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I remember being alone
I remember hearing of buzzing life around me but being buried too deep within myself to actually feel it.
I was trapped in the dusty archives of my memories. My mind had been abandoned by my body and everything I once held kept slipping.
Imagine walking through the vast library of your experiences, fingertips feeling the ridges of each paperback spine that had been bent and worn from use. These ones were in the 'favourites' category. They held all the prettiest stories -pretty is very subjective. The ten-foot drop from the tree and the split skull wasn't very pretty to Mrs. Rogers but opening my eyes and staring into the golden angel fringes of his hair while he laughed over me is still (to this day) one of the more magical moments of my life.
His voice -still raw from the hold of late puberty said, "How was your fall, Icarus."
He was mocking me. I knew that even through the pain -but I still felt like telling him that he had to have been the sun then.
He was always the sun, the golden boy -my golden boy. He was my star even when his lungs failed to heave in a solid breath and when pollen grains threatened him with death. He was my warmth even when his body shivered cold and his blue fingertips reached for mine.
I remember his foggy concern (foggy for me, super pressing to him).
"You're bleeding," he said-voice cracking in panic.
"Ma!" he yelled. I remember flinching at the sound and at the fact that his too-large head moved and let the sun shoot through my eyes.
"Shit, sorry," he hissed before he moved over me again and the blue of the sky was swallowed completely by the blue of his eyes.
He really was the sun.
Now imagine the panic when I try to reach for the rest of the memory yet it keeps slipping away. The throws of books start falling from the library shelves and turn to dust before my eyes. My hands aren't large enough to grasp the particles and stitch them back together.
All I know when I touch the mound of papery ash is that I miss them. I feel the pain of lost nostalgia and knowing that I'll never remember what had been written there will haunt me forever.
I remember being alone.
"Bucky," the deep baritone of a familiar voice latches onto the edges of my consciousness and pulls me into the present.
My body startles before I blink down at the scratched etching of ink on the once-blank journal page. Yes... this was blank a few moments ago.
"Hey, bud," the soothing voice speaks again.
I feel a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder before I finally lift my gaze. I see the confusion and worry in Sam's gaze. It's there very often when he looks at me. I know he worries about me. I don't want him to worry but it's like he doesn't want me to forget that he cares.
I won't forget.
"You wrote a lot... I was in line for what... five minutes," he says as he slides the paper cup in my direction. The coffee is hot, black, strong with a little bit of sugar. I like the bitter taste. It tastes like something I remember. Yes, I remember sugar used to be in rations. Now it's everywhere in everything.
I nod. "Thank you," I lift the cup and gesture to him.
He nods back and I can tell that he is trying very hard to avert his gaze from the scribbled words before me.
"I was just trying to remember," I explain.
"If you were able to write it then I think that means you remember right?" he shoots back with a hopeful gaze.
I nod.
I lied.
I barely remember.
"I'm just making sure I don't forget," I clarify and he nods skeptically. I can always tell when he thinks a lot about me.
He does it often enough that I must know. He gives everything away in his face. He'd never mastered stoic features. I like reading. he's always an easy read.
His eyes narrow a bit, he purses his lips. He always looks like he is angry but he isn't -it's just his face. I suppose it's just my face too because I've had a few of his work friends tell me that I always look angry.
Sam tells me that I stare at things too intensely.
I don't remember being this way before-
"A good memory?" he asks after he takes a sip of whatever is in his cup.
I think gets something with vanilla in it.
I don't remember his order but I wrote it down in his section.
I nod absent-mindedly while my index finger slips through the pages until I land on his.
Samuel Thomas Wilson
April 14th 1975
My eyes comb through the scribbled words. All the 'small' things about him are on this page.
Vanilla latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso. That's what he gets.
I won't forget this.
"Was it actually a good memory or are you just trying to get me off of you?" he shoots again and I lift my head. I almost forgot that he was sitting there... almost.
"Uh-," I furrow my brows. What was it that I remembered?
My hasty fingertips flip through the used pages. This one is almost filled up and I only got it last week. That should be a good thing... right? Yes, it's good. It means that I won't forget.
