Red White and You

|6| Unbroken

...Bucky?

Who The hell is Bucky?

He remembered.

Or at least, he wanted to.

While he wasn't sure who it was that he was remembering, he knew it had to do with his voice. His face. His hair. The way he smelled... fighting this man from the bridge brought him back to snowball fights and fun on cold winter days— not missions and murders through hail and snow storms.

His memories were faded, scratched up deformities of what they used to be and The Winter Soldier didn't have the will power to force them to resurface clearly. Fifty years of murders and conspiracies and destruction clouded his vision leaving him unsure of where to look or who to trust.

He was broken, his mind shattered into millions of tiny little fractals. The pieces were scattered everywhere, and even if he were to try to pick them up and start over again, who knows how long it would take for him to put the puzzle back together all on his own.

He was fragile, with the blink of an eye his brain could be back in the blender again— ready to comply. He would resist, but how long could someone fight back after realizing that his goal was hopeless?

• • •

Now— after having encountered this man, who he is told goes by the name Captain America, he can't help but wonder why he feels as though he knows him. That this man is a small part of something extraordinary that he can't seem to remember. Empty, longing thoughts buzz through his head... he wants to know what's happening but, he feels lost no matter where he looks.

It's like he's all alone in this world.

Like he's been left behind.

Forgotten.

Somehow, though, that word... that sound that escaped that man's lips triggered something. They sounded familiar. Like something he used to know. Like something he wanted to remember, and even though he wanted to forget everything that had happened and just start over... he couldn't.

I knew him.

This is all he could think of. No matter what anyone else said. No matter the excuse or made up story created to hide the truth from him, he knew this strange feeling was the real thing. He wanted to hear the real answers regardless of how they might make him feel.

The man on the bridge. Who was he?

You met him earlier this week on another mission.

Lies.

No more illusions. He didn't want to hide behind smoke and mirrors anymore, he couldn't take it. He wanted to know who he was, not who he has become. He longed to know who this mysterious man on the bridge was, too... maybe they really did know each other.

So many questions remained unanswered. He wasn't sure what the difference was between the truth and fiction anymore because it wasn't just other people he couldn't trust— it was his own battered mind.

Black and blue bruises littered his skin, tears made his view distorted and murky, scars were left behind as a reminder of his wrongdoings and failures, missteps were marked by cuts and scrapes... but these shadows would eventually melt away. Even after months and years of hoping to forget, his memories would transcend lifetimes... his mind would still be tortured with what he had done.

No, it wasn't his choice but he couldn't forget not one of them.

I remember all of them.