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He didn’t know what to expect. Walker had given him some idea - telling the team when did they go from “allies” to “team”? That he had seen his worst memories when he entered the mini-Void while he touched Bob’s hand. He had assumed that he would wake up and find himself in HYDRA, or the Red Room, or on that street in 1991.
He was wrong.
~ // ~
He looked up to see a face that he hadn’t seen in nearly a century - God . Only then did he realize that until that moment, he had forgotten his father’s face. James Buchanan Barnes Senior was standing over him, belt in hand, screaming at him to stop whining, don’t be such a girl, this is for your own good, I am your father what I say goes do not interfere as the leather struck his back again, again, again. From Bucky’s vantage point, he could finally see the faces of his mother and sisters in the front window, his Ma covering Becca’s eyes as they watched the events unfold on the porch.
Bucky had forgotten about this - he had gotten between his father and his ma when his father tried to backhand Ma across the face. “You don’t have to hit her”, was all that came from the meek little voice, cracking with the thirteen-year-old squeak he had gotten bullied for in school. That was all it took for Private James Barnes to turn the cannon of his anger onto his son, dragging him by the ear to the front stoop. Bucky remembered the shame he had felt in his chest, as his father accused him of being weak, of being small, of being what Bucky now knew as bisexual. He had taken those hits because his Ma or sisters would have taken them otherwise. He had to protect them.
Bucky tried to tackle his father, to save his younger self, but James Sr. grabbed him by the neck like a feral cat, and tossed him like he weighed no more than a small stone. His right hand stung as he pushed himself to his feet, small cuts and granules of stone embedded in the palm of his hand. He got up, looking for another way - there had to be one. There had to be a way out. His friends when did they become friends? Seriously, where did that come from? Were probably suffering worse than he was.
Bucky had a new family to protect now. This time, he would do it right.
He looked to his left - he noticed that what, from a distance, had seemed like the road stretching onwards, was a wall.
This was a room. Rooms had walls, and walls could break.
Bucky couldn’t resist a final glance at his teenage self, sending a silent message, despite his doubt that it would be heard, let alone change anything.
You are stronger than he is. He is wrong about you, and you will survive everything you will go through and find peace. I swear it.
Bucky gathered his strength (and his nerve), and wound up his vibranium arm to breach the wall -
Which broke like brittle ice, or glass
Because glass is what it was.
Bucky found himself in a cryostasis chamber, in a HYDRA facility in… he didn’t even know what year it could have been. He looked at the face of the Winter Soldier, of - not him. He wasn’t there anymore but you were he was James Buchanan Barnes, not the winter soldier. Not anymore. There were fresh bruises across his face, the result of - ah. He knew this, from an outside perspective. He had been sparring with the other Winter Soldier trainees, and one had managed to land a heavy hit on his jaw, breaking teeth. Of course, the Soldier didn’t complain. It wasn’t allowed to complain. It complied, nothing else.
Bucky felt himself being dragged under, into too many thoughts, memories, emotions, and forced himself to turn away. He saw the now-intact glass behind him, and broke through without looking back.
~ // ~
He was in the Red Room. Little Widows, none older than fifteen, stood at attention in a razor-straight line in front of - him. He wasn’t a spectator this time, it was his body, his movements.
Bucky couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than watching.
He felt his tongue, leaden with decades of never using it, bark sharply in Russian. He felt his limbs move of their own accord, pacing down the line, looking each trainee in the eye, and caught a glimpse of auburn hair and pale skin.
Natalia.
He strained, strained to make his body turn, to face the child who would later grow to save him, who he would shoot, who would die. He wanted to free her, free all of them, to apologize, to make amends.
It was a strange feeling, trying to move in a body that was his, but to feel it move of its own accord without anyone commanding it to move. Instead of turning back, he felt his metal arm, its crudely fashioned titanium plates digging into his back, suddenly reach out to grab an older Widow by the neck, and bring her to the front. A harsh word had the rest of the children sitting in a circle, posture flawless, identical to the next one in the line. The child he had chosen as a demonstration stood in front of him, long raven hair pulled back in a bun stretching her skin, it was pulled so tight, not meeting his eyes. Her head was lowered, knowing that only more pain would follow.
In one swift move, he felt his body reach out and dislocate her right shoulder, as unflinchingly as one would tie their shoelaces. He relocated it with a harsh shove, then turned her slightly so the other Widows could observe. He did it again. And again. And again.
