“Who am I?”
It’s a whisper; nothing more than words that could be carried away by the breeze. It’s soft, softer than you intended, more broken than you would have liked. You can’t find the words; can’t find the strength to say more, to explain. His eyes are wide; he hates when this question comes up. He shifts in his seat a little and you can see him searching, grasping desperately at the right answer.
“You’re Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” He answers, sure and confident.
You shake your head.
No, no , no.
.
He’s worried about you.
You can see it in the way he stays close, the way he keeps saying your name over and over and over.
“Bucky, can we…”
“Bucky, will we…”
“Bucky, should we…”
“Oh, Bucky, there, there, there…”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He thinks he has gotten his ‘Bucky’ back.
He hasn’t.
So, he worries.
.
The Avengers call you nothing.
You have no name. You are ‘Soldier’ or ‘kid’ or ‘Robocop’ or even just ‘you’.
You don’t mind. You don’t mind what they call you as long as it’s not Bucky.
You tell him that. You tell him that you don’t like it; that it doesn’t fit.
“But…it’s your name.” He insists.
“It’s not.” You say quietly, softly, gently.
Even though you’re angry; even though it shouldn’t be this hard to make him understand.
“I think you need to speak to someone.” He says, his eyes fixed on his lap. “Someone who can help you, Buck.”
You wince.
That’s not your name.
.
“My name isn’t Bucky.” You tell Natalia because Natalia listens and she knows what it’s like to not have a name.
She doesn’t bat an eyelid. She flips you over on the mat so that she is straddling you and cocks her head to the side.
“What’s your name?” She asks, pinning your arms above your head.
“I don’t have one.” You answer truthfully.
You pinpoint the moment she decides her next move and you counter it, flattening her against the mat. Her mouth is close and you remember her kisses, remember the way you moved inside her.
“What did you call me in the Red Room?” You ask because you don’t recall.
Natalia licks her lips and you can taste her breath. It’s almost as familiar as Steve’s.
“Kommander.” She replies.
You roll it round your tongue, once, twice, three times before shaking your head. That one isn’t right either.
You release your grip on her before falling down beside her; a confused look on your face.
“How did you know what name to keep?”
Natalia turns her head and watches you with careful eyes.
“I didn’t. I just…grew into it, I guess.”
.
How can you grow when you don’t know how?
You don’t know how to do anything anymore except fight and kill and hurt.
You’re disappointing him; you can see that. You don’t remember enough; your terrors keep him awake beside you. He doesn’t sleep. He spends most of his time worrying.
“We don’t have to do this.” You tell him once.
“Do what?” he asks without looking up from his sketchpad.
“Be together.” You clarify. “Pretend that we’re happy.”
You sense his hurt long before he looks at you.
“We’re pretending?”
He shifts in his seat, his eyes boring into yours.
You can’t remember what he was like before but you don’t think he looked this sad.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I pretend I am because I can see that you’re not happy and that’s my fault.” You tell him truthfully.
He purses his lips and gives you a hard look.
“I don’t want you to pretend. You don’t have to pretend around me, Bucky.”
“That’s not my name.” You point out quietly.
He blinks at you once, twice, three times before closing his sketchbook and getting to his feet.
“I can’t…not right now.” He mutters.
You watch him leave with a thoughtful expression.
He’s so trusting, has no qualms with showing you his back.
In your mind 25 different ways of killing him hurtle past.
.
“Open my beer, Robocop.” Tony orders, handing you the drink.
“He’s not your own personal bottle-opener, Tony.” Pepper chides as you flip the cap off with ease.
You pass the drink back his way and give Pepper a warm smile; the kind you’ve seen the old Bucky wear.
“I don’t mind.” You tell her.
“It helps him with his finer motor skills.” Tony points out.
“He used to pop ‘em with his teeth.” Steve says with a laugh. “Bucky used to-”
Steve stops when he sees the look on your face.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, folding his arms across his chest and settling himself further into the sofa like a petulant child.
Tony looks between you both and opens his mouth to speak when Pepper silences him with one glance.
You clear your throat and let your eyes fall on Steve’s face.
“It’s okay. You forgot.” You tell him and boy, can you taste the irony on that one.
Steve bites his bottom lip before shaking his head.
“It’s your name.” He argues.
You stand up and leave, not waiting to hear him out.
.
He holds you closer now, peppers your body with sweet kisses, the kind that make you think of a sweltering apartment and a boy half his size.
“Who am I?”
It’s a whisper; something soft, something he can pretend not to hear.
He does. He continues kissing his way down your body, makes a gentle humming sound but he doesn’t answer.
You know he heard; he stilled against you when you said it.
“Steve. Stop.” You order and your voice is thick with hurt.
He hears it and he stops; his body freezing against yours.
“Bucky…” he breathes, the huff of air tickling your stomach.
“That’s not-”
“Your name, right, okay; got it.” He snaps, rolling away from you.
