#omgkmfgl

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic, chapter three

Chapter Three is a CHONKER.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

warnings: non-graphic discussion of the Winter Soldier's torture and abuse at HYDRA, discussions of calorie intake, discussions of dementia

Sam steps into the room they’ve reserved for Bucky on the medical floor. He’s acutely aware that he’s the first man to have significant contact with Bucky since he came to the Tower, since Bruce noticed the anxiety his presence caused.

He gets it. If he’d gone through the things he’d read in the Winter Soldier files, he doesn’t think he’d trust another man easily again either. It seems that HYDRA tried for a few years to get Bucky to break with the usual methods – waterboarding, beatings, starvation – but they never got anywhere until they started breaking Bucky’s brain. The Chair, electrocution, drugging – even with those it took another decade before the Winter Soldier appeared on the world stage.

Bucky’s a strong son of a bitch, then. Good.

“Hey,” Sam greets. He pulls up a chair to sit a distance from Bucky, trying to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible. “My name is Sam, I’m one of Natalia’s teammates.”

The man in front of him is a mess. Gaunt, face several days unshaved, hair oily and slick against his skin. Now that Bucky’s in a hospital gown, and not tactical gear, Sam understands what he means about Bucky being underweight. Sure, there’s muscle mass – but there’s nothing else – just skin stretched tight over cords of drug-induced muscle. Bucky nods his head at him, his face neutral but his hands shaking.

“Is there a name you’d like to be called?”

Bucky shakes his head. “The Soldier does not have a name.”

Okay, talking in the third person. Some serious dehumanization happening here. Sam takes a breath. “I have something for you,” he reaches into his backpack and sees Bucky flinch instantly. “Easy,” he murmurs, pulling out the notebook slowly. “It’s just a notebook, see?”

This does nothing to ease Bucky’s anxiety. His eyes take in the notebook, and all hell breaks loose. “I’m sorry, please don’t make me do it. I can be good without it, I promise,” he pleads, panic clear on his face.

“Hold on, what do you think I’m going to do to you?” Sam raises his hands in attempt at a calming gesture.

Bucky just flinches away from him again, then lifts his face to the ceiling as if in prayer before looking back at the notebook. “You have the codewords. You’re going to send me the Chair again and reprogram me.” Tears gather in Bucky’s eyes. “Please don’t send me there, I can be good, I’ll do anything you want – I promise.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Sam mutters, dropping the notebook as if it had burned him – stupid, he should have known better after reading the files. “Hey, listen, buddy – we don’t have the codewords. We don’t have a Chair. You’ll never go back there again. We won’t hurt you, okay?”

Bucky nods slowly, like he doesn’t fully believe Sam yet. His body is shaking.

“Here, look,” Sam hands him the notebook. “I just wanted to give you a notebook of your own – it’s blank, see? So you can write things down.”

Bucky’s shaky hands tentatively flip through the notebook, confirming each blank page. “What do you want me to write?”

“You could write things like, if you have a dream and want to remember it? Or, you could use it to keep track of your day. Track how much sleep you get, what you do during the day, that sort of thing.”

“You want me to write mission reports?” Bucky runs his flesh hand over the leather cover of the notebook before examining the ballpoint pen Sam had attached to the notebook with an elastic loop.

“Oh, no – whatever you write in there is for your eyes only. We won’t look at it unless you want us to,” Sam clarifies. “I’m giving it to you because writing can be very helpful for your memory. And also because I’d be bored out of my mind sitting in my apartment all day just focusing on eating and sleeping.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Bucky says with sincerity. His anxiety stayed, he examines Sam’s face more thoroughly. “We…have met?”

“We have,” Sam admits. “You kind of pushed me off of a Helicarrier.” Bucky winces at his words.

“I am sorry.” Bucky hangs his head. “You can…” Bucky doesn’t finish the sentence, but holds out his metal arm to Sam, like an offering.

“What are you expecting me to do?” Sam asks evenly, not liking where this is going.

