Betty Barnes
Elisabeth Barnes – Betty, to friends and Family – grew up with a single mom in the middle of Brooklyn. Her dad died during the war, as did her uncle, and a lot of their extended family.
But her mother, Rebecca Barnes – she was something fierce. Raising Elisabeth on her own, until she got remarried when Betty was 18.
Every night, as Becca tucked her in, she would ask for another story.
“Tell me about uncle Bucky, momma” she said, reaching out her little hands.
“Ah, your uncle Bucky” Becca would smile, sit herself down on the side of her bed, and take a deep breath before launching off into a story about James Buchanan Barnes, American Hero.
“He fought alongside Captain America” she would say, “Of course, we knew him as little Stevie Rogers.”
She would show her daughter pictures, and letters. The folded flag on the dresser in the living room.
“They don’t know I have this” she would whisper secretly, “Stevie gave it to me before he left, told me to keep it safe for when he comes back.”
“But, he didn’t come back” Betty said, wide eyes looking at the suitcase with the man’s initials embossed on it.
“He didn’t” she would smile, “But your uncle Bucky had his back, so maybe he still will.”
And then, when Betty grew up and started a family of her own, it was only normal to name her son after him. James Procter-Barnes.
Telling him the same bedtime stories, showing him the same pictures. Her mother doing the same when her grandson came for a sleepover.
Until she got too sick for that. When sleepovers turned to short visits, as her mind slowly went. More and more mistaking James for her brother.
“It’s okay Bucky” she would whisper to him, “I’ll keep your secret.”
James never found out what that secret was, neither did Betty.
And then she passed, quietly and in her sleep, surrounded by kids and grandkids.
It wasn’t easy, saying goodbye to her mother. But she was at peace with it, she’d had a long life, a good one. She’d been happy with her second husband until he passed away five years ago. She was ready to go, and Betty was ready to say goodbye.
Until it happened.
“Darling” her husband said from the couch, “Have you seen this?”
“Seen what?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Miles, recognizing the news logo from a distance.
“It’s – captain America” he says slowly, “There’s a conference, saying they found him in the ice – managed to bring him back.”
“Haha, very funny sweetheart” she said, turning back to kneading the dough.
“It’s true” he repeats, the tone of his voice makes her hesitate, grabbing a towel to wipe her hands and walking towards him. She sees it then, his face on the TV, as she slowly sinks down on the couch next to him.
Everything changes after that. Suddenly there’s superheroes in the city. Their faces plastered on bus stops and the PSA Captain America videos dusted off and reintroduced at schools.
It all passes by her, because her son gets married, and they have a daughter, and suddenly Betty Barnes isn’t just a mother, but also a grandmother.
The next shift in reality happens two years later, right after James picks up Winnie after her weekly visit.
“Have you checked it out?” Miles says, sitting behind the computer. He’s really read up on everything, keeping track of all information when Steve Rogers was suddenly branded enemy of the state. More than enough time to waste now that he’s recently retired.
“Checked what out?” she asks, walking over and leaning over his shoulder.
“This data dump?” he says, “It’s – holy shit, see, right there.”
“What is it that I’m supposed to see Sweetheart?” she asks, squinting at the screen, “Winter soldier? What about him?”
“Here, right under it” he says, enlarging the font, “Do you see it? His real identity?”
“No” Betty stares, “No, that can’t be real – no?”
“Sure sounds crazy as hell” Miles agrees, “But what if it is true? What if that man your mother told you all about is still alive?”
“Oh” Betty takes a deep breath, “Oh, poor thing.”
“Poor thing?” Miles frowns, “He is a trained assassin.”
“No – no if he’s an assassin it wasn’t by his own free will” Betty says, “That’s not the Bucky I know.”
“Darling – you didn’t know him” he says gently, “Just the stories your mom told you. The stories of her older brother – who she probably idolized – who died when she was young.”
“See what else you can find about him and print it out for me, will you?” she asks, her hand gently on his shoulder as she leans forward again and kisses his cheek.
“Anything you want, dear” he replies softly.
[…]
“Have you read these?” she asks, they’re sitting on the couch, her feet resting on his lap as he’s watching some run of the mill sitcom.
“I haven’t” he admits, “I tried – but it’s just too horrific.”
“The things he’s been through” she says, “His memory wiped, cryogenically frozen, forced to kill – tortured.”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – there’s some horrible people in the world” Miles says, reaching over and softly stroking his wife’s hand.
“He needs help” she says, “If what this says is true, he’s broken free from Hydra and is on the run or in hiding.”
“You can’t really go looking for him” he says, “You’re a therapist, not a government spy or an Avenger.”
“Hey” she says, slightly shoving his shoulder, “I could totally be an Avenger.”
“You certainly could” he grins, “God knows they could probably use a good therapist like you.”
