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Stucky 001
Knowing things, the Soldier had come to realize, wasn't the same as remembering. Learning about them from the outside wasn't the same as having the sense-memory of a place or an incident or even a person.
He was slowly learning everything he could in the hopes that it would help him remember something, anything and it had, sort of. The memories that had been like minnows, scattering whenever he got too close, were now more like shards of glass, cold and sharp-edged buried in the back of his mind, where he knew they were there and that they were solid, but he couldn't pry them loose without hurting himself twice over.
Something else he knew was that while he may have been Barnes once upon a time, he certainly wasn't now, though he wasn't entirely sure of who he was instead, nor who he wanted to be.
He also knew that Rogers was looking for him. That had been one of the first things he'd realized, that almost as soon as the man had been cleared from his stay in the hospital -one that the Soldier was equally proud to have caused and appalled by causing- he'd gone looking. He'd even gotten close a couple of times and the Soldier had had to relocate, always near Rogers' apartment, always where he could keep an eye on the Captain. Not sure why he was bothering, except for the fact that Rogers was the one with the answers.
Perhaps he'd let himself get caught soon. He was doing alright for himself, he'd been getting by, finding clothes wasn't difficult, nor was making sure he ate when he needed to, but only when it was absolutely necessary, never before.
He was slowly learning everything he could in the hopes that it would help him remember something, anything and it had, sort of. The memories that had been like minnows, scattering whenever he got too close, were now more like shards of glass, cold and sharp-edged buried in the back of his mind, where he knew they were there and that they were solid, but he couldn't pry them loose without hurting himself twice over.
Something else he knew was that while he may have been Barnes once upon a time, he certainly wasn't now, though he wasn't entirely sure of who he was instead, nor who he wanted to be.
He also knew that Rogers was looking for him. That had been one of the first things he'd realized, that almost as soon as the man had been cleared from his stay in the hospital -one that the Soldier was equally proud to have caused and appalled by causing- he'd gone looking. He'd even gotten close a couple of times and the Soldier had had to relocate, always near Rogers' apartment, always where he could keep an eye on the Captain. Not sure why he was bothering, except for the fact that Rogers was the one with the answers.
Perhaps he'd let himself get caught soon. He was doing alright for himself, he'd been getting by, finding clothes wasn't difficult, nor was making sure he ate when he needed to, but only when it was absolutely necessary, never before.
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But he knew that Steve was unlikely to take advantage of that, not where there could be collateral damage, and so sitting was a risk he was willing to take, for the time being.
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Steve could see the hesitation, the inner battle. If Bucky walked away now he would be no closer to finding out who he was.
Nodding at the decision, Steve moved slowly as he walked back to the bench and reclaimed his seat at one end, wanting to give Bucky as much room as he could. “So you saw the exhibition, but I guess it didn’t really answer enough questions.” How could it? It couldn’t give the personal details, couldn’t accurately describe the person Bucky had been. Now was his chance to ask, though, and if he remembered anything about Steve he should know that the answers would be honest.
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And he knew for a fact that he didn't have those, though he was trying. The things that he did remember didn't fit together quite right, and he knew there were huge pieces missing, but didn't know what to ask about to be able to fill them in and secure the fragments that he did have into place.
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Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded slowly before he started speaking. “We grew up in Brooklyn. I was just a scrawny kid then, but I talked big, and that got me into trouble more times than I can count. And you...” he looked over at Bucky again with a fond yet pained smile. “You were my hero.”
Maybe Captain America had gotten all the fame, but Bucky had been a true hero without any enhancements.
((I'm not entirely sure about their past so correct me if I get it wrong))
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It had to be more than one, enough of them that he'd given up counting. He remembered that much, he'd finally stopped counting because of how often it happened.
It was once those fragmented memories had more-or-less settled into place that he realized why he always slowed when he walked past blind alleys, he was still looking for a fight to break up.
