Turn left.
Bucky followed the directions of the voice in his head, not questioning their validity. They hadn’t led him astray yet, and he was still so confused sorting through all his memories that he couldn’t afford one more thing to doubt.
He had no idea when exactly the voice had started speaking to him. He couldn’t really remember a time without it - except maybe before the war - but those memories were too hazy to be sure.
As it was, the voice had always been able to direct him away when either Hydra or Shield had grown too close. It hadn’t let anyone get close enough to even see him and that, in his opinion, was trustworthy enough.
Wait.
He paused, watching from the shadow of the alley he’d ducked down, and that’s when he saw him.
Steve.
A murmur of latin in his head and he felt an odd tingle move through him. Then he watched Steve’s gaze slide right over him as if he wasn’t even there.
Thanks. Bucky offered back to the confines of his mind. He had a harder time responding to the voice when he couldn’t speak the words out loud, but he wasn’t about to betray his position. The answering tone was cheeky.
Anytime. Now, once he’s far enough ahead, you want to go down that same street. There’s a safe house on the north east corner of the next cross street.
Bucky nodded even though the voice couldn’t see it. He figured since it was in his head, it could feel his affirmative. The small wave of amusement confirmed it. He was feeling more and more aware as each day went by and it made him more conscious of the moods and tone of the voice. First and foremost, there was concern. Whoever this voice was, they cared about him. He’d taken that at face value at first - hadn’t been able to do anything else really - not when they’d been helping him sort through the memories - somehow fading out some of the ones he just couldn’t handle having chasing his every waking thought.
They hadn’t stolen it, but they’d softened it so the jagged edges didn’t scrape along his already bruised and battered brain.
Now that he was able to sort through some things though - sort through his memories from before - during - after - he was realizing more and more about the voice.
For one, he was pretty sure whoever, whatever, they were, they weren’t just a regular old human. That thought earned him a stronger wave of amusement and Bucky made sure to project the feeling of rolling his eyes.
If you’re going to stick around in there you can put up with me sorting through my thoughts on you too, asshole. He got outright laughter back in return.
Fair enough. But perhaps wait until your long lost best friend isn’t more than a few yards from your position.
Bucky huffed, but didn’t argue, following the voice’s earlier directions until he was ducking into an alcove, finding the key hidden behind a loose stone three down from the top of the doorframe. He let himself in and immediately felt that same tingle of energy he’d felt when the voice had muttered the latin, and knew instinctively that nobody (that wasn’t the voice) would be able to find him here. He also knew that whoever the voice was would never show up unannounced. He had the beginning of a theory that the owner of the voice wouldn’t show up unless he explicitly asked.
He liked knowing the choice was up to him.
Not that he resented the voice for its help, but after having so few choices for so long, it was nice knowing he could decide who was welcome in his immediate space or not.
He put all thoughts of the voice or memories or hydra or Steve on hold until he’d walked through the space, going through every room and checking all the windows and doors. There was a window to the fire escape in a back room but the window was reinforced and the heavy duty lock was clearly knew. He filed that away for later too. Then he went back to the kitchen, puttering around and making himself something to eat before the voice started nagging him about that too.
Once he’d eaten a sufficient amount, he retired to what was clearly a sitting room - perusing through the books on the shelf. There were some weird history ones about goblin wars and endangered species treated like they were real even though Bucky was fairly certain he’d never heard of them before in his life. Probably fantasy, but he wasn’t going to discount anything at the moment. There was a dogeared copy of a children’s book of fairy tales he’d also never heard of, and then a few books on PTSD that looked almost equally as worn. It seemed the voice sensed his question because there was a hum of agreement.
Those were for me, yes. But you’re welcome to them. Bucky wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the voice having been through something that had lead to him needing the book, but he supposed since he was probably also a voice in the other person’s head, he assumed it was probably along the same lines as they felt about him. The voice was suspiciously quiet on the subject, but he felt the subtle simmering rage before whoever the voice was yanked the feeling back and under control.
Huh.
“How long have you been in my head?” He asked, glad he could speak out loud again. Plus, he’d been wondering about it earlier, and now was as good a time as any to ask. He settled down on the chair in the corner, because he didn’t like having his back anywhere but to a wall when he was planning on sinking into his own mind, and he didn’t want to accidentally fall over if he got stuck too far in a memory and his body didn’t cooperate. It had happened once before and that was one time too many.