[…]
Bucky had somehow managed to break free. Free from the facility, from the torturers, free from the programming that got weaker and weaker as each day passed. More memories flooding back almost daily – the oldest ones first.
And now he’s here, back in Brooklyn, keeping his head down and living under the radar. Back where everything makes just a little bit more sense. Back where he feels like Bucky instead of the asset.
Back where every once in a while he’ll come across something that looks vaguely familiar, buildings with signs saying “est. 1910” or “quality bread since 1920”
A small voice in the back of his head saying “yeah, and fucking expensive”
There’s one house that keeps pulling him in, one where he lingers outside at least once a week. A little plaque, almost hidden away, reading ‘birthplace of Steven G. Rogers – Captain America”. Except the building is all wrong, shiny new windows and clean bricks. You can look inside and see fancy office equipment on the ground floor. All wrong.
But even though a lot of it feels wrong, Bucky is free. There’s nobody giving him orders, or wiping away his memories. There’s nobody telling him to kill someone for the greater good. There’s nobody trying to hurt him.
It takes a while, but he finds his little home. Renting a room using the money taken from Hydra. There’s not much space, just enough for a microwave, a bed, a shower and a toilet. No central heating, crappy electrics, no hot water.
He’s pretty sure it’s illegal to still be renting it out. But he pays cash every week, and there’s no neighbors to bother him.
He buys fresh fruit at the market once a week and reads a lot of newspapers and books from the library.
That’s where he is when it happens. His weekly trip to the market, when a kid suddenly pulls at his pants leg.
“Bubba, look” she says, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes, “It’s him.”
Bucky freezes, no way in hell is his cover being blown by a child.
The woman turns around, ready to apologize and freezes in the exact same way as Bucky does.
“It’s uncle Bucky, Bubba” she says, “Just like your pictures.”
“Hi” the woman smiles, she’s not young, probably sixty. Not sixty like they were in 1920. 60yo women nowadays still worked fulltime jobs and were in excellent health.
Part of him wants to turn around and run, but instead he looks up, straight into the woman’s eyes and says “Becca?”
“Betty, actually” she smiles, taking in Bucky’s state, “her daughter.”
“Daughter” he repeats slowly, eyes flicking to the little kid. She looks exactly like Becca did when she was around that age. The same eyes, the same black pigtails that Becca loved to wear.
“It’s really you” she says, “I heard rumors, but I never thought.”
She bends down to pick up the little girl and takes a step closer, taking in his long hair, dirty coat, torn jeans.
“Oh, honey” she says, reaching out a hand and stroking his hair out of his face, “What have they done to you.”
Bucky flinches, not used to somebody touching him in a kind way, “That’s it” the woman says resolutely, clearly making up her mind, “You’re coming with me.”
“What?” Bucky is still staring.
“Do you have any belongings somewhere that you have to pick up?” she asks, Bucky shakes his head. Everything he owns is in the backpack he’s carrying with him.
“Okay, good” she studies his appearance again, “Let’s go”. He wants to protest, but right now he’s transported back to when he was 13 years old and his mom picked him up off the ground. Because this woman, Betty, is a fierce Barnes woman – no doubt about it – and Bucky’s never been able to argue with them.
“Bubba, are we keeping him?” the little girl asks, staring at Bucky and smiling widely.
“Yeah, sweetie, we are” she says, “We are going to bring him home and help him heal. Because he’s family, and my mother wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
[…]
Bucky follows her to a house at the end of Brooklyn. It’s not big, but definitely bigger than any home Bucky ever lived in.
There’s a man waiting by the door, his eyes go wide when he sees Bucky.
“Hi mom” she says, leaning towards Betty and kissing her cheek, “I thought you were joking.”
“Guess not” she replies, “I thought it was best you picked up Winnie, so that I can get him settled.”
“So you’re taking him in?” he asks, giving another glance towards Bucky.
“Of course I am taking him in, James” Betty says, rolling her eyes, “Now you go home and I’ll call you later with an update, okay?”
[…]
Bucky follows her inside, where there’s a man waiting.
“Hello” he smiles, “I’m Miles – Betty’s husband.”
Bucky nods, clutching his backpack like a lifeline, “I got your room ready.”
“My room?” he asks slowly, “I can’t stay – it’s not safe.”
“Sure it is” Betty says, “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Not safe for you” Bucky says, “They might still be looking for me.”
“Well, then you’re definitely safe here” Miles says, “I used to be in security – nobody gets in or out without my knowledge.”
“The people that are after me are smart” Bucky says.
“I’m smarter” he says, grinning at Bucky, “I married a Barnes woman.”
“Some might say that will make an excellent case for an insanity plea” Betty laughs, “I have some of my son’s old clothes you can wear. Your room has its own shower and toilet.”
“My mind isn’t right” Bucky says, trying to give this woman every excuse to kick him out.
