Chapter Text
The Asset — no, not that.
… You’re not an asset, Buck.
Then what am I? …
The Bucky sits on the oversized couch, facing the front door and waiting for it to open. Staring at the doorknob for the entire day isn’t the most productive use of his time, and the Bucky knows that, yet he can’t seem to do anything else. After getting commands from a third party for the past years, the natural sense of knowing what to do has disappeared within the Bucky.
And so, he sits. And waits.
The Bucky’s left leg bounces up and down, tapping and tapping and tapping. It’s a habit that he picked up after he left Hydra; his brain kept on yelling at him to move it. At first, the Bucky ignored his brain’s yells, for that’s what he was trained to do. But now there’s nobody here to enforce it; so, he listens to his brain and allows himself to bounce his leg up and down and up and down. The Bucky doesn’t quite know why his brain is and was yelling at him to do it, but the simple action somehow makes his nerves less tense, which is a small victory that the Bucky will take. The same effect with his nerves happens when he bites the inside of his cheeks until they are raw, pries at his nailbeds until they bleed, and pulls out his hair until there’s a small bald spot present. He has learned, however, that, despite those things doing a phenomenal job at quieting his brain and lessening his anxieties for a quick moment, they are not good, at least according to the few people who see him do it. The Bucky doesn’t quite know what Steve Rogers would think about the biting and prying and pulling, for he never does it in front of the man. For some reason, his brain doesn’t yell as much when he’s around the man, so there’s no need for the actions.
It’s when the Bucky is waiting for the man to enter the door to the apartment that his brain does a lot of yelling. And despite knowing that it’s not good, the Bucky’s inner cheek and one nailbed are bleeding. He’s yet to move onto the hair-pulling because the thing that the Bucky does know is that Steve Rogers likes his hair.
… Your longer hair is different, Buck. I like it. …
The Bucky doesn’t quite remember his hair ever being different, but he’ll take Steve Rogers’ word for it. There’s quite a lot that the Bucky doesn’t remember, actually. Even the period of time controlled by Hydra is blurry. And so, he has to trust something or someone to tell him his correct past. His true past. The Bucky doesn’t believe a lot of what he hears about what he used to be, but whenever the man tells him something, he believes it and accepts it as truth.
The Bucky doesn’t quite know why he’s so prone to accepting Steve Rogers’ tales of the past, but he’s learned to pinpoint it on two reasons. Firstly, photographic evidence from the past shows that they were familiar with each other then. It makes logical sense that the man would then know the truth of the Bucky’s history. Secondly, Steve Rogers was the sole person able to waken the Bucky out of his Hydra brainwash, meaning the man must have some significance.
And then there’s a third reason that Bucky chooses to ignore because if he dives too much into it, his brain yells louder and louder and he begins to see too much white and black and red and he hears screams and shouts and gunshots. But it’s a reason, nonetheless. Because, thirdly, the Bucky might not remember a lot, but he remembers a few things that somehow weren’t completely wiped by Hydra.
And every single one is about Steve Rogers. Every single one is about Stevie.
Even just thinking of this ignored third reason is enough for his brain to yell louder, prompting the Bucky to use his metal arm and start to pry at another nailbed. The weak scabs are quick work, a small droplet of blood forming where the nail meets skin, the voice accepting the sacrifice and becoming a little quieter.
What time is it?
The Bucky could look over at one of the many clocks in the room. He knows there’s one to his right, two to his left, and one more behind him. In fact, the first time he stepped into this apartment he had it memorized, as Hydra replaced the Bucky’s ability to recall personal memories with the ability to memorize building layouts and many other important mission information instantly. Regardless, the Bucky knows there are many clocks in which he could refer to, but instead, he continues to stare at the door.
For one, the Bucky has an enhanced internal clock, and after looking at the clock this morning after waking up, he’s been tracking in increments of five minutes. He’s currently approaching the 132nd increment, meaning it must be close to 1600. It works like a little tally in the back of his mind, constantly running, unable to turn off. The Bucky can ignore it, mostly, only having to acknowledge it when he wants an estimate to the time. So, with this internal clock, there’s not much need to look at an actual clock.
