The Diaries of Bucky Barnes

"This young soldier was writing about war, but not only that. No, the most remarkable extracts from his diaries are the ones about emotions; those passages in which he writes about loss and pain and loyalty and love."
When Bucky Barnes’ diaries are leaked in the 70s, reactions vary from one thing to another, even decades later.

Notes:

Things I have learned while writing this: although I would protect Bucky with my life, I love to throw angst and pain at him, I’d be terrible at writing Buzzfeed articles and get distracted VERY easily by Buzzfeed, I love angst too much, and research and editing sucks.
Thanks to all the angsty war-era stevebucky fics that inspired this; the biggest thanks to my beta reader (is that what ppl still call it?) Rehma who is slightly too good at writing fake buzzfeed articles and without who I'd never get around to finish writing a fic; thanks to Max for assuring me that this is angsty enough to make them emotional; and thanks to Sadaf for kicking my long sentences loving ass.
enjoy!!!!!!!!!
(edit as of 2020: altho i planned to write more & make this a series, that unfortunately won't happen as i don't really write in this fandom anymore, but i still see every comment & they make me very happy & i hope people still enjoy this piece)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The War Diaries of James Buchanan Barnes

by Karen Page

In the years 1943 to ’45 a young American soldier was writing in the midst of a war, writing something that would decades later become one of the most discussed and controversial pieces of literature in all of American history – perhaps even in the history of the world. This young soldier was writing about war, but not only that. No, the most remarkable extracts from his diaries are the ones about emotions; those passages in which he writes about loss and pain and loyalty and love. And his love is, to this day, one of the most ground-breaking discoveries in all of LGBT+ history. But this was not a fictional love story, it was real. This young soldier’s sexuality may have been discussed many times – bisexual, gay, pansexual? – but one thing he was certainly not: straight.

Ever since James Barnes’ diaries were leaked in the 70s, he has been a hero of LGBT+ youth. Despite desperate attempts at censoring them, Charles Xavier leaked all of the diary entries. Although he is not a traditional hero anymore, this man has been praised by millions.This is not the kind of man that could usually be described as a hero, a role model, to LGBT+ people. His diaries, that openly describe his love for Steve Rogers, known to us all as Captain America, have become a symbol for not only the struggles, but also the emotions of closeted LGBT+ youth. And though people have tried to take this away, be it by bashing Barnes or denying his sexuality, they have never succeeded. Because this we know: the moment LGBT+ people read these diaries, they knew exactly how Barnes felt because they had all felt the same things before.

Barnes’ diaries do not only describe the emotional state of a young queer man in the 40s, they also give us an insight into the mind of a man marked and scarred by the terrors of war and a severe trauma, the effects of which he suffered until his early death. James Barnes gives us not only an insight into the struggles of young, closeted LGBT+ people, he also gives insight into the mind of people with mental illnesses, scared of their own minds, something that is just as important, but often overlooked. Barnes’ life may have been very different from ours, but the struggles and emotions described in his diaries are still very real to many people today, as is the ignorance of the majority of society of these issues.

In the past few decades, Barnes’ diaries have been met with many different reactions – both positive and negative. But their overall impact on people, especially young adults, has been undeniably positive and prompted many to take action in their causes to honor him. […]

[Karen Page, “The War Diaries of James Buchanan Barnes”, New York Bulletin, July 2015]

They told me to start writing down ~~what I feel~~ what happened in that lab and how I feel about it, the doctors who assessed me. Said it would maybe help me recover, as I refused to leave and go back to America. Home. So here goes, I guess. I’m not much of a writer, but they gave me a notebook and everything and it would feel like a waste not to use it. Besides, there’s a lot of things I never tell anyone and don’t intend to. Maybe it’s good to write them down.

Truth is, I’m really fucking scared of writing about what happened in that lab, because I’m still terrified that I’ll wake up back there on that table to see Zola nodding contently, writing down notes and saying ‘How did that feel, Sergeant Barnes?’ and I’ll wish I was finally dead.

There’s two things that stand out though, when I try to remember. The pain and the darkness. God, that sounds so melodramatic. But it’s not, not really. By darkness, I don’t mean the lack of light. No, there was light, at least I think there was. But I felt like I was being swallowed up by an ocean, a deep ice-cold dark ocean. I’m not good at metaphors, that’s the best I can do. It felt exactly like drowning, when a current catches you and you’re struggling to come up for air and you can’t tell what's up and what's down. Except it wasn’t water I was drowning in, of course, it was darkness and – I don’t know how to say this, really. I was losing myself. I tried to stay awake best as I could because I was terrified of what was waiting for me down there, in that darkness. I knew it would not be anything good. I kept repeating everything I couldn’t lose in my head, every memory and every name and every day, but after a while all there was left was ‘James Barnes Sergeant 32557038’. Everything else had started to become blurry and too difficult to remember. It all came back once I was out of there, thank God, but I think if ~~I hadn’t~~ Steve hadn’t rescued me, I might have stopped remembering anything at all. It’s fucking scary to think of, that I was so close to losing everything I am.

I’m not sure if that was worse, or if it was the pain. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before. God knows I can handle a lot– life and Basic proved that. But this was on a whole other level. If the darkness had been like an ocean, the pain was like fire. A real fucking hot, searing fire. The sort of pain that burns through your veins and all you can think is ‘oh God I’m burning I’m dying I’m burning alive and there’s nothing I can do to stop it’ and you think you must actually be on fire, that your body must look like a fucking bonfire, but of course it doesn’t. Not that you can know that, because that fire is so painful it blinds all your senses. You have no idea what’s going on outside of your mind, you can’t even feel your own body. You have no idea what’s happening, you don’t know if you’re screaming, or if you’re thrashing and trying to escape, or if you’re completely still while you’re burning out. You don’t notice any other people or know where you are. It’s all-encompassing, that fire, that pain. And when you come out of it, after who knows how long, you thank God and all the fucking angels because nothing feels more relieving than when it stops. And when they inject you again with whatever brings that fire, it’s even worse than you remember.

All of this isn’t even the worst thing about this though. Worst is, I don’t regret what I did that got me strapped to that table.

When we were captured somewhere in Austria (I think it was Austria, I honestly don’t ever fucking know where we really are, it’s not important to us) and they put us to work in that factory – a weapons factory of sorts. When that happened, we all knew what to do and that is: stay low, don’t draw attention to yourself unless you’re keen on being turned into a fucking punching bag for Nazis. I'm good at that, always have been. If I don’t want to be noticed, I won’t be. But then there’d been that kid, a volunteer, couldn’t have been older than 17 (probably lied on his enlistment forms like the idealistic idiot he was), skinny and small. The first few nights he kept talking about war heroes and the future and how we’re gonna win the war and fucking Captain America (God, if only I’d known then). He annoyed the shit out of everyone, but mostly we pitied him because we knew his ideals and dreams would be drained out by the war eventually. I knew that kind of person, a kid too determined and hopeful for his own good. I’ve dedicated most of my life to protecting one of them. So that day, when he dropped from exhaustion and they kicked and beat and punched and hurt him, I couldn’t stand to watch it. Usually, everyone ignored that kinda stuff, it’s no use trying to help. The only thing that happens it that they take you away the next day, as they do with all the troublemakers – and no one came back from wherever that is. I wish I could say I don’t know what got into me, but I knew exactly what that was. That kid reminded me of Steve and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s protecting Steve. I don’t really remember much of the fight, but I do remember what I was thinking when they took me away the next morning. I should’ve been terrified or angry, but all that was on my mind was the hope that somewhere another scrawny little guy with more determination and fight than is good for him smiled and was proud of what I'd done. Of course he didn’t know, and I didn’t want him to, except that, God, somewhere in my heart I did. I always hope that Steve is proud of me, no matter what, even though i know he has no reason to be. It’s one of my many flaws. I’m no good man, but he makes me want to try to be one.

When he rescued me, I didn’t think it was real at first. It felt like a dream, one of those I had in the lab that would turn into a nightmare as soon as I woke up and realised I was still strapped to that table. It’s like…the nightmares I had there, and the ones I still have, they’re like the ones I’d get when we were ten and stayed up too late reading vampire stories, and woke up shaking from fear. I was so fucking scared then, I woke up and didn’t know where I was, convinced vampires had taken me. It’s like that, only a thousand times worse, because it’s real. The nightmares are real, and when I wake up, I don’t know if I really am awake or if I’m still on that table. It happened so often there: I’d think it’s all just a nightmare and convince myself I’d wake up in some trench or army base or even our little Brooklyn home. But of course it wasn’t like that, it was more real than anything.

