The Echoes of Silence
The compound felt suffocating today. Arthur couldn’t pinpoint the reason—it was just one of those days when everything seemed off, like the air was too thick and his thoughts too loud. He sat in his room, curled on the couch, his hands clasped tightly in his lap as if he could physically stop the storm brewing in his mind.
He was getting better, or at least, that was what everyone told him. Bucky, Steve, Natasha—hell, even Clint, who was a lot more reserved than the others, had given him a few quiet words of encouragement. They were trying. They were patient. But it wasn’t that simple.
The guilt was a constant weight on his chest, a pressure he couldn’t escape. Every day, Arthur woke up feeling like he was suffocating under the layers of things he had done, things he had been forced to do. He had done horrible things for HYDRA, things that felt like they were woven into the very fabric of his being.
They told him he wasn’t that man anymore. That the past didn’t define him. But they didn’t understand.
No matter how much they wanted him to heal, no matter how much they tried to show him that he was part of their team, part of their family, Arthur felt like an outsider. How could he be anything but what HYDRA made him? A weapon. A killer. A thing without a soul.
And the memories… the memories never stopped. The memories of the serum, the endless experiments, the coldness of the lab. The chair. His body in restraints, forced to obey without question, his mind locked in a cage. His own name had become a distant echo, replaced by "Death" or "The Reaper"—a name that didn’t even feel like his own.
“You’re not him anymore,” Bucky’s voice echoed in his mind. He could hear the sincerity in his brother’s words, but it didn’t stop the echo of his past from rising to the surface.
Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, trying to push the thoughts away, but it wasn’t working. Not today.
The door to his room creaked open, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He knew the sound of Bucky’s footsteps. The soft tap of his boots, the quiet rhythm that always seemed to be there when Arthur needed him most.
“Arti?” Bucky’s voice was low, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if Arthur was ready to talk.
Arthur didn’t answer immediately. His body was rigid, like a coiled spring, waiting for something—anything—to break. But the weight of it all was too much today. Too much for the fragile wall he had built up around himself. He felt the anger rising, the frustration, the helplessness.
He stood up abruptly, throwing the blanket off his lap. “I don’t need this, Bucky,” Arthur snapped, the words sharp, louder than he intended. “I don’t need people trying to fix me. I don’t need you to tell me everything’s going to be okay when it’s not. I can’t be fixed.”
Bucky flinched, but didn’t step back. He was used to the anger. He had seen it before—felt it himself when he first started living outside the confines of his HYDRA training.
“Arti, I’m not trying to fix you,” Bucky said softly, his tone steady despite the tension in the room. “You’re not broken, alright? You’re just… hurt. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be hurt.”
Arthur’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his breath coming faster as the room seemed to close in on him. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not some guy who can just move on from what they did to me. I don’t know how to be anything but that person.”
The words hit Bucky like a physical blow. He saw the anguish in Arthur’s eyes, the pain that couldn’t be erased with a few kind words or a promise of safety. Arthur had been stripped of everything—his name, his identity, his sense of self. He had been turned into a weapon, a tool for destruction, and no matter how much time passed, that didn’t change.
“I get it, Arti,” Bucky said, his voice soft but firm. “I do. I’ve been there. Hell, I still fight it sometimes. But you’re not that soldier anymore. You’re you. And you’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you’re feeling.”
Arthur’s gaze flickered to the window, the fading light casting long shadows across the room. His heart raced, and the pressure in his chest mounted, but he didn’t know how to deal with it. He had spent so long locked in the prison of his own mind, the silence of his thoughts screaming at him from every corner.
“I don’t know how to be me, Bucky,” Arthur said quietly, his voice cracking. “I don’t know who I am without them. Without HYDRA. Without the Reaper.”
Bucky was quiet for a moment, allowing Arthur’s words to hang in the air. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability to it that Arthur hadn’t expected. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all still figuring it out. I’m not… perfect, Arti. But I’m here. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”
Arthur stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. It was strange, this offer of comfort—so different from everything he had ever known. He had been so used to being alone in his pain, so used to pushing people away because they couldn’t possibly understand. But Bucky was here, and for some reason, that made all the difference.
“I don’t… I don’t want to keep feeling like this,” Arthur whispered, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to be The Reaper anymore. But I don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop,” Bucky said, his voice gentle. “You just have to let it go. Piece by piece. And it’s okay if it takes time. It’s okay if you don’t know how to get there yet.”
Arthur looked down at his hands, the familiar scars and marks that were the evidence of a life he couldn’t erase. The weight of Bucky’s words pressed on him like a soft hand, urging him to let go, but Arthur didn’t know how to do that.
“I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can let go of the things I’ve done.”
Bucky’s hand came down gently on his shoulder, a grounding presence. “You don’t have to forgive yourself all at once. It’s not about forgetting what happened, it’s about choosing not to let it define you anymore. One day at a time.”
Arthur looked up at his brother, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, everything else faded away—the weight of his past, the suffocating pressure of his thoughts. All that remained was the quiet, unspoken understanding between them.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Arthur said quietly.
Bucky smiled softly. “Then we’ll take it slow. But no matter what, I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you, Arti. Always.”
Arthur nodded, his chest tight but lighter than it had been in days. He wasn’t ready. But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be.
As Bucky left the room, Arthur remained standing by the window, staring out at the fading light. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be completely free from the ghosts of his past, but for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was a way forward.
To be continued…