My eyes skim over the words... falling... split skull... golden.
"Yes, it was a good memory. I fell out of a tree when I was young," I smile at Sam and he smiles back. These are both genuine smiles, I can feel it.
My left hand instinctively lifts and pushed the hair off of my forehead. I don't realize that it's happening until it already happened.
"I think that's where I got this," I mumble without truly knowing. It makes the most sense though, I surely didn't get this with HYDRA, it wouldn't have scarred.
I bite my lip and write that down too. I don't want to forget.
Sam laughs.
He doesn't think that it's funny, he thinks that it's nice. Sometimes smiling isn't enough so he laughs at nice things. I know that. I remember that without having to flip back to his section.
I remember things about him.
"Why were you in the tree?" he asks when I look back to him.
I don't know.
"I don't remember," I mumble and he nods. His smile doesn't move.
"It's amazing that you remember something from so long ago, you know," he lifts his eyebrow. He is always so supportive. No wonder Steve left me with him.
It doesn't feel like so long ago, though:- not now at least. Sometimes those memories feel like they're a million lives away from my reach and sometimes they play out fight in front of me without warning. Some of them hide in the corners of my dream and wait until I'm sedated enough to haunt me.
I'm back in the library again.
This corner was covered in dust and cobwebs, not because I didn't venture here often but because I'm afraid of spiders and my sub-conscience decided to remind me that I fear everything in here.
These books come written in different languages -all of which I somehow know fluently.
Remembering that haunts me.
These books are covered in gunpowder and blood and dust. The pages are filled with smeared ink written from a too-hasty left hand. None of the ink had the chance to dry properly before it was brushed over by the underside of a cold palm.
These memories always linger in the back of my mind -this one sings like a hymn.
I remember lying in a dark room. It was the most pain I had ever felt. Everything was foggy. Everything was blaring loud yet achingly distant at the same time.
My body was on fire -not literally- I know that now. But my veins were screaming to burst. My blood ran too hot in the body. I was flooding with torture. This was the hell I'd been promised for killing so many men and failing to save the others.
The war had taken so much from me until it had finally taken me. I still don't fully believe that I didn't deserve this. There are no good men in war... except for Steve.
My voice didn't belong to me. My throat was dry. I didn't know if it was because it had been so long since I'd had water or because the fire in me was burning it up... but my throat hurt a lot.
I still didn't want to forget.
My name- My name is- was
James Barnes 32557038 US Army... James Barnes 3255-
"Bucky-"
My name was Bucky?
Wait-
That wasn't even mine.
I remember remembering. I remembered falling out of the tree. I remembered being in pain. I remembered wanting to cry because it hurt so bad but I also remembered the golden boy- I was remembering it now-
"Bucky?"
My blurred vision cleared -just a little. I saw him. The golden boy, "Steve-"
He looked a bit strange like my brain was too fucked to remember things properly but was trying so hard to remember him.
He was big, his face was a bit dirty, his large head got fatter.
"I thought you were dead," his words were a bit breathless. My limbs felt heavy but somehow I was being carried.
Wasn't I too big for him?
"I thought you were smaller."
"...I don't think I remember all of the details to that," Sam's voice drones on in my ears and I lift my eyes to him. I didn't know he was talking.
"Oh-" he says. He knows. He always knows. He's too smart. He notices me too much.
"You weren't listening," he deadpans with his lips pressed into a hard line.
He looks mad.
He's not mad- that's just his face. I remember that.
"I'm sorry," I say. I want to apologize more but he won't accept it. He always said if you start apologizing now you'll start apologizing for things that aren't your fault. I listen to him because he's always right.
He shrugs. "It wasn't that thrilling of a story anyway. I was just telling you how I always fell out of a tree," he sighs dramatically while feigning being injured.
I chuckle and he smiles back. He never gets mad when I walk into the library. He always waits for me out here.
"Where did you go just now?" he asks. The question is light and gentle and careful. He speaks like I am something delicate, not like I'm something dangerous.
"I was remembering Steve," I say honestly and he nods.