So when Steve came for me, I didn’t trust it to be real at first. Thought they’d found a new way to torture me, in some twisted and sick way. Took me until we were out of that base and on the clearing to fully realise. By then I’d also realised that he had changed and, well, that didn’t feel so great either. Suddenly Steve wasn’t scrawny spitfire skinny Steve anymore, getting into fights and needing me to save his pretty ass. Now he doesn’t need me anymore, and that’s an ache that I don’t think will ever leave. He can take care of his fights himself, so of course he decided to take on the biggest fight he could find – the war. I wish he’d stayed back in Brooklyn, even if that means he’d still be sick and weak, even if that means he’d still be struggling up the stairs, trying to hide his coughing from me, even if that means he’d be miles away when I get killed in this god damn war. I’d prefer that, actually. I’m so damn scared of dying without him, but it’s better than him seeing me die. Not that I would ever tell him, or anyone. It’s one of the many secrets I’ll take to my grave.

sgtbarnes:

i know bucky barnes has been dead for years but i just want to wrap him up in blankets and give him hot chocolate and cuddles and tell him it’s gonna be okay because god that man deserved so much better

xmens:

          “i’m no good man, but he makes me want to try to be one” always makes me cry because no bucky don’t degrade urself like that ur amazing and a great man

           sgtbarnes:

   that entire diary entry makes me cry and want to punch zola like honestly how can you do something like that to a person how cruel do you have to be??

I’d never believed in heaven or hell. Not before – before I was Zola’s guinea pig, before Steve rescued me. But now I know better. Certainly, that lab had been hell and Zola is the devil himself. That pain, burning like the fire of war and destruction and rage, that fire that keeps me up most nights now, that’s hell’s fire. But heaven, heaven is emerging from the deep-cold sea and seeing Steve’s face. Heaven is waking up and realising he’s fought his way through that Hydra base just for you. Heaven is knowing he will never desert you. If Zola is the devil, Steve must be an angel sent from heaven. I know pastors and nuns everywhere would whack me over the head for saying that because how can a simple human be one of God’s angels? But I’d tell them, I’d tell them: I know heaven and I know hell because I have seen both and if Steve isn’t one of His angels, then there are none and God is dead.

When we got out of the base, I had a flash of memory. Not anything from the lab, no, something from when I first saw the real face of war. I hadn’t really forgotten it, it had just started to slip from my mind during all those days without Steve. It flared up when I saw new recruits, bright and fresh-faced and filled with hope and tales of war heroes, it flared up when I heard that kid in the factory talk and dream. None of them knew what war would do to them, and neither does Steve. All those times, what I remembered was thinking that at least Steve would never have to see this. I didn’t want him here and I still don’t. Not only because I was worried about his health – that, too but that’s not necessary anymore, is it? No, I was, and still am, worried about what makes Steve Steve – about what had always made him so bright, like the goddamn sun itself. His hope and his dreams and his stubborn determination that drives me mad and the way he sees the world and its people. For Steve it’s never impossible to see the good in every situation and person. His eyes, those honest mirrors to the soul, his eyes are clear as the summer sky; they’re bright as the reflection of the sun on a lake; Steve’s eyes are filled with hope and endless possibilities. Steve’s eyes show you everything that's good in people and he mirrors it right back to you. He makes everyone who spends time with him a little more good, because it is impossible not to be a little bit of a good person if you’re with him. I’ve always loved that about him. But these are the kind of qualities that you lose first in war, there isn't time for them here. I don’t want Steve to suffer the same fate as me and everyone else here. He deserves better, he deserves his dreams and his hope and his vision of better days and his determination to fight for them.

I don’t want him in this war, I know that’s selfish, but I need Steve to keep looking at the world like he does now because it is the only thing that makes it possible for me to be a good person too. If he loses this, there is nothing left for me to believe in anymore except for hell and the devil. I would go through hell a million times more, before I let the war bury its claws in Steve.

[…] There are many people who do not want to see Barnes’ diaries as works of literature at all. The elitist part of literary society claims that Barnes’ writing cannot be seen as real literature because they are only diary entries and not consciously written work; that he did not intend them to be read by anyone else. Of course, their real reason to reject him is the belief that someone who left school when he was thirteen could not possibly be considered a writer of any sort. But I encourage these people (and everyone else) to take a closer look at James Barnes’ writings. […]

As you can see in this extract, Barnes has made use of extensive metaphors, and done it well. The contrast of heaven and hell is often considered to be over-used, cheesy and cliché, but when Barnes uses this metaphor, he opens up his own heart and pries open our eyes with his words. His description of Zola’s lab and the moment Steve Rogers rescued him as a contrast between heaven and hell cuts close to the heart, making you ache with pity and identify with his pain. Barnes describes eyes as the mirrors to the soul, another cliché metaphor. And yet, coming from him, it sounds like the truth. When he goes on to extend this metaphor to Rogers, a writing talent shines through that no one would have expected of a man who did not have the time or resources to even think about becoming a writer.

Barnes wasn’t an intentional writer, I doubt he ever even thought about writing purely for his own enjoyment and he certainly didn’t consider becoming a writer for profit. This you notice in his style. He may not have written in a particularly eloquently or elegantly, but reading Barnes’ diaries brings out emotions in you that are rarely ever brought about by literature so intensely. This, I tell the elitist writers, this is what literature is truly about: not grammar, not complicated words and extensive sentences; emotion. And Barnes has channelled emotion better than most praised writers nowadays can ever dream of doing.

[“James Barnes’ Diaries and their literary quality”, an essay by B. Parker, 1992]

Follow Captain America into the jaws of death. What a stupid idea. Why should I trust Captain America? No, I’m doing this for the same reason I’ve done a lot of things: that little guy from Brooklyn who’s too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m doing this for him.

When the doctors offered me the chance to leave, I didn’t even think about accepting. I knew Steve wasn’t going to leave, so I wasn’t going to, either. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed in his recklessness. And I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without him. We’ve been stuck together for so long now, it doesn’t feel right when I’m without him. It’s like something vital is missing from my body.

And I’m scared. It’s not the same kind of fear I had all those winters I thought Steve was going to die on me (a panicked, shaking, crying fear of death) and it’s not the same kind of fear I had when I realised I was going to war (the deep terrible fear of the unknown). No, this fear is selfish. Selfish because Captain America means Steve doesn’t need protection anymore and I’m scared he’ll forget about me (stupid, I know, but it’s there). Selfish because when I see people looking at him now, I see that awe and admiration of Captain America and I can’t stand that. I need to be here to remind myself that he is still Steve in there. When they look at him, they don’t see Steve Rogers, they don’t see what is so remarkable about him. Because it is not the serum that made him so special, or worthy of admiration. What makes Steve remarkable is his fierce love and passion, his stubbornness and determination. Steve is an artist and the kid getting beaten up in alleys because he is too proud, he is laughter and sometimes pure childishness, he is kindness. All this is what makes Steve a person instead of a soldier. Soldiers, they’re not supposed to be made of kindness, morals and bright smiles. Soldiers are people like me, too loyal for their own good and even better at following orders and the best at shooting people.