For two, the Bucky doesn’t want to miss the man coming in. It could be any second now. 1600. Steve Rogers said he’ll be back at 1600 today. Well, really, he said he would be back at 4:00, but the Bucky converted it in his head. Any second now.
Steve Rogers will come back, right?
The man will come back, right?
The Bucky’s brain begins to yell louder; the Bucky picks at another nailbed, moving his teeth to bite at a farther back place in his inner checks.
Steve Rogers has to come back.
Why must he come back? Why. Why?
Because he has too. And he will. He always does.
… Always, Bucky. I’ll always come back, Buck. Till the end of the line. …
Yes, yes. The man said he would always come back, and the man doesn’t lie. But what if this is the end of the line. What if. What if?
Any second, now. Any second.
The Bucky’s leg begins to bounce even faster, up and down and up and down, and his internal clock ticks onto the 132nd increment. It’s 1600. There is no Steve Rogers. There is no the man.
That’s okay. The Bucky has learned to give Steve Rogers two increments of lax. He has until the 134thincrement to open the door Bucky has been staring out since the man left.
If he’s not back by the 134th increment, the Bucky will do what he has to do. Steve Rogers didn’t lie when he said, “You’re not an asset, Buck.” It was true, and the Bucky knows it. Right now, waiting for the man to enter to apartment, the Bucky is not an asset.
But if Steve Rogers doesn’t enter by the 134th increment. The Bucky will become the Asset, because the Asset can find the man quite easily and efficiently. Much more efficient that the Bucky with his yelling brain and flood of memories when he so much as thinks about Steve Rogers and his shared past.
2 increments, and then it will start.
The Bucky’s brain yells louder and louder, and cheek biting and nailbed pulling don’t seem to be helping. The leg bouncing doesn’t even help. He supposes he could move onto pulling out hair, but the Bucky doesn’t think that will work and he doesn’t want to ruin the one thing he knows Steve Rogers likes about him.
So, he’ll just have to tell the voice to shut up. The voice doesn’t listen. Stupid voice. Stupid, stupid voice.
133rd increment ticks in the Bucky’s head, like that toaster that Steve Rogers uses. Bucky doesn’t quite understand the reason behind the gadget; bread is bread is toast is toast. But Steve Rogers likes it. Perhaps the Bucky is like the toaster, to Steve Rogers, at least.
Then there’s slight movement to the doorknob, and before the Bucky can try to tell his brain to shut up any longer, the man is walking into the apartment and the 134th increment dings. No the Asset today. That’s good. Steve Rogers likes the Bucky much more than the Asset. The Bucky is beginning to feel the same way as well.
“Hey, Buck,” the man says stepping inside, letting the door close shut behind him. The Bucky darts his eyes from the doorknob to the man’s eyes. Deep blue, like always. And, like always, the man is going to ask the same question. No matter if the Bucky tells the truth or speaks an elaborate lie, Steve Rogers somehow knows what actually happened. The Bucky can pick it up in the tone of his voice. “What did you do today?”
What did the Bucky do today? Wake up. Toilet. Cold Shower. Teeth. Hair. Clothes. Breakfast. Goodbye. Wait.
… Buck, you can do whatever you want now. Pick up a hobby or something. We can try some stuff together, sometime. …
Yes, yes, the Bucky can do whatever he wants, but he wants nothing more than to wait for Steve Rogers the whole day. Really, it’s all his body will allow him to do. But it also seems that the man wants the Bucky to do more than wait. It’s a tight predicament.
“Sit here and wait,” the Bucky replies, his voice serious, lacking emotion. He could have lied; he could have said he went fishing or shopping or anything. In fact, the Bucky is quite good at lying; it’s yet another Hydra skill. But, no, the Bucky may be good at it, but he doesn’t like it. Especially not to Steve.
