Healing Wounds
The plane ride back to the Avengers' compound was quieter than Bucky would have liked. Despite the relief that Arthur had returned to himself—despite the connection he had felt with his brother in that moment—it felt like the weight of everything they had both endured was pressing down on him. The cold, mechanized life he had led for so many years had not let go of Arthur. Not completely.
Bucky sat next to him in the jet, his gaze often flicking over to the large man seated beside him. Arthur, or “Arti,” as Bucky had always called him, was looking out the window, his expression distant and blank. His eyes—brown and soft, but shadowed—were fixed on the passing clouds, yet Bucky knew that his brother wasn’t really seeing anything. His mind was somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
The weight of Arthur’s past was suffocating, and Bucky hated it. Every single day that Arthur had spent at the hands of HYDRA was a day that he couldn’t get back. The conditioning. The abuse. The experiments. And the worst of it: the long years spent as HYDRA’s weapon. They had taken so much from Arthur. They had stolen his humanity, his memory, and his peace.
And now that Arthur was finally free of their grasp, he wasn’t sure how to help him.
"You’re safe now," Bucky murmured softly, his voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing he knew to say.
Arthur flinched at the sound of his voice, his shoulders jerking as if startled. His eyes briefly darted toward Bucky, then away again. His hands, which had been resting on his knees, now gripped them tightly, as if trying to hold himself together. Bucky’s heart sank.
"You okay?" Bucky asked, his voice gentle but filled with concern.
Arthur didn’t respond immediately, but after a long pause, he nodded stiffly. His jaw clenched as if holding back something, a torrent of emotion he wasn’t yet ready to release. His eyes stayed down, his brows furrowed in concentration, though it was clear that whatever was going on inside him was much more complicated than what he was showing on the outside.
“I don’t know if I am,” Arthur muttered finally, his voice rough, as though the words had been stuck in his throat for years. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the motion a clear sign that he didn’t feel at ease. “I don’t think I can ever be okay again.”
Bucky could feel the heaviness in the air. He had been there, too—trapped in the mind-numbing cycle of HYDRA’s conditioning, trying to escape, trying to break free from the chains that had shackled him. But Arthur’s torment had been so much longer, so much more drawn-out, and Bucky couldn’t help but think that his brother’s wounds ran deeper than his own.
“Hey,” Bucky began, reaching out and placing a hand on Arthur’s arm, trying to offer him some sense of comfort. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. We’re gonna get through this together. I know it’s not gonna be easy, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”
Arthur’s eyes flickered to him again, a brief flash of something—maybe fear, maybe vulnerability—crossing his face. His lips parted as though he were about to say something, but he hesitated.
"How do you—" Arthur’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, his hands still gripping his legs tightly. "How do you live with this, Buck? With all the things we’ve done? The things we’ve… been made to do?"
Bucky squeezed his arm, trying to convey as much understanding as he could with the gesture. The question was familiar. It was the question he had asked himself so many times. The guilt. The trauma. The mistakes that could never be undone.
“I don’t have an answer,” Bucky admitted softly. “I don’t think anyone really does. But… you have to take it one step at a time. You face it head-on, no matter how hard it gets. The pain doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t have to define you. It doesn’t have to break you.”
Arthur stared at his hands, his chest rising and falling as he fought against the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him. Bucky could see the tremors in his brother’s body, the tension that never seemed to fade. Despite the progress Arthur had made by breaking free from HYDRA’s hold, it was clear that the trauma—like a scar that would never fade—still lingered in every movement he made, in every glance he cast.
“I’m not sure I’m strong enough,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The words hit Bucky harder than he expected. He had heard them in his own mind so many times, asking the same question. Am I strong enough? But now, hearing them from his brother, the weight of them crushed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
“You are,” Bucky said firmly, his voice cutting through the air like a sharp promise. "You’ve survived this long. You survived HYDRA. You’re still here. That’s strength, Arti."
Arthur’s eyes flickered up, meeting Bucky’s gaze for a brief moment. There was a fleeting softness in his eyes, like a crack in the stone, but it quickly disappeared. He glanced away again, his jaw set tight.
“I don’t know if I can be… part of this,” Arthur admitted, gesturing vaguely to the jet around them, to the Avengers, to the life they were flying toward. "I don’t know if I can fit into… this world again."
Bucky’s expression softened, but the concern still lingered in his eyes. He wanted to tell Arthur that everything would be fine, that he would find his place, that he would heal. But he knew better. It wasn’t that simple.
"Take your time, okay?" Bucky said gently. "Nobody’s asking you to be anyone you’re not. You don’t have to jump into anything right away. You don’t have to be anything. Just… be you. And when you’re ready, we’ll figure it out."
Arthur nodded slowly, though the tension in his posture remained, his muscles still taut as though waiting for something to shift inside him.
The rest of the flight was spent in silence, save for the occasional shift of movement and the faint hum of the jet’s engines. Bucky didn’t push Arthur to speak again. He knew his brother needed space, needed time to process everything. But even if Arthur couldn’t bring himself to say it, Bucky could feel the weight of his brother’s struggles, the uncertainty and pain that hung in the air like a shadow.
---
When they landed, it was Steve who greeted them first. The Captain’s eyes flicked between the two of them, assessing Arthur with a soft, understanding gaze before giving Bucky a quick nod. He didn’t say anything at first, allowing the moment to unfold in its own way.
Arthur’s steps were stiff as he followed Bucky off the plane, his broad shoulders slumped. He still seemed like a man who wasn’t sure of where he belonged. He was tall, imposing, but the vulnerability in his movements was palpable. The weight of his past lingered in his posture, in the way his eyes darted around the new surroundings.
Steve placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. "We’re glad you’re here, Arthur," he said quietly. "It’s going to take time, but we’ll get there. One day at a time."
Arthur didn’t respond right away, but he offered a stiff nod, his eyes scanning the group of Avengers that had gathered in the hangar. He couldn’t yet bring himself to meet their gazes, unsure of what they expected from him, unsure of what he was supposed to be.
But Bucky stayed by his side, just as he had promised. He would make sure that Arthur knew that he wasn’t alone in this fight. No matter how long it took for him to heal, Bucky would be there. They would get through this together.
---
The rest of the night passed quietly, with Arthur staying mostly in the background, watching, listening. His anxiety was almost palpable, but he didn’t say much. The team gave him space, understanding that trust couldn’t be forced, that healing couldn’t be rushed.
In time, Bucky hoped that his brother would find his place among them—that he would begin to heal the deep wounds that HYDRA had inflicted. But for now, he just needed to take it one step at a time. Together.
And for the first time in a long while, Bucky allowed himself to believe that they might just make it.
---
To be continued...