He blinked over at Steve then, brow still creased, sorting through the pieces and parts of memories he actually had, "You always said ..." He looked entirely puzzled once more, brow furrowing more deeply, shaking his head just once, "Always said you could handle yourself." Even the handful of times he'd actually come home beat half to hell, and that he definitely remembered, if only because he remembered the condition he'd left Steve in on the bank of the river.
(ooc: no worries! I'm sort of throwing things together piecemeal from what I do know)
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Steve gave him time to process, to weigh the words against the images in his head and look for the truth in it all. When Bucky spoke again Steve tried not to hold his breath, tried not to hope too hard.
It was nearly impossible.
“I’ve never been good at admitting when I can’t do something,” Steve replied with a faint smile. “Or asking for help.”
When it came to Bucky he’d never had to ask, and now maybe he could return that favour.
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He was thankful for the fact that Steve didn't ask anything else while he puzzled that out, knowing that an interruption would make sorting things out even more difficult, scattering the few memories that had surfaced.
It was incredibly frustrating, most of the time, remembering enough to survive and how to take care of himself but not remember much at all about who he was, and more than that who he'd been. He did remember Steve -still smaller- looking tired, sorrowful, and telling Bucky that he could get by on his own, though he couldn't place when it had been or why, and didn't know what he'd said in reply if anything.
He nodded at the statement, "I know." A huff that was caught somewhere between annoyed and amused, "I remember that much." Though he wasn't sure why that stuck when so little else did.
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“Even back when the war broke out, I don’t know how many times I tried to enlist, but no matter how often they rejected me I just kept trying.” He had even tried making up different people to enlist as, going to different towns, but while he could lie about who he was and where he was from his body never lied. The medical had always caught him out.
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"Lucky you never got arrested for it." He remembered that, too, that he'd been worried about Steve getting locked up, but there was still the annoyance there of not knowing why. He shook his head then, brow creasing once more, "Don't remember why that was a problem." He knew now how to look up that sort of information, the library computers and the internet had been an invaluable resource for him as of late.
He shook his head, glancing up at Steve again, "A lot of the whys are still missing. And the when is ..." He shook his head again, "Wrong." Everything seemed to have happened at some point in the recent past, even though he knew, logically and by the research he'd been able to do, that some of it had been years, even decades apart.
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That sounded worse than not remembering at all.
“The whys are always the hardest part,” Steve replied, trying not to let his hurt show. How was he supposed to do this? He could help Bucky remember things, but how could he help him remember how he felt during those moments?
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It had already started to sneak in around the edges, the revulsion at what he'd been that he couldn't quite disconnect from who he was now. He did, however, nod at Steve's answer, because it made sense, really. Why was a complicated beast even for people who hadn't undergone frequent brainwashings.
"Everything feels like..." His brow creased, trying to figure out how to explain the jumble of time, "Like it all happened just a few days ago. All of it, even when I know it didn't."
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He knew it wasn’t the same for Bucky, but he wasn’t sure how the past seventy years had gone for him. He knew there had been hits, ghost stories about the Winter Soldier, but what about in between them? If he had been working constantly than he would have been caught earlier, would have at least been proven as more than a legend. Steve wanted to ask how much Bucky remembered but didn’t want to scare him off. Maybe something easier. “Hey, do you remember the Stark Expo we went to?”
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His brow creased a little once more, glancing back at Steve, "Why?"
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“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. He hated to let on that he was feeling just as lost in this conversation, but he didn’t know how to really keep it going. It was like trying to talk to Peggy during one of her spells, when she didn’t remember that he was alive and had been visiting her for the past two years, except with Peggy there was emotion, emotions so strong it was overwhelming. With Bucky, he was just blank, and that more than anything Steve didn’t know how to deal with. “It was the last time we really just hung out before the war.”
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He'd also tracked Peggy down himself, though he hadn't gone to see her yet, afraid that she wouldn't recognize him, or afraid that she would but would know something was wrong, afraid that she wouldn't have any more answers for him than he already had himself.