I'll Be Seeing You ☆ A Stevebucky Fic

4; The Winter Soldier

SUMMARY: The story of Bucky's capture, and everything that followed.

CW for blood, vomit, discussions of death, discussions of Nazis, and mild violence.

When Bucky Barnes fell off of the train in 1945, HYDRA was quick to pursue him.

This pursuit ultimately led to the demise of James Buchanan Barnes, and in turn allowed for the rise of the Winter Soldier.

What could have possibly happened as to cause one of the Army's strongest soldiers, Steve Rogers's best friend of countless years, to crack underneath the grasp of Hydra and allow them to turn him into nothing more than a pair of hollow eyes and an unhinged mind?

Unspeakable things occurred in that chamber in Siberia - things that S.W.O.R.D., and the Avengers, and the world still don't quite understand. He refuses to talk about it, because when he does, it's like being back there all over again, and he can't stop seeing the faces of the scientists who broke him, and he feels as helpless as he did the day they dragged him through the snow. But he remembers it... some of it, anyways. He may not remember every last second leading up to the moment where he finally cracked, but he remembers the pain. He remembers the pain, and the feeling of hopelessness, and the final realization that he would never make it out. He'll never be ready to tell everyone what truly happened, but he remembers.

And he wishes he didn't.

This is the story of the death of James Buchanan Barnes as it deserved to be told.

✯ ✯ ✯

When his eyes first opened, he thought he was dead.

He had no memory of hitting the ground - wasn't even sure how much pain he had been in when he'd finally given in to the jaws of death - though it was probably better that way. Weird that he couldn't remember dying, but he wasn't complaining.

Here he was, dead on the floor, and all he could think about was Steve still up on the train. God, he hoped he was safe.

Where was he, anyways? All he could see, for miles and miles above him, was white. In the corners of his eyes, he could have sworn that there were little slivers of black too, looming above him as though ready to attack. Maybe he'd gotten into hell, but he couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't think about all of the terrible things he'd done in his life that caused him to end up here.

Or maybe he was a ghost - that was more plausible. It would explain why his brain was still intact, yet his body didn't feel like it was his. He didn't feel entirely there, not enough to actually stand up and move around. Did he have to wait a certain amount of time to be able to do that? Or was he supposed to wait for some God-like figure to come and find him, and show him into the afterlife? Was there some sort of principle to the whole death thing, some sort of rule that it followed?

He supposed the only thing to do right now was to wait and find out.

It was just like Steve had said all those months ago: You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?

Well, here he was, and Steve wasn't with him.

Bucky almost resented that.

But Steve deserved better than he ever did. Since the war had started, Bucky had always been kept here... right on the verge of death, but the trigger never actually pulled. He'd been captured by those damn Nazis over a year ago and he thought he'd die then, but instead they slammed him onto a cold metal table and tortured him to the point where he didn't recognize his own name. He'd tried dying a few times then - that was what the leather straps that restrained his hands and waist were for. So that he wouldn't claw at his own throat and choke himself to death like some sort of wild animal, though that was really what he was. Or what they made him feel like.  Still, even then he hadn't thought enough about death to wonder what it actually felt like. He wouldn't have supposed it would feel like this. He'd thought more about trying to die than he did about what came after it, and all he was thinking as he lay here now was that maybe he should've committed to an actual religion while he was alive. To him, there had never been a God. No higher up being, nobody who was always watching over him. What was the point in believing in one? Not like God was always looking out for him, anyway. If there was one out there, somewhere, it had been a real bitch to him. But maybe that was why no one was coming for him now - because he hadn't believed enough. Because he'd cursed God's name many times in life, never thinking about what that would mean in death. And what was the point in saving one's soul if the soul had never repented for his sins? Bucky didn't deserve the afterlife, whether that be heaven or hell... he wasn't good enough for either. He'd never had enough faith for either, anyways. It wasn't like any of it mattered now - he was already dead and it was too late to start praising God in hopes that they'd take him somewhere. Really, anywhere was better than this.