"You're pretty good at that," he says with a shrug. I know that he knows that I am confused. I feel it on my face which means that he sees it too.
"All of your books are filled with memories of him. I don't think you'll ever give yourself the chance to forget him," he smiles. It's bright. It's genuine. It's nice. It makes me feel warm.
He doesn't know and I won't tell him -not yet. I will tell him someday because I never got to tell Steve and I regret that now.
He doesn't know that half of those pages are about him -not just memories, thoughts too.
His part of the library is bright and new. All of the books are covered in vast arrangements of colours. The yellows and oranges are the stories that he told me.
---
I remember feeling warm.
It wasn't the overbearing heat of the summer sun, it wasn't the fact that I was wearing a leather jacket and gloves, it wasn't the walk back from the coffee shop.
It was his smile -because he smiled at me.
"I remembered you like these," I said. That's what made him smile. He smiled because I remembered something about him.
He was surprised.
He didn't know that I'd never give myself the chance to forget.
He didn't know that I would talk myself in circles, spinning webs of facts about him. He was complex and so interesting and I don't think I'll ever be able to know him completely but I want to. I want the chance.
When I was standing in line, hoping that no one recognized my face -I saw the cakepops.
There is a book in the library that tells the story of those.
It's small and lightweight. A paperback that feels like a nursery rhyme.
I remember standing in line with him. He was just talking to a stranger while I listened. I loved listening when he talked. Everyone loved him -not just kids.
I didn't understand most of his jokes -I won't lie. At points, I didn't understand a single word he said either because his accent was so thick. Sometimes, when he spoke to people from here, he'd slip into his accent and I'd just be lost.
I always understood him when he spoke to me though. He made it easier for me to understand.
It was the 4th of July. I remember being sad. It was Steve's birthday.
Happy Birthday, America.
"They have Captain America cake pops," I said without knowing. My eyes just landed on the round lollipops of cake littered with red, white, and blue decorations.
This caught Sam's attention because his head snapped in the same direction. A bright smile looks over his face, it changed his whole persona. I knew that he was happy speaking to the old man next to him but this was a bit different. His joy was palpable and it made me smile too.
"They're probably commemorating Steve," he said softly as he moved up a few spots in line.
I shook my head with a scoff and he looked at me weird.
A chuckle left my lips. He'd always been a bit too humble. There was literally a cake pop on display with wings. That one was an angel pop- I decided.
I remembered this day last year. The pops didn't look like that.
"Steve's suit was blue -his cake pops were blue," I said as he took another step forward.
Sam turned his head to me.
I didn't realize how close we were standing. Apparently, he moved over to see the pops better and he didn't move back. I didn't want to move. There wasn't much space between our faces.
"Your suit is all white because-" you're an angel (I wanted to say it so bad), "it just is." I pointed to the display. "That one has wings. The cakes are white with red white and blue sprinkles. They're for you."
I finished speaking when we got to the head of the line and I knew that he didn't really buy into everything I said even though I was completely right. I wondered if a requirement to be Captain America was that you had to be incredibly stubborn.
Did that mean that I had a type?
I didn't hear Sam order our drink. He didn't ask me for my order because he remembered it.
"Those are Captain America cake pops aren't they," I spoke up just before the lovely cashier was able to tell us our total. Sam's elbow quickly came into contact with my ribs but I didn't let it show... It hurt.
She glanced at me then to Sam, then back to me before her eyes widened.
She was so pretty when he smiled. She was young, barely eighteen I think.
Her eyes darted around the room like she was in on some big secret.
"Yes they are," she nodded.
"Not just 4th of July cake pops," Sam interjected with a tone that let me know he was trying to disprove my points.
I couldn't help the chuckle that left me. This was a nice thing -Sam being childishly stubborn and persistent. I liked -like it a lot.
The girl shook her head. "No, we have these all the time. They're just sold out in the first few hours in the morning," she shrugged.
"Can we get two of those please," I spoke before Sam could say anything stupid.
He half-glared at me but I also saw how excited he was behind his eyes. These were his. He acted this way when he saw his action figure too, I remember that. But no matter how hard I try, I can't remember what he looked like when he ate it for the first time.
