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When Bucky’s trial was over and done, and he’d been pardoned for the crimes that weren’t his, Steve brought him back to Avengers Tower, where his friend promptly slept for about a week.
Tony came by looking for a fight, only to find Steve in the kitchen with Bucky huddled up in his duvet, hair tousled and eyes heavy. “Well,” the engineer said easily. “You look like shit.”
In return, Bucky flipped him off, and a crass sort of kinship began.
In the beginning, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The first indication came when Tony was checking the arm. Steve was seated not far away from the workbench Bucky was perched on. “Does this hurt?” Tony asked, poking something in the prosthesis.
“да.”
Both Steve and Tony’s heads whipped up. Bucky was looking at Tony with a blank expression. He’d wear that from time to time, cool from emotion, always quiet.
The brief Russian unnerved Steve. “Hey bud?” he asked. “You alright?”
“да, Капитан.”
“Uh…” Tony quickly glanced at Steve. “Can – can you repeat that in English?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony pulled a frankly ridiculous face. He and Steve stared at each other, silently communicating. There was the “sir”, which Bucky’d dropped a few weeks ago after daily therapy for months. But the Russian accent was new.
One of his therapists, Dr. Greene, specialized in behaviorism, was called for an emergency session. She came into the living room where Bucky was usually more relaxed, but he looked on edge, sneering at her despite haven taken a liking to her. His posture was ramrod-straight, jaw clenched, movements almost militaristic.
Steve waited just outside, ready to jump in if anything went awry.
About an hour later, she opened the door. “I’d like to come back tomorrow,” she said with a professional smile.
“Is he regressing?” Steve asked, wringing his hands.
Dr. Greene took a deep breath, considering her words. “I don’t think so. But there is something I’d like to investigate, and it’ll take a few sessions to sort out – unless he’s more willing to talk than today.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“He… said enough.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Captain Rogers. I’ll be back tomorrow at 1 pm.”
For the next four weeks, along with the other therapists he saw, Dr. Greene showed up every day at 1 pm, sitting with Bucky for an hour or two, and leaving without saying much to Steve. Bucky’s mood swings gradually got more extreme: Some days, he’d be stoic and barely show a single emotion, and others, he’d start bawling at next to nothing. Some days felt almost like back in the day, with Bucky sassing him and being a flirt.
Steve liked those days the best.
Finally, something changed.
Dr. Greene came out as usual, but this time, with Bucky in tow. He looked small, almost hiding behind her, looking down. “Captain?” she said calmly. “We’d like you to join us. Bucky has something to share.”
Steve didn’t hesitate to follow. He sat on the couch, and it didn’t go unnoticed how Bucky sat as far away as possible, wrapped in the blanket he favored on bad days.
“Steve,” Dr. Greene started. “Is it alright if I call you that here?” He nodded. Anything, if it made Bucky more comfortable. “Thank you. Bucky and I have discussed a wide array of possibilities, and we’ve come to a diagnosis.”
“A diagnosis?” Steve’s brow furrowed. “He’s already diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, depression –“
“A person can have multiple diagnosis,” Dr. Greene gently interrupted.
A quick glance towards Bucky made Steve realize how he’d shrunken in on himself. Oh, he was an idiot… Of course, it would make him self-conscious. “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.
“Anyways.” Dr. Greene looked at Bucky. “Bucky, would you?”
He jaggedly shook his head. “You.” It was a choked-out word. Steve couldn’t imagine what was so bad he couldn’t tell him himself.
Dr. Greene nodded. “I’m diagnosing Bucky with Dissociative Identity Disorder, also known as D.I.D. – do you know what that is, Steve?” Steve shook his head, and she offered a neutral smile. “DID used to be known as multiple personality disorder. It’s relatively rare, depending on which study you look at, and it usually forms in adolescence and is caused by intense trauma – but, given what Bucky’s been through, and all the manipulation done to his mind, I’m not even slightly surprised by the appearance of multiple personalities.”
Steve gaped. Multiple – the fuck? “The fuck?”
Dr. Greene winced, just barely. “I have to ask you to refrain from such language, Steve. Bucky is still the same person you’ve always known –“
“Plus a few extra,” Bucky said dryly.
Dr. Greene chuckled, as if this wasn’t a huge deal. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few of the other personalities, usually referred to as alters, during our sessions these past weeks.”
Steve moved on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable for a whole new reason. He carefully looked at Bucky. “Why haven’t I?”
Bucky gulped and rubbed his neck. “You, uh…” For just the briefest of moments, his eyes flittered to meet Steve’s. “You have. They – we – uh… were, are, afraid you’d be… mad.” He huffed out a breath, resting his forehead on his knees. “I don’t wanna be insane.”
“You’re not insane, Bucky.”
“With all due respect, Doctor,” Bucky said with a tone as if they’d had this conversation a million times before, “I’m fucking nuts.”
She sighed, but didn’t look upset. “Bucky has been nervous of how you’d react to his alters. Bucky is the host – which is to say, the person in the system, the system being the whole group, whose name is on all of their legal documents. Because DID usually forms in childhood, there usually isn’t a single personality that’s the real person. But, Bucky being quite a unique case, he might be.”
“Or one of the others are,” he grumbled, half-hidden in his arms.
Dr. Greene hummed. “That could be. Nevertheless, there is no cure for DID. Again, it’s a very unique case, some alters might disappear with time, but neither of you should go with the hope of all of them merging into one. DID is a survival mechanism that changes the mind on an unfathomably deep level.”
Silence fell over the living room. Bucky was staring into nothing. Dr. Greene looked between them, quietly waiting.
It was Steve’s turn to speak: “You said I’ve… already met some of the, uh… the others?”
A tired smile made Bucky chuckle. “Yeah… Soldier, Asset, James… You really like James, you dick.”
“Ja- - what?”
“James’ the one who act like everything’s normal.”
“Oh… So… you’re…?”
Bucky sighed. He leaned back, perhaps eased by Steve’s open curiosity, and looked him in the eyes. “I’m the depressed mess of a human being that actually knows how fucked up we are.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry… I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Steve – i-if you don’t want me, us, fuck! If you don’t want me here, it’s ok, I’ll –“
“Woah, woah, Bucky!” Steve shook his head. “Why wouldn’t I want you here?”
Bucky wet his lips and glanced uncertainly at Dr. Greene. “Uhm… Dr. Greene and I agreed that… I need to let the others f-front. They’ve, uh… been pretending to be me so you, and the others in the Tower, won’t get upset, and, well… They’re not all… appropriate.”
Steve opened his mouth but closed it again with an uneasy expression. “You said the Asset was one of them. If he’s been, uh… What was it again?”
“It’s commonly referred to as fronting,” Dr. Greene supplied.
“Okay, well… If he’s been fronting, and I haven’t noticed… How much worse can it get?”
Bucky laughed, but it held no humor. “Well… There’s the Little.”
Steve leaned a bit forward, sure he’d misheard. “The… The what?”
“Most people with DID have what’s called Littles,” Dr. Greene said when Bucky shrunk into his blanket. “They’re usually more active in people who went through trauma at the age the little presents as, but they can vary in age. Bucky does have a little, though – Jamie, right?”
Bucky nodded, just slightly.
“Littles can be a handful. A lot of carers need time to adjust and learn how to take care of them. It’s a vulnerable state, the mind going back to a state that feels safer, more dependent.” Dr. Greene opened her sleek bag and pulled out a book and some folders. “I brought these for the two of you – especially for you, Steve.”
“Will…” Steve swallowed and looked at Bucky, fidgeting with his hands. “Will you be okay?”
“Nothing’s gonna change,” Bucky mumbled. “I can take care of myself, so can most of the others, I think… They just have their… quirks. The little is the only one who needs a carer, really.”
“By allowing the others to front,” Dr. Greene said, “the whole system will, hopefully, be more relaxed, and it’ll be easier to work through the trauma. Bucky and the system are one whole being, and they need to be able to work together to live a good, happy life.”
“So, Stevie…” Bucky offered him a smile that looked, quite frankly, exhausted. “You wanna be my carer?”
Steve blinked. When it came to Bucky, he didn’t even have to answer. Of course he would.