I learned years ago that people prefer to see only the surface of everything. Anything beyond a second look isn’t worth their time. I don’t blame them, most people look better on the outside, it’s kinder to us all not to get too close. And I was glad for it, because it meant I was one of the few getting to know the wonder of Steve Rogers. It meant that he wasn’t going to leave me behind for someone better, because ‘someone better’ didn’t bother to look at him. It’s a terrible trait, and it’s selfish, but I was glad for it anyways. But now that the outside of Steve is all great and shiny and worthy to look at, people see him, or at least they think they do. Where I see that scrawny kid from Brooklyn with the spitfire mouth, they’ll always just see Captain America, the supersoldier who was going to win their war.

xav @rmuslupin

tbh i can’t believe a man who has been dead since ’45 is someone i relate to sm but damn its like he read my mind or sth

reh @izlightwood

@rmuslupin the crippling weight of DepressionTM is timeless imo

xav @grantaires

@izlightwood tru lmao

max @carterrs

@rmuslupin @izlightwood lets not forget how relatable his thirst for steve is ;)

max @carterrs

@rmuslupin @izlightwood nah for real tho reading his diaries makes me so sad bc he didnt deserve to suffer like this

slytherinsirius

can we just appreciate the fact that bucky’s diaries are there for all of us to read and see who steve rogers really is bc i bet if they didn’t exist, we’d all think of steve as just captain america and nothing else but bucky shows us that he really is so much more and always has been, even before being cap, and i’m just really grateful for that because captain america is someone who stands for equality and freedom and kindness and not giving in to bullies and i feel like we wouldn’t know that if it wasn’t for bucky

barnesaf

bucky: steve,….bro….wanna see my whole world?

steve: yes bro of course

bucky: look in the mirror

steve: ,,….bRO

I’m glad that Steve kept his stubbornness, without it we wouldn’t have ended up with such a fine group of men as our support. The men Phillips would have put ~~him~~ us with, I wouldn’t trust them with anything, much less Steve’s protection. Jones, Falsworth, Morita, Dum-Dum, Dernier, they’re good men who I can trust to have Steve’s back and to find humor in even the bleakest situations. I need that these days, jokes just don’t come to me as easily as they used to. We’ve been in action together for about a month now, I think, I don’t really keep count of the days. In this time, we’ve already crashed 2 SSR trucks and convinced a group of young boys to pretend there’s been an age-reversing accident. And, of course, there’s Sergeant Buckybear.

Steve enjoys the others’ company just as much as I do, perhaps even more. He was a terrible shot and was even worse at combat technique before we got our first mission, and the guys had one hell of a time teasing him about it. He much improved, of course, and uses their very false belief that he is innocent as a sheep to his advantage. Despite his obvious cheating at poker and constant fucking swearing like a sailor, they still believe his innocent looks. It’s funny to see their faces when he cheats them once again. Me, I try to not let him fool me into playing against him, but he’s got me wrapped around his little finger, always, and the guys take real pleasure in seeing me be played by Steve fucking Rogers. I don’t mind really, I play along, but every god damn day I’m just glad to see him alive. Even if he is a little shit.

Most of the planning of missions goes something like this: Steve proposes something incredibly reckless, I try to convince his stubborn ass to back off it. The rest watch and laugh at us. ‘Like an old married couple’ Dugan says and well, he’s not wrong, is he? More often than not they help me get Steve’s ridiculous reckless idea out of his head, in exchange for a slightly less stupidly reckless one. But, God, his righteousness hasn’t changed one bit and hearing him tell us that we don’t have to come with him every goddamn time, it’s tiring and ridiculous, but it’s Steve and I love that. I’d been so worried he wouldn’t be Steve – my Steve – anymore, now that he’s Captain America too, but every day he proves me wrong and I’m so thankful for it. Never been happier to have to prevent him from doing something reckless and stupid. Never been more glad to have one of those fights with him.

Truth is, I much prefer what we do as the Howling Commandos to what I’d done before in the war. I wouldn’t like to see Steve on the front lines, to see those horrors, to learn the instincts you learn only there. Steve, he’s not made for that kind of war, he’d worry too much about who he’d kill and if they were really the bad guys. Me, I learned to block that out. But then I’m not one of the good guys, I’m nothing more than a soldier. Best sniper in the whole goddamn army and it’s the only thing in my life I can be proud of. I guess I was made for killing, put on this earth to snuff out one life-light after another. I even enjoy it now that we’re hunting down Hydra. I enjoy putting them out and if I could, I’d kill them all, slowly. I'd burn down everything they created, and I’d laugh while doing it. I’m cruel, and long beyond saving.

But Steve, he’s good. And I’d shoot the stars from the sky before his memories are tainted with the experiences of a war too cruel for someone so bright.

10 things you DIDN’T KNOW about the Howling Commandos!

No matter how old (or young) you are, if you haven’t had your Howling Commandos phase, you are one of very few people in the world. Captain America aka Steve Rogers and his group of loyal soldiers are some of the most celebrated and loved heroes in the world – but they were not as serious as you might think! Here’s what went down when they weren’t busy with dangerous missions.

They kept a stuffed bear named Sergeant Buckybear and even took him on all their missions! Omg! Adorable!
They loved to play pranks on each other!
They were all a little bit in love with Peggy Carter (who wouldn’t be?)
They even spread rumors that she could kill people with her mind (which she definitely encouraged)!
They frequently made up parodies of the “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” song! It became so annoying that Col. Phillips forbade them to sing even the original version!
Steve was the biggest cheater at poker! Who would have thought that of Captain America? Certainly not the Howling Commandos!
They used to call Bucky Barnes “Sergeant Mom”! Bucky Barnes: confirmed original mom friend.
Gabe Jones could speak French fluently! In fact, most of the Commandos were somewhat multilingual! Brains and brawn!
The Commandos could hold their liquor incredibly well (Or they were entirely drunk through most of their adventures. OMG.)! Several reports say that breakfast was often served with tea, coffee and a little liquid courage!
Lastly, although the Shield is Captain America’s symbol and weapon of choice, there is evidence that ALL of the Howling Commandos have used it at one point in their battles. Intense game of frisbee, anyone?

With these interesting facts making them less legend and more humane, who couldn’t love our Howling Commandos? Want to know more? Read 5 times Bucky Barnes Diaries Made Us Cry.

It’s one of those nights I took the watch because I know I can’t sleep with all the nightmares in my head. Night lets them crawl under my skin and pick at me with their claws. Night makes me remember all my sins and beg forgiveness.

All these things I write, more often than not, they feel like confessions. Like I’m 13 and listing all my sins to a pastor in a confessional. God, I used to hate that. I hate them because I have so many things to confess and none of them good. I could never say them out loud, so what’s the point? But no one will ever read this, so I’ll tell the worst of them here.

My ~~worst sin~~ confession is this: I’m in love with Steve Rogers. In love, like real proper love, the one they always tell you about when you’re young. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. I’ve tried to put it into words many times but nothing is ever enough. The stars, the sun, the moon itself and the entire sky; none of it would be enough to explain my love. Comparing him to summer days and warm breezes and the way your stomach plummets when you’re on that ride on Coney Island, it wouldn’t get even close. I could write pages upon pages about his smile and the way it keeps all the darkness at bay for me; I could sing a thousand songs about how infuriating yet simultaneously endearing he is when he fights for what he believes is right; I could write poems and books and essays only about him and they would all be masterpieces simply because he is the most wonderful and marvellous and contradictory creation of God on this earth. And then I would write a thousand more books about the way loving him feels. Loving him ain't easy, hell no, but it’s the strongest feeling I have ever had. I love him in a way that makes every fire seem ice-cold because it’s the kind of love that burns through your entire body and possesses your soul and makes breathing harder because it seems so impossible. My love for him is something that would destroy the entire world if I let it pour out because it is so terrible and big and strong. Even now, writing this, I’m worried the paper might light up in flames simply because ~~I feel~~ I’m trying to pour my love onto it.

It’s my most terrible secret because I wish I could tell. Everything else, I’ll gladly take to the grave with me. But this – this I wish I could have. It’s selfish, it’s cruel, because he deserves so much more – and besides, people don’t like to see that sorta thing. It’s something that belongs in back alleys and has to be whispered in secrecy. No, that’s not the right life for someone like Steve, and I’ll be damned if I’m the one who drags him there. But I love him. I want to tell him, I want to tell the entire world, and I want him all to myself.

I like girls with their curves and soft smiles and dances, I like boys with their sharp edges and sad eyes and dark secrets, but love – I have only ever loved him. I want to plant my kisses on every bit of his body, I want to put bruises on his skin to mark my love on him. My, my, my love, all mine, and it would burn brighter than every star and even the goddamn sun.

But even more than that, I want him to love me back. Not as a brother, not as a friend. I want him to love me back as he might love Agent Carter, just ten times more. I want him to love me back in a way that is almost as bright and fierce as the way I love him.

But I can’t have that. This is the secret I’m damned to scream out every single moment I’m chained up in hell, once I’m dead. It’s the one thing that can belong to only me, and no one else, no matter how much I wish to share it. And that – that hurts more than anything else. More even than that fucking lab, more than watching Steve turn up in this war and being worn down by it, more than seeing his mother – bless her soul – die still trying to protect her son, her one and only. I think she knew, she knew my secret.