“The Soldier’s arm is equipped with pain sensors,” Bucky says, as though that explains anything about this situation.

“Are you expecting me to hurt you?”

“The Soldier hurt you. You are now part of the team in charge of the Soldier. It is your right to take revenge.”

“Okay, well, fuck that, ” Sam says with emphasis. “It’s all in the past, okay? We all just wanna help you get better.”

“Why?” And damn if that isn’t a question way above Sam’s paygrade, but Bucky’s looking up at him with those sunken blue eyes, and Sam has to try.

“Because, people deserve help when they need it. And that’s what we do, the Avengers, we help people.”

“People,” Bucky murmurs. “But I am not a person.”

“Sure you are,” Sam says, moving his chair closer to Bucky’s bedside. “What makes you say you’re not?”

“I have only ever been the Soldier. The Soldier is not a person – it is a weapon.”

“How ‘bout this?” Sam proposes. “I’ll make you a bet – I say that the Soldier is a person, and you say that the Soldier is a weapon. I bet you twenty dollars that the Soldier is a person, and I can find a way to prove it to you.”

Bucky’s ears perk up. “Twenty whole dollars?”

Sam nods. “You bet. There you go, that’s the first thing you could journal about – why you think you’re not a person.” Bucky nods and immediately opens his new notebook, clicking the pen Sam gave him. Sam stands, giving Bucky a nod, and letting him journal in the quiet of the room. Once in the hallway, Sam makes a call to his Army reintegration contact.

“Hey, Jason, you get those files I sent you?”

“Could’ve used a bit more warning, Sam,” comes a rough voice from the other end of the call. “That was not the reading I wanted to do over my morning coffee.”

“Do you think you can help?” Sam asks, wincing at how underprepared his friend must have been for the contents of the files.

“I can’t make any guarantees, but I’m happy to consult on this case. It may be a new century, but Barnes is still an Army soldier. He deserves the best.”

“Can you make a video call, today, maybe 1pm Eastern Time? That’s when we’ve been having our team meetings – you’d be able to talk to everyone who’s involved in Bucky’s care.”

“Send me the details, I’ll be there,” Jason says, and hangs up.

***

Once Sam leaves the room, the Soldier opens the notebook to the first page, clicking the pen open and writing at the top of the page: evidence that the Soldier is not a person.

      The Soldier does not have a name. People have names.

      HYDRA created the Soldier. People are born, not created.

      HYDRA told the Soldier it was not a person.

The Soldier pauses. It…can’t think of any more reasons that it is not a person. Twice now, it has been asked for a name, once by Handler Natalia and once by Sam. But the Soldier cannot remember having a name, and it does not even know how someone would go about choosing a name. Names are given, the Soldier thinks. It cannot just choose. The name is a gift. A gift only a person can give.

As for reason two—the Soldier has no concept of life outside of HYDRA. Surely that means that it was created by HYDRA, with the sole purpose of being a weapon. Can a weapon become a person? Unclear. The Soldier leaves a question mark by reason two.

Reason three seems trivial now. HYDRA is no longer in control of the Soldier, and by the way that Handler Natalia and the others talk, HYDRA seems to have been destroyed. Possibly by the Soldier’s own doing. This reason is not convincing either.

One the same page, the Soldier starts another list, drawing a line down the center of the page and creating two columns: evidence that the Soldier is a person.

      The Soldier has been asked for a name (twice).

      Sam told the Soldier that it is a person.

A short list. Sam will have to provide more evidence to win this bet. The Soldier falls asleep, notebook in hand, dreaming of what it could buy with twenty dollars.

Maybe another blanket, like the one in its quarters. A blue one.

***

“Hi, everyone, let’s go ahead and get started,” Sam takes a seat at the head of the conference table, pulling up a holographic screen. “Today, I want to introduce you all to Master Sergeant Jason Sykes from the Army Medical Corps. We worked together in Afghanistan when I was a pararescue – he’s the reintegration specialist I mentioned earlier.”

