Fandom: Marvel
Ships: N/A
Plot: Bucky’s mind just before to the aftermath of the final fight in CA:CW

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Stark.

He didn’t know it; not at first. But he could see a resemblance to a face he knew as he watched him. Older than Howard had been, but there was definitely a woman’s touch to the curved edges of the man; a touch of the mother’s genetics blended with that of the man he had known for a few years in a war-wrecked terrain. He tried not to think about it, and the man said he was here to help, or he thought that’s what he meant. The movie reference was lost on him, he’d been basically underground since Hydra’s fall, but Steve gave him the all clear and he lowered the gun. This man was a friendly to Steve, so Bucky would trust him. He could handle having another person on their side, and honestly, they would need all the help they could gather if the other winters were awake like Bucky was worried had happened. His senses were on such high alert they were nearly on overdrive, listening for any sound that might indicate the three of them weren’t alone. He both trusted and doubted his abilities. This particular foe had been better than him before he’d remembered who he was. When he only had one goal, one mission, and that was following the commands of whatever handler was given the red book with the star. Now, years after he’d gotten free? When he was writing things in a journal and trying to find out if what was written was real? There was no telling how much his slowly resurfacing memories had changed his ability, altered his speed and reaction time. He focused on the present time, not the faint screams and sounds of gunfire he would hear in all kinds places. Finding the chamber brought a new wave of emotion. Shattered glass with bullet holes and dead bodies. The one Hydra weapon stronger than him had been killed without the chance to fight back. It didn’t make sense to Bucky.

Confusion was the only thing that could describe how perplexed this made him.

Why go through all the trouble of finding the book, finding him by drawing him out with a bombing, and going through an elaborate scheme to gain access to the most powerful Hydra weapon ever created – more powerful than even he had been – if you were just going to destroy it? And then it hit just why it had been such an issue. Why this man had gone through hoop after hoop to bring them here for some kind of vendetta. It had never been about controlling the Winter Soldier or the other winters, it had never even been about the Avengers, not really. They were collateral damage to this man.

This had always been about Stark and Steve.

And before he could fully register it, Zemo had the video playing. Long erased from any public access, audio still fuzzy, but never changing nonetheless. Of any kill order Bucky had carried out in the more than seventy years since he’d been brainwashed, this one had and would always haunt him the most. He didn’t know then, what it was he was doing. He hadn’t known who it was he was killing. Howard couldn’t have known, not with the mask, and with the much longer, typically unkept hair. But watching it as himself – as Bucky, and not the Winter Soldier they had forced him to become – he felt his heart break. He knew this man. He understood that now. That was the reason he could feel his hands shake just minutely on his rifle, which suddenly felt wrong in his hands. That was why he felt sick to his stomach as he watched himself kill Maria. Why the handlers had reset him for so long after. He could remember the feel of the electricity when they’d basically electrocuted him over and over for hours, but couldn’t erase the memory. He could remember things now that no Hydra agent would have allowed before. The celebration after Steve had saved the 107th, where he’d first officially met the man. The battle planning at the table, surrounded by Peggy, the other Commandos, a few select soldiers who acted as bodyguards. Howard was always near the opposite end, always diagonal from Bucky’s position on Steve’s left. The weapons discussions where Howard would speak to him about his rifle, the special adjustments made specifically for Bucky that made it easier to switch between close and far range ability with the flip of a scope. The care Howard took making sure that each Commando was with a weapon that they were the most comfortable with. Howard may have been a difficult man to befriend and a terrible flirt, but he cared about the men who he made weapons for. He wanted them to come home safe, and that was always the goal. As Bucky watched, he felt so much all at once.

Grief for the loss he had never been given a chance to feel. It ripped at his heart, but he kept his composure. He couldn’t risk losing his resolve. He needed to keep calm, especially now that he knew he was standing beside Howard’s son. The man he had unknowingly made an orphan. He couldn’t bring his gaze to Anthony now. He had come to help and he was finding out his greatest tragedy was because of Bucky. He didn’t think he could hurt Tony anymore than he’d already done.

Anger at not being strong enough to fight those words. Those meaningless words that could turn him into a living shell of a man. He should have been able to. He should have recognized Howard. He may have aged, but it was clear now that it was Howard. And Bucky was so angry at Hydra. Angry at himself. Angry that this man was capitalizing on the murder he had committed while being controlled. He wanted to kill the man, if only he felt he could finish it.

Guilt because of his weakness. That he had not only caused the death of his friend, but that he had been denied access to the funeral. So many questions ran through his head. One more than any of the others.

What have I done?

His eyes slowly lifted, landing on Anthony. This man should have been a friend to him, the way he was to Steve. He should never be an enemy in this, in any conflict. And yet he was, he could feel it – read it in the tension of the man’s shoulders as he turned to Steve – because Bucky had ruined it almost twenty years prior without the slightest bit of awareness. He wanted to apologize, to try and explain. He knew it was futile, deep down, but he wanted to. Grief over a loved one wasn’t something that just went away, so he saw the fight coming. Tensed for it, but also ready to die if it made Tony feel better. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t defend himself, though.

He had fought like this once; angry and grief ripping him open. When the fall didn’t kill him, they said the others had died. That Steve had been killed in the train exploding. That there was no one left who cared about him, or even believed he was okay to be around. The anger had been palpable; the fact that he hadn’t been allowed to go to Steve’s funeral, or to say goodbye. That he’d failed in doing the one thing he promised himself he would always do. He had fought blindly as they learned his skills in hand to hand were well beyond what they could counter; especially with his cybernetic arm. That was when they had started the electroshock, trying to tamper the memories away and going through the words that would break him in time. The will to fight needed to be removed if they were going to recreate him into a silent, obedient weapon and looking back on the vague time frame, Bucky couldn’t remember fighting like he had after the sixth or seventh electroshock.

He was lost in all of the emotions even as they struggled, unaware of his movements, of anything that was happening. It was autopilot for him depite his will to protect himself, he wouldn’t just lie down and die because of a mistake he’d been forced to do. And then suddenly there was a searing pain and he stumbled back, jolted back to reality from the lost thoughts of a broken man and found his arm was gone, metal blown away and there were alarms in his head. Signals he had learned a long time ago were various warnings about damage to the metal arm. He fell back, dizzy and world spinning. And then Steve was fighting for him. He wanted to say Steve’s name, to tell him no, that this wasn’t worth it, but the noise was so loud, he could barely think over the damage alert noises in his brain. His head was pounding, vision blurring as he willed the noises to just stop. He was being helped up and carried by Steve then, and all Bucky could do was hang his head, crying silently. He had broken so much already. There was so much he needed to make up for, and yet this was much worse than anything he’d done prior.

He was the reason Steve’s life had turn to shambles in a mere few days.

And James Buchanen Barnes could not hold back the tears at that realization that even with all the friends he had cost Steve, the freedom he’d inadvertently stolen, Steve had still chosen him.