Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 61 - Crossing the Line

Bucky sat across from me in our small living room, staring at his hands like they held the answers to a question he couldn't articulate. The shadows of the late afternoon light cast across his face, making the lines of worry etched on his brow more pronounced. His silence, though not unusual, felt heavier tonight.

"They're fighting for something," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But the way they're doing it... it's not right."

I set my mug of tea down on the table between us, watching him carefully. Bucky wasn't one to talk much about the missions he went on with Sam, but this one had left a mark. The Flag Smashers were more than just a group of radicals. They had a cause that resonated with people. But the violence—the lengths they were willing to go to—was what made everything murky.

"You know better than anyone what it's like to be used for violence," I said gently, my heart aching as I saw the familiar look of torment in his eyes. "But you also know that there's a line that shouldn't be crossed."

Bucky looked up at me, his blue eyes filled with turmoil. "I was used as a weapon. They're choosing to be one."

I moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch and taking his hand in mine. "That's the difference, Buck. Choice. You were stripped of yours. But if they're making a choice, if they believe their cause is just... it makes it complicated."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "They believe in what they're doing. They think they're helping people, fighting for a better world. But I've seen that look in their eyes. They're willing to hurt anyone who stands in their way. I don't know how to fight them without feeling like I'm fighting myself."

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. Bucky's past was a tangled web of regret, violence, and a constant battle for redemption. But he wasn't the same man who had been used by HYDRA. He was more than that now.

"Sometimes," I began slowly, "fighting for a cause means choosing the harder path. The one where you stand by your beliefs without becoming what you're fighting against."

Bucky shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Is it really that simple?"

"No," I admitted. "It's not. But it's the right thing. And you know that."

---

Watching Bucky wrestle with his inner demons never got easier. He was a man who had lived through unimaginable pain, and while he had come so far, there were moments like this—when his past seemed to catch up with him—that made me wonder how much more he could take.

He stood abruptly, pacing the small living room with an energy that felt almost frantic. "What if I'm just another weapon, in another fight?" he muttered, almost to himself.

"You're not," I said firmly, rising to my feet and blocking his path. "You've proven that every step of the way."

"But it doesn't feel like enough," he shot back, his voice raw with emotion. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might punch the wall in frustration. "No matter what I do, it's like I'm stuck in this endless loop. One fight after another, always trying to make up for what I've done. What if this never ends?"

I reached out, placing my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Bucky, listen to me. You're not stuck in the past anymore. You're not the Winter Soldier. You're Bucky Barnes. The man who fights for what's right, not because someone's telling him to, but because it's what you believe in."

His eyes searched mine, looking for something—maybe hope, maybe reassurance. "You make it sound so easy," he said, his voice softer now.

"It's not easy. It's never been easy," I replied. "But you've come this far. You can keep going."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had settled on them once more. "Sometimes it feels like I'm just pretending to be better. Like I'm fooling myself into thinking I can make a difference."

"You're not pretending," I whispered, my hands moving from his shoulders to his face, gently cradling his cheeks. "You are better. You're more than what they made you."

For a moment, the tension between us seemed to ease. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing as he exhaled a shaky breath. "I just... I don't know how to stop feeling like this."

"You don't have to figure it all out right now," I told him. "One day at a time, Bucky. That's all you need to focus on."

---

The following days passed in a blur, but I could tell Bucky was still grappling with his conscience. He went through the motions—helping Sam, training, meeting with Dr. Raynor—but there was a heaviness to his steps, an unspoken burden that lingered between us. I wanted to help, to fix whatever was eating away at him, but I knew this was something he had to work through on his own.

One night, I woke to the sound of his restless movements. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The nightmare must have been bad.

"Bucky," I called softly, sitting up and reaching for him. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here."

He didn't respond at first, just stared straight ahead as if he was still trapped in whatever horrible memory his subconscious had dredged up. I scooted closer, wrapping my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek against his damp shoulder.

"It's just a dream," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "You're safe. You're here with me."

After what felt like an eternity, he finally relaxed, leaning back into my embrace. "I can't keep doing this, Em," he murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion.

"You're not doing this alone," I reminded him, holding him tighter. "You've chosen to fight for something better, not just for you, but for everyone."

Bucky's hand found mine, squeezing it as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. "I just want to make a difference," he said quietly, his voice breaking.

"You already are," I whispered back, kissing the side of his head. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all yourself."

We sat like that for a long time, the silence between us filled with the weight of all the things we didn't say. Bucky had been through so much—more than anyone should ever have to endure. But he was still here, still fighting, still trying to be the man he wanted to be.

And that, more than anything, was why I knew he'd make it through this. Because Bucky Barnes was more than his past. He was the man who had chosen to fight for a better future.

For himself. For us.

And no matter how hard it got, I would be there to remind him of that. Every step of the way.