“Good to meet you, Master Sergeant,” Steve inclines his head at the hologram of Jason’s face.

“Jason, please,” he laughs. “When Sam told me he had something that would pull me out of retirement, I never expected this. But I’m more than happy to help. I read over the Winter Soldier files and would like to give my thoughts as both a neurologist and reintegration specialist.”

Everyone nods for Jason to continue, Steve pulling out a legal pad to take notes.

“We can’t treat this like amnesia,” Jason explains. “Given what we know from the files about the Chair, Sergeant Barnes has been subjected to systematic brain damage over the last seventy years, targeting his temporal lobe, and thus, his visual memory. The most analogous condition I can think of is Alzheimer's disease.” Steve nods gravely at that—Peggy has started developing dementia in the last few years, and he can’t imagine how Bucky must feel to have completely lost connection to his memories.

Jason continues. “I understand you’re still working on a non-invasive way to scan Sergeant Barnes’ brain, yes?”

Tony nods. “We should have a prototype ready next week. Something where he can stand for just a few minutes and have the scan done without the metal arm being a problem.”

“That’s great,” Jason says. “Normally, with this level of brain damage, I’d be drawing up a plan for management, and not recovery—but I believe that since Sergeant Barnes received a serum enhancement, he may be able to recover some, if not all, of his visual memory and independent functioning. HYDRA had to continually wipe him—that indicates to me that his brain is capable of healing in some capacity.”

“That’s good,” Steve breathes. Better news than he could have ever hoped for. Usually, he curses that serum—but perhaps there is a silver lining to it.

Bruce looks up from his own notes. “How would you recommend we go about treating the brain damage considering Barnes’ conditioning? For example, how can we differentiate if a symptom is a result of his trauma and conditioning or of his physical brain damage?”

“In my view, the conditioning was reliant on the brain damage in order to function—so treating one should treat the other. Our end goal here is to rebuild the neural connections that Sergeant Barnes has lost, to set him up for deprogramming successfully. Sam tells me he’s given Barnes a journal, and you plan on introducing him to music from before the war?” Steve and Sam nod. “Those interventions are a great starting point. I also have a contact for a therapist I’d recommend. She’s incredibly knowledgeable about both counseling and neuroscience, so I think she’d be a good fit for your, uh, unique situation. And once you get some scans of Sergeant Barnes’ brain, I can give some more specific recommendations.”

“That would be fantastic,” Sam nods.

“And if you have any further questions before then, I’m happy to help. Like I said, once a soldier, always a soldier. Anything I can do to help with Sergeant Barnes’ recovery, you just let me know.”

Sam thanks Jason and ends the video call. His phone pings a moment later with a text from Jason: the phone number for one Dr. Rebecca Abbott. “Break for lunch?” He asks the team.

“God, yes please,” Tony groans. “All this brain talk has me starving.” He winces a bit at his choice of words, but no one has it in them to rib him for it.

Helen excuses herself to head back to the medical floor, Bruce assuring her that he’ll bring her favorite falafel in about an hour. Tony heads to his lab, placing an order with the kitchen for a mountain of burgers that JARVIS will deliver to him. That leaves Sam, Natasha, and Steve for lunch.

“I can cook up some gumbo,” Sam offers. Natasha and Steve nod, and they take the elevator up to Sam and Steve’s floor. “How are the two of you doing?” Sam asks as soon the elevator doors close and they’re in the privacy of their apartment.

Neither Natasha nor Steve wants to speak first. Finally, Steve acquiesces. “Like shit,” he says with a shrug. “You know, normal day at the office – my dead best friend is actually alive but also not my best friend anymore.”

“That about sums it up,” Natasha nods. “You know, I thought I was working for the good guys, but it turns out I just went from one terrorist organization to another.” She shoots Sam a sarcastic smile. 

“O-kay,” Sam draws out the word. “Coming right up, some gumbo and peer counseling. Yall need it.”

