"james," the mother said, cheeks flushed, proudly holding up a plump baby boy.
"bucky," the golden-haired child giggled. "i'll call you bucky." and along they ran, hand in hand.
"jerk," the same golden-haired child chuckled lowly, years later, his voice laced with sorrow, as he watched the war take what was his.
"sergeant james barnes," the officer said. he had never seen someone so young rise up in the ranks so fast. but he didn't mind. the army could use that kind of marksmanship.
"32557038." the scientist grinned. just another captured soldier, just another subject to experiment on. funny how all of them seemed to have their name, rank, and serial number at the tip of their tongue.
"james buchanan barnes," colonel phillips uttered to himself. rogers' stubborn ass really did just risk his whole operation to rescue this man from azzano. better be worth it.
"captain america's right hand man," the newspaper headlines read. the crowds cheered, reassured that the star-spangled man with a plan had such a trusty sidekick.
"NOOOO!" the shriek tore his vocal chords. but he that was all he could shout. it had the same claim to autonomy as a name. but it was merely the last sound before the fall.
"актив," the russian snarled with a stinging slap. asset. such a failure to cooperate. more conditioning must be implemented. the trigger words had not yet been introduced.
"the new fist of hydra," zola leered. a weapon. the executioner for hydra. they could use the weapon without getting their hands dirty.
"assassin," the radio channels repeated in panicked voices. the president had just been murdered. just like that, jfk was gone. the assailant seemed to have disappear without a trace.
"the winter soldier," was whispered among all covert SHIELD communications. that was the code name given to the silent, deadly ghost.
"you're my friend," the golden-haired boy said again. except this time he was a man. powerful, bold, and broad. made of dreams. strong enough to break through a nightmare.
"criminal," the newspapers accused. the bombing at vienna was horrific. what kind of monster would plant a bomb at a peace accords conference?
"barnes," the black panther snarled. he sought revenge for his father, for the grief he needed to answer to.
"pawn," zemo chuckled. what a perfect chess piece to drive a wedge between rogers and stark. the avengers were broken.
"you know me," said the golden-haired man again. he said it sternly, but softly. the man who used to stuff newspapers in his shoes, and whose mom's name was sarah.
"white wolf," the king beckoned. it was his way of apologizing, of understanding. the victim was not to blame.
"how much for the arm?" the raccoon chuckled. it was confusing out here. tiring. wars on greater scales. wars in space.
"punk." the golden-haired man echoed the words from eons ago. he was leaving. right when he just came back. leaving you and the falcon. who you did not know but soon would.
and of all the names and titles they gave you, the things they called you by, you always preferred one.
for bucky barnes would not be remembered just as the sidekick, the childhood best friend, the weapon, the assassin, the unwilling pawn, the tired hero, or the man left behind.
bucky barnes is remembered as the one with the broken smile, the heart of gold, the willpower of a survivor, and the generosity of a loving god.
he is the man behind the shield.
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here's a little thing i wrote for bucky's 103rd birthday. i was kind of half falling asleep but i wanted to do something for baby boy :))) sorry if y'all hate it.