I hope he finds happiness with Agent Carter, I really do. I hope he marries her and they have beautiful, smart children with his smile and kindness and her wit and intelligence – just not his stubbornness, God no, he has enough of that. I hope he has that life because he deserves it more than anyone, and I hope it lasts to their death and beyond. Beyond my death, anyways. Here’s another truth: I almost hope that I won’t be alive to see this, because I’m not sure how I would handle the pain. Sure, I want to give that embarrassing best man’s speech and see how their kids turn out, but it would be so fucking hard to keep it up, to pretend I’m fine with it. I’m not him. I’m selfish and I don’t want to be alive to see him married because I want him all to myself, now and forever, even though I know full well he deserves so much better.

I hope he finds happiness in the world beyond the war, even if I’m not there to see it. A world beyond war is hard for me to imagine, I don’t think I’m meant for it. And that's okay, I came to peace with that months ago when I got out of that lab. If anyone ever reads this, tell him not to mourn me. Tell him to be happy. Don’t mourn me, don’t look behind, don’t be sad, don’t mourn me please please please ~~don’t fucking~~ don’t let me hold you back. Steve, my love, don’t you dare let me hold you back. I’ll be down in hell, looking at your life, and feeling happier than ever while burning alive or whatever it is that happens to sinners like me.

If happiness is Steve’s destiny in life, punishment is mine. I hope, if anyone ever reads this, I hope you can see some good in me because I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I’m a sinner more terrible than anyone knows and it’s a secret I hope will die with me because, God forgive me, he believes I’m good and I don’t want people to prove him wrong.

BREAKING NEWS: James “Bucky” Barnes’ diaries have been found

The American hero: was it all a lie?

Just a few days ago, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes’ diaries of the years 1943 – ’45 have been leaked by an anonymous source, causing a wave of shock to spread throughout the country. More specifically, a diary entry estimated to have been written in the spring of ‘44 has most of us questioning what we knew about this young American hero, who tragically died in service of his country.

All these years, we have praised and even worshipped Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s right hand man and best friend. But were we wrong to heap this praise on him? In this diary entry he reveals his entirely revolting affections towards Steve Rogers, a revelation none of us have expected. A man we assumed to be honorable, a man that young boys have looked up to for years, has been toppled from his heroic status by his own hands. It is upsetting to think that he had been hiding this dark secret for so many years and it has come to the light just now, ruining a hero of many young boys and men. Can we stand to continue idolising him, even though he has been revealed to be a homosexual? What about the honorable man he fought with, Steve Rogers? Can we stand to continue idolising someone like Bucky Barnes when he has tainted our beloved American hero with his confessions? […]

[C. Everhart, Los Angeles Times, March 1973]

An unexpected icon for the LGBT community

While journalists and so-called professionals have been slandering James “Bucky” Barnes at every opportunity this past week, I want to thank him. As the diary entry from spring ’44 makes clear, Bucky Barnes was not your all-American, straight hero. No, as his diaries clearly imply, he was bisexual or gay, harboring a deep and devoted love to his friend, Steve Rogers. While his confession may not move most people to anything but hate, it had me, and I’m sure many other young gay people as well, in tears – not only because it is heartbreaking, but because there has rarely been a more accurate description of what it feels like to be young and closeted; to love someone and not be allowed to live it; to be condemned by the world because of who you love.

We don’t have many heroes to look up to in this world, very few Hollywood stars or famous singers. We are rarely ever allowed to be open and proud about our love, but now, an undeniably heroic man has become someone we can look up to as young LGBT people because he, too, felt what we feel now. It doesn’t matter that he is dead and that he lived in a world different from ours, his words strike true nevertheless and have made him an icon to LGBT youth. And the world will have to come to terms with the fact that their celebrated war hero was not as straight as they wish him to be. […]

[B. Urich, Daily Bugle, March 1973]

I wish I could hate her, but it is simply impossible. Peggy Carter is not someone you hate, she is someone you admire. I tried, I tried hating her because I’m one jealous son of a bitch, I am. First day I met her, the day we came back, I knew immediately what kind of woman she is. She’s one of a kind, really, fierce and stubborn and beautiful. And then I saw the way Steve looked at her and I knew that look immediately. It must be on my own face all the time. So, I wanted to hate her, I wanted to find the flaws and use them as reason to tell Steve to not bother with her. Jealousy makes you cruel. But I couldn’t find anything on her because because here’s the thing: she’s like the moon to Steve’s sun. That sounds so fucking sappy, but it’s true. They’re polar opposites of the same core, and they fit together better than anyone.

More than that, I can’t dislike her because she’s like me, and she knows me. Peggy Carter will compromise when she has to, Peggy Carter would do things she won’t be proud of without flinching because she knows it’s necessary and if she won’t, no one will. She’ll take the blame for it and keep her head up high because in her heart she knows she was brave enough to do something no one else had the guts to do. Peggy Carter, she’s like a tree. She is someone who has morals and goals rooted deeply in her soul, but who will also bend and compromise so things bigger than her can succeed. She’ll compromise where she can, and where she can’t, she’ll keep her roots planted and her head up high and say: No, I will not move for you. But she isn't afraid to do the dirty work, either; she knows someone has to, and if her soul gets dragged through the mud on the way, well, that’s the way it is. She knows that and I know that and we know each other. She and I, we have the same goal: to keep Steve safe and happy, to keep him away from the dirty work. I know he thinks what us Howling Commandos do, that’s dirty work, but truth is that when he’s not looking, the rest of us get the real dirty work done, and so does Peggy. None of us would ever tell, it’s a secret pact we never spoke about. There’s things Captain America simply can’t do, but someone has to do them, so we stick our hands in the mud to keep Cap’s image polished and shiny.

It is impossible for me to hate Peggy Carter, no matter how much jealousy is eating at me and how much it hurts to see the way Steve looks at her. I can’t hate her because she is a woman made for admiring and if you don’t admire her, she’ll punch respect into you. She’d have been my type of girl, before the war. But now, I’m just glad to know she’ll take care of Steve after – after all of this. After the war, after I’m gone, when the world is in its right place again and the chaos has exhausted itself. A world in its right place, that’s a world for Steve and Peggy and their life in its right place. It’s not a world for me.

Some nights I imagine what our life would have been if we hadn’t gotten involved in the war. I think of Steve and Peggy in a little suburban house – because I know she loves him not for his body, but for his heart, and I thank her for that. I see them, with a kid or two, and a dog maybe. Christmas mornings, visits to her parents, Thanksgiving dinners, birthday parties; he’d finally have a real family and every Sunday, they’d visit his ma’s grave. Sometimes, when the nightmares are worse than usual and I can’t think of anything but – those nights, I imagine they visit my grave too. She’d pull him through the grief and the pain and he’d be alright. With her, he’ll always be alright and with him, she’ll always be alright. Sun and moon, ying and yang, sea and mountains, spring and autumn, day and night. It’s an easy equation. They’ll take care of each other and ~~I’ll be dead~~

It’s a bad night. I’d always been worried what would happen to Steve if I wasn’t there to look after him, but I don’t worry anymore. I trust Peggy Carter with the most important thing in my life – him – and she knows that. She knows me. In that respect, she’s like his ma. They took one look at me and saw all the way to my rotten core with the one blooming flower in it – my love, my heart, my everything. I used to have a life beyond this, not too long ago, but the longer I’ve been overseas, the more it all faded away. None of it is of any importance here, except him, except him. And she looks at me and she knows and I feel – shame.

I hope to God this is one of those secrets she keeps. Because, Peggy Carter, both you and Steve deserve better than to worry about me. I’ll be fine, don’t think of me. Name a son after me, if you wish to. Take care he doesn’t grow to be the man I am today. Take care of him, take care of Steve, and take care of yourself. Carter, you are one hell of a woman with an armor of steel and a heart of gold.

One hell of a woman

Pairing(s): Peggy Carter/Bucky Barnes; Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers; Peggy Carter/Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

Tags: I’m incorrigible stevebuckypeggy trash; threesomes

Warnings: None

[…]

Peggy smiled at him, her skin-tight red dress not hiding any of her curves, and her red lips inviting him. No, he told himself. No, I don’t want her.

“I know the way you look at me. I know you, Bucky Barnes.” She said, stepping closer.

He felt like all blood had drained from his body; light-headed and unsure. This wasn’t just any girl, this was Peggy Carter, a woman unlike any other – and Steve’s girl. Peggy Carter, just a step away and apparently flirting with him, seducing him. He must be having one fucked up dream.

