InsaneJournal

Who: Bucky Barnes & Carol Danvers
What: Memory Update
When: Today
Where: His gym
Warnings/Notes: Spoilers for The Falcon & the Winter Soldier; this works as a narrative but open if anyone wants it.

He was getting his own workout in during the early hours of the morning before opening when the visions hit him. A few rounds with the punching bag to work out some mental kinks after the last week or so unable to get any real peace, but something or someone soon threw in a wrench instead. At first he doubted whether he was awake or asleep because it started with a flash that was too close for comfort like one of his nightmares. The flashes hit him one after another to the point that he stopped mid-punch and bent over to catch his breath. This wasn't like the mirrors. He was seeing things he'd never seen before, and he was seeing them in his own mind. What the hell was happening?

'Alright, give me a break. I'm trying, okay? This isn't... this is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything, you know? I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for ninety years.'

There was something about hearing your own voice saying words you never remembered saying but somehow still knew had really happened. His metal hand held onto the punching bag for support while his mind took its beating. He saw himself talking to the shrink, sitting in the restaurant with a new friend that he hadn't been honest with, and even going on something that halfway resembled a date. He saw the face of the man the news media was hailing as America's new hero — their new Captain America — and something in him felt almost physically ill seeing him raising Steve's shield. And he saw the confrontation and eventual mission with Sam.

'So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.'

Both hands were holding onto the bag for support now as the flashes came with a fury and began to blend together. Flashes of the new super soldier threat and his working with Sam to track down the Flagsmashers. Zemo. Sharon. Ayo and the Dora Milaje. The shield dripping with blood. Then something shifted. His time in Louisiana with Sam and his family felt lighter. Like he finally was able to focus on something that wasn't about him, about his past, or how in order to have a future he had to make up for his past. He was just Bucky, whomever that was turning out to be. And that was okay.

Of course it didn't end there, but the rest wasn't as hard to experience as the first had been. Yes, he was headed into another fight, but it didn't feel as heavy.

'Sorry, I was texting, and so all I heard was I'm a black guy in stars and stripes. Nice job, Cap.'

As he was starting to catch his breath, Bucky finally saw what he'd been working towards the entire time. Facing who he'd been forced to be all those years and one of the casualties left behind. What happened to the people he hurt, killed, or left childless may not have been his fault, but that didn't stop him from carrying around the guilt and memory of it all. He'd still carry it, but he didn't have to hold onto it as tight as he had been.

'I have to tell you something about your son. He was murdered. By the Winter Solder. And that was me.'

Bucky didn't know when he'd ended up on the floor leaning against the wall. It wasn't until everything stopped and his mind was his own again that he opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd heard about this happening to others here. It wasn't some new cosmic trick or stunt being pulled. This was real, or as real as any of it could be. New memories from home had been dumped into his brain all at once, and Bucky had no idea how to really make heads or tails of some of of it. To his surprise, his first instinct was to ask some of the others if they'd seen some of the same things, but with a pause, he wasn't even sure who to ask. Steve was gone, and the only memories he'd have from home would be ones of old age — or life on the moon, apparently. Sam wasn't Sam, and for the first time since he'd been here back here this second time around, he wished he was here. The two men were more different than alike most of the time, and Bucky knew it wouldn't do any good to try to explain things to him.

While there may have been others he could talk to, Bucky decided to keep some of it to himself for a while. To digest what he'd learned and all that it meant. Not just for him but for those back home too. There was a lot to unpack, some good and some not, but he'd figure out what to do with it eventually. There wasn't any reason or need to rush, so for now, he picked himself back up and picked up where he left off with the punching bag.

The hits to the bag felt as good as hitting John Walker in the face with his metal arm had. Almost.