Soldier Shadow

Chapter 1: A Quiet Beginning

Bucky reached for the old, leather-bound journal he had picked up a few months ago in a small Brooklyn bookstore. The pages were thick and slightly yellowed, just right for writing. He never thought he'd be the kind of person to keep a journal, but Dr. Raynor had suggested it, and somehow, it stuck. It was easier to put his thoughts down on paper than to speak them out loud.

Taking a deep breath, he opened to the first blank page, picked up the pen, and began to write.

-It's strange how silence can feel so loud.

For the first time in decades, my life doesn't revolve around missions, orders, or redemption. No one's hunting me, and I'm not hunting anyone. The list—my list—is finally complete. Every name is crossed off, every loose end tied. Dr. Raynor said closure would feel good, like a weight lifting off my shoulders. She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't entirely right, either.

Because now, all I have is time.

Time to think. Time to exist. Time to figure out who James Buchanan Barnes is when he's not a soldier, an assassin, or someone else's puppet.

It's not easy. Quiet mornings in Brooklyn feel foreign. Coffee tastes different when you don't have to gulp it down before a mission. Even Sam, who does his best to check in on me, can't fill the silence. He's busy being Captain America, and I'm happy for him. He deserves the shield. But I can't shake the feeling that the world has moved on without me—again.

Most days, I stick to a routine. Wake up early, run a few miles, stop by Delmar's for a sandwich, and spend the afternoon at the little community center Sam introduced me to. The kids there don't look at me like I'm broken. They don't see the Winter Soldier when they look at me. Just an old guy who knows too much about obscure war history and likes fixing broken toys.

It's enough to keep the nightmares at bay—most nights, anyway.

But then there are the other nights. The ones where the silence grows claws and drags me back into the dark. Memories I can't shake. Faces I can't forget. And one question I can't answer: What now?

I thought finishing the list would give me purpose, but all it's done is leave me with more questions.-

Bucky set the pen down and leaned back in his chair. The room around him was quiet, except for the faint hum of a refrigerator in the corner. He closed the journal, running his hand over the worn leather, while his thoughts continued to churn in his mind.

A knock at the door pulled Bucky out of his thoughts. He glanced briefly at the window, where the afternoon sun bathed the rooftops of Brooklyn in a warm light. It wasn't a time he expected visitors, but the persistent knocking left little doubt as to who it was.

With a soft sigh, Bucky stood, set the journal down on the table, and walked to the door. When he opened it, Sam Wilson stood there—Captain America, to be precise. The blue suit with silver and red accents fit him perfectly, and the shield was casually slung across his back. Sam still wore the sweat of a long mission on his forehead, but the grin on his face seemed unaffected by it.

"Well, big guy, missed me already?" Sam asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a skeptical look. "Shouldn't you be out there saving the world or getting chased by paparazzi?"

"I just finished that," Sam replied, stepping into the apartment without waiting for an invitation and plopping down on Bucky's couch. "And, as usual, I figured I'd swing by to check if you're still holed up in your hermit cave."

"I'm not a hermit," Bucky retorted dryly, closing the door and sitting back down in his old armchair. "I just don't feel like dealing with all the chaos out there."