“Aw, Buck,” the man responds, walking further into the apartment to where the Bucky is sitting. He enjoys that the distance between them is closing. “I know they say you’re not technically allowed to leave the apartment by yourself, but if that’s the thing stopping you, don’t let it. Rules and laws never stopped us before, and I can cover for you,” Steve Rogers continues, now sitting on the couch next to the Bucky.
“There’s no need for me to leave,” he says, monotonous.
“There’s a difference between need and want,” the man adds, hints of care creeping into his voice as always. The Bucky turns to look at him, prompting Steve Rogers to continue. “It’s like… I need food in general to survive. But I could want spaghetti or a burger or ice cream. Ya used to always want those Coney Dogs whenever we went down to Coney Island. That’s something you can want. You’re allowed to want things, Buck. And anything that you want, I’ll give to you.”
“What do you want?”
“What I want doesn’t matter. You have to want things for yourself.”
The Bucky supposes that he wants to get his memories back, but there’s also a part of him that thinks that having them gone is a good thing. Steve Rogers remembers, and those memories pain him. Perhaps it is a good thing that the Bucky has forgotten.
The Bucky also wants his brain to stop yelling for once. Just a little bit a of peace and quit. But that’s not something that Steve Rogers can help with, so why burden the man with information.
And there’s one more want that is mostly about that third ignored reason. So, the Bucky can’t think too much about that one.
“I want a Coney Dog,” the Bucky says after an elongated silence between the two of them. “You said I liked them, and I trust you.”
The man smiles. “Let’s go.”
//
The public is always an interesting place for the Bucky to be in. Stares. There are a lot of stares. And it’s not as if the Bucky really cares about what random people passing on the street think, it’s still a weird feeling to be constantly looked at. For the first two weeks of time between pulling the man out of the water and moving into the man’s apartment, out of a total of four, the Bucky would go out in public with his metal arm showing. For the past years, that was normal, as the Asset was supposed to incite fear inside whomever saw him. But in regular public situations, all it attracted was lots of stares.
And some questions by small children that still hold a certain innocence and intrigue for the world. Actually, thinking about it, the Bucky enjoyed the children’s questions despite not enjoying the stares. The questions made the metal extremity out to be something interesting and unique, while the stares made the Bucky feel weird and gross.
… Mommy look! That man has a metal arm! …
… Be nice, Tommy. No don’t— …
… Mister, why do you have a metal arm? …
… I took a bad fall and lost my original arm. Now I have this. …
… Woah! That’s so cool. Mommy, I want a metal arm when I grow up. …
… Thank you for being kind to my son; he sometimes doesn’t know when to stop. …
The Bucky doesn’t hear the words thank you being said to him a lot. He enjoys it though; he definitely enjoys it. Regardless, the stares eventually won the battle over the questions, and the Bucky began to wear jackets and gloves, even during the peak of summer.
No, no, that’s a lie. There was one time he took off the leather jacket in public. It was on the third week of the in-between, the term that the Bucky uses to mean between the water pull out and moving in. There was a girl; thirteen, in the Bucky’s estimation. She also had something else instead of her left arm, and the Bucky saw that. The Bucky also saw a group of girls the same age standing around her, pointing, laughing. That reminded the Bucky of something from a long time ago, that he can’t quite remember. Regardless, the Bucky has a hard time with his own emotional evaluation as Hydra took his emotions away, but they never took away his ability to sense others’. And the Bucky sensed the girl with the not-arm’s emotions were unwell. So, he walked over.
“Hello,” he said. All the girls who were laughing stopped and turned to face him. “Are you bothering this girl?” They remained silent. The Bucky unzipped his jacket and tossed it onto the ground. “I also have an arm that is not an arm,” he added, as the metal begin to calibrate being out in the open, some slices moving up and down. The metal arm must still be able to strike fear, all the girls except the not-arm girl running away without looking back.
“Th-thank you,” the not-arm girl said, wiping a tear that was falling out of her eye.