The pages crumble in my hands and I just remember the warmth that came with seeing him happy. I think he was smiling because the memory made me smile. I always smile when he smiles.
"You look good when you smile," I say as I sit beside him on the bench.
I don't turn to him because I know that I'd blush. I blame the cake pops for giving me the courage to say that and I'll probably never have it again.
---
I remember being scared
The walls around me seem so foreign when I wake. I don't recognize the sheets below me or the coat hung on the door or the size 11 boots strewn in the corner.
My breaths are loud in my ears and the blood rushing doesn't help. It's dark outside and my metal hand makes the ugliest whirring sound while I fist the sheets.
I don't remember anything.
I don't remember where I am.
I don't remember how I got here.
I just remember the loud bang of a gunshot and the feeling of my own hand pulling the trigger. It was me, it was me in a dream. Who am I now?
I hear feet thundering in my direction.
I reach under my pillow for a weapon but there's none there.
I'll have to fight my way out of this.
"Bucky," a deep, gravelly voice calls. I recognize it -I think.
I do... I do.
Wait- Bucky?
Who-
Oh-
My right hand falls to the metal on my chest -dog tags.
It's dark but I can feel the raised edges.
James B Barnes -that's me.
I'm-
"Bucky," the voice calls again but there's a light tap at the door. No one waits for me to answer before it's opened and the silhouette some someone steps in.
I know him -I know I do. I have to.
"Hey," his voice is quiet and soothing as he moves over to me. I don't feel myself relax even though I will my body to. I know that I know him but I don't know how. It's dark, and even with my enhancements, I can't see his features.
Come on- fucking relax.
"You're safe here," he says again before my eyes are shot with a light that I wasn't prepared for.
He turned on the lamp.
"Bucky?" he asks and something in me shakes.
"Sam," I whisper before I pry my eyes open again -blinking a few times while my eyes adjust.
Sam -it's written in the first book in the library. It's bright yellow, calling for my attention. The spine is sturdy, though creased. I've opened this one countless times before and I know I'll open it again.
Sam -the first page reads. Apparently, his name is synonymous with sunny, sweet, safe, sympathetic, stubborn, soulful, sarcastic, strong.
"You're safe," he repeats an I look at him again.
He is dressed in his sleepwear. It is late and I woke him.
"I'm sorry-"
"I wasn't asleep," he hushes me like he knows what I'm about to say. He knows me so well. He knows that I apologize for every breath that I take.
"I don't remember," my mouth says without my mind's permission.
"You don't remember me?" he asks. I can hear the hurt in his voice. He tries to mask it but I hear it. I remember what that sounds like. It's on his face too. It's always on his face.
"I remember you," my words sound slow like speech was never made for me. "Where-"
"Our apartment," he says before I feel his warm hand on my shoulder.
I look down at my bare chest. The sweat is starting to dry.
Our apartment.
I live with him
I remember.
I nod, my eyes falling around the room again. All of the things I didn't know before -I know now. The coat is mine, the shoes are mine. A part of me can even recall Sam telling me to get a mattress with a 200thread count at least. I still don't even know what that means but I know that I listened to him.
"Why weren't you asleep," I lift my gaze to him again. To be fair, he truly doesn't look like he was asleep yet -but it's late.
He shrugs. "I couldn't fall asleep."
I nod, shifting in place. "I was loud."
I finally realize that he wouldn't know I was having a nightmare if he didn't hear me. He couldn't read minds. I've met people who could -he isn't one of them.
He doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to.
"We can watch a movie... if you want," he offers with a soft smile and I nod.
I want to watch a movie with him.
He falls asleep during the movie with his head on the arm of the couch and his legs thrown over my lap.
Even though the room is dark, I write all of the details down.
He likes this movie called "48 Hrs." The men remind me of us. They're funny.
He knows all of the jokes, he laughs before the punchlines and his laugh makes me laugh too. I don't get all of the references but that's okay. I will someday.
