Chapter Text
They give him his own floor in Avengers tower. And slowly, he starts to remember. But he knows he'll never be the same James Buchanan Barnes that Steve remembers, so he doesn't let Steve know.
He doesn't talk about his sister Becca. He introduces himself as Barnes to everyone who’ll listen (even though it feels wrong in his bones and he's quietly thankful for Steve who’s unable to call him anything but Bucky). He keeps his hair long even though the sight of it reminds him of HYDRA and he wants to tear it out. (He solves this with a hair tie that pulls it back. Hair accessories are very un-HYDRA.) He doesn't let Steve know that he's starting to remember, because it'd be too cruel to almost give him his best friend back, only to tell him he’s not that guy anymore.
But Steve Rogers is a stubborn one. He doesn't flinch when Bucky calls him Cap rather than Steve (very carefully and intentionally). He doesn't frown when he asks “Buck, you remember that?” And Bucky shakes his head quickly and firmly (Even though nowadays, there's a 20% chance he actually does remember it). He doesn't even look disappointed when Bucky doesn't return his small smiles like he used to back in 1940 (though Bucky sees it every time as if there's a fucking radar built into his brain specifically attuned to the upward curl of Steve’s lips). But god, for everything he was starting to remember, he could never remember what on earth he did to deserve somebody as painfully determined to be his friend as Steve Rogers.
Lying to Steve makes every part of him ache with regret, but he expects breaking Steve’s heart will feel worse. So he continues to be Barnes, the ex-HYDRA assassin who is not Steve Rogers’ best friend and doesn't make funny snarky remarks and flirt with any living being like Steve said Bucky would. Although he doesn't quite remember, he's pretty sure Steve’s exaggerating on that point anyway. Worse than the lying is the coldness. Steve is warmth, he's safety, he's a vague sense of familiarity that Bucky can't quite place on a specific memory, but he felt it nonetheless. He knew Steve. Back before he dragged him out of the river and before he could even associate his face with his name. Back before he even remembered Steve’s name, he knew him and that was enough to stop HYDRA. But to save him, he continued to push him away, being as cold to Steve as you'd expect from his reputation as the Winter Soldier would.
And one day Bucky decides he'd stop. Not with the lies, no, he didn't think Steve could handle the possibility of his best friend slowly returning (he wasn't, by the way, and never would), but with the coldness and the distance. He couldn't be Bucky from 1940, but he could be a friend in 2015. He could still be friends with Steve on his own terms. They'd start again, no memories, no 1940s, no false hope. If he could get Steve Rogers to be friends with Barnes rather than Bucky, mission accomplished. He could have Steve and not break his heart.
Now all that was left was to see whether Steve would take him as he was now - broken and hardened, not the same man he was in the 40s.
---
Bucky shows up on the common level at precisely 9.43am. Sam is staring at him as if his shirt is on backwards (it's not, this ex-assassin is perfectly capable of dressing himself, thank you very much), Natasha glances over at Steve, and Steve is smiling without showing his teeth (almost like he's trying to hide it) and looks so happy he might actually start crying on the couch right there.
Get a hold of yourself, Rogers.
Needless to say, it's kind of a rare occurrence to see Bucky outside of his floor other than during missions. Bucky wordlessly moves to the kitchen counter, and shifts his gaze onto Sam who’s visually scanning the cabinets.
“What's for breakfast?” Bucky breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“Well, I was gonna make bacon and eggs. I could make an extra serving, if the Winter Soldier eats that sort of thing.”
Bucky winces, and Sam seems to catch on. Just in case, Bucky responds, “Winter Soldier probably doesn't, he's kind of a sourpuss. James Buchanan Barnes does though. Thanks.”
That tiniest amount of sass was apparently invitation enough for Steve to bound up from the couch next to Bucky by the counter. Wow Rogers, could you be more desperate?
“So, what finally brought James Buchanan Barnes out here into our measly common room?” Steve says, slightly nudging Bucky in the side.
Bucky flinches hard. A little harder than he liked. The nudge felt familiar, in a sort of nice way, but he still didn't do so well with touch. That familiarity was probably all that saved Steve from being tossed across the room out of pure instinct. Steve notices, and pulls his arm back so fast he might break something. Bucky’s heart rate ticks up, but Steve looks so apologetic that he calms right back down.
“You know, we assume your floor is made of gold and rainbows, seeing as you want to spend all your time there.” Sam remarks, clearly trying to refocus attention. Steve looks glad for it. “Of course, we’d never know, since we've never been invited up.”
“I'm sure it's about the same as all of your floors.” Bucky replies in a matter-of-fact way.
“Must be nicer than…” Sam was definitely about to mention HYDRA right there and Bucky gives a small smile to reassure him that he was good, despite the fact that he was probably gonna go throw up later thinking about it. Sam changes course anyway, “whatever apartment you were living in back in the 40s, huh?”
“I don't know. Don't remember.”
Goddamn Rogers doesn't even blink. Not missing a beat, he adds, “Oh trust me, this is so much better. Your house used to have terribly squeaky floorboards, you were convinced the whole structure would come down on us if we jumped around too much. And the beds here - if memory foam had been invented back then I don't think I'd ever have enlisted. I would never have left my bed, Buck.”
Yes you would. Bucky thought without really thinking. You're Steve fucking Rogers and you'd be Captain America even if your bed were made of soft marshmallow clouds, goddammit. And he doesn't know where the thought comes from, and he doesn't have a memory to back it up, but he knows it in his heart. He doesn't let it show though - 70 years of torture teaches you the intricacies of not wearing your heart on your sleeve.
“I guess the world has shitty beds to thank for Captain America, then,” he copies Steve’s toothless smile. Not really, though, because he could never recreate that genuine joy Steve exudes. (He wasn't sure he ever could again) But his imitation is enough to prompt Steve to do the same.
This is good. This is progress. He can be friends with Steve without being Bucky.
Steve could - he had to - be able to accept who he was now. Maybe, maybe then, after Steve’s decided he's ok with a James Barnes who’s been broken and rebuilt through 70 years of pain, he could finally talk about that memory.
It was a memory of the two of them lying on the mats they laid out in his living room. Two best friends who were just turning 16, ready to take on the world, talking about what they wanted to do when they grew up. Steve talked about his art, his drawings. Bucky couldn't remember any images offhand right now, but he remembered they were beautiful. Bucky had talked about the stars. He had wanted to fly into the sky and see the stars. It was impossible then, but not so much now. Steve had laughed and nudged him in the side. (He didn't almost get tossed across the room for his troubles then) But Bucky had always been a dreamer - he'd loved his impossible dreams till HYDRA burnt those dreams right out of him.
That was his first memory of Bucky Barnes. That was the image that came into his mind as he raised his fist to punch Steve one final time on the helicarrier. That was the one anchor that kept him down as he searched for himself in the murky shadowy fog that was his mind. That was what finally brought him in, that found him in the lobby of Avengers tower one morning. He clung to the memory every day. Maybe one day he'd tell Steve.
Or maybe that would be too cruel. The way Steve looks at him, like he's waiting for his best friend to jump out and say “Surprise Stevie, I'm back and I've been here the whole time!”. He didn't want that. He didn't want Steve to cling on to the false hope that Bucky Barnes would reappear someday. His memory returning was not the same as that kid returning, as much as Steve believes otherwise.
So Bucky keeps the memory to himself, and locks it right in his heart. And he hates it every day.
---
Bucky has trouble sleeping. Nightmares are one thing - at least you have to be asleep for some amount of time to have nightmares. No, it's the falling asleep that gets to him. Falling asleep isn't easy when you're expecting a jolt of electricity to hit you the moment you drift out of consciousness. One of the many things HYDRA did to break him.
His bed helps. HYDRA had never given him such a soft bed, though he now realizes that might have been more cruel. Give him a nice soft bed and then shock him every time he tries to fall asleep. As he lies in his mountain of 4 pillows (which was 3 too many, he had told Steve), he thinks that's one thing he's thankful for. Soft beds that didn't belong to HYDRA.
He’s gotten used to the common area now that he's been there over the last few days. He would never go there in the dead of night otherwise. He’d be too vulnerable, and he had to know all possible hiding spots and escape routes before he could venture anywhere in the dark. Force of habit.
He was sure 1940 Bucky Barnes didn't have that habit.
Tonight he finally felt confident enough to visit the floor at 3.35am. It might be nice to get a glass of milk. HYDRA had never given him nice cool dairy products. And seeing as he hadn't really bothered to keep his own fridge fully stocked, he might have to steal Steve’s from the common floor.
But there would be no stealing tonight, because there Steve was, drinking his own milk out of his mug with a cow giving a thumbs up printed on the front. Bucky wished Steve didn't have night vision as good as himself, because he would have turned around and walked away immediately. He wasn't ready to talk to Steve one-on-one and definitely not in the middle of the night while he was running on no sleep for the past 48 hours. And yet, here they are. And Steve could most definitely see him.
“Can't sleep, Buck?”
Bucky nods.
“Nightmares?” Steve offers, clearly trying to start a conversation. “Tonight I dreamt of that time we were in Southern France. The time where Morita had a cold and Dum Dum called him Rudolph for a whole week because of his red nose. It was the only light in a week where we were pinned into the same location by forces coming in all directions. We all nearly went out laughing at Morita’s red nose… You remember that?”
“No.” It wasn't a lie. It sounded like a great story, but not one that was ringing any bells in Bucky’s head. He kind of wished he could remember that joy, but he was glad to not have to lie again. He thinks for a moment, then adds, “HYDRA used to use sleep deprivation. I can't fall asleep because every time I do I expect to be assaulted with about a hundred volts.”
Steve falls silent. Bucky sees his small smile go flat. After a five second silence, Steve mumbles, “Jesus, Bucky.”
That was mean, Bucky thinks. Steve had just wanted to reminisce, and Bucky had dumped a big bombshell of a reveal to make him feel bad. But he really didn't want to talk about memories he didn't want Steve to try to get his best friend back. And memories of the Winter Soldier were some of the only things Bucky let himself talk about, so there isn't much else material to draw from.
“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly.
“No, no it's fine. I… I’m glad you're at least talking about it… Talking to me.” Steve takes another sip from his cow mug. God damn Rogers is too nice about this whole situation. Does he know he's talking to an assassin who tried to kill him a few months back?
Hm. It occurs to Bucky. Maybe he needs a reminder. He comes right out and says it.
“You know, I'm not that guy you knew back in the 1940s. I barely remember him at all. I’m… I'm someone else entirely.” He expects Steve’s face to crumble, he expects disappointment, he expects at least a sorrowful gulp of milk to drown down his pain.
He gets none of that.
“I know. It's just… It's hard to remember that you're not Bucky when you're so… you.” Bucky had no idea what Steve meant, but let him continue. “I guess I'm just having a hard time. But I get it. You know, let's start again. You're not my best friend Bucky Barnes from 1940, but we can still be friends, right? I want to still be friends.”
Took the damn words right out of my mouth, Rogers. Bucky thinks. He smiles. It's his own smile, this time, not an imperfect copy of Steve’s.
“Right, Cap.” Steve still doesn't react to Bucky not using his name. Good job, Rogers. “Now, since we’re gonna be friends and all, could I have some of that milk? Sharing is a thing friends do, right?”
They sit, quietly drinking milk next to each other in the dead of night.