Hydra had yet to break James Buchanan Barnes after years of trying.
Some of that time had been expected, of course. But as the time dragged on, the higher ups started demanding answers.
Some blamed his military training.
They weren't wrong, per se, but they weren't really right either.
Some blamed his natural temperament.
They had a point.
Some blamed Steve Rogers.
They had a point too. His reaction to news of his friend's death certainly supported that theory.
No one blamed Prisoner #175643. Why would they? The two prisoners had glimpsed each other, no more than that. The two hadn't had any opportunities to talk.
In hindsight, they really should have remembered why they'd bothered capturing Prisoner #175643 in the first place and realized that just because they couldn't talk didn't mean they couldn't communicate.
Who would have guessed that Bucky Barnes had druid blood?
James Buchanan Barnes screamed.
In an airless, tiny chamber tubes drained a warlock's magic. To an observer's eyes, he looked weak. Beaten.
No one could have guessed that he was whispering in Barnes's mind.
Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are not alone. Steve would be proud of you.
He is immortal so he cannot die, so they do not give him air. When Barnes survives another day as himself, he cannot cheer.
Merlin smiles instead.
YOU ARE READING
Merlin Headcanons
Fanfiction. . . As well as theories, drabbles, and rants on ships.