He sleeps with his hands folded over his stomach as if he is used to holding something that isn't there. Maybe he cuddles with his pillows. I would like to be his pillows.
Sam snores a little bit but it's not overbearing, it's just enough to remind me that he's still here. At least I know he's breathing.
I don't mind the weight of his legs on my lap. It feels comfortable.
NB. Believe Sam when he says that we're safe. He isn't lying.
---
I remember feeling safe.
It was odd to find comfort in shared pain... but I did.
Sam still worked at the VA and didn't want me in the apartment alone.
He told me that I didn't have to share anything if I didn't want to.
He invited me to just listen -so I did.
This book was heavy, not because of the pages but because of the content. I saw it Sam's face -how closely he related to everything everyone said.
Each of his words was filled with compassion and understanding. Though they weren't aimed at me, I still felt safe.
One day, a woman spoke up with something that almost made my brain collapse.
The woman -more like girl- was new. I hadn't seen her before. She was young -too young even. She looked barely 20 years old -I assume she just looked younger than she actually was -but there was still the air of innocence in her face despite everything that she'd seen.
She said, "Sometimes, I wish I died with my friends because I'm the only one left and it's too lonely."
Her honesty was jarring but no one said anything against it. A woman reached out and caressed the girl's shoulder in a comforting manner and even gave her a tissue when she cried.
I thought that she'd been holding that one in for a long time. Even though she cried, she smiled and thanked Sam after. She looked better.
"More memories of Steve?" Sam spoke up.
I lifted my head just in time to see him shovel noodles into his mouth. I laughed at the sight, he always stuffed his face. I don't think he chews his food enough.
"No," I shake my head and he just nods.
"You look sad," he says after a few moments.
I didn't realize.
"I was remembering things from the VA,"I say honestly and he nods in understanding.
"If it's too much for you, you don't-"
"Not like that." I cut him off and he just waits. It's like he can see that I have more words lined up and ready to spill out. He knows me so well.
"I, have something I want to say... to you," I say the words waiting for alarms in my head to tell me to stop... but there are none.
I remember feeling safe.
He makes me feel safe.
He made the young woman/ girl feel safe when she spoke.
"Sometimes I forget things," I say and he nods with a deadpan look on his face. "Not just from my past but also...from now. Sometimes I forget the people I met and I feel bad so I write things down in my journal. They're not only filled with details of my past," I admit.
It feels like a weight is lifted off of my shoulders.
Sam nods silent and waits a few moments. "So... last week when you seemed a bit surprised to see the boys..."
"It felt like meeting them for the first time," I whisper.
I know that I have them written down but I don't always have the time to check my notes.
"Do you ever forget me," he asks and I freeze.
---
I remember being nervous.
Casper looks me dead in my eyes and asked a question that made the world stop spinning on it's axis. Regardless of the warm weather, everything ran cold.
He said, "Uncle Bucky, do you love uncle Sam?"
Sarah and Sam laughed it off but I couldn't. I couldn't tell why they were laughing. Did they know?
The library shook but not with an earthquake. The shelves filled with details of Sam all lit up in sunlight that I didn't know I had. It was like each of them was calling to me -reasons why I love Sam.
I remembered that one time we were walking in the park and a child noticed him. I found out later that the little guy was autistic but he got so excited to see Sam that he cried. I'd be overwhelmed meeting him for the first time too.
Sam just sat silently and waited for the kid to calm down. He didn't force him into a hug, he made the parent stop apologizing.
He waited 30 minutes -just sitting on the grass until the kid could finally speak.
I loved him because he was good with kids.
The next felt so light in my hands. I knew the feeling, this memory was fleeting and it will be lost from my mind soon after, hopefully, I have it written down in the real world.
Sam liked Marvin Gaye quite a bit and he liked dancing too. He was a terrible dancer. I remember watching him prance around the living room in his underwear and socks just humming the songs.
I couldn't stop myself from laughing then. Not because anything was particularly funny (it was) but because it was nice. Sam laughed when things were nice so I did too.
My heart stopped when he finally started singing and I realized that Sam was an amazing singer. I remember wanting him to sing me to sleep every night but I could never say.