About a decade or so I’d say. These connections only forge when the youngest is of age, after all. The words were tentative, not quite naming what it was, but Bucky was aware enough now to really understand the weight of that implication. He shot up from the chair, stripping his sweater off and tossing it over the back of the couch as he marched through the apartment until he reached the bathroom and more importantly the mirror. He stripped the long sleeve off as well then, baring his metal arm. Then last the undershirt came off as well, showing off the scarring from where metal met flesh in its full gory glory.
That wasn’t what held his interest though - no - what he was looking for was along his ribs on his right side.
There, the one thing they’d never been able to burn out of his memory, was imprinted on his skin.
The hourglass was filled with silver sand and sometimes he could swear he could see it moving from end to end. He’d always wondered why an expression of time would be his mark. If he were feeling romantic, he’d say it was how time had obviously been manipulated to make sure they could exist in the same lifetime.
Well shit.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask. Even as the words left his mouth, he was glad the voice hadn’t said anything - after all, if someone had told him they were supposed to belong to each other he probably would’ve told him to go to hell. His life had been enough of a living nightmare - more often than not he’d believed he was actually in hell. Then a more treacherous thought crept in. “Is that why you’ve been helping me?” because who wanted a broken soulmate?
No. The voice was firm, barely keeping outrage in check. It’s how I knew you needed help. Not why I did. If I had known what was happening even without this connection I would’ve helped you. Protected you.
The words brought a sudden flash of memory - not because the voice had brought it forward, but because the thought - the feeling - of protection dragged forward a particularly painful one.
The chair flashed into his mind - the excruciating pain - how the memories would slip like water through his fingers. And then how the pain had been tempered - the screams not just his own - the memories no longer gone.
“What did you do?” he asked, all but shoving the memory at the voice. He could all but feel their flinch.
I hid your mind behind my own. I know how to block my memories - to protect them. I didn’t know how to do that for you, so I did the only thing I could.
Bucky thought of all the times he’d been in the chair since he’d first heard the voice - of how his memories while disorienting and faded had stopped disappearing all together - and his own horror started mounting. He’d been right - the screaming hadn’t just been his - they’d belonged to the voice too. The voice had actively let themselves experience the pain of the chair to help him.
“Don’t ever do that again.” he growled, unsure why he was so angry, but any doubts that the voice had ever helped him for self gain had been thrown out with the realization of just how far they’d gone.
I can’t promise that. Was the immediate reply. I, at least, can keep my memories secure. I won’t have you forgetting who you are.
“You can help me get them back.” he argued, but that didn’t erase the warmth blooming in his chest. That even knowing what kind of pain it was, the voice would experience it with him rather than making him face the full force of it alone.
No. And it brooked no argument. Since Bucky couldn’t exactly stop him, they were at an impasse. But, how about we make sure you don’t get captured again and then the point will be moot? The voice offered. Bucky rolled his eyes, but agreed.
With another glance at his soul mark, a soul mark he realized existed on the voice too, Bucky tugged his shirts back on, moving back to the sitting room. One glance at the arm chair he’d been sitting in and his stomach rolled so he turned to the couch instead, flopping down to stare at the ceiling.
“I’m going to go through some memories.” he decided, feeling unbalanced with the news of just who the voice was to him. “You sticking around?”
When have I not? Was the wry reply, and Bucky rolled his eyes. Asshole. But even he could feel his own fondness behind the insult. What do you want to work through today?
“I want to know who Steve really was to me.” he admitted. He had hazy memories - a strong urge to protect the man - but beyond that, most of his memories about Steve were from when he tried to kill him.
The voice kept its opinion to itself but didn’t go anywhere, a warm weight in the back of his mind.
Bucky closed his eyes, focusing inwards, and started to sort through his memories.
>>>
When Bucky opened his eyes again, it was almost dark. He sat up, rolling his joints out before scrubbing a hand through his hair. Grimacing, he realized he needed a shower, and set that as the first order of business.
He did a quick perimeter check before he moved to clean himself up, pausing once more at the brand new lock on the reinforced glass window that lead to the fire escape.
