Inbox (Eachdraidh)

[starspangled]

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May 3rd or 4th, via dog tags

[wipedclean]

[It's late. Very late. But he hasn't been sleeping well, even with Ariadne there. So he slips out of bed and sits in the hall, his back up against the wall, and pulls out the dog tag that he wears around his neck.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He's still not sure who that is.

He activates it, but it's a long silence before he finally speaks, quietly, hesitantly, his voice a little rough from disuse. He hasn't been talking a lot these past few days.]

Steve?

May 3rd or 4th, via dog tags

[starspangled]

Hey Buck.

[Steve's always happy to hear his voice, however quiet his own is.]

How are things?

[wipedclean]

[He lets out a rush of breath when Steve answers, as if part of him wasn't really expecting him to. As if these past few days have erased everything good in this world. But no, Steve's still there. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds the dog tag tightly in his hand, pressing his hand to his forehead.]

Not... not good.

[He's lost again, lost inside his head, and he's having trouble finding his way out.]

I... [He chokes on the words, swallows hard, tries again.]

I miss you.

[starspangled]

[This is what hurts him, what scares him. It's not a war or the threat of death. One thing or the other has been a permanent fixture in his life. But hearing the distress of someone he cares about, someone he loves...

He squeezes his eyes shut and brings the cool metal of the dog tag to his lips.]

I miss you too. It hurts.

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[He exhales, whining softly, his hand curled into a tight fist.]

Everything hurts.

[He can't control himself like he thought he could. He can't trust himself like he he was beginning to think he could. First he falls asleep for a year and then this happens. He doesn't know what to do.]

[starspangled]

[He can't just do nothing, he can't-

Bucky whines and it gets Steve on his feet, makes him start pacing restlessly back and forth.]

Okay. What would make it better? What would help?

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[You here, is the only thing he can think of, but of course that's impossible.

Not to mention if he said it, Steve would try to make it happen, and that would be bad.]

I don't know.

[starspangled]

[He'd try his damndest.]

Does talking to me help?

[wipedclean]

[Steve's voice helps him focus, helps keep him centered and present.]

Yes.

[He's quiet for a moment.]

Tell me a story.

[starspangled]

Talking to you helps me too.

[He's not just saying it. Bucky doesn't remember a lot of things, but Steve still feels like he can relate to him in a way that other people can't. It might be just a feeling, but it's there.

It reminds him that he's not alone.]

Okay.

[Steve sits down on the floor and leans his head back against the wall.]

What kind of stories do you like most?

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The ones about you and... me.

[He hesitates before the me because he still feels... very disconnected from the man Steve talks about, the man he sees in his own scattered memories, but he knows it's him, even if he doesn't feel it. And he knows Steve would be upset if he referred to himself as a different person, and he doesn't want to make Steve upset.

Still, it's true. Even though he usually doesn't remember the stories Steve tells, he wants to know more about who he was. Why Steve liked him so much he still sticks with him now.]

[starspangled]

My favorite kind.

[And he has thousands to choose from, as many stories as Bucky has lost memories.]

Did I tell you about the time we were parents?

[wipedclean]

No.

[His confusion is evident in his tone. When were they parents? How the hell did that happen?

...which just goes to show how much it's working already, keeping his focus away from his own head and on Steve.]

[starspangled]

It was a bird.

[Steve sounds a little bit amused himself.]

It must've fallen out of its nest, and you heard it. You always had good ears, or maybe it just seemed that way since I had the bad one. Anyway, you found it. So we kept it in a box at my place. We'd catch bugs for it during the day, and you spent the better part of a week sleeping over because you said that it was your responsibility as the father to be there.

[He snorts softly.]

I still haven't figured out how we decided that you were the dad.

[wipedclean]

Oh.

[A bird.

He doesn't remember.]

Did it... was it okay?

[starspangled]

It was fine. A few days later it was big enough to fly away. We both cried.

[There's a soft laugh at the memory.]

Of course I said I wasn't. But you knew.

[wipedclean]

[He's quiet for a moment, trying to find the memory of it in his head, but there's nothing there. He sighs softly.]

How old were we?

[starspangled]

Maybe ten? You were missing one of your front teeth. Always bragging about how you could spit through it.

[Yeah. That age.]

Would you tell me a story, Buck?

[wipedclean]

[He lets out a frustrated huff.]

Don't know any.

[starspangled]

I think you do.

[Steve corrects gently.]

The day I fell from the helicarrier. The day you pulled me out of the Potomac. I'd like to hear that story.

[wipedclean]

But you know that one.

[He's more nervous than anything else. He can't tell a story. How do you even do that?]

[starspangled]

Not really.

[He knows the facts, what happened. But he wants to know what Bucky was thinking. Maybe the best way is just by asking.]

You could've just let me die. Why didn't you?

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[He's quiet for a long time, only the sound of his breathing evidence that he's still there.

He swallows hard and when he speaks, it's broken.]

I... remembered. Nothing... no one... had ever made me... remember. Like that. Before.

[starspangled]

Was it better to remember?

[It had seemed to distress him at the time, facing something that directly clashed with his mission.]

[wipedclean]

No.

[He says it softly.]

It hurt. It still hurts.

[Physically and emotionally.]

But I... wanted to know... what Hydra was hiding from me.