He stares at the ceiling, his beautiful, strong jaw set in a way that makes you want to kiss it.
There are tears in your eyes but you blink them away, snaking one hand across the mattress to latch on to his; desperate and frightened.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
He turns his head towards you and his frown softens when he sees the tears.
“Me too.” He whispers back. “I…this is hard.”
.
Sam buys you a book of names.
“Steve told me you were struggling.” He explains as he hands it over.
You take it and hold it against your chest, unable to find the words to express your gratitude.
“You be whoever you wanna be, man.” Sam tells him with a wink. “Steve will come round to it; he just needs to adjust.”
You swallow hard and lick your dry lips anxiously.
“What if he never does?” You challenge.
Sam snorts and shakes his head.
“He’s not gonna lose you again so he’ll adjust.” He promises.
.
Steve finds the book of names and you can see how deeply it wounds him. He doesn’t say anything but he refuses to sit with you and go through it.
“But we could choose something we both like!” You exclaim, patting the sofa beside you.
He’s torn. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and his hands are shoved in his pocket. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
His hesitance is enough for you.
“Just go, Steve.” You say tiredly.
He doesn’t stay.
.
You find the book a few days later beneath his pillow.
The pages are torn and destroyed with only one at the very back remaining intact.
Bucky it reads and beneath it Steve has drawn a sketch of you.
Except it looks nothing like you. The hair is wrong and he’s drawn your old, flesh arm; Bucky’s arm.
It hurts you that Steve still sees you like that; like him.
You throw the book away and don’t mention it to Steve, even though, you know he knows.
.
“I’ll call you anything you like.” Clint tells you one night.
They’re in the living room and starting a game of Risk; your least favourite board game. You are all sprawled across the floor and you’re tucked against Steve’s side, his warm fingers tracing the skin of your back, beneath your t-shirt. His fingers still at Clint’s words and you can feel the content, fuzzy feeling in your stomach harden into something else.
“Thanks.” You mutter.
“I do not understand.” Thor declares. “Steven calls you Bucky, is that not your name?”
You shake your head and Steve removes his hand from underneath your t-shirt.
“Do we have to talk about this now?” Steve whines, inching away from you. “I’m really tired of this conversation.”
Natalia rolls her eyes at him. Clint just grins.
“If you stopped calling him ‘Bucky’, we wouldn’t have to have this conversation-”
“It’s his name!” Steve snaps. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes; I know him!”
You let your eyes fall closed and listen to their argument around you.
“…he doesn’t like it….”
“….remember! Once he remembers, he’ll…”
“…Steve, you’re being cruel….”
“...what about me? Huh?...”
You open your eyes and turn your head to Steve, a curious look on your face.
“What about you?” You ask softly, intrigued.
Steve mouths wordlessly for a moment before exhaling and shrugging his shoulders.
“I…lost you, Bucky and then I got you back and it felt like we could do this, you know? It felt like we were a team and now…now, you’re saying that you’re not him, that you guys don’t even have the same name and it fucking hurts. Because if you’re not Bucky then who are you? Who am I sharing a bed with?”
You swallow.
“I don’t know who I am.” You reply simply.
“You’re Bucky.” Steve snaps exasperatedly.
You shake your head.
“I don’t know who he is, Stevie.”
Steve’s mouth clicks shut audibly.
“I can’t keep doing this.”
.
“I can’t keep doing this.” Steve whispers into your hair, his arms wrapped around you tightly.
His heat is suffocating, is too much.
You feel as if you cannot breathe.
You struggle against his arms for a moment but he is unrelenting, his face pressed against your shoulder blades.
“Please, please try. For me. Try for me.” Steve whispers, his lips moving against your skin. “You’re Bucky. You’re my best pal, my best guy. I can’t keep…you have to stop pushing him away from me. You…you’re Bucky. I need my Bucky back.”
“I can’t…” The words dry up in your mouth as you feel the hot, wet press of his tears against your back.
You force yourself to exhale in his arms and nod.
“Okay…I’ll try. For you.”
.
You are James Buchanan Barnes.
You are James Buchanan Barnes.
You are James Buchanan Barnes.
Aren’t you?
.
“Who am I?”
It’s a whisper, pressed against the curve of his mouth, slotted around the push of his tongue. He breathes in sharply, his fingers tangled in your hair.
“You’re mine.” He pants, his hips thrusting forward powerfully, precisely.
You hold onto his shoulders, your legs wound around his hips. He drives you into the mattress, unforgiving and relentless.
“I’m yours.” You gasp.
You’re his.
You’re his anchor, his lighthouse, his reason for getting up the morning.
You’re his Bucky.
Bucky.
Bucky.
Bucky.
Strange, how it suddenly fits when you didn’t know how to grow.
.
He shrank it.
He told you what it was.
He tailored it around you, to fit you, to suit you.
You’re Bucky.