Chapter Text
All the king’s horses, all the king’s men,
Couldn’t put me together again
‘Cause all of my enemies started out friends, help me hold onto you.
I’ve been the archer, I’ve been the prey.
Who could ever leave me darlin’? But who could stay?
-The Archer (Taylor Swift)
“That’s two sessions in a row now that you've come and lied about having nightmares. I hope you realize, James, that I can read you pretty well by now.” Dr. Raynor sighed, peering up at Bucky from where she was about to start writing in her notebook again. Her and that stupid notebook.
“You got me, doc.” Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t offer any more information out of spite.
“Was it a nightmare you’ve had before? Or a new one? I’ve noticed when you have a new nightmare, you’re a bit crabbier than usual. If that’s at all possible." It was a dry joke on her part, and Bucky didn’t find it funny. He didn’t find many things funny anymore.
“You know, I do love your jokes, Doc. I go home and tell them to all my friends. They think they're hilarious.” He knew she hated the sarcasm, but it was just who he was. Dry humor in retaliation was one hell of a defense mechanism.
“You don’t have any friends.”
“Ouch. Thanks for that. I have Yori, you know." Bucky rolled his eyes. He continued to sit on the uncomfortable futon, hoping she'd drop the topic of the nightmares.
“James.”
It felt like his mother was scolding him. No yelling, only an exasperated sigh of his name to make him cave. Bucky was silent for a few moments before he answered, all dry humor gone.
"It was a new nightmare,” he relented. “Another memory. I…killed this couple in the late nineties. I knew the woman. She was one of the nurses who checked on me whenever I went in and out of the cryo-chamber," Bucky said, looking down at his hands. He toyed with the glove on his left hand, feeling the grooves of the metal arm beneath.
“So, you’re feeling guilt about this couple, especially the woman. And it's harder on you because you can't make amends to the dead," Dr. Raynor said, dissecting his brain in a way he'll never understand.
“I can’t make amends to them . But they had a kid. A daughter,” Bucky said. How many children had he orphaned while under HYDRA’s command?
It was weird how the healing process of the mind worked. He remembered most things about his time as the Winter Soldier now. But dark memories lurked just beneath the surface, where they tended to bubble up in his unconsciousness.
This was one of those instances. He wondered whether he had blocked out the most painful parts of his past without realizing it. It had been almost a year since everyone returned. And even longer since he was the Winter Soldier (not counting the five years as dust). But, new horrors still emerged in his dreams every now and then.
“So do you think you should try to make amends with the daughter?” Dr. Raynor asked, crossing her legs and settling back into the chair.
“I don’t know if I can,” Bucky admitted.
“Well, you’ve had success in maintaining a friendship with Yori. You could do the same with this girl. You could use more friends than just him anyway, and it’d be good to have friends your age,” Dr. Raynor suggested. She fixed her gaze on him, and Bucky could tell she was trying to gauge his reaction.
“Yori is my age.” He started, but then looked down at the ground. “She was there when I killed them. “I don’t think she’d take kindly to seeing me,” Bucky said, his tone blunt as he ran a hand through his hair.
It was the truth. He’d been assigned to kill the girl’s parents shortly after HYDRA realized that the mother had been studying him a bit too closely and had been reporting her findings to an outside source. But even then, she had been kind to him when possible. Some of the only kindness he ever experienced as the Winter Soldier. She was a liability to them. So, they wanted her eliminated, along with any proof of his existence. So, he had eliminated her and her husband. And then burned the evidence. But the child had seen. He hadn’t realized she was even there until he was already dousing the walls with gasoline.
Dr. Raynor scrunched her brows as if she were confused. Bucky was expecting more of a horror-struck look, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.
"I've been over your files from your time as the Winter Soldier, James. You never left witnesses, at least that you could help. Did you spare the girl’s life?”
The guilt hit Bucky like a truck. The poor kid had been so terror-struck she couldn’t move as he’d stalked towards her. Every instinct in his body had told him to kill her. To finish the mission. No witnesses, no survivors. But some part of his subconscious must’ve been fighting like hell. Dr. Raynor was right. He’d never left witnesses. But this girl had been right in front of him, and for once in that clouded, dark haze…he’d hesitated. He couldn’t say why, couldn’t explain the reason. He’d hesitated, and the girl ran.
He felt guilt for killing her parents and leaving her an orphan. But he also felt guilty that he could never be sure if he had decided to spare her. If he had chosen not to kill her, he might find some comfort in knowing he'd made the right choice.
But he couldn’t be certain because he hadn’t chosen anything with awareness. He’d just hesitated .
Dr. Raynor must have seen the guilt written all over his face.
“Alright. We’ll stop there for today, James. I know it’s difficult, but consider making amends with the girl. She may need it as much as you do. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? She isn’t a super soldier, so it’s not like she could do any real damage.”
**
Bucky wasn’t too sure how to approach this.
He had found the girl days before his session with Dr. Raynor, but he was careful to go nowhere near her.
Yori had never seen him before they met at Izzy. It had been easy to become friends with the old man, and they’d hit it off. This girl was a different story. She’d seen him in action, seen the worst of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she screamed and ran as soon as she saw him. But she’d been a child when it happened. He’d done his research and found that she was born in '92, which would’ve made her about 3-4 when it happened. He couldn’t remember the exact month, but he remembered the snow outside and the chilling rain.
Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. He knew he was being hopeful, but there were things he didn’t remember from when he was that age. Granted, that was over a hundred years ago.
Did she know that he was the man behind the Winter Soldier? Most people knew his name. But, after cutting his hair short, almost no one seemed to recognize him. He didn’t like having to lie. But he was afraid of them realizing the monster that he was.
He felt like a creep, expressing a genuine sense of discomfort with himself. He was sitting at a coffee shop a block down from the bookstore where she worked. He was trying to work up the nerve to go in. Should he wait until closer to closing? So if she did freak out, it wouldn’t ruin her whole day?
By the time the store closed, he still hadn’t moved from the tiny café table. The waitresses had stopped shooting him curious glances a while ago.
He lowered his head and peered up from the bill of his hat. Classic Steve move, only wearing a ball cap to hide his identity.
He watched as she locked up the store and turned toward the street. She searched her purse before pulling out a cell phone and earbuds. She clicked through her phone for a moment. Then, she looked up and walked in the opposite direction from where he was sitting.
Bucky rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and sighed. He’d wasted a whole day sitting here, trying to work up the nerve to go in.
Dr. Raynor was right. It’s not like she was a super soldier. She was just a normal person. She couldn’t hurt him, not physically at least. But he didn’t want to see her face scrunched up in fear because of him. He had already seen it in his dreams on her small face. The way she’d looked up at him in terror always made him wake up suddenly, desperate for air.
In that time between dreaming and reality, he always forgets that he didn’t do it. All he can think about is what would have happened if he hadn’t hesitated. The guilt always seemed to paralyze him.
Bucky peered down at his notebook, where he had written a few notes from today. Memories mostly, and observations. It was a habit from his time on the run when he wrote memories down to ensure he would not forget them again. Even if he hadn’t forgotten anything lately, it was comforting to know he had something to fall back on.
He closed the notebook and stuffed it in his jacket pocket, right next to Steve’s journal. Most of the things he’d written that day were trivial, except for the last few words he’d written at the very bottom of the page.
Emma looks just like her mother.