That, at least, brings a little bit of a smile out of both Steve and Natasha.

***

After two days on IV fluids, nutrition, and electrolytes, Mandi declares that Bucky can be discharged from the medical floor and continue his recovery back in his apartment. She’s drawn up a plan for Bucky’s feeding schedule: several vitamins to be taken orally in the morning, plus a revamped version of Steve’s protein shake, formulated with the minerals and electrolytes that Bucky was deficient in. She’s also given the team a two-week plan that gradually works Bucky up to his optimal 5,000 calories a day, starting at 1,000 and increasing every three days.

“I’d recommend still running blood tests after each increase to make sure he’s trending in the right direction,” she tells Bruce and Helen. “And of course, if you have any issues, you have my number and know I’m nearby.”

Sam sets up a day for Dr. Rebecca Abbott to come to the Tower after Pepper completes a thorough background check of her: her father had been held as a prisoner of war in the Vietnam War, which inspired her research into the unique effects that captivity has on both military personnel and civilians. She’d worked on several high-level cases, from American journalists who had been detained for several years to kidnapping victims held by an abuser for several decades. Sam can’t think of anyone more qualified to work with Bucky.

Natasha and Steve opt to be the ones to brief her on Bucky’s state.

“So currently, Barnes thinks that I am his handler – he refers to me as Natalia. I’ve been trying my best to not confirm that I’m his handler, but we have had to order him to do things like eat on his own,” Natasha explains.

“We wanted to make sure he wasn’t actively starving before his first therapy session,” Steve adds. “And we ran into more problems than we expected on that front. So that’s why it’s taken so long to have someone brought in.”

Rebecca waves her hand. “You’re more competent than most police forces I’ve worked with. You got me here within five days of him defecting and you figured out how to get him to put on some weight? Gold stars all around.”

Natasha shoots Steve a look that means I like this lady.

“I trust you’ve read the files that we sent over?”

Rebecca nods. “It is certainly the most severe case I have ever seen, but I think I can help. When can I meet Bucky?”

“Whenever you feel ready,” Natasha says. “Would you like me to accompany you? I have been introducing him to new people, but I would feel comfortable leaving you two alone together.” She gestures around the surveillance room they’re sat in. “We’ll be able to keep an eye on everything from in here. Or I could sit in on the session with you. But I see how that might impede the therapy process, having his “handler” there.”

“I would like to be alone with him, thank you. You could still do the introductions; I think he would appreciate having that routine.” She turns to Steve. “And what is your role here, Captain?”

“I haven’t actually seen Bucky since he pulled me out of the Potomac,” Steve says, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “We weren’t sure if that would be—advisable. For him to see me, I mean. On the one hand, he recognized me as Steve for a moment, but on the other hand, he has been ordered to kill me. We also noticed that he seemed more distressed around men, so for a while only Dr. Cho and Natasha were interacting with him.”

Rebecca smiles sadly. “That must be very difficult for you, Captain. I will work to ensure that you can interact with Bucky soon. I have a feeling you’ll be key in his recovery.”

***

On the morning of the sixth day, the Soldier receives a notification from JARVIS.

“Natalia is on her way to your apartment with a guest, Dr. Rebecca Abbott,” the disembodied voice says.

The Soldier appreciates the heads up. It goes to the living room and stands at parade rest, in the sight line of the elevator, but not so close as to block entrance to its quarters. When the elevator doors open, the Soldier sees Handler Natalia and another woman. She looks older than Natalia, with dark skin and her hair held back in tight braids.

“Good morning,” Handler Natalia says. “I would like to introduce Dr. Rebecca Abbott, she’s a psychologist who we have assigned to assess you.”

“Hello, my name is Rebecca,” the doctor extends her hand, and the Soldier stares for a moment before shaking it gently. “Like Natalia said, I’m a psychologist. I help people with their minds. Where is the most comfortable place for us to sit for, say, an hour?”

