radiation?" he asked curiously.
"I have a monster. Evil. Stuck in my head. I can't control it," the soldier explains.
"Ah." Dr. Bruce Banner responds, compassion and pity in his eyes. "Well, you may as well come in. Have a seat. What do you go by now, if not James?"
"Steven Grant Rogers called me Bucky, but I don't know how to be him," he answers after deliberating a long while.
Dr. Bruce Banner closes his eyes and flinches at his answer.
"So… James Buchanan Barnes is your full name, I'm guessing."
"I have his face," the visitor struggles to explain. "Memories come to me if I think hard enough. But. James Buchanan Barnes was a hero. He died protecting Captain America. My last mission was to kill Captain America, and I nearly succeeded."
"Is Steve okay?" Dr. Bruce Banner asks.
"He had a pulse when I pulled him from the water," he responds. "I broke my programming, and I did not kill him when I had the chance."
"That's good." The doctor nods, his face clearing of some of the worry it had carried. "What programming, exactly?"
"I fell off a train," he relates to Dr. Bruce Banner, trying hard to explain how he came to be the Winter Soldier. "They… took my arm, gave me this. I was trained, and emptied, and filled with first Russia's, then Hydra's mission. They kept me on ice when I wasn't needed. I became one of their greatest weapons. Filled my head with commands and overrides. I went against the command. I do not know if I still have the overrides. But I nearly killed Steven Grant Rogers."
"I- I'm sorry that happened to you."
"You too were used as a weapon. You have destroyed without thought. You have something in your head that makes you a killer. How do I stop it?" he asks desperately, his speech evening out the longer he keeps speaking.
"You know, I wish I could help you, Sergeant, I really do. But every time I think I got a handle on the Other Guy, the world needs him again. I didn't- I don't want him in my head, but he's there. He's a part of me, now. And whenever there is a fight, yeah, he comes out and I become a weapon. The only thing I can offer you, is choose whose weapon you want to be."
The soldier looks lost, now. Distraught, almost.
"So, you can't take the evil out of my head?"
"I'm not that kind of doctor. Also, it doesn't work that way, even for people who are those kinds of doctors."
He looks off into the distance, the screams and deaths and destruction he'd caused weighing on him like a physical thing
"You could go back. Find Steve. Join his team."
He meets the doctor's eyes, then takes a deep breath, memories mixing with moments in the museum mixing with a strange pain in his chest.
"Steve can't live without the fight. It's not who he is. He was a soldier long before he wore a uniform. But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to fight. I don't want to kill. I just want… I want."
Dr. Bruce Banner stares at him, silently. Then he looks away, cleaning his glasses before assessing him again.
"No matter where I go, how far I run, they always find me. I ran before, to the ends of the earth. They still came for me." He sighs. "They'll always come for you, too. But I don't think anyone should have to be… when they don't want to. You're right. Steve will always find the fight. Or the fight will find him. It's who he is. So I guess the question now, Sergeant, is who are you?"
The visitor looks around, lost, and just as without answers as before.
"They will always need better weapons for war. You and me- they're always gonna come for us. But, I know what it's like to lose yourself in your own head. Come on. I'll teach you some techniques, get you a better handle on what you can control. Maybe let you sleep now and then. At least one of us should."
"Thank you, Dr. Bruce Banner."
"Just Bruce, thanks Sergeant."
A few weeks later, a young man goes to visit an old woman, who knew her once a very long time ago.
"Tell me about him," he asks her, gently begging as he holds her delicate hand.
"Well, you were charming, or you thought you were," Peggy begins. She smiles brightly at her old friend and passes on memories to his safe keeping.
For as long as he deems it safe, he visits often.
She asks him for various treats each visit in a poorly hidden attempt to make him try things he once enjoyed, just to remind him how to enjoy things once more. She smiles and talks to him like a person, long enough he starts remembering he used to be one, and he tells her all the useful techniques he gained from a man who had learned to control the monster inside. She helps him get enough faith in his own mind to guide back her to safe places when hers fails.
When he hands over his gun to her, he tells her he doesn't want to do that anymore. He just… wants to live. She hands him a photo for the new notebook the doctor had given him and confidently squeezes his metal hand with a wide smile.
He tentatively smiles back.
He's on a cargo ship bound to Europe when he makes a call to a number very few possess.
"Hey Bruce? It's me, Bucky."