Though he’d felt the voice there for most of his perusal of his memories - they had, after all, gathered as many memories about Steve as they could for him, helping him organize his mind into something easier to sort through. But after that, the voice had faded back to the point where now he almost couldn’t feel their presence.
“You there?” he asked, tentative. It was rare the voice wasn’t there when he went looking, and to be fair he’d never really pushed for it when there wasn’t an immediate reply - but now knowing just what the voice was he wanted to be able to reach out a bit more.
I’m here. He got a sense of distraction from the voice, and frowned.
“Am I interruptin’?” he grimaced at the accent that came through in his speech. It always seemed to happen whenever he tried to remember Steve. At least now he understood why - it was the Brooklyn in him.
It’s fine. Which wasn’t a no.
“What’s going on?” when the voice didn’t answer right away, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. So the voice was going to point him in the direction of being soulmates and then be too busy to answer his questions? He didn’t think so. He closed his eyes to make it easier, concentrating on the feeling of the voice, and then he pushed towards it.
Colours burst in front of his eyes, a curse, and then a stick (it’s a wand) was in his hand, and he was saying a word in latin (a spell) and light burst from its tip, flying through the air to catch another man in the shoulder, sending him spinning. He was replaced by two more men though, and they were pressing forward.
“Protego!” he - no, the voice - shouted, but he realized it wasn’t in his head. Because this wasn’t his head. It was the voice’s. A shimmer of light created a dome around him and the next spell that was thrown their way bounced off the shield.
What the hell is going on? He asked, and suddenly thoughts and feelings that weren’t his own were bombarding him.
Bucky, you’re in my mind. The voice told him, and as soon as he thought that, more information came at him.
Your name’s Harry? He couldn’t help but laugh, and now the amusement almost surrounded him.
Yes. Harry James Potter. It’s a pleasure, really. But I’m a bit busy. Even as he said it, more spells were flung in his direction and Bucky could actually feel the burst of panic the voice - no, Harry - felt. He turned his attention on the assailants.
The one on the left has a weak knee. He told Harry, taking in every detail he could. The cobblestone under his foot is loose. Hit it. Even as he said it, Harry was acting, and with a well placed spell, the rock shifted and the man lost his balance, going down. Harry followed it up instantly with another spell and Bucky watched ropes appear out of nowhere to tie the man up. Harry’s mind was filled with strategies and spells, thoughts flicking from idea to idea fast enough that Bucky was impressed.
You’re good at this. He couldn’t help but say, and he could actually feel Harry’s wry smile.
“Thanks.” he realized it sounded almost the same to him when Harry spoke out loud versus in his head, and he wondered if Harry found that easier as well.
It’s not easier, per se, it’s more about focus. I’m used to wandless magic, so it’s second nature for me to do things in my head now. Harry explained. Bucky considered that. He found some things easier in his head too - or at least, he used to. He figured it was muscle memory.
“Bombarda!” Harry shouted, and Bucky watched as the street exploded where the spell hit, sending the last assailant flying.
Bucky felt the jolt that hit Harry secondhand. Like an echo. The pain though - the moment of white noise - Bucky felt that. Harry grunted, spinning.
Protego, came the thought, and then another shimmer of a shield. He pushed through the pain, and Bucky could actually feel Harry gritting his teeth, forcing himself to put the pain aside.
Stinging curse. He added for Bucky’s benefit. Then with a flurry of spells Bucky couldn’t quite keep up with, Harry fought (it’s called duelling) the last man, finally knocking him out too. Harry bent, hands pressed to his knees as he caught his breath. Bucky thought it was pretty disorienting that he could see Harry’s hands where he felt his should be; they were smaller, but just as scarred. Granted, both of Harry’s were flesh. Harry actually huffed out a laugh at that.
“Harry! Mate! You alright?” a voice shouted from a ways off, and Harry stood again, wand gripped firmly in his palm.
“M over here, Ron!” he shouted back. Bucky felt the moment Harry focused back on him. All of the thoughts he could see and feel started to revolve around him - what Harry had seen of the wreck that was his life, conversations they’d had - but what really struck was that Bucky could now feel the man’s worry, feel how much he cared. What he could also feel though, now that he was paying attention, was how terrified Harry was. He was trying to burry it behind everything else, but Bucky could see it, and it took him a moment to realize that Harry wasn’t afraid of him, he was afraid of being rejected by him. That threw him for a loop.