The Soldier blinks. Comfortable for her? Comfortable for the Soldier? Both?

“How about the kitchen table?” Natalia suggests. “That would be most comfortable for you to take notes, Rebecca.”

The Soldier nods. Its handler is wise. It stands behind one of the chairs at the kitchen table, only sitting down once Rebecca is seated. Handler Natalia nods at them. “You may end the session at any time,” she says to the Soldier. “I will leave you two alone.”

And then she’s gone.

Rebecca pulls out several sheets of paper, shuffling until she finds the one she wants. “I'm going to start by assessing what we call ‘activities of daily living’. I’m going to ask some questions. You can refuse to answer at any time, and the answers you give will not be shared with anyone aside from me and your team, okay?” 

The Soldier nods. It has been assessed many times by its handlers. Tested on handling different weapons, speaking different languages, fighting different assailants– 

“Are you able to bathe yourself completely without assistance?” 

…what?

The Soldier blinks. It…does not know. “Define ‘bathe’, please.” 

The doctor looks shocked. “I guess, I would say: are you able to use soap and water to cleanse your body in a bath or shower?”

“I have not been permitted soap before,” the Soldier offers, hoping that answers the strange question. 

Rebecca must accept that as an answer, because she checks a box on her paper and moves to the next question: “Are you able to dress yourself without assistance?” 

The Soldier nods, looking down at its clothes today as an answer. Another pair of soft pants and a dark blue t-shirt. Rebecca checks another box. 

“Are you able to go to the restroom without assistance?”

“Yes, this has been permitted.” 

“What about before this team? Was that permitted at HYDRA?” 

The Soldier looks down at its lap. “No. The Soldier had to ask. To beg,” it explains. “The handlers liked that.” 

That must answer multiple questions that Rebecca has, because she makes several checkmarks in quick succession before scribbling something harshly in the margins of the page. 

“Are you able to feed yourself on your own?” 

“Here, that is permitted. Previously, the Soldier had to ask. It was also fed through a tube.” The Soldier does not understand why the doctor looks so sad when it answers her questions. 

“Okay, next bit of the assessment: can you prepare food on your own?”

The Soldier shakes its head immediately. “Forbidden.” 

“Here, and before?” 

“Here…instructions have not been provided. Before, it was forbidden explicitly.” 

“Are you able to drive on your own?” 

This the Soldier smiles a little at. “Very well. Cars and bikes. The Soldier can fly a variety of aircraft as well.”

“That's good,” Rebecca returns its smile. “If I were to give you this,” she slides her smartphone across the table. “Would you know how to operate it?”

“Yes, the Soldier has used such technology before.” It slides it back to the doctor. 

“One more of these activity questions: are you able to complete housework without assistance? Cleaning, dishes, stuff like that?”

The Soldier stares at her blankly. “Okay, that answers my question.” 

Rebecca shuffles her papers again and pulls out a legal pad and pen. “I’d like to end today by identifying some thinking errors you may have.”

The Soldier nods. So, Rebecca is like a technician. It feels relief—finally someone will fix its malfunctions.

“What can I call you?” Rebecca asks softly.

“I have not been given a name,” the Soldier explains. “Names are gifts. They cannot be chosen.”

“What do people here call you, then?”

“The Soldier.”

“Do you like being called that?”

The Soldier pauses. “I – the Soldier does not like or dislike.”

“Why?”

“Only people like or dislike. The Soldier is not a person.” The Soldier opens its notebook, which had been sitting on the kitchen table, showing it to the doctor. “See, I have collected evidence.”

Rebecca studies the page intently. “Well, you have now been asked for a name three times,” she offers. “I agree with Sam, too. I think you are a person as well.” She hands the notebook back to the Soldier, who appreciates that she handles it with care. “What other sorts of things do you think people do that you don’t do?”

“People eat solid food. People sleep on beds. People are not handled,” the Soldier lists off easily.

Rebecca writes something down, then asks: “Do you truly think you are being handled?”

The Soldier blinks. “What do you mean? I have a handler—Natalia.”

Rebecca nods. “Well, you have identified Natalia as your handler. Has she ever identified herself as such?”

The Soldier thinks about this for almost a full minute. “No. But she has given me orders.”

“People can follow orders, too,” Rebecca says. “Can you tell me why you don’t sleep on the bed?”

“It’s…beds are only for handlers.”

“But do you have a handler here?” The Soldier shakes its head again. A thinking error, error, error—

“Hey, you still with me?” Rebecca is leaning across the table, concern etched on her face. The Soldier realizes that it’s breathing heavily. “Apologies,” it manages. “I can continue with maintenance.”

“It’s alright,” Rebecca gives him a small yet warm smile. “The work we’re going to do together isn’t going to be easy. You will feel challenged. You will feel confused. That is to be expected. You may find yourself wanting to sleep more—that is good. Should you experience any other physical changes, those should be noted. Now,” she leans back in her chair. “I am going to see you again in one week, and I have some homework for you.”

“Homework?”

“Think of it like exercising, or maybe—self-maintenance. I am going to give you some tasks to do before our next meeting, and while I hope that you complete them, there is not going to be a punishment if you don’t, okay?”

That throws the Soldier for a loop, because it has never, ever, been in charge of its own maintenance before, but it nods. “I am capable.”

“Good,” Rebecca gives the Soldier that warm smile again. “Today we discussed and identified some of your ‘inner rules’—things like “beds are for handlers” and “names are given”. For the next week, I’d like you to try and write down any of those ‘inner rules’ that you think of for the next week, as well as the reasoning behind the rule. We will discuss these further at our next session, but remember,” she looks the Soldier intently in the eyes. “The reason for you noting these rules is not for punishment. The reason you are noting your inner rules is to heal, okay?”

The Soldier looks down at its notebook. It can do this. The doctor had called it good.

It wants to be good.

***

“Well, I have a plan,” Rebecca explains at the all-team meeting later that day. “The most pressing psychological issue is the cognitive distortions Sergeant Barnes has developed—’inner rules’, as I called them. He’s gone through seventy years of trauma—and these cognitive distortions are his brain’s attempt to create some sort of reasoning, a framework he could stay within to remain safe. I also think we should consider the possibility that Barnes himself created this persona of ‘the Soldier’.”

“Like, he dissociated?” Tony asks. He’s all too familiar with that.

“To an extreme degree, yes,” Rebecca agrees. “It’s much less psychologically taxing to believe that you aren’t human than to hold onto your humanity when forced to carry out acts of violence.”

Steve’s stomach flips at that. How bad had Bucky’s captivity been, that believing himself to be subhuman became somehow protective? For the umpteenth time in the last week, Steve mentally kicks himself for not pushing harder to find Bucky after the fall from the train.

“You said ‘most pressing psychological issue’,” Natasha is talking now. “Does that mean there’s another pressing issue?”

Rebecca nods. “There is, of course, the issue of brain damage. But until we can get some brain scans, I can only speculate based on the Winter Soldier files. I agree with Jason’s assessment about Alzheimer’s being the most comparable condition. I understand you already have some non-medical interventions in place, like the journaling?”

Sam nods. “Steve and I picked out some music for him to listen to—pre-war stuff—but then the refeeding issue derailed our plan.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Rebecca smiles appreciatively. “As for visits, I don’t see any reason why we can’t start introducing him to more people. He’s exhibited no desire for violence, or for continuing to carry out his previous missions. I think him seeing more faces would be good too—get away from that idea that his only human interaction comes from his handler or his technicians.”

“Any hard ‘no’s’, doc?” Tony asks. “Stuff we should be avoiding at all costs.”

Rebecca thinks for a second. “Don’t try to force his memories to return by telling him about them. Give him sensory experiences and let things come naturally,” she pauses. “He needs a solid routine, too. Something more than eating and sleeping.”

“We can work something out.” Sam agrees.

***

They draw up a plan.

Bucky already had a routine—a very minimal one. Waking at 7am, breakfast and vitamins at 8am while talking with Natasha, lunch at noon, medical visits in the afternoon if necessary, dinner at 5pm, and bed at 10pm.

“So, what I'm thinking is, we add in some sort of hobby or activity after dinner,” Sam says, pointing to the whiteboard. “Something relaxing.” 

“I can take that slot,” Steve offers immediately. “I can do the music, maybe even some art?” 

“Art! Great idea, Cap.” Sam writes in Steve's name from the hours of 6:00 to 8:00. “Based on both Jason and Rebecca's assessments, Barnes is going to have some trouble with ‘activities of daily life’.” 

“Remind us what those are again, Woodstock.” Tony says. 

“Bathing, hygiene, and eating are the most basic ones,” Sam lists on his fingers. “More advanced ADLs are things like preparing food, chores, cleaning, and shopping. I did a rotation in a dementia center as part of my Master's, so I was thinking I could take over that area.” 

Natasha nods. “So maybe you do an afternoon and evening visit?” Sam puts himself on the whiteboard schedule from 1:00pm to 2:00pm and 8:00pm to 9:00pm. “I can keep doing my morning visits, too. Put me down at his breakfast time.” 

“Do you want to be in charge of introducing new foods to him?” Bruce asks. “Breakfast might be the easiest time to do it. We can then monitor his reaction over the course of the day. 

Natasha nods. “I can do that.” 

“There's still a lot of time in that schedule when he's alone,” Tony notes. “I know he'll have music and journaling, but what about books? Puzzles? I think I'd be going stir crazy sitting in the apartment all day with only records and a journal.” 

“That's a great idea, Tony,” Sam says, adding that to his growing list of items to pick up on Tony's dime. “When he's more regulated, I think we should ask if he wants you to look at his arm, Tony. There's no way that's not causing him some mobility issues or chronic pain.” 

“You got it,” Tony agrees. 

“And you've got Helen and myself still for general medical, plus Mandi for nutrition, Jason for neurology, and Rebecca for therapy,” Bruce lists. “Quite the team.” 

“Quite,” Steve agrees. 

And so, Team Bucky was assembled.

[rolandtowen]

diving into Alzeheimer's research for this fic #justgirlythings

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic, chapter 4

Chapter 4 is live folks! Please heed the warnings on this one. We're diving deeper into the Winter Soldier trauma, so take care of yourselves.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

chapter warnings: non-graphic discussion of past non-con, description of Bucky's underweight body and scarring, brief panic attack

The morning of the seventh day, Natalia comes to see the Soldier at breakfast. She congratulates the Soldier on its progress so far, and then unveils a sleek, black tablet. She explains that if the Soldier asks JARVIS for information, it can be sent to the tablet. The tablet also has a clock and a calendar built in. The Soldier learns that it is March 3rd, 2014.

“This,” Natalia says, pulling up a page with hourly time blocks, “is a schedule my team and I have developed for you.” The Soldier looks it over. The waking, sleeping, and meal times are the same, but more of its time has been filled with ‘visits’ from other people. Natalia’s name is next to the breakfast time, Sam’s name is on the schedule twice, and the last visit scheduled is from someone called Steve.

Steve…the name is familiar, but the Soldier brushes this feeling aside to focus on what Natalia is saying. “You don’t have to have these visits, but we do have things planned that we think will help you.”

“For…field preparedness?” The Soldier asks. It has not been given a new mission beyond the optimal levels of food and sleep. Maybe the visits are for training, perhaps new protocols must be established here.

Natalia shakes her head. “You are not being prepared for fieldwork. You are…restructuring. Does that make sense?”

A voice in the Soldier’s head mutters clear as mud, but the Soldier says instead: “Confirmed.”

When Natalia leaves, the Soldier returns to a worksheet that the doctor, Rebecca had given it. ‘Cataloguing your inner rules’, it reