Trauma-Coaster

The air in the chamber grew thick, the weight of the moment pressing down on Arthur’s chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his ears as if it were trying to claw its way out of his chest. Every fiber of his being was at war, caught between the man he used to be and the soldier HYDRA had turned him into. His mind was a storm of confusion and fear. But more than anything, the primal instinct to survive—the need to obey—had taken over.

The suit clung to his body, heavy and suffocating. The cold metal armor was the only thing that felt like it was holding him together, as if the steel could contain the storm inside. His fingers twitched, ready to reach for the weapons that lay just out of reach, but his eyes remained locked on Bucky, who stood just a few feet away, his face full of uncertainty and a quiet, desperate hope.

Bucky’s gaze never faltered. He stood as though he was daring Arthur to break the cycle, to reach past the conditioning, to fight against the person he had become. The Winter Soldier had been through his own hell, one that mirrored Arthur’s in many ways, and yet here he was, standing before him, reaching out with a hand that promised nothing but understanding.

"Arthur, please," Bucky’s voice was soft, but the emotion behind it was palpable, thick with urgency. "I’m not leaving you. You’re not a weapon. You’re my brother. You’re Arti, and you’ve always been more than this." 

The words felt like a knife twisting in Arthur’s chest, cutting through the icy numbness that had been built up over decades of training, tortures, and mind-control. And still, despite his best efforts to reach for something, anything, that could break through the fog, the coldness remained. The mission lingered like an iron grip on his soul.

Eliminate Stark.

The command rang out in his head like a constant echo. It drowned out Bucky’s voice, the plea for the return of the brother Arthur had once been. 

His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. The mission was clear. The mission was simple. Tony Stark was the target. The order was unyielding. The training HYDRA had drilled into him for so many years was still there, like muscle memory—ready to take over, ready to make him into ‘The Reaper’ once again.

But beneath that, somewhere in the crevices of his mind, Arthur fought to hold on to something real. Something that wasn’t a mission, wasn’t an order. He had to fight. 

“Please...,” Arthur gasped, the word barely a whisper. His hands trembled, and his knees buckled for a brief moment. The serum coursed through his veins, urging him to move, to fulfill the mission. But the feeling of Bucky’s presence—so close, so familiar—was doing something to him that he couldn’t quite explain.

"Arthur," Bucky said again, taking a step closer, his voice thick with emotion. “I know you’re in there. I know you remember me. You don’t have to do this. Fight it, Arti. Please."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice of HYDRA, trying to filter through the confusion. Every step he took toward Bucky felt like wading through molasses. It was almost as if the world was moving too slowly, too heavily, as his body fought against his will. A dark haze filled his mind, the cold steel of HYDRA’s influence pushing down on his chest, suffocating him. Kill Stark.

But no—no, he wasn’t The Reaper. He wasn’t just a soldier.

He was Arthur Dayton Barnes.

I am not part of them.

Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat as the realization came crashing into his mind, clearer than ever before. The soldier that stood before him—this shell of a man who had been created by HYDRA—wasn’t all that he was. He wasn’t just a tool. He was a brother. He was a person. A man who had been manipulated for far too long. A man who had the strength to fight back. 

Bucky was right. He wasn’t just a weapon. 

“Bucky…” Arthur’s voice cracked, his throat burning. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to his knees, unable to stand any longer. His massive frame, once so formidable, felt small and fragile now. The weight of his own mind was too much to bear. The crushing burden of HYDRA’s commands pressed down on him like a thousand pounds of concrete, but beneath it all was the lingering thread of humanity that Bucky had pulled from the depths of his soul.

Bucky was beside him in an instant, kneeling down, his hands outstretched, his face filled with equal parts worry and tenderness. 

"Arti…" Bucky whispered, the nickname that only he had ever used, the one that reminded Arthur of a time long gone. A time when life had been simple. When they had been kids, stealing moments of peace in a world that hadn’t yet broken them. "I know you’re still in there."

Arthur closed his eyes, his breath ragged, as the overwhelming mixture of fear and relief threatened to send him into a spiral. The confusion, the pain—it was all too much. What am I? His hands trembled violently, his chest rising and falling erratically. 

A voice in his ear—HYDRA’s voice—spoke again, louder this time.

“God dammit Reaper, Eliminate Stark!”

The words were like a harsh slap to his face, and in that instant, the fog in his mind thickened again. His breath hitched, his fingers twitching toward the weapons on his belt. The world around him blurred, and the mission came flooding back—like a tidal wave crashing down, filling his thoughts with its icy certainty.

But Bucky’s hands grabbed his shoulders, anchoring him. "Don’t listen to them, Arti. You’re not a tool. You’re not the Reaper. You’re my brother, and you have a choice."

The words cracked through the fog again. Choice. 

Arthur’s heart raced, the drumbeat of it echoing in his ears as he struggled to stay grounded. The urge to obey, to follow the mission, was suffocating, but Bucky—his brother, his only family—was there, holding him, reminding him of who he was before the serum, before the chair, before the endless years of abuse and control.

Bucky’s voice was insistent, soft but unyielding. "You’re not a soldier anymore, Arti. You don’t have to be their weapon. You don’t owe them anything. Come back to me."

Arthur’s breath came in broken gasps. His head pounded, a violent storm of thoughts and commands swirling inside him. He could feel the pull, the command to act, the order to kill—but Bucky’s presence was a lifeline. The pull of his brother’s hands, his brother’s voice, was stronger than the command. 

I am Arthur. I am more than this.

And in that moment, something inside Arthur broke—something deep inside, something buried for so long, came to the surface. A wave of recognition flooded his senses, and his mind cleared enough to see the truth.

"I—I don’t want to do this," Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse, as if the very act of speaking the words was painful. His hand trembled as he reached up, his fingers brushing against Bucky’s. "I don’t want to be their soldier anymore, Bucky."

Tears, unbidden and raw, filled his eyes as his mind finally, finally broke free of the chains that had bound him for so long. He wasn’t The Reaper. He wasn’t a tool. He was a man, a brother—and he had a choice. And in that choice, for the first time in his entire existence, Arthur finally chose himself.

Bucky pulled him into an embrace, his arms tight around him, as if afraid to let go, as if afraid that Arthur would slip away again. "I’ve got you," Bucky whispered against his ear, his voice thick with emotion. "You don’t have to be alone anymore, Arti. You don’t have to fight it alone."

But even as Arthur let himself be held, he knew the fight wasn’t over. HYDRA’s grip still had a hold on him—still had the power to pull him back into the darkness. And the weight of what he’d been trained to do would always linger. But for the first time, Arthur believed that he wasn’t alone. 

And maybe, just maybe, with Bucky by his side, he could find a way to break free for good.

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To be continued…