Kaleidoscopes
In all of it there is at least the satisfaction that Tony hates this whole process probably about as much as James does, albeit for different reasons. James is sitting with his back to the foot end of his bed because everything in him locked up at the idea of lying down with other people in his room. An initially very gruff Dr. Strange is standing behind him, now cold and focused with his hands hovering on either side of James’ head. And that’s it. Tony and Vision are sitting in the armchair and the desk chair as backup, but there is nothing else to it.
“I will begin in a moment with a spell that will remove you from your body, spiritually. I understand interactions with Maximoff’s enchantment cause quite severe episodes of panic. This untethering will make sure your body stays at rest.”
“If I have a panic attack, I won’t flinch,” James summarises.
“Yes. You may see it as anaesthesia in a way.” Tony frowns, but Dr. Strange continues without even acknowledging it. “I apologise for the discomfort this will cause, but I fear it is unavoidable.”
“James–” Tony starts, sitting up, but James shakes his head.
“I want this out. I can take it.”
“But–”
“This is my decision,” James cuts him off. “Thanks for coming on such a short notice, Dr. Strange. I’m ready when you are.”
It’s a lie. It feels like his heart is about to leap out of his throat, and he should be shaking with the amount of adrenaline in his system right now. But the Winter Soldier is whoever he needs to be for the mission, and right now James needs to be sure of this. He’s a good liar, he almost believes it himself.
“Very well,” Strange says and lifts his hands.
And then James loses all sensation. He is no longer sitting on the bed, instead floating just above it, looking down at his body as it relaxes without him in. He has both arms again, the metal arm at his side responding smoothly as James tries to hold on to something.
Before he can find anything though, before he can even begin to worry, Dr. Strange’s form beneath him also splits in two, a spiritual version of him floating up to meet James, steadying him by his metal hand.
“I see you’ve made the transition, good.” Strange floats away to keep some space between them, about the five miles of personal space Tony pointed out to him.
“I will leave you here until I am finished. This is delicate work, Mr. Barnes and I am sure you can appreciate the value of a steady hand in this. If you really find yourself unable to bear this process, turn to Vision. While they can’t astrally project themselves, they do have some sensitivity for it. You may not disturb me if you value your mental faculties,” Strange warns, his voice sharp, and something about being give something this close to an order strikes a strange cord in James. He wants to argue, to disobey on principle, but also relishes the clear instructions.
In the end he just grins. “Didn’t want to give that disclaimer in front of Tony, huh?”
Strange smiles in return, a note of respect on his face now that wasn’t there before. “Mr. Stark can be a little too protective at times, I find. You said you anted out of this enchantment, and who am I to deny a patient.”
James chuckles. “Thanks, Doctor.”
“On the contrary, I have to thank you, Mr. Barnes. I am not usually one for pettiness, but I am eager to best such crude amateurish work.”
James gets the impression that Strange knows his fair share of pettiness, no matter his assertions.
“Good luck then.”
Strange smirks and turns back towards his body. “I won’t need it.”
James can feel him leaving this strange space he is currently inhabiting, and then he is alone again, drifting and watching as Tony shifts nervously. Strange lifts his hand again to either side of James’ head and James has a moment left to take in how alien his features look from the outside. He recognises them, recognises the stubble, the longer growing hair, the curve of his cheekbones and his lips. It doesn’t feel like his own right now, like that of a person he’s never seen before.
And then the moment is over, and memories slam into him with the force of a mountain.
There is pain first, always pain first. James has barely space enough to wonder whether his life was ever not defined by this sensation, his nerves spasming, his whole body jerking and tensing around fire and agony. This time of course his body is perfectly still between Strange’s hands, James feels this pain on his own. It’s good. It means he doesn’t have to muffle his screams.
The pain he walked into Tony’s workshop with, the pain he walked into the quinjet with racks through him, and the lights of the room flicker at little as for the first time in his life, James lets himself scream as loud as he needs to. His shoulder is septic and on fire, the metal cold from the Siberian winds and hothothot from the electrical sparks going haywire. He felts the heat of Stark’s blast and then he felt little else.