“Do you need help?” the Bucky responded. That was something he was supposed to say in this situation, right? It had to be, but he hadn’t asked anybody if they needed help for a very long time.
“Those girls made me give them my bus money. I, uh, don’t have a way home.”
“Here,” the Bucky said, reaching into his pocket with his metal arm, pulling out a roll of bills which he had stolen. That’s another story. The Bucky placed the money into the girl’s hand forcing a smile onto his face. “Is that enough for a bus?”
“Woah, thank you,” the girl responded, eyes going wide. “This is way too much, I—”
“I don’t need it. You need it.”
“Dude, this is like more than a thousand dollars,” she responded, but the Bucky was already gone.
He didn’t realize it at that certain moment, but that was the first time the Bucky had truly felt like the Bucky, not the Asset, since World War Two.
Regardless, that was the only time he went took off his jacket in public after he first started wearing the jacket that he stole from a place called Nordstrom, two weeks into the in-between.
Today, however, he’s in the public with his jacket and he’s still receiving a lot of stares. Not because of him, but because the Bucky is walking with a worldwide celebrity. The man’s hat and sunglasses aren’t enough to cover up the fact he’s Captain America. Nobody recognizes the Bucky out in public because the Bucky is supposed to be dead.
“Captain America!” this little boy yells who wears a shirt with Steve Rogers’ face on it. Now, that’s weird.
“Why hello there, little soldier,” Steve Rogers replies in a cheerful voice. The little boy says some nonsense, then the mother of the little boy takes a photo of the two of them together before they walk away. “Sorry about that, Buck,” Steve Rogers says after a little bit.
“No need to be sorry,” the Bucky responds, genuinely. “Were you always a celebrity?” The man laughs lightly.
“Not until I became Captain America. Before that I think I was the opposite,” Steve Rogers says with a smile, turning over to look at the Bucky’s face, seeming to be reminiscing on something. “Hey look, we’re here.” He points to a small cart a few feet away. They walk up to the man running the stand, Steve Rogers then asking for two coney dogs and two cokes. The worker recognizes Captain America and his low voice and American smile and says that it’s on the house. Steve Rogers insists on paying, placing a twenty onto the cart before thanking the man and turning around. The Bucky forces out a smile before following Steve Rogers.
The man directs the Bucky and himself to a bench that overlooks the water, Ferris Wheel turning in the background, sea breeze blowing onto each of the men’s faces. The Bucky’s hair is long enough to put into a small bun at this point, the wind unable to knock any of his bangs into his face due to the knot. The Bucky has considered getting it cut, but he doesn’t want somebody to come near him with scissors. Steve Rogers’ hair is short enough that even when the wind blows it, the hair doesn’t become a bother.
“Let’s see if this strikes up any memories,” the man says with a smile, cracking open the soda can, a light hiss releasing. The Bucky does the same, thinking that doing the same things that Steve Rogers is doing is a sure-fire way to not mess anything up. Steve Rogers catches the Bucky looking at him, smiling in response. They both take a bite at the same time, the flavors hitting the Bucky’s palate like music. It’s good. It tastes good. This is the first item of food that Bucky hasn’t eaten for purely dietary reasons in a long time.
“I like it,” he says after finishing the first bite, and going in for another one. Before Steve Rogers can react, the Bucky’s Coney Dog has disappeared.
“Damn, Buck,” the man laughs. “You ate that even faster than you used to, and you used to eat them fast.”
“It was good.”
“You want another? Cause you’re not getting mine.”
The Bucky nods, Steve Rogers handing him money out of his pocket right away. By the time thirty minutes or six increments pass, eight more Coney Dogs have come and gone. The weirdest aspect, however, more than how good the Coney Dogs taste is how the fact the Bucky is eating them makes Steve Rogers exceptionally happy. Since he moved in a week ago, the Bucky has never seen the man this joyful.
The Bucky needs to eat more Coney Dogs it seems.