I’m sorry I didn’t answer before, I was a bit busy. The word were almost embarrassed, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He could immediately feel Harry’s affront at the reaction.
That’s an understatement. Bucky shot back. You could’ve said you were in trouble.
Bucky was pretty sure he would’ve been amused if it hadn’t been so concerning watching Harry’s thoughts grind to a halt before shutting down. He watched, fascinated, as a few visual memories flit through his mind second hand, but what he saw made him angry enough to set aside his curiosity for a later point.
I’m not whoever those assholes were. Bucky stated, immediately. The memories had all been of people pushing Harry aside, forcing him to deal with everything on his own. It seemed that while Harry was happy to help others, he wasn’t used to being offered or even accepting help.
If I’m your soulmate, you’re mine too. Just because my brain’s scrambled doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. He felt Harry’s hesitancy, and pushed aside his own hurt that Harry didn’t want to depend on him. Then he realized it wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to, he just didn’t know how to. He decided to take a different tactic.
What the hell am I supposed to do if you go and die on me? Only reason I’ve been able to sort out this mess has been with your help.
There was a pause before Harry’s amusement filter through.
Well played.
Movement caught in the corner of Bucky’s eye and
he reached for the knife at his back before he could even think twice - his heart stuttered when it wasn’t there and
Harry was pushing him back and Bucky realized he’d somehow momentarily taken control of Harry’s body.
That was uncomfortable. Harry grimaced, his discomfort at having no control of his body swirling around his thoughts along with a few more memories of when control had been taken like that. None of them were pleasant and since Bucky knew exactly how that felt it made him sick to his stomach that he’d done that to somebody else, even for a second - especially someone who’d done nothing but help him.
It’s okay, I’m not hurt, and neither is Ron. Bucky saw, through Harry’s eyes, a tall man with ginger hair eyeing them speculatively.
“You alright, mate?”
“Yeah, just thinking about a friend.” Ron rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure he’s fine. You spend too much time talking to someone who doesn’t even want to meet you.” Harry and Bucky both winced at the words, but Ron didn’t notice. Bucky brushed off Harry’s silent apology.
“Sod off. Just because your wife’s pregnant and hormonal doesn’t mean you’ve got to take it out on me.” It was Ron’s turn to wince.
“Bugger. Sorry. She’s just a nightmare right now, honestly.” Bucky felt Harry relax, felt his grin, and the image of a bushy haired woman filled his thoughts.
“Just leave him out of it, alright?” Ron nodded, but it seemed he still felt bad.
“You know I don’t really mean that, right? From what you’ve said, he’s got a good reason not to want to deal with other people at the mo.” Everything that Harry had ever told Ron filtered quickly through his head and Bucky blinked at the onslaught. He realized, quite suddenly, he’d had enough.
How do I go back? He asked, and the last thing he felt was Harry’s concern.
Bucky blinked his eyes open and it felt almost like vertigo as he found himself back in his own body. He grunted as he pushed to his feet, disoriented.
Are you alright? came the tentative question, and Bucky nodded, knowing now exactly how it felt to have someone react to your words without verbalizing. There was a pause where Bucky felt nothing and he took that moment to drag himself into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He downed it, trying to focus.
He realized then he was used to the voi- Harry’s help sorting through everything, and that it was a bit disorienting doing it alone, but Harry was staying suspiciously quiet. Not that Bucky minded. Considering all the information he’d just gained he didn’t really want any outside input.
“I’m sorry.” he finally said, and felt Harry’s surprise filter through.
Why?
“I took over.”
You didn’t mean to.
“Doesn’t make it okay.” the wash of gratitude that flooded through his head actually made him feel worse, but that wasn’t Harry’s fault, so he put that in the pile of things he needed to sort through on his own.
We’ll figure it out.
Bucky snickered, surprising himself. Looked like he’d been saddled with an optimist. Once again he felt Harry’s offence, but it was tempered with amusement. He didn’t say anything yet though, obviously still waiting on Bucky. Bucky, in turn, ran through the questions he’d wanted to ask. He no longer had to ask why Harry was usually the one talking into his head and not the other way around. That shit was disorienting and Harry obviously had a better handle on that stuff seeing as he was a wizard.