This was worse. It was so much worse, to feel hot tears hitting his flesh arm, to hear the crack of the bone leaving its socket. To know he had caused it. Bucky closed his eyes, trying to rip his mind away-
~ // ~
He found himself in an apartment, holding a kitchen knife in his metal hand. The space was cheap and dingy, with a sleeping bag for blankets and candy bars as food. The apartment he had found abandoned when he found himself free from the Winter Soldier programming for the first time. He remembered all too clearly the feeling of trying to piece a life back together from the broken shards of self he scrounged from the museum, and the lightning-quick flashes of memory he obsessively recorded in notebooks. He remembered trying to piece these shards back together, and trying to maybe make some sort of home out of it. He remembered being alone. He remembered the part that wondered if it would be easier to return to HYDRA, just to obliterate the pain of autonomy, of facing himself. The part that was holding the knife that moved to slice open thin layers of skin on his human arm, but froze millimeters away.
Bucky remembered this day. It was the day he learned that HYDRA’s programming prevented him from harming or killing himself by his own volition. He remembered how he just wanted to rest, to be done, for it to be over.
He was so tired of this half-life.
Of drowning.
He just wanted peace. Did he even deserve it? Did he even know what it was anymore?
No. Bucky shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts out of it. He looked in the window, and saw that in its reflection, dark hands had been snaking across his skull.
He remembered why he was here, why he was in this hellscape. And why he couldn’t stay.
He walked out his front door, bracing himself as he opened his eyes to face…
~ // ~
Himself.
In a clearing surrounded by dark trees, Bucky stood, but not alone. Standing across from him was the Asset, just after it had killed Howard and Maria Stark. The Bucky that had the final conversation with Steve Rogers before he had gone back in time to live with the girl he had shared one kiss with, and at the last second, had bitten back the “I love you” that he had been choking back since the forties. He saw the Soldier that resurfaced in Madripoor, destroying targets in a tavern at Zemo’s command. He saw young James, with fresh wounds from the most recent whipping from his father. He saw Sergeant Barnes, the moment he saw Peggy Carter flirt with Steve. The moment he realized that it was jealousy he felt, because he too loved him, but not as the best friend he had always convinced himself the affection stemmed from. It was the kind of love that drove a man to sweep his beau off her feet and kiss her with passion and fervor, the kind that was unquestionably wrong to feel towards another man.
He stood facing himself, all those selves, the ones he held deep in his chest and tried to ignore, the ones he was ashamed of, the ones he hoped had disappeared.
They faced him now, unspeaking, unflinching.
There was no way around it. Bucky ran scenarios in his mind, trying to determine some strategy to defeat that many people, people with the same strength, the same determination, the same thoughts as he. He needed a way to defeat them.
Didn’t he?
Suddenly a thought came to him. One that only Bucky, the Bucky he was now, would have tried.
He slowly moved towards the group, first approaching his youngest self. The others balled their fists, reached for weapons, stepped towards James to protect him, but Bucky didn’t attack. He slowly knelt down until he was at the boy’s level, and gently pressed his forehead against his own. He put his hands, one metal, one flesh, on the bony ones in front of him, carefully avoiding the fresh marks carved into the skin.
Bucky closed his eyes and said the words he wished someone would have told him then. “You are so strong, so kind, so good. You are not broken, or twisted, or weak. You’re just as you need to be, and it was never your fault. You are loved, and you can forgive yourself now. You’re safe”.
The little boy shuddered, and for a moment, Bucky thought that he had made a mistake - until he realized that the child was sobbing. He threw his arms around the older man, and for the first time, cried in arms without the fear of being punished for being human. Bucky suddenly felt a wisp of air blow past, and the weight of the boy disappeared. He looked to see his thirteen year old self gone, finally at peace. He gathered himself, and stood to face the next James.
The Soldier he had been under Zemo’s command, as they searched for information about the new super soldier serum. He looked into those broken eyes and saw the shame he had felt when he had regressed into his old patterns. Most of all, the shame he had felt because of how easy it was to become the Winter Soldier again, like breathing. Bucky reached out, and clasped his other self’s shoulders, looking himself unflinchingly in the eye. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are not the Soldier. You were, and it’s true that it felt easier to be. And that doesn’t mean you failed, or you are too weak to get over it. Because it was at least familiar, even though it hurt. But you are strong enough to be yourself again. You are so strong, but you don’t have to be strong alone. You can lean on people, and they will catch you. Your mission to make amends includes all the Soldier’s victims, and that includes yourself. You can rest, and just be yourself now. You are nobody’s soldier anymore.” he felt his alter’s shoulders shake with emotion, and just as before, disappear, finally at rest.