“You poor thing. I can help you, you know?”
A voice like candied holly, a hand on his face. She is soft, her hands delicate like that of a pianist, and James feels so much at once he shuts down. His whole body grows numb and he barely feels it as she looks into his eyes, looks into his soul with more than just her eyes. There is magic to her, his body tense in terror, this is beyond anything he knows, and it isn’t hurting him any more which is the worst part. What is she doing that isn’t causing pain? What is she doing to him?
Nothing. Steve smiles at him, an arm around his neck and James is thirteen and eighteen and just barely twenty one all at once. He’s a boy, he’s Steve’s protector, and then he’s in awe as his little friend comes to lead a commando, a nation. And now Steve is so big, his arm so heavy, and his voice is big enough to drown out James’ pants of pain, everything about him big enough to overshadow the way James flinches when he’s touched.
Steve touches him, Steve and Wanda and Barton all hug him and clap their hands on his back and sidle up to him on the couch, and James is back in Germany and Russia and only Hydra knows where else. He’s touched by his best friend and a witch and a spy and scientists and handlers and targets all at once, his body belonging to everyone that isn’t him.
And then the pain is gone. It all is gone. James is walking around in himself like in an ill fitting suit. His arm is on fire but he can’t feel it. He is screaming and overstimulated and wants to be alone but doesn’t notice. He smiles at Steve and something in his best friend lights up, finally seeing the man he loved and lost so long ago.
Only it’s not him doing it. James feels with mounting horror as his body goes through the motions, smiling and eating and touching his teammates, and he is along for the ride. Somewhere distantly James is aware that this is only a memory, that this is already part of him and he can’t change it now. But he tries, oh he tries.
“I’m so glad you’re doing better, Buck. It was so painful to see you hurting like that,” Steve murmurs into his shoulder, holding James in a tight embrace, and no matter how much he struggles, his body just wont move.
“I’m so glad we’re together finally,” his voice says, James can hear his throat working, his own voice resonating in his chest. His head drops onto Steve’s shoulder and James is trapped while his flesh crawls with the sensation.
And then they are no longer in the kitchen of their little apartment that they’re sharing with the rest of the rogues, and it is no longer afternoon. For a moment there is nothing, no touch, no sensation, and James gets to breathe, gets to feel relief for a moment. But there are footsteps and Steve opens the door to his room. Their room, James realises with dawning horror, taking in the details around him as his body sits up, as he grins and opens his arm for Steve.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Steve whispers and crawls into bed, crawls into James’ arm and space and under his skin. “What an awful day.” And then James’ body leans forward and kisses him, and James is trapped in it, trapped in his body and the moment and trapped under Steve’s weight, under his hands and eyes and mouth, and he can’t scream and can’t move.
Steve’s hands are in his hair and under his shirt, they are on his scars and his abs and his bones. He doesn’t touch the metal, doesn’t even come close, not because it might hurt - all of this hurts, James’ body just cannot respond when he is pushed into the shitty old matress, when a spring pressed into his raw shoulder blade - but because that part isn’t Bucky. And James touches back, he pulls and pleads with his hand and with his body, his heart beating thick in his throat, panic or desire, he doesn’t know anymore. He just knows he doesn’t want this. He is kissed and touched and touched.
He is stuck. The memories come and come and come, and James is stuck in them. In a way, it’s just like dreaming. Going through the motions of things he knows he’s done, things he remembers come morning. Only this time there’s no blood and no death. Only touch and kisses and smiles that hurt worse than anything before. At least before it was cruel. At least before it hurt. Now… this?
