Secretive - Bucky Barnes

34 || The Second Kid from Brooklyn

⚠️ Hi my dear loves, I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I just wanted to give a slight warning to everything else in coming: It is what I made of his story. I try as much as I can to stick on the truth the MCU is giving to us, but there are some parts I need to change or invent in James's life that haven't happened or aren't talked of. Like I said, I try as much as it fits into all this to keep it as far on the image Marvel creates as possible. If you're not fine with this, you should not read further. If you are, let me know what you think and have fun reading!✨⚠️
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[Nova]
We find ourselves in his room, a few more pieces of furniture in there than before. Coco disappeared into the corridor the moment I entered, a black wave of fur before dissolving in the far darkness, finding herself a new place to sleep. Neither James nor I leave a comment on her behaviour, and I ask myself whether she ever will stop fearing me, with a small sting in my heart.

She is everything I have left from an earier life, and nothing I wish to lose, as crazy as this seems to me due to all the memories locked in her.

James sits down on his bed, arranging a pillow in his back to lean on the olive-green wall. The light above is a warm yellow, and I sit down on the chair to his desk, a professional distance in between the both of us.

Anticipation crawls up inside. Hopefully, this will work. Hopefully, with his memories and my knowledge I can precisely figure out the exact position of his trigger inside his brain, and help him with it. Without killing him, at best.

Sighing in an attempt to ease my nerves, I lay down the block of paper I got from my room, right hand ready to write every essential detail. »You're sure you want to get through with this?«

»It isn't like I wouldn't answer every single question of yours honestly anyways.« he says, and I internally prepare myself for getting the longest monologue of him ever existing. »Just tell me where you want me to start.«

»I guess,« my words tremble, my brain still overtaxed with the fact he actually beat up is best friend, his best friend for more than ages, but no anger inside him concerning me. To now, that is. Focus, Nova. Otherwise, this won't work. »we should go chronologically. That's the easiest.«

Nodding, he takes a deep breath himself, hand stroking through the dark hair of his. His shoulders are not tensed in the least, but I can sense his heart is. Why does he feel every detail of my emotion, but I cannot quite look inside him the exact same way? I feel things, sure, but I guess he feels them way more intense.

However, this is something I need to think about later. For now, everything that counts is writing down the right information immediately, for not making him go through his life one more time if I mess up. I know this will be agonizing for the both of us, and I know I probably am not ready to stand it, but I will myself to over and over again. This here is to help him, to free him, and I have no better idea how to make his life worth living.

»I've been born on 10th of March in 1917 in Brooklyn. I've been the eldest of four, with Becca, I mean, Rebecca, being my favourite sister. I know one shouldn't exactly have one, one should love every sibling equally, but the moment I rest my eyes on her as a Newborn, I knew I'd never let her out of my sight.« A sad smile crosses his mouth, faint memories erupting on the inside of his closed eyes. »She was the sweetest and purest little creature on this planet. Big eyes, almost laughing the entire time.

»Anyways, my mother, her name was Winnifred Barnes, died early in my childhood. And with my father, George Barnes, mostly hanging around in Camp Lehigh, the same Steve was recruited in, I took all the stuff to do there was at home. I got them ready for school early in the morning, fed them at midday and evening, cared for their wounds they got from playing outside the whole day, tried my best at helping them educate with stolen or borrowed books – as you may know, with the Great Depression and the first World War, there wasn't much to pay education with. We were going to the real school until my father died in the Camp however, and then, everything started to go South, fall apart.