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it was a curse he bore from a young age, extraditing memories, planting new artificiality, and a violent and utterly uncontrollable rage. he was the machine, he did the killing. but the metal arm had a mind of its own. metal controlling him in the past, vibranium serving as a constant reminder in the present. there was nowhere to hide inside his own mind.
congressman barnes leaves his colleagues behind as he stumbles into the bathrooms, hoping, praying, he could be alone. the snide comment about his past he just received wasn't the only thing contributing to his breakdown, but it sure was the last drop. it overflows and buries everyone along with it.
he grabs onto the sink, breathing heavily. his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might be having a medical emergency. his vision blurry, both through tears and lack of oxygen, makes it hard to discern what he's seeing when he looks in the mirror. the person in front of him looks just like him, has dark, long hair, blue piercing eyes, and is covered in blood. the red star on the side of the reflection's metal arm is almost glowing, the light getting brighter. the winter soldier is staring right at him, he is the predator, while bucky is the prey.
his heart drops. he immediately turns the sink on, the water gushing all over the bathroom with the pressure of a waterfall, and claws at his face with water filled hands, attempting to get rid of the violence on his face. as much as he tries, the winter soldier just stares.
looking back up through tears, james cannot believe the person he sees in the reflection next. it is a man with short-cut hair, a scar on his left cheek, dressed in military clothing. he recognises himself immediately. what he would do to go back, and stop himself for ever getting on that train. but what would it matter, he would do anything for steve.
then a new apparition appears, a tall, blond haired, healthy and happy steve rogers. bucky is almost scared at the sense of security he feels in the moment. he stumbles back into the frame of the toilet cubicles, holding on like he's on a rollercoaster. after finally recognising there is no threat, he attempts to bridge the gap between them, wants to finally see, and even hug him again. but steve turns around, and disappears into the mist alongside the shadow of a woman by his side.
all that's left is his own reflection. wet hair, red marks on his face from the attempts of getting rid of the blood, and most importantly, the betrayal of loneliness his past left behind. the fury bubbling is one of a kind. bucky raises his arm to punch the mirror in a quick jab. it shatters into hundreds of pieces scattered across the bathroom floor. soon after, the pain commences.
looking down, he notices a trail of red on the sink and under the resting position of his arm. he had used his right arm, his flesh and ... of humanity.
there's a silence which follows. a deadly silence. at this point, there is no denying the people at the gala have heard something happening in the bathroom. there will be no denying it, james is not fit to be congressman in his state they will say.
wrecked and in pain, he takes a step back again and rests against the cubicle, slowly sliding to the floor. this time, there are no tears flowing, just a deep sense of emptiness surrounding the man. he raises both his hands and admires them like it's the first time he sees them. the blood is oddly calming. a sign of humanity, of suffering, but also tenderness.
his vibranium arm cold and dark, like a shadow, with gold, vein-like, patterns woven throughout it stares back at him for a moment. he remembers the first time it was given to him, the first time he activated it. the first time he was given agency over what to do with it. it was his, this arm was his humanity.
even if for a moment, everything seemed a little more tender for bucky. he did it already, he could do it again; he would be alright.