Eventually the emotions win out. There is an onslaught of sensations as his mind is pushed through a kaleidoscope of memories, laughter and intimacy and bonding moments forced through him. There is touch and taste and sounds and sight, smells of food and skin and sweat. James feels himself untether, not unlike what Strange had done for him earlier. He feels his mind grow numb, and the emotions die away. The sensations change from overwhelming to input, and James watches himself be kissed and loved from four kilometres away, the longest shot he’s ever taken. He measures the time between kisses in heartbeats and the distance between Steve’s hands and him in millimetres. Each moment becomes about offence and defence, about weaknesses and planning for worst case scenarios.
That doesn’t make it easier. It just means he doesn’t need to be here for it. He is gone, far far gone. He doesn’t feel much of anything when the memories finally catch up, when Steve kisses him one last time before their last meeting with the New Avengers. He only notices with mild curiosity Tony’s bewilderment at finding him empty and hollow in the hallways of Stark Tower. And there isn’t even relief when the flow of sensations and images stops.
***
Tony hates, this all of this. He is trying to talk himself down by reminding himself again and again that only because he doesn’t understand how this work it doesn’t have to be bad. Not much success though, he is grinding his teeth while Strange begins working his magic, to the point where the wizard shoots him a pointed glare, and Vision rests a hand on Tony’s shoulder for a moment.
So he focuses on James as much as he can, trying to take comfort in his relaxed posture, more relaxed than Tony has ever seen the other man. Tries to talk himself into believing that this is as good thing. This must be relief. Sure, it’s uncharacteristic, maybe helped by Strange’s spell. But it’s not bad. Of course it’s not bad. It’s fine.
Strange steps back from James and it’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about.
“Okay, I’m a little worried,” Strange says.
Fuck. Okay, Stark, deconstruct the problem.
“What’s wrong?”
Strange takes a step back and James is still sitting there, not moving, relaxed like he has been for the last two hours.
“I removed Barnes from his body while I was working. I’ve just invited him back, but he’s not responding.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not responding, Stark. Damn, I didn’t want to do this so soon. I’ll go and check, hold up and be ready to catch him if something happens.”
“What do you mean, if something happens? Strange? Strange!”
But Strange has closed his eyes, his face going still the way it had done before. It’s only a brief moment, a blink and then he’s back, the arch of his brow more severe than before.
“Alright, we might have a problem.”
“Strange, what the fuck is the problem?” Tony asks, standing with his hands balled by his side.
“Mr. Stark, anger will not aid us here. Dr. Strange, could you please elaborate?”
Strange runs a hand through his hair, and that more than anything else drives fear into Tony’s guts.
“His spirit is still here, still tethered to his body, so nothing catastrophic has occurred. But he is not responding. I– It pains me to say, but I cannot say for sure what he experienced while I undid the spell.”
“But you did it. It’s gone?”
Strange nods. “Yes, of course it’s gone. It was a nasty bit of work, but easy to unravel in the end. My current theory is that Mr. Barnes is in shock. Barring any drastic changes, I think time may be the best remedy for now?”
Tony scoffs, trying contain his anger which he knows is just fear in the end. Fear for James, who is just sitting there, limp and empty. “Is that your opinion as Sorcerer Supreme or doctor?”
“That’s my opinion as an person and friend, Stark, trying to help you out with something you care about. I don’t want to force this. I don’t know what happened, and this might just take time.” He sighs, and for the first time since Tony has known him, Strange looks tired. “Look, this spell sucked. Both on a technical level as well as an effects level. It sucked even more to remove, for both of us, although I fear Mr. Barnes took the brunt of it. Give him till tomorrow. If nothing has changed by then, call me and I’ll figure something out.”
Tony nods, feeling the fight go out of him. “Alright.” He doesn’t know what to do here. This is magic and wizards and space stones. He’s an engineer, not a hogwarts alumnus. “Yeah, okay. I’ll contact you tomorrow.”
“I will see you out, Dr. Strange,” Vision offers, likely to discuss some weird wizard shit on the way out. Tony doesn’t have the energy to be bothered by it, doesn’t have the space to care. As soon as the door closes behind them, he pull James’ desk chair up next to his bed, coming as close to James as he is comfortable right now, which is about three arms lengths out. And then he waits.