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IC Inbox
This is the IC inbox for Bucky Barnes at Riverview.
Network name:user.name
This is the place to contact Bucky over the network. Contact by voice or text is perfectly acceptable, and there is no need to plot with me prior to posting in this inbox.
Note: As of the end of December 2017, Bucky has no phone, he has destroyed it. Consequently, this inbox can only be used for in person interaction. You are still more than welcome to post here without plotting with me first.
Network name:
This is the place to contact Bucky over the network. Contact by voice or text is perfectly acceptable, and there is no need to plot with me prior to posting in this inbox.
Note: As of the end of December 2017, Bucky has no phone, he has destroyed it. Consequently, this inbox can only be used for in person interaction. You are still more than welcome to post here without plotting with me first.
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[It's an observation made with the driest of tones. He's sort of resigned himself to Will knowing more than he'd like about him now.]
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I promised to keep my observations to myself. I never promised that I'd have a good poker face about it.
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[He's a contradiction in terms. It bothers him greatly when people know his past, but the uncertainty of not knowing how much they know is almost worse.]
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Turning to face Bucky, his hands found his pockets as he let his eyes close. The images flashed into brilliant technicolor without any effort on his part. In fact, it was harder to keep them at bay. ]
You've always wanted to protect people. It defined you growing up, you were a defender, a character trait probably enhanced either through defending a younger sibling, a friend or a girlfriend; someone who needed your physicality.
But you also have a taste for excitement, adrenaline junkie.
A person like you, a protector who wants to be on the front lines, usually goes into public service. Fireman, police, first responder, military. You're military, which is ... risky. You believe so deeply, you put your faith in the orders you're given but the people issuing those orders don't always deserve your loyalty.
The abuse of men like you in the military is ... rampant, but because you are a protector you turn the disillusion inwards onto yourself.
[ Will paused and his eyes opened, and while he was looking directly at James, it was obvious that his gaze was inwards. ]
There's an additional component with you. [ His eyes flicked to the arm and then back. ] An experiment, soldiers are often the first human lab rats utilized by a government. [ His eyes narrowed and relaxed. ] But this wasn't your choice.
It wasn't your choice, which means their modifications had to be mental, emotional as well as physical.
The human brain is an amazing organ, James. The things it can do to preserve itself, a survival instinct above and beyond even our own bodies.
Disassociation.
That combined with the dehumanization, and your innate need to protect those around you. You hold to the definition of 'weapon' because you're not prepared to forgive yourself for what you've done as a result of the abuse and manipulation that's been done to you. And because you're not ready, you won't allow yourself to accept the idea of your own personhood from any outside source. No matter how close the friendship.
[ He wasn't suggesting that he and James had any such closeness, but Will suspected James did have close friends in the city.
For now, he blinked and gave himself a small shake, blinking around as if re-orienting himself, glancing off to the side and then down to his toes. ]
Like I said; I don't make weapons out of my friends, even if that's how they see themselves.
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Some things are right.
[Some of the broad strokes, and some of them are not so right. He hesitates a long... long moment, clearly weighing up whether to actually tell him or not. Not everything, never the details, but his own broad strokes.]
You ever hear of the Nazis?
[Feels weird to have to ask that, but there's some worlds where they just don't exist yet, or even where they never will.]
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He hadn't entirely anticipated a question. As such, Will kept his response on point; giving James the opportunity to talk. ]
Yes. They are a part of my Earth's history.
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I was born in 1917, I fought in that war. Drafted, not volunteered, I was never an adrenaline junkie. I was a prisoner of war, twice, the second time I didn't get rescued. Experiments by the deep science division, HYDRA, brainwashing. I forgot my own name, I forgot everything. I wasn't human, I was their asset, their Soldier. I was kept in storage, cryogenic freeze, and brought out when they needed me. I killed on their command for seventy years.
If I think that I'm a weapon, it's because I am.
[He shrugs slightly, voice still carefully void of any emotion.]
I might not be the Soldier any more, but I still don't have back what I lost. I don't remember most of my life, but I remember every single person I killed.
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The last comment, he looked up and his expression was carefully neutral. ]
Of course you do. [ He said softly, without judgement but also without pity. ] That's how the human brain works, James. Your parents may tell you a dozen times not to touch the hot stove but you won't remember a single instances of being kindly told; you remember how it felt when you touched it.
It's the way the brain works. Again, its survival, remembering the horror in an effort to avoid it the next time. But you weren't given that choice. You kept being thrown into the horror, again and again and again, until it's all you know.
But it doesn't have to continue to be that way. [ He said softly. ] You look in the mirror and you see the weapon, understandable. But tell me James who do you see when you look in the eyes of your friends?
[ He held up a hand quickly. ]
It's not a question to be answered right now. But the next time ... try to look at who they see.
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It's to be expected, he's probably from a world where brainwashing really does just mean repeated exposure to trauma and the brain working to survive by suppressing in an effort to avoid things. It wasn't that way, they literally went into his brain and pulled things out with electricity, rewiring him.
He doesn't bother to explain.]
That's the thing, he sees a dead man.
[He, not they, a slip he doesn't realise he's made.]
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They were unique experiences to both of them.
Will notes the verbage. There is an obvious opening there but the profiler doesn't pursue that door. Instead, he goes around to the side porch. ]
Who is the dead man?
[ Its in his tone. He understands that James is talking about himself, he's not asking literally or for a name. He's curious to see what parts of himself James sees as dead. ]
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The man I was before the war. He used to smile, and step out with gals, and dance.
[Even Will can't say there's anything left of that man in him.]
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That and provide a small offering of his own. One that wasn't entirely laden with landmines. ]
I have a measurement like that. Before and after an event in my life, where I was irrevocably transformed.
[ Will glanced out across the horizon, watching the play of clouds in the sky. ]
I wish I had an answer for you, James. All I can offer is the understanding that I know you can't go back.
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Understanding.
He nods his own to Will, not pushing to ask what that transformation was. He might find out in time, but now is not the right time for it.]
...thank you.
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His smile was a small thing, quick and sort of twitchy but genuine. ]
I'll be alright to get myself back. [ He offered. He felt itchy in his own skin and suspected this might be a reflection of James' need to put some distance between himself and their recent words.
Put some distance between himself and this nosy, screwed up stranger who couldn't shoot straight. ]
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Sure.
[It's short and curt, before he simply turns away and begins to walk away himself.]