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Even with the long wake of bodies in his trail, the Winter Soldier program was never a well-operating system.
Starting with the Super Solider serum, then the torture and brainwashing of an enemy solider during the second world war even with Hydra’s more sophisticated scientific methods, plus the repeat visits into a frozen state…well sometimes it didn’t all work smoothly.
Bucky didn’t like to think of the many years that had gone by while they first figured out how to make him tick. He couldn’t remember too much of those early years, only a flash here and there, a face, a gunshot…blood. He suspected there was so much pain, that his brain along with Hydra’s conditioning wiped it clean from his memory. Probably for the best.
After seeing what he now knew was Steve on the bridge, the blips started appearing more frequently. A flash of a pattern, someone’s laughter, or the scratch of the needle on a record was all that it took to break his concentration from his mission, his orders. His gut felt like it was being twisted, yanked and pulled in all directions.
At first, Bucky thought he was sick, or maybe he had been wounded and not noticed. He reported the malfunction immediately to his handlers, concerned about what it meant. But even though Hydra only increased their attempts at wiping him, the more the blips continued. He would feel the sensation of arms wrapped around his shoulders, the smell of freshly made pancakes floating through the air, and the sound of a bluesy trumpet, and his gut continued to ache.
It wasn’t until Bucky pulled Steve out of the Hudson that he realized he had been wrong about all the possible reasons. It wasn’t because he was sick. Or wounded. Or malfunctioning and needed to be re-programmed.
That pain in his stomach, the gut-wrenching ache; it was longing. It was his memories, ones that he thought were long gone. And once he realized it, they wouldn’t stop coming.
The pattern was little blue and white flowers, all over a darker blue background. It was the pattern of his mother’s dress that also ended up being made into two smaller dresses for his younger sisters. It was a hot, dingy motel in the middle of Louisiana that Bucky briefly thought that maybe his sisters had handed them down to their kids and spent the rest of the night huddled over the toilet in response, unable to bring himself to look up whether or not he had become an uncle.
The laughter, that had been his first girlfriend, or what he had thought was his first girlfriend, Bucky ending it quickly after seeing her make out in the alleyway with another girl. Mary, Bucky thought her name was, but it had been some time ago. He might have that one wrong. He never told no one though. Nope. Queers had to stick together after all.
The arms, that was likely his mom, or maybe his sisters. They had all been huggers. Bucky could remember squirming, trying to duck out of them, or sneak out of the house. Little did he know then how much he would miss those hugs and their warmth.
Bucky was very grateful that his mind had remembered the time that Steve made edible pancakes, and not all the sad attempts before.
He could remember fanning the smoke out of Steve’s small apartment with a tea towel as the pancakes turned to char on the stove, not wanting it to linger any longer and worsen Steve’s asthma. They still ate them that night, cutting off the bottoms that were stuck on the pan, covering them with the tiny bit of maple syrup that Bucky had managed to steal from one of the bullies at school. He couldn’t eat anything maple-flavoured these days though, too sweet.
It took a bit longer to piece together the record player, and that smooth and occasionally raspy sound of a trumpet that kept repeating a familiar tune.
Bucky thought it might have been from one of the bars that they frequented during the war, but any memories of those times were layered with the loud, boisterous sounds of his men. No, this had been quieter, more intimate. But anytime he tried to think of the memory too hard, it would slip from his hands, ever elusive.
Was his mind protecting him? Was it something he wasn’t supposed to remember?
Then the world went to hell and frankly, Bucky didn’t have time to chase down any elusive memories.
But now, as he offered his elbow out to Matt, the two of them about to enter a gala being hosted in memory of the victims of the recent shooting, Bucky heard that familiar scratch of a needle along a record, and everything came rushing back.
His mind had been protecting him, even though it no longer had to.
It had been right before the war, Bucky due to ship off at the end of that week. He and Steve had been inseparable, squeezing in all the time that they could before Bucky left.
The last night, emboldened by some extra liquid courage, Bucky and Steve had finally ventured to that saloon that everyone was talking about; a place where no one asked questions, no one told their real names, and no one cared who anyone danced with.
Sensing that something was wrong, Matt gently squeezed Bucky’s arm, pulling him to the side. Bucky was fairly certain that Matt said something, but he was too lost in the memory.
The saloon had been dark, a haze of smoke helping to hide people’s faces, and while both had been hesitant at first, it had been Bucky that stood up first, offering his hand and pulling Steve out on the dance floor. They spent the rest of the night on the dance floor, laughing and talking, while never letting go of each other’s hands.
The night had ended with that song playing, Steve’s head tucked into the crook of his neck, and everything, just everything had been perfect.
Bucky could feel the wetness on his cheeks, tears tumbling down his face, but they weren’t of sadness, but of happiness.
“Are you okay, Bucky?” Matt asked, a bit louder this time, as though Bucky hadn’t heard him the first time, which was probably the case.
Bucky nodded, looking up at Matt who was still staring at him with a concerned look on his face. He pulled Matt in tight for a hug (he was now a proud supporter of the Barnes Family hugging traditions), taking a minute to just breathe, letting his partner’s warmth and care seep into his bones.
Bucky let go with a small sigh, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, before offering his arm again to Matt, indicating that they should get a move on. Matt only hesitated for a moment, before smiling, placing his hand in the crease of Bucky’s elbow, squeezing gently as he let Bucky lead him into the room, then letting Bucky pull him out onto the dance floor.
Bucky had a lot of missed dancing to make up for after all.