He took a deep breath and slowly nodded, his eyes closing as he sat back straight against the chair. I walked around until I was directly behind him. I slowly slid my fingertips across his forehead, settling against each temple. He laid his head back, eyes wide. "Lucky," he called out before I could close my eyes. I nod for him to continue. "Don't let him out."
"Not a chance," I give him a cheesy smile and close my eyes.
As I delve deep into James' mind, I begin to piece together fragments of memories. The only way I can explain how is, its like taping ripped paper back together. I can sense the soldier lurking in the darkest part of his mind, hidden behind years of abuse and torment. I dull the memories of every person the soldier ever killed, pushing it so far to the back that it would take a lot of digging to find. It would allow him peace and restful sleep. They aren't forgotten, just floating in the dark as I pull pieces of broken memories to the front.
I pull out from his mind, taking a deep breath to center myself as the oncoming headache begins to loom in the right of my head. It happens every time, a constant side effect of mind altering.
"Are you okay?" James asks softly, his head still tilted back and his eyes watching my every move.
"I'm fine," I smile, ignoring the dull ache in my right temple. "I pushed memories to the back, bad memories. I was able to piece a couple memories together, something about a girl named Dot and another about Steve being sick."
"Steve was sick all the time," he kind of chuckled, his head straightening up as I began walking around him to grab my coffee, needing the caffeine to help ward off a huge migraine. "That dame, she was something else though."
"It seemed like she was," I smirked, recalling seeing something similar to a bedroom scene in the swimming images that floated by in his mind. His face reddened as he tilted his head from view. I scold myself internally, deciding to change the subject I ask. "Can you feel the soldier?"
"Not as much," his voice is relieved, he glances up again. "Can you get rid of memories?"
"Yes, but generally I don't," I answer honestly, I watch as several different emotions run through his features as I finish the last of my coffee and sit it back down.
"I want them all gone, everything from the moment I fell off the train to the moment I realized who I was," his chest began to rise and fall heavily as his voice came out stern.
"That's a lot to ask, James-"
"Bucky, please," he stands up, coming closer. "I know you can push them back but they will always be there. I don't want them there. I just want to be Bucky, I don't want to be known as the soldier anymore. You gotta erase him."
"If I erase him, you'll have fifty years of blank space," I answered him slowly, shaking my head at how bad an idea that was. "There will be nothing, it can drive you insane Bucky. I can collapse the memories of the programming a little at a time, but the memories of everything- they have to stay. It will be like how you lost your memory with the brainwashing, but ten times worse because it's wiped, not forgotten."
"Collapse whatever you can, please Lucky, it's eating me alive," he begged, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. I slowly nodded my head.
"Back in the chair, I'll go back in for a bit more but then we'll have to wait a few days," I didn't explain why, that I have to recuperate through each mind sweep.
He sat back down, his head tilted back and eyes closed. I stepped up behind him, sweeping my fingers across his temples, studying his face. He really was haunted, the lines in his skin betrayed his emotions. I closed my eyes and began to dig back down into his mind, piecing a few memories together until I could find one of his first meetings with Hydra, where they tortured him as they repeated the same phrases, his trigger words.
I gasp at the brutality of just a few moments of memories, pain shooting through my temple as I begin to shred the memory to little pieces. Once fully disassembled, I push each piece down into the dark parts of his mind, hidden behind childhood fractal memories and pull away.
"Fuck," I groan as the pain litters through the right side of my head, I place my hand to my eye where it seems to pulsate.
YOU ARE READING
Fragile - A Bucky Barnes Story
Hayran KurguI've never liked people, never had any use for them. Sure, I was a licensed psychiatrist but that's the main reason I began to dislike people. It's why I secluded myself on a lovely lavender farm in the northwest. Or I should say that why I did secl...