“Peggy, what-“His question was cut short by her lips on his. Holy shit. Peggy was kissing him and it exploded like fireworks in his head. She kissed exactly as she lived: fierce and powerful, yet sweet and with heart. Bucky had kissed a great many people in his life – boys, girls – but rarely any kiss had felt like this. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

His thoughts were so preoccupied with Peggy, with her mouth, he didn’t realise someone else had entered the room until strong arms slid around his waist and soft lips pressed a kiss to his neck. Bucky didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, and he separated from Peggy, letting his head fall back against Steve’s chest as he pulled Bucky – and Peggy – closer to kiss Peggy passionately.

Bucky was definitely freaking out. This was his most secret and most wanted fantasy and it was real, real as anything in his life. If before he had felt like fireworks were exploding in his mind, now it was the whole world lighting up with colourful fireworks. He couldn’t think about anything beyond Steve pressed against his back and Peggy against his front. Steve – his love, his one and only love; and Peggy – one hell of a woman, she was. He wanted nothing more in his life.

[…]

sad af @hamiltones

how to write like bucky barnes: compare everyone to nature n have gay emotions that make everyone cry

Sometimes, Steve shows me some of the drawings he does. He still does them in charcoal, despite being able to see colours now. He said he’d had to relearn it again, after the serum. He’s still as good as ever though, but ~~I didn’t~~ ~~I couldn’t~~ god dammit, I can’t even write it down. He showed me some of the older drawings, drawings from before I shipped out. His drawings had always looked almost too accurate to me – how he captured every line in my body in fine detail, putting not only what’s outside on the paper, but somehow capturing personality, too. But today, I looked at those sketches of me and I couldn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t fucking recognize myself in them. It’s like that guy, that guy is a whole different person, someone I don’t know and never will. And even the more recent drawings…they’re more accurate, more lines that weren’t there before, and shadows, but despite all of that, they don’t look like me. Because Steve’s drawings, they show someone who is alive and these days I just don’t feel like that. Especially on nights like this, I wonder if maybe I died back in that lab and this is some fucked up version of hell, a corner reserved only for sinners like me.

But it’s worse to think back to the person I used to be. He’d be horrified by how easily I kill, how I don’t even flinch when I shoot someone, how my mind is nothing but a blank monitored to kill kill kill. Truth is, the first person I killed, I don’t even remember. I thought Basic was hard, thought it was nothing I couldn’t handle. They picked me for special training when they saw me with a rifle; I’m good for one thing at least. That had been more of a challenge and I thought – I thought, well, at least I’m well prepared for what’s over there. Couldn’t have been more wrong.

Out at the front lines, all that discipline and order you learned at Basic is thrown away in favor of a survival instinct closer to that of wild animals than humans. It was only after the first time out there, when the shooting stopped and silence fell, that I realised I had killed someone – more than one – and I felt that ache in my chest, that knowledge that there’s no turning back now. You kill someone, even just one person, you can’t take it back and you can’t erase it from your memories. I didn’t sleep well that night, or any night after. But by the next day, I had learned to accept it.

If someone asked me what war does to you, I’d tell them this: everything you knew, all the rules of being human, all the morals and what’s right and what’s wrong – none of that matters anymore. You kill people – you’d kill anyone if they’re shooting at you, no matter who they are. Fathers, sons, lovers, humans. In that moment, you can’t afford to think about it, not even for one second, because it might cost you your life, or the life of the man next to you. No amount of training can prepare you for that, but once you’ve been on the front lines it’s part of you – part of your instincts.

We know that the men you kill at the front are often not the real enemies – they’re men like us, thrown into a war they didn’t want and losing things they once treasured to it – but we kill them anyways and we believe the dirty lies about them because it makes the killing easier, knowing full well that they’re doing the exact same thing on the other side. It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. War is not fair because the ones dying and killing are not the ones who wanted this. It’s the politicians and their army generals who should be dying and killing, not us, and not the men on the other side. If I met them, I’d ask them, how does it feel? How does it feel to lure men into death – of their body, of their mind – with promises of heroes and lies about enemies? How does it feel to know the tears of the many left behind are your fault, and yours alone? No, not every one of them is equally guilty, but each of them is a little bit. Except Hitler – he’s the guiltiest of them all and if I see him, I’ll try my damned hardest to turn him into the wreck I am today before I kill him.

But the world isn’t fair and neither is war, and so we kill and die and kill one day after another and turn into something more horrifying than the monsters under your bed and in your head. We kill and we laugh it off and we kill and we live another day and another day and another day until it’s time for us to die. War is our home, spilled blood our lifeline, guns our best friends.

Even now, hunting down Hydra, killing the real bad guys, I can’t shake this off. I take pleasure in killing them, I’m a blank slate. I take pleasure in killing them, I don’t remember why I’m killing them. Because all this time I didn’t care, I would’ve gone mad if I did. I’m glad to be away from the front lines, I am, it feels good to know who you’re killing, but I can’t unlearn what was ingrained in me from the first day: if you don’t kill your emotions, they will kill you.

I’m not the man I used to be and I never will be again. There’s nothing quite like war to kill a man, no matter if his body survives or not.

God, I pray, I beg you, don’t let this happen to him. It’s bad enough I don’t know myself, I couldn’t take it if I lost him, too.

CHAPTER 13: James Barnes’ diaries

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes’ diaries are one of the most well-known pieces of war literature that exist to this day. And with good reason, not only do they show a deeply emotional side of Barnes’s friendship with Steve Rogers, his accounts of the war experience are raw, unusual and perhaps the most accurate description of the minds of young men in war everywhere, but especially the two World Wars.

Much like Remarque in ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’, Barnes describes the state of mind of the young soldiers – in his case, in the Second World War – as much closer to wild animals than humans. The war at the front lines was brutal and inhumane, leading these men to lose their humanity in order to survive. Barnes’ accounts give a haunting insight into this, cutting close to the heart of every reader. He describes what many of these men must have felt: a deep sorrow for the loss of their humanity and innocence, but, at the same time, a composed distance to the killing, something that clearly was keeping them from going mad with grief and guilt. Like Remarque’s Paul Bäumer, Barnes shut off his emotions in the fight at the front lines in order to save his own life, even if that meant killing without feeling any regret or shame and disregarding who it is he kills.

Barnes’ diaries show yet another parallel to Remarque’s novel. Both are anti-war and question the legitimacy of war and who is fighting in them. In both works, the question is asked: why do they, simple men, have to fight a war they don’t want because someone else wanted it? It is a fair question and gives both works an anti-war stance. Of course, Barnes was not fictional, and perhaps that is why his account cuts closer than that of the Bäumer in ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’. There is not just a hint of desperation in the diary entry in which he writes about this; rather, Barnes is deeply emotional, desperate, angry, confused. It is an accusation as much as it is just raw emotion bleeding onto the paper. This was not a calculated, calm entry; these are the words of a terrified man, and it is all too accurate to describe the mind-set of the men – especially the young men – who fought in the two world wars. […]

[excerpt from: “War Literature through the years”, P. Hamilton, 2003]

reh @izlightwood

lmao u know those scholars who insist that bucky only loved steve as a friend or brother..,,,how 'no homo' must u be (cont.)

reh @izlightwood

(cont.) like ????? “no homo bro but i’d shoot the stars from the sky for u” “bro,…thank u bro”

han @intheights

@izlightwood “bro…look at the sky” “why bro” “bc its ur home, u actual angel” “…….bRo”

sad af @hamiltones

@izlightwood james buchanan “bro” barnes

reh @izlightwood

@hamiltones oh my god honestly

sad af @hamiltones

@izlightwood “bRO im literally in love with u but NO HOMO BRO”

reh @izlightwood

tbh bucky would have loved bro memes so much

Most people I know, they call me a liar. Steve, he always says I’m a storyteller. I prefer to believe him, it’s nicer. And lies really are just stories, especially if you know how to tell them well, and I do. I’m a damn good liar and I suppose that also makes me a good storyteller. These past few days, I’ve done a fair bit of lying. I almost lost him, I almost lost him, I almost lost him and I was losing my mind and still I was lying, storytelling, because God, I couldn’t have them take me off the mission, not when he was out there behind enemy lines and I was so fucking helpless. I thought he was dead, he must be dead, I thought he was dead and I have never felt more out of control, the world has never felt more like it was spinning apart, ripping at the seams, bleeding out. All I could think of – he’s dead, and not me, when it should be me. It should be me.

