Letting Go | Bucky Barnes

40 | Wednesday, July 14th, 1:52 AM

As I let myself reach into his mind, I'm surrounded by a nothingness that seems frantic. Like despite there being no sound or light, everything feels chaotic and loud. And for some terrifying reason, it feels familiar.

I focus on the task, sending calming waves through him and encouraging him to pull his memories upwards, giving him the reigns on what he wants to remember with only a hint towards Hydra.

The nothingness around me morphs, swirling like paint in water until and I'm standing in Atticus' living room, the space eerily similar to when we walked through it a week ago. On the leather couch sits a man and woman, faces pressed with worry as they watch the tv across from them. I look around, but only they are clear—the words from the tv a jumbled mess that doesn't register in my ears, and the frames on the walls boasting fuzzy blotches of color rather than discernable shapes.

'Come on.'

The words startle me as my eyes fall onto a young Atticus who walks over and plops himself on the end of the couch, a Gameboy in hand that pings and zaps obnoxiously.

'You stupid rabbit.'

"Atticus, please, turn that down," the woman says.

'Ugh, fine.'

Atticus rolls his eyes, but follows the order, turning it down before his eyes fall onto the tv. "What's going on?" he asks, noticing his parents' seriousness.

"The government wants to make a new law that would brand illegal immigrants—and anyone who helps them—as felons," his father explains.

"Felons? Like they would go to jail? But that's—"

"People aren't going to let it happen. We aren't going to let it happen."

This must be before the protests...

I urge him away from this memory gently, letting him bring me to where ever he wants next.

The space around me melts, memories and thoughts swirling around until they solidify into a small room. A teenage Atticus sits at a desk, writing in a notebook as he looks between it and a thick textbook propped on the wall. A parade of footsteps accompanied by a child's laughter passes his door, and I'm taken back by the gentleness of the smile that comes to his lips as his attention is pulled away from his work.

'He's laughing.'

He watches the door a moment before turning back to his paper.

Oh.

I'm hearing his thoughts...

This isn't what it was like in Bucky's dreams...

And when I practiced with Shuri, we always spoke...

I wonder if it's because I'm letting him relive his memories... Not interfering with what he sees...

Doesn't matter.

I watch Atticus a moment longer before urging him to move us forward again, trying to get him to find Hydra.

A moment later the bedroom slips away, replaced by cinderblock and cement. I look around, realizing I'm in a cell, outfitted with two bunk beds on either side of the room that barely leaves two feet between them. That's when the individuals sitting atop them become clear in my vision. Ripley sits on the top right, pressed into the corner, while Austen and Lizzie sit on the bottom left, faces blank.

Atticus appears beside me, eyes scanning the others. "I'm gonna have to complain to management; I was promised a personal suite," he says, shaking his head in mock annoyance. Ripley chuckles a little, but Lizzie and Austen don't even blink. "I'm Atticus."