He approached the heartbroken Bucky, the one that watched the love of his life leave him for a girl he barely knew. This Bucky didn’t even put up a fight; just shoved his hands into his pockets and avoided anyone’s gaze. He swiped tears from his cheeks as Bucky stepped towards himself. He gently took his own hands, hot and sticky from tears, and held them in his own. After a moment, he reached out with his human hand to tilt Past Bucky’s chin up so Now-Bucky could look him in the eye. He tried to look as gentle and harmless as possible, and took himself into a gentle hug. Past-Bucky tensed, but after a beat, melted into the embrace, sobbing into his future self’s shoulder, feeling too broken to even try holding his stoic facade together. “I’m sorry.” Bucky whispered into the other man’s ear. “I’m sorry he left you all alone, in a new century where it was finally safe to love him as you had all this time. I’m sorry that he didn’t see how much you cared, as more than a brother. I’m sorry you feel like you deserve this, because you don’t. I’m sorry that you still doubt that you aren’t broken for loving him, even though it’s no longer seen as a disease to do so. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to have people in your life that care about you. And they’ll come find you soon, I promise. You won’t be alone forever, and you’ll find a family again. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be angry at Steve for leaving. It’s not wrong that you are in love, because it proves that you’re not a machine like they insisted you were. It’s alright to grieve. But you aren’t alone. You are loved.” He held his other self tightly, feeling a wet patch grow on his shirt collar, but he didn’t move away. He let himself feel broken, and then be whisked away, having finally outwardly expressed his deepest emotions for the first time in his life.
He faced the Asset, unsure about how to approach him. Bucky took a breath, and took a small step towards his muzzled self, stopping as soon as the Asset raised his hands, knife in one, to attack. Of course, because nobody who had come near him in his memory wasn’t a threat. It was either a handler, or a target. The Asset didn’t know affection, know gentleness, know softness.
It was time to introduce him.
Bucky raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. He slowly moved towards the Asset, who tensed to strike, but never did. Bucky didn’t try to touch the man - that was too soon. The Asset had never known a gentle touch, and would see any attempt to do so as an attack. Bucky resorted to offering a stuffed animal wait, since when did I have that? Focus Bucky, trauma now, dimension pondering later to the Asset, who took it immediately, training kicking in as it had so many times before. He paused in wonder at the unexpected softness, and, with a wary glance at Bucky, slowly brought it to his chest. When no punishment came, he cradled it gently, marveling at the novelty of receiving something that would not be used as a weapon or a means of punishment. Bucky, smiling slightly, though continuing to avoid making direct eye contact, slowly moved to wrap a fluffy blanket around the Asset’s shoulders. Asset flinched, waiting for a blow to land as punishment for leaving himself vulnerable, but none came. He looked up at Bucky with hungry eyes, almost daring to hope.
The final move, Bucky thought. As slowly and non-threateningly as possible, he reached towards the Asset’s face, and pulled off the muzzle for the first time in over half a century. Bucky tossed it away, and, looking the Asset in the eye as nonthreateningly as he could, whispered barely a sentence: “You’re not theirs”
The Asset closed his eyes, took his first deep breath he could remember, and slowly faded with a sigh of exhaustion, finally allowed to stop fighting.
Bucky turned to the last man standing, to Sergeant Barnes, dressed to the nines in his crisp army uniform. He gripped the Sergeant by the shoulders, firmly but with no malice. “Listen. You are not sick. You are not broken. You are not wrong, you are not possessed, you aren’t insane. You love Steve Rogers” The Sergeant flinched, as if waiting for Bucky to slap him, to scream, to beat him to a pulp and leave him in an alleyway, but Bucky wouldn’t let go. “Look at me. You aren’t wrong for loving him. Nobody can choose who they fall in love with, and that goes for you too. You didn’t choose to love Steve Rogers, but you love him all the same. You still deserve love, and you will find it. But don’t call yourself ill, because you’re not. You are whole. You are just as you should be, and you love a man. These go together, and it’s okay to feel confused about it. But you are loved by people who know who you are, and they love you no less. You are accepted, and you aren’t wrong. You love Steve Rogers, and that is a beautiful thing. You are worth no less because of it.”
Sergeant Barnes looked at his counterpart with tears in his eyes, and faded while mouthing a silent thanks, thanks for being seen, for not being treated like scum for his feelings. Unlike the others, he didn't exactly fade into nothingness, but instead disappeared, leaving a doorway in his place.
His friends still needed him. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th infantry, former Fist of Hydra, best friend of Steve Rogers, White Wolf, turned to face the next danger with a new unity and resolve resting behind his ribs.
Someday, he would have to thank Bob. Thanks to his Void alter, Bucky finally felt whole for the first time in his life. He took a deep breath, and stepped through the door.