The memory then slipped... it was gone... but I remember the feeling. It felt nice.
"Of course, I do," I manage to slip out past my lips while looking down at the expectant child.
"Yeah me too," he shoots back before he's off on his own accord. Maybe it isn't that serious. Maybe he didn't care what the answer was.
When I look back up, Sarah is already distracted with another activity but Sam is just looking at me with that burning gaze.
He looks like he was trying to read my mind. He can't.
He holds the look reserved for concentrating on fixing the boat. He was bad at it -but he still tried his hardest.
I remember that.
---
I remember some of it.
I didn't give myself much time to think because I knew that I would mess it all up. The library in my head was constantly building itself up and tearing itself down. New memories replaced the older ones. It was a cycle of limited space all being taken up by him and only him. If I couldn't fit it in my head then I'd write in my journals because I didn't want to forget a single thing.
There was another nightmare, it was Sam's this time. I woke up to the sounds of his screaming. He was on the couch in the living room. He always had problems with actually falling asleep on his own bed.
I woke him up.
He hugged me.
He held me tightly to his sweaty body and I didn't move. I let him hug me
I knew who he pretended I was but that didn't stop the way my heart stop and my stomach fluttered with butterflies.
He was holding me so tightly that I could barely breathe but I would gladly give my breath away just to be held like that for longer.
"Samuel," I whispered. He shifted slightly but he didn't pull away."It's okay, you're safe." I soothed with his words.
Maybe he would believe me too -the same way I believed him. I was hoping that if it worked on me then it would work on him.
It did.
He listened to me. I felt like crying when he pulled away from me but I was preoccupied with the feeling that overtook me when he asked me to lay in bed with him.
I don't remember what happened after that, I was never able to write it down. It's useless trying to write it down now, it would mean that I have to move and I don't want to move.
I watch as the hand aimlessly moves along the ridged of Sam's back.
His muscles ripple with each of his breaths. At some point during the night, he started cuddling me the way I suspected he cuddled his pillows. I get to be his pillow.
I couldn't help the small laugh that floated through me. This is a nice thing that I get to laugh it.
"Good morning," Sam's heavy gravely voice fills my ears and I stiffen beneath him. I woke him.
"I've been awake for a while," he speaks as if he can read my mind. He does this all the time. I know that.
I remember that.
"Good morning," I finally release the breath. He shifts off of my torso and cold air rushes between us. I instantly miss his warmth but I don't know how to tell him.
"How did we get back here?"
I turn on the spot to face him. He is now more than a few inches away from me but I'm hyper away of the fact that our legs are still slightly tangled under the covers. I hope he doesn't move.
"I don't remember," I say truthfully.
I try to dig through the archives but there's nothing there.
Imagine walking over to the shelf where you know the book should be and there's just a pile of dust. Imagine hands reaching out to sift through the ashes and only remembering the feeling of a crushing hug that I long to feel again and again.
"Me neither," he nods.
"Sometimes I forget important things," I say. I don't know why I say it but it feels like it fits.
"That's okay," he soothes.
His large hand reaches up and caresses the side of my face and it takes more strength than I'd like to admit to keep my eyes open. It's a soothing sensation that I'd give anything to feel this forever.
"You're important. I hope I never forget you," I admit.
It takes less than an instant for me to wish that the world would open up and swallow me on the spot. I immediately wish that my brain would discard that memory but I feel it being shifted to the untouchable part of the library.
In there, there are only memories that have shaped me. They are the ones that haunt me -good and bad. They are the ones of Steve having a fever and refusing to take medicine, they are the ones of Mrs. Rogers asking me to take care of Steve when she was down. They are like the ones of Becca teaching me how to brush her hair. They are like the ones of Sam making fun of me in good jest.
They are the ones that make my hearts swell and ache for love like it always used to.
"Me too," Sam smiles and all of those terrible feelings are gone.
"I really like you Sam," the flies past my lips.
"I'd hope so. You're in my bed," he shoots back and I can't describe the way my heart bursts. I won't let this one pass me by. I won't forget this one.