“What the fuck.” Bucky muttered. But he wasn’t angry. After all, he was an ex-assassin super soldier who’d been cryogenically frozen for years at a time. Not exactly like he could judge.
He focused once more.
The first thing he thought of was the lock. He got up and walked into the room in question, looking pointedly at the lock knowing now that Harry could see what he was seeing if he was paying attention.
“This is new.” he stated, and he waited, feeling the moment Harry looked through his eyes to see what he was talking about. It was subtle, he realized, the difference of when Harry was just talking versus when he was more present. Like a weight rather than just a warmth in the back of his mind.
You like to feel more secure. Was what Harry said then, still sounding a bit cautious.
“That feeling when I walked in, that was magic, right?” and Harry confirmed it. “So, this place, it’s what, protected?”
There are wards in place, yes.
“So the lock - that’s just for me.” there was another pause followed by another hesitant affirmation. Bucky nodded. “Right. I want to meet. Properly. In person.” Harry’s shock was so apparent he might as well have been in the other man’s mind again.
You don’t have to meet me just because of what Ron said. Harry started to say, and Bucky shook his head.
“I don’t care what he said.” and that was a blatant lie. Since he knew Harry would also know that, he tried again. “Okay, that’s not why I want this.” and that was absolutely true. “And you can’t go poking around to find out why. In fact, I don’t want you poking around at all. Radio silence until we meet in person.” because he didn’t want to lose his nerve.
When? Was all Harry asked, and Bucky had to think quickly because he didn’t want Harry seeing more than he wanted to share.
“A week from today. There’s a restaurant down the street. Saw the menu in the drawer so you like it, right?” Harry agreed, still somewhat hesitant, but not arguing. “7pm. Don’t be late.”
Wouldn’t dream of it. Was the somewhat dry response, but Bucky could feel the other man’s trepidation and excitement and he’d take that for now.
As soon as he felt Harry pull away from his mind, he felt more vulnerable than he could ever really remember feeling. Shaking it off, Bucky set to work. He had a lot to do before he met Harry.
>>>
Bucky recognized Harry the moment he saw him sitting in the window of the restaurant. Despite never having seen the man before in his life, he was as familiar as looking in the mirror, and it reassured him that he’d made the right choice.
He’d spent the last week figuring out just who he wanted to be.
Ever since Harry had helped him escape, guiding him from place to place until he’d felt comfortable to start staying longer than a day in each place, it hadn’t been something Bucky had considered. He’d been so focused on just escaping everything that he’d never thought about what would come next.
He was free.
If he wanted, he could probably walk right up to Steve and be legally brought back to life and even further from Hydra’s reach.
He was soul bound to a man who could use magic who, from what he’d seen, had gone through some shit of his own.
He didn’t have to spend his entire life running.
As much as he’d wanted to keep having Harry in his head, guiding him and helping him, he’d known this was something he had to decide on his own.
Standing across the street, watching Harry fidget nervously with the collar of his shirt, had Bucky grinning and crossed the street, schooling his expression before he stepped into the restaurant.
When Harry looked up, meeting his gaze, bright green eyes widened in surprise, and Bucky preened. Harry knew full well what he looked like, after all, he’d been present when Bucky had looked in the mirror many times, but in the last week Bucky had cleaned himself up; cutting his hair, shaving his face. The pink in Harry’s cheeks made it clear he appreciated the change. Despite knowing it was too soon for either of them to act on that appreciation was just another thing Bucky vowed to work on. He knew he might never get there, but he at least wanted to try.
He slid into the chair across from Harry, and knew whatever he said first would decide the tone of how they moved forward.
He smirked. Go big or go home, right?
“Did it hurt?” he asked, and Harry’s brow crinkled in confusion. “When you fell from Heaven?” Harry blinked, surprised once more, before a delighted laugh escaped him, eyes sparkling.
“That the best line you’ve got?” Harry taunted, at ease now, and Bucky’s smirk widened to a grin. Yeah, this had been the right choice.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” When his mind brushed against Bucky’s, the warmth was tinged with relief, but even better yet - with affection. His cheeky grin was infectious.
“I might have a thought or two."