“I don’t mind” she nods towards a framed document on the wall, “I’m a professional.”
“I – I don’t understand” he says.
“Well, mister Barnes” Miles says, “What my wife is trying to tell you is, that we are taking you in. we are going to help you get better, help you remember who you are, and help you deal with your trauma. Because you are family.”
“Are you really Becca’s daughter?” he asks her quietly, she smiles.
“Yes” she nods, “Want to see pictures?”
He nods, “Follow me” she says, and he does.
[…]
Bucky’s standing in the little room. It’s bigger than the room he was renting. Cleaner too, warmer.
There’s an actual bed, instead of just a mattress on the floor.
There’s pictures on the wall. Pictures of people and places he knows. A little desk in the corner, with on it an embossed suitcase. It looks familiar, he’s 80% sure he’s the one who bought it – even though it isn’t his name that’s on it.
There’s a record player in the corner – one of those fancy ones he would admire when walking past the store.
“It’s too much” he says, Miles is standing behind him. Betty had to take a phone call.
“It might feel that way” he says, “But it’s barely enough.”
“Have you met her? My sister?” he asks, Miles nods.
“I did” he smiles, “She was pretty amazing. You’d be proud of her.”
“Was she happy?” he asks.
“Yeah” he replies, “She was.”
“Okay” he nods, “good.”
“I’ll let you settle” he says, “Call if you need anything.”
“Thank you” he says, still staring at the picture on the nightstand. A family portrait of him, his ma and da, and Becca. All four of them grinning like idiots, sitting on that ratty old couch in their living room.
[…]
He can hear them talking downstairs.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, love?” her husband asks, “You read the files – he’s still a trained assassin.”
“Maybe” she replies, “Maybe he is, but he’s also my mother’s brother. And honestly, he doesn’t look like an assassin to me. He just looks like a lost man that needs help.”
“Are we the best people to help him though?”
“We’re family” she says, “Of course we are. Unlike those Avengers and Hydra, we don’t have any ulterior motives.”
“What about Captain America?” he asks, “He’s still looking for him. Technically we’re harboring a fugitive.”
“No we’re not” she says, “They’re looking for the Winter Soldier, all we have here is Bucky Barnes. Besides, our daughter in law is the best criminal lawyer in the area – we’ll be fine.”
“You’re lucky I can’t say no to you” he sighs, kissing her softly.
“You’re a total smuck.”
[…]
He sleeps. He sleeps for 14 hours straight, uninterrupted by the sound of traffic or rambling of doors.
He wakes up the next day at 9am and takes a shower. The water is warm – he can’t even remember ever taking a warm shower.
There’s a soft towel hanging by the door – which he uses.
He grabs his backpack and pulls out clothes, clean underwear, and clean jeans. No shirt, but he remembers Betty telling him that there’s clothes in the closet. He picks out one with long sleeves– and puts on his glove.
He hesitates by the door, glancing at the suitcase again, and taking a deep breath before going downstairs.
They’re sitting at the table, Miles, Betty, their son and a woman.
“Good morning” Betty smiles at him, “Want something to drink? I have coffee or tea.”
“uhm” he stares at the strange woman.
“Oh – this is my wife” James says, “Elena. She’s a lawyer.”
“Hello” she smiles politely, “I’m sure this is all a lot for you, but your niece called me last night and asked me to look over the legal side of your situation. I think we have a pretty strong case to guarantee your freedom if you ever decide to turn yourself in.”
“They wouldn’t let me live” Bucky says, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Excuse me?” Betty frowns, “Why wouldn’t they?”
“I killed Howard Stark and his wife.” he says, vaguely aware of Miles handing him a cup of coffee, he takes it on autopilot, bringing it to his lips to take a sip.
“No you didn’t” Betty says firmly, “Hydra killed them and they used you as a weapon to do it.”
“I still remember doing it” he says, “My hand around her throat.”
He freezes the second when she envelops him in a hug. “You’re not that anymore” she says, “I’m sorry you had to do that.”
He doesn’t respond to that, just stands awkwardly as she lets him go and Elena hands him a donut.
“It’s freaky how much you and James look alike” she says with a frown as Bucky takes the donut.
“It’s freaky how much your kid looks like my sister” he replies with a shrug.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Miles agrees, handing Elena some documents.
Elena smiles, “Okay” she says, “I’m going to do some more research and get back to you. I have to get to work though. I’ll call you later!”
Betty and Miles hug them goodbye and Miles walks them to the door.
“So, Bucky” Betty smiles, “What is it you want to do next?”
He frowns again. Nobody asked what he wanted to do in a very long time. It didn’t take long to give an answer though.
“I want to destroy Hydra” he says, “Burn in to the ground so no more heads can grow.”
“Okay” she nods, “Let’s do that.”