His ma, she always did everything to protect him. A liar-storyteller like me. She spun tales about his father and heroes. She coughed up blood and still she talked to him about summer days and green meadows. Me, I knew it was lies. And her, she knew I was lies. The past few days, I kept thinking I had disappointed her and it was eating me up. She always did everything to protect him and she trusted me to do the same and I failed. I failed when he came overseas. For me? He put himself at risk for me and I didn’t stop him. I don’t want him to die, not for me or anyone else. I don’t want him to die for justice or freedom, I don’t want him to die because then I would have failed in doing the one damn thing I’m supposed to do right. It’s the only thing I’m here for.

I wish I could take him away. Convince him to leave, protect him like his ma did, take him away to some foreign place and never have to worry again. I’m scared, that’s what I am. I feel like I’ve just run through purgatory, all the voices in my head screaming. There was no peace – no quiet, no safety anywhere because he is my peace and for a few days, he was ~~dead~~ gone. When we realised we had lost him, I didn’t – I didn’t realise, not really. I remembered, some day at the piers, sun rays on our skin, worrying about him getting a sunburn, watching him sketch. I remembered peace and then realised it had been ripped from me, leaving a raw, open hole in my chest.

Thing is, I know he’s not perfect. God, I probably know that better than anyone. He’s a pain in the ass, incapable of stepping down when it’s the better thing to do, too stubborn for his own good. There’s a lot of things that aren’t perfect about Steve Rogers, even though most people refuse to believe it these days. But he’s my home, he is where I feel safe and grounded. He’s my warm summer breeze, he’s my quiet at 2am, he’s my green meadow with spring flowers, he’s one of those rare moments where you close your eyes and just feel, without worrying or thinking about anything at all. That’s what Steve is to me. For 3 days, I feared he had been taken from me and , fuck, I’d never felt more terrified. Not even those winters when he almost died on me because then, even then, at least I was with him. I can’t stand the thought of him dying all alone. I can’t stand the thought of him dying without me there. I can’t stand the thought of him dying, when it should be me. Those 3 days were like a hurricane, like purgatory, like a storm inside my head,and a hole in my chest. My mind was running wild with worry and fear, but I felt like my heart had turned to ice. It was a strange contrast, to feel everything and nothing at the same time.

When he got back, bruised and bloody, but alive, it felt like the whole world was shifting back into place. It was like when winter turns into spring, when the air doesn’t cut your lungs anymore and the sun makes everything seem brighter, when the darkness fades and things don’t seem so bad anymore. It was like the calm after a storm – not before, but after – when the clouds clear and the air is clean and the danger has passed, the whirlwinds and the thunder and the chaos are gone and all that’s left is a world washed clean of its messes. When he was gone, I was a wreck, just a tree tossed around in the storm. Now, I can think again for the first time in what feels like forever. I think that’s what purgatory must be like, that storm.

For someone who doesn’t believe in God, I sure have a good picture of what happens when you’re dead. I tried praying, two days ago, I tried praying. Begged God to bring him home, to take me instead if he has to, to take the entire world, but him. I begged God for forgiveness because I had failed Steve’s ma. I begged him to bring me peace again, I begged him on my knees not to take him now that he’s got a shot at a good life because that would be more cruel than putting me through hell again and I always thought God was kind to the good men.

Maybe it was the praying that helped (not my praying, but Gabe’s maybe) or just Steve’s stubborn head, but he came through alive. The storm has cleared and spring has arrived and my mind is calm again and my chest doesn’t feel empty anymore. Perhaps it’s unhealthy to be so dependent on him, but war has shifted my perspective and fucked me up in so many ways, I can’t afford to care about that. I only hope that at the heavenly gates, they won’t judge me for my love, but for the terrible things I have done. Don’t judge me for my love because it feels like the only good thing I am capable of. Everything else is paving my way to hell, but not this. I am never sure of anything, but I am so fucking sure of him. I know people would judge me for it, hate me for it – and I do too, most of the time. But loving him feels so good and bright, I’m not sure I understand why there would be anything bad about it. Isn’t love the definition of good? Loving someone, it makes you less selfish, it makes you kinder, and I don’t see what’s so bad about it, just because I love a man. I don’t understand. Wouldn’t anyone who has ever loved someone know exactly how I feel? Tell me, all you men out there, if you read what I wrote today, wouldn’t you feel the same if the woman you love was ripped from you? Then I ask you, why is it considered a sin that I love someone the same way? I could love a woman and I could love a man; my love stays the same and it is neither better nor worse when I love a man, especially if that man is Steve Rogers.

reykenobi

okay but can we talk about how important bucky barnes is for lgbt people, especially teenagers and young adults??? like we rarely get any good representation in media, not even fictional characters, and here we have this undoubtedly not straight young man who is also praised as a hero and??? no one can take him from us because its all there in his diaries !!!!!! his love for steve !!!! his bisexuality/pansexuality !!!!!! his internal conflict about loving another man !!!! his frustration at the fact that it was considered less than heterosexual love, that people like him were frowned upon and hated and discriminated against !!!!! he may have written those diaries 70 years ago but everything he wrote about being sga is still so relatable to young lgbt people today, especially closeted ones or those dealing with internalised homophobia and honestly it makes me cry, but i’m also so so so happy that we get this hero to look up to because society wants to deny us our heroes all the time but they can’t take him from us

Out Magazine @outmagazine

James Barnes: gay icon and American hero bit.ly/1Oxyl06

reh @izlightwoods

@outmagazine lmao stop erasing bi- and pansexuality????

reh @izlightwoods

@outmagazine https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bisexual_erasure :)

max @carterrs

@outmagazine bucky was pretty obviously bi (or pan), stop erasing his sexuality, he literally said multiple times he doesn’t only like men

Sometimes I wonder if it’s Zola and his experiments that have made me this cruel, or if it’s just the war. Maybe it’s both, because I know I was bad before the lab, but after I just got worse. Perhaps that’s because now Steve is here, and next to him I see how cruel I have become.

There’s two things I can pride myself in: being the best goddamn sniper in the US army, and being efficient when interrogating Nazis. I’m good with a rifle, good with a gun, good with a knife, good at getting information, good at being cruel. You can’t be good at any of these things if you haven’t removed part of your humanity, the part that makes you pity your victims and grant them mercy. I don’t do that, I don’t. I give them hell. The guy I used to be, he would have been merciful. But all mercy, all empathy, was ripped from me in Basic and turned into cruelty at the front lines. I don’t know who the hell I am anymore. Everything I used to be, everything I used to like, it all seems so useless these days. I remember – I remember, I used to think killing people was horrible, no matter who they are. And now I just don’t care. I kill them now, and I killed them before the lab, and I don’t flinch even for a moment when I do it. Even interrogating them, torturing them, it doesn’t faze me. Well,during the day, it doesn’t. When I’m busy it doesn’t. When I’m in the field it doesn’t.

We’ve got a few days off now, a week or two, and so far, I've wished to go back to a mission every single fucking day. I don’t know about the others, they seem to be having their fun in pubs and everything, and Steve is happy he gets to see Peggy, but me, I’m shaking apart. Now that I don’t sleep out of pure necessity, the peaceful sleep of the dead-tired, I get nightmares again. Sometimes they’re about Zola’s lab, sometimes they’re just about war and the people I’ve killed. I make jokes and laugh to keep it at bay, because if I think too much about this, about all the blood I’ve spilled and the lives I’ve ruined, I’d freak out. They told us about this psychoneurosis (that how you spell it? I have no idea) sometimes, or combat fatigue, I have no fucking clue. Trouble sleeping, nervousness, difficulties concentrating, nightmares, stomach pains, that kinda stuff. I think when we get back from the war, they’re gonna have one hell of a difficult time treating all these people. Because who doesn’t come back from this with nightmares, a head stuffed full of horrors, and “extreme nervousness”? We all get it, when we’ve got days off, and we play it down with jokes because if we don’t, we’d all have a fucking breakdown, even Steve and he wasn’t even on the front.

I flinch at the tiniest noises sometimes. I did yesterday, but no one said anything because they know, they know. They know the nightmares and they know the nervousness anxiousness and trembling hands and they know feeling sick to the stomach. We’re all fucked up, there’s no way we wouldn’t be. We’re just normal people in a real fucking abnormal and inhuman situation. I almost wish the war wouldn’t end, because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if it does. Don’t have anything to go back to, no family or job, just him.

