NEVER COMING HOME

It Was Too Soon, When That Part of You Was Ripped Away

Warning: this gets dark towards the middle of the chapter, and there are some pretty disgusting/violent descriptions of Bucky's time with HYDRA. I'll put the * symbol when it starts to get dark. You have been warned. 

The first thing HYDRA stole from Bucky was his memories. All those years he'd lived - all the people he'd known - all of them ripped away in a single, painful instant. 
HYDRA, brutal and barbaric as they were, possessed no ignorance to the nature of men. Their 
precious soldier could not remember who he was supposed to be, no. How would the asset pull the trigger when James Barnes still lay beneath the surface, begging him to fight back? How would they ever complete a mission when their weapon was breached by a dead man? 

So, they wiped him. Over and over again, they wiped him, tirelessly draining the soldier of Bucky until he was little more than the shell of a human being. Bucky had fought back, of course. It was his nature to fight against the bullies, he'd been doing it weekly since he was twelve! But HYDRA, they were strong, and determined...

Eventually, they won. 

Bucky could still remember the day he let the soldier take over completely. It had been a month after his fall, locked for the third or forth time in a dark room, when a man had payed him a visit. His name was Joss - or maybe Jacobs - and he told Bucky he was there to deliver important news about Captain America. Bucky had been curious; he'd listened with great interest as Joss recounted the story of Red Skull and Steve's plane going down into the ice. Bucky had waited for the ending, hoping to hear of Steve rising triumphantly from the water, the Red Skull's head in his hands. That ending never came. Instead, Joss twisted his face into something that resembled sympathy, and told Bucky of his best friend's death and how HYDRA would avenge it. 
'You see, James, it's why they need you. HYDRA will defeat all responsible for the death of Mr. Rogers. All they need is your you-' he jabbed Bucky's chest with his index finger, '-to comply. Let them do what they want you to do. It will all work out in the end.' 

Bucky never forgot how hard he'd cried. He'd stumbled absently into Joss, wailing into his chest until the man was forced to prize himself out of Bucky's grip. That was how HYDRA broke him - the death of Captain America. They'd seen love and they'd made it a weapon, beautiful 'til it made him bleed. Bucky had let himself lose the memory of Steve, recognising the bitter taste of defeat as the handlers lead him to a large, metal chair. His last thought as the agents made their final adjustments was of a cold, wet day in Brooklyn, Steve happily eating cotton candy from a bucket James spent way too much on. It was a happy memory to end on. Bucky remembered being grateful it got to be his last. 

Then, it was over. Bucky became the soldier, a man became a machine. Over the years, he was familiarised with the chair; the memories were triggered far too easy, and it was dangerous having their asset remember. It was that very reason the handlers had jotted down in a red book to keep the soldier far away from fireworks of American flags, and to certainly never let him near the newly-built memorial for the Captain of the Howling Commandos. Bucky knew why - if he'd managed to piece himself back together, HYDRA would have lost their greatest weapon - the weapon they cared so greatly for.
(*****)

They'd cared so much for Bucky. So much that they'd confined him to a bolted chamber, no more than a foot of space for him to crouch in, cold and terrified. For hours, the soldier had hammered on the door, blood smeared across the broken skin of his knuckles where he'd pounded, begging them to let him out; erratically professing the deepest of apologies for whatever disappointment he'd brought them. He repeated for hours that he was sorry, that they would always have his unwavering devotion to their perfect ideal. The soldier fell to his knees, his head slamming against the stone wall. Even with the bloodshed, the agents made no move to release him. Around a camera they'd gathered, laughing with unconfined joy as Bucky slid to his knees, terrified and confused as something wet and pungent began to trickle down his legs. It was utter humiliation for him to lie spread-eagle in the corner of a stone tube, his bladder emptying with somewhat difficulty as the soldier scrambled to undo the confines of his leather trousers. The agents watched unanimously, each screeching their brains out with the hilarity of a scared young man exposing himself to a camera he didn't know was there. They'd even taken the liberty of photographing the special occasion, printing the images later for the sake of their amusement.

As if the assault of their favourite weapon was to be applauded.

For years afterwards, they would force the soldier into the same chamber, cold beers in hand as the terror set into the soldier's frantic eyes. They wouldn't release him 'til his body was coated with layers of his own faeces, the smell so horrific that it would warrant a round of beatings courtesy of their strong, thuggish leader. 

Bucky had remembered each second. Each agonising second of torture he was forced through was brought back to him in minutes. Sometimes, he could even feel the burn of dry shit between his legs, and he'd spend a night in the shower, desperately scrubbing until his skin was raw and bleeding. 

Now, he wanted Steve. Nothing more and nothing less. He longed endlessly, perhaps foolishly, for the gentle touch of his best friend; for the feel of fingers lacing themselves through his hair as he worked slowly through the years of agony thrust upon him, seventy years of torture flooding back in moments. Bucky cupped his mouth with his hand, his entire body shaking as sobs crippled him, memory after memory hitting him with such a force it should have killed him. Shuri may have freed him from the programming, but she was yet to find a way to end the pain and have Bucky come out the other side breathing. 

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die.