Really the only reason I’m writing right now is because it’s quiet and I feel so tense, I feel so worried. For the first time in the past few years I’m worried about myself. Because – because, I’ve never said this, never even written it down because it’s so fucking scary and if I don’t think about it, I can forget it. I feel weird, strange, like there’s something wrong, misplaced. I’ve felt like this ever since I got out of Zola’s lab. It’s a lot of things: I can hold my alcohol way better, wounds heal faster than they should, my sight is better and so is my hearing, I’m faster and stronger, I think. It’s a lot of little things, but they scare me. I don’t know who I am anymore, even less so than before. I'm scared that I'm becoming someone entirely different, not only wrecked through war, but also through whatever the fuck it is Zola did to me. The longer we spend on break, away from the war and the missions and the killing, the more I feel like I’m losing myself because I can’t keep myself occupied. Sure, we go dancing, we drink, we talk and joke, but it’s all barely enough to keep my mind quiet. And so I start thinking and it spirals into worrying and then into fear and suddenly I can’t breathe anymore and I think about the men I’ve killed and their families and then I think about Zola and God, God what did he do to me? The war might not kill me, but guilt and fear will. I should want to escape the war, but I know I'll probably join the SSR, cling to the war as long as I can because this is the only thing I’m good at and I am terrified of the future.

The person I used to be has become a ghost inside of me, he is someone I am because others see him in me, but he will fade eventually and all that will be left is who I am now: a human weapon too loyal for his own good. If someone takes my memories, takes all I have been, if someone erases my past and Steve, if someone takes my feelings, everything that makes me human, I would be one hell of a dangerous weapon. It would break Steve’s heart.

But, Stevie, don’t fear. If this happened to me – and no, it won’t, not even Stark has developed technology this far – there is always one key to get me back: you, and you alone. Say my name and I swear, whatever hell I went through, I will recognize you.

INTERVIEW: JAMES BARNES AND THE TRAUMA OF WAR

JONES: Today, our topic is the effect war has on the mental health of the people who fight in it, and what would be a better example to use here than the diaries of James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America? For this conversation I've invited Sam Wilson, who works at the VA in DC. Now, I’d like to start off by asking you in how far you see James Barnes’ diaries as valuable in describing the experiences of soldiers today? Do you believe what he writes is still relatable to veterans today?

WILSON: Absolutely. The way he writes about getting out of the action, and having to actually face what happened, it’s exactly what all of us went through. Whenever I talk to someone who just came back, and somehow hasn’t read Bucky’s diaries yet, I tell them: you read that, it’ll help you. Because it helps to read something from someone who went through the same shit, it really does.

JONES: Yes, doctors often say that talking to someone who went through the same things can be very helpful if you are a veteran dealing with PTSD…

WILSON: Exactly. To know that you’re not the only one suffering from this, it’s incredibly helpful. And you can’t just bottle everything up, you have to let off steam and talk about your feelings to someone, most people know this. But when you try explaining it to friends and family, they often don’t understand and can easily make you feel misunderstood and frustrated, although they don’t intend to. I’m not gonna say talking to someone else will fix everything, it won’t, but it helps. And if you’re not someone who likes to talk or be around people, it’s just as helpful to read about someone who has experienced the same stuff.

JONES: Like Bucky Barnes?

WILSON: Like Bucky Barnes. I’m sure you all know the diary entry in which he writes about the effects war had on him…

JONES: Are you referring to the one from October 1944 when the Howling Commandos were on a break for almost two weeks in London?

WILSON: Yes, that’s the one. In it he talks about what they used to call psychoneurosis, I think, and when I read it again the first time, after getting back it was…it’s like I read from my own head, in all honestly. The nightmares, the anxiety, the guilt, all of that. No matter what war you’ve been in, who you killed for, we all come back with the same kind of baggage, some with more than others.

JONES: So why exactly would you recommend reading Barnes’ diaries to other veterans?

WILSON: That guy, he just got it, and he doesn’t write in big words and sentences like many others do. It’s easy to understand, and it’s something we all know.

JONES: As a veteran yourself, what else would you recommend to others dealing with PTSD from war?

WILSON: Honestly, it’s something everyone has to figure out themselves. Going to the VA is helpful, it was for me, and I see it in the people I talk to there every day. Everyone there gets what you went through and won’t judge you for the way you handle it. Don’t be afraid to talk to people, don’t be afraid to ask for help. You’ll need help and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Other than that, exercise was helpful for me. Going to the gym, running, whatever you like to do: just get out of your room and get moving, free your head for a while. Don’t hide away, it only makes things worse.

JONES: Thank you, Mr. Wilson.

[J. Jones, “James Barnes and the trauma of war”, interview with S. Wilson, 2014]

I try not to dwell on the past. I try not to think too much about all the happiness and bright joy I used to have, the pretty girls I went dancing with, the adrenaline when I first kissed another boy. I try not to dwell on all the good days Steve and I had; the day we became friends, the day I made him go on that ride on Coney Island, that day we spent all our money on hot dogs, the day we went on a double date with those horrifying twins (really, how can anyone talk that much?), the first and only time I got him drunk – I shouldn’t talk about that. It’s buried, forgotten, at least for him. He never liked alcohol, didn’t like the way it made you feel, but that day he’d gotten a well-paid commission and well, I convinced him to celebrate. Both the worst and the best decision I have made so far. I don’t even remember how we got home that night, swaying and laughing and enjoying life, but I remember looking at him in the dim light of our shithole of an apartment and thinking….thinking, if I don’t kiss him now, I never will. So I did.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t the last piece of the puzzle finally slotted in. It wasn’t everything suddenly making sense. It wasn’t a realignment of my world. It wasn’t bursts of bright light. It wasn’t all those things people say kissing your true love for the first time feels like. It was all of that, and none of it. That kiss, it just…was. It was everything. He made that small, quiet noise he makes when he’s surprised and went all soft against me. Like his strings had been cut and I almost, almost believed he wanted to kiss me, too. I knew, I knew and I still do, it was the alcohol, the buzzing in his veins and the sleepiness in his head, but I’m a desperate man and sometimes I like to think he wanted to kiss me too. It was everything and nothing at all. It was everything I wanted for so long and nothing at all like I wanted it to be. I never – I never wanted kissing him to be a result of alcohol in our blood and excitement in our hearts, the result of adrenaline and carelessness, in a dim apartment at night. I wanted it to be real, but men like me, we can’t always get what we want, so we desperately scramble for anything we can get.

In the past, I tried to deny what I felt for him. I didn’t want to hang on to something I would never have, I knew that eventually it would burn me out. I tried to fall in love. The closest I ever got, maybe, was Dot, or so I thought until the day she told me she saw that my heart was somewhere else and dumped me. I guess that was also the day I realised I could never get past him. I could kiss girls and screw boys, but I could never love. I used to think I wasn’t meant for love, that I was simply incapable of falling in love with anyone. It was his ma who made me realise, the last time I talked to her. She looked at me and she said – she said “You’re always so brave, James, so why are you so scared of your own heart?” and then…she said it was okay. She could see it in my eyes and she didn’t – she didn’t judge me for it, she took my hand and all was said. I was so fucking scared, and I still am. I’m so fucking scared of loving him.

Love is a curious thing. I've imagined it in many different ways because it takes so many different forms. Sometimes it’s a house, safe and guarded, sheltering you from the outside world. Sometimes it’s the sea, tossing and turning and throwing you around, taking your rest and crashing in your ears because it is so much, so much. Sometimes it’s a tree, life-giving and deeply rooted, resisting the wind and bending, but never breaking. Sometimes it’s the sky, vast and unknown, scaring you in how far it goes, but at the same time familiar as your own heartbeat. Sometimes it’s your heartbeat, steady and unwavering, until he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. Sometimes it’s Hell’s fire, burning and burning too painfully, blinding every one of your senses. Sometimes it’s Heaven’s light, a warm and loving glow, spreading through your body when he smiles – when he smiles and everything’s okay for a moment. I know I was never meant for Heaven’s light.

reh @izlightwood

#happy99thbdaybucky thank you for you brave heart + words, they mean the world to many of us now

han @intheights

thank you bucky barnes for being an american hero who shows us that having feelings doesnt make you “any less of a man” #happy99thbdaybucky

sad af @hamiltones

bucky is an icon to many, especially young lgbt+ people, and his diaries inspired many to be brave + be themselves #happy99thbdaybucky

tommy @bibucky

#happy99thbdaybucky his diaries helped me gather the courage to come out to my family

max @carterrs

#happy99thbdaybucky a hero to so many people who needs to be appreciated way more bc hes just as important as captain America

xav @rmuslupin

people try to drag bucky’s name through the mud, but we won’t let that happen, hes a hero and always will be #happy99thbdaybucky

Jason S. @JasonSitwell

bucky barnes is not a hero and never will be. he lost that when he wrote those disgusting things. fucking homos, no respect for them

General Ross @EverettRoss

Today a disgrace to real American war heroes would have turned 99. This is not a day to celebrate.

Brock @BRumlow

fuck james barnes!!!! the guy was a disgrace to REAL war heroes, like me! he didn’t know shit about anything, i’m glad he died in ‘45

#votetrump @Jake123

#happy99thbdaybucky my ass, that fag doesnt deserve any recognition. ruined captain america for me

Becky @b0okNerd1

I can’t believe people are celebrating Barnes, after all those things he wrote…totally took advantage of Steve Rogers ://

Sharon @AgentC

I hope all these people trashing Bucky Barnes because he was bi one day realise what a sorry excuse of humans they are #happy99thbdaybucky

Sam Wilson @Falcon

seriously disgusted by all the homophobes in the #happy99thbdaybucky tag. Way to ruin our day of trying to celebrate one of our heroes

Kate @hahawkeye

@ all the hatersin the #happy99thbdaybucky tag: turn on ur location :) we can drop by on our way from archery, right clint?

Barton @firsthawkeye

@hahawkeye sure, with our arrows. we just wanna talk :)

I’ve written down everything, there’s nothing left to tell, so my end must be close. This is my last confession: I think I’m meant to die over here. I don’t have anything to go back to. Everyone else has something: a girl, a family, a job, a dog, a life. I used to have that, too. Even without Steve, I would have had things to go back to. But I’m running out, that’s the best way to put it. I care about my sister, but she’s fine without me. I used to care about going back to Steve, but now I know he’ll be fine without me too. He’ll have Peggy and being Captain America and a life, he’ll come back from the war and have a life. Me, I don’t have the energy to go back, I don’t.

Because the whole truth is: I haven’t stopped burning. Ever since Zola’s lab, I haven’t stopped burning, and I feel myself close to burning out. I’m not meant to go back, because if I did, it would be an empty shell of a man returning, there would be nothing left of Bucky Barnes. I’d rather die than live like that. I’d rather die than see everyone around me living their lives and wishing I was able to do the same. I’ve become a ghost in my own life. Everything I do, I do for him, I have no motivation of my own. That smiling, warm, open guy, Bucky, he’s gone, and no one is mourning him because – god dammit, no one knows he’s dead, no one fucking knows. Even Steve doesn’t. So I think it would be for the best if I died here, because it would give him the chance to mourn the death of Bucky Barnes. I’ll become a ghost in his life and he’ll grieve me, but he’ll live. He’ll keep me alive in his memories and that’s a better fate than I deserve, but I so wish for it. I wish for a death and an afterlife befitting the man I used to be.

Yesterday, Gabe, he started a conversation about – about after the war, what we would do. It was talk full of dreams and goals, weddings and children and suburban houses with gardens and shit like that. I made something up, said I’d live next door to Steve and Peggy with my own girl and a dog. I think I used to dream of that. Now I just hope grief won’t drive him to do anything stupid when I die, I hope he moves past that. I know there’s a lot of men who think they won’t come back, come home, but they will, they’ll have their lives. But ~~I know~~ I can feel it, I know it; I won’t come home. My dice fell long before I was born, fate decided I wasn’t meant for life, I wasn’t meant to be a man. Maybe my only purpose in life was to bring Steve this far and now I've fulfilled my purpose and I can move on. Because I’m fucking tired. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to keep fighting.

I do have one dream. My dream is that when I die over here, people remember Sergeant Barnes, celebrate him, mourn him, put his name on monuments and praise his courage. But Steve, I want him to read this and remember me, mourn me, put my name on his heart and praise my humanity. I want him to know me, as he always has. And then I want him to move on. Don’t forget me, but don’t let my memory hold you back, Steve, don’t blame yourself. I know you will try to take the blame for this, but none of this is your fault, it never has been. I wasn’t meant for Heaven’s light and I wasn’t meant to be a man. I was meant to be a ghost. Keep my ghost inside of you and that way you’ll keep me alive. That’s all I ask, that’s my dream. For people to never see me at all and for Steve to keep me in his heart, but not let me hold him back. Never let me hold him back.

Maybe this is not only my last confession, but also my goodbye. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, they’re too final and too heavy. But I’ll try. Thank you, God, for letting me have my time with him. Thank you for that, over everything else, I will be eternally grateful that you let me see his wonders. I don’t expect you to let me through your heavenly gates, I know I’ve done nothing to deserve that. But, please, I beg You – let me thank You for this. If You are there, let me see You just once so I can pour my gratitude at Your feet for giving me something far greater than I deserve. I don’t fear death. I used to, a long time ago. But I know now that the life You gave me is far more than I should have had, so I accept my early death. It’s not an early death for me, it’s 28 years too late, and so I will not complain. I only ask for this one thing because I am selfish, I am greedy and I am never satisfied. You should refuse to see a man like me but if You are truly good, I know You won’t. Because deep down, You know what is strongest in me is love and my love is always, always pure and bright at its core. My soul will rot in hell for eternity, but my love will never die. If you try to take my memories from me, my soul, everything I am, I promise you this: the last word I’ll be screaming will be his name. If you manage to take that from me, you’ll have broken me and I will truly be nothing but a ghost story. I may be the worst person in the universe, but I have always tried my best for him, and I hope dearly that that counts for something.

The War Diaries of James Buchanan Barnes

by Karen Page

[…] Perhaps, in the end, Barnes is neither a hero nor a villain, but simply a man. A man who has become a part of history because his love and loyalty were strong, a man that history has shaped into one thing or another because history is never neutral and everyone that it puts its eyes on is made into something greater than they are. Great men make history, but great men are just men like everyone else. It is the people who see them, who tell their stories, who live and die after they are long gone who really make history.

This is my attempt at telling his story. Barnes is a hero to many – LGBT+ people, people scarred by war, mentally ill people, people who are simply scared. He is a villain to others – the homophobes, the cruel, the ones who tear him down just because they want to. But, in researching this article, I have come to find that Barnes was just a man as any other. Everyone has something remarkable about them and perhaps his remarkable thing was his love, a love that has lived through decades and will live for many more, maybe outlive us all. But he was just a man. He felt joy and doubt and sadness and love and fear – this maybe most of all. I believe this is why so many relate to him. Because he is not better or worse than any of us, he felt the same emotions as we do, decades later. And in a few decades more, people will still feel the same emotions and read his diaries and relate to them. We are all heroes and villains and people. We are the ones who make history, because we feel sorrow for these people long dead and we tell their stories. No one gets to choose who tells their story, but we all get to choose whose stories we tell.

[Karen Page, “The War Diaries of James Buchanan Barnes”, New York Bulletin, July 2015]

Report on the subject of Project WS, General V. Karpov, March 1945

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has been found and brought to Dr. Zola last month for the continuation of his experiments. Zola has made immense progress, most notably on the technology replacing the Subject’s lost arm and on erasing his memories. His enhanced healing allows Zola and his team to experiment on him however they want, assured that any mistakes and resulting injuries will heal before any real damage is done. Their methods in accessing the Subject’s brains cause severe memory loss, therefore making him more useful and more efficient than we had hoped. The Subject does not remember his own birthday or even his name. However, there are some memories Zola and his team have not yet been able to erase, making it dangerous to put him into the field, despite his clear physical capability. His attachment to Steve Rogers (Captain America, enhanced human) is stronger than we suspected, but Zola assures me that he and his team will be able to fix this flaw. If he succeeds, Hydra may have the most dangerous weapon in the world in our hands, allowing us to successfully put our plans into action.

He’s been drowning for a long time. The ocean has swallowed him, cold and dark. He hasn’t surfaced in a long time. When he does, it’s by the sound of his name said by a familiar voice. He knows the man. He doesn’t know him.

He knows him better than anyone, he knows him better than he knows himself.

Notes:

my twitter
this inspired the buzzfeed article btw u should all read it because it's HILARIOUS

Archive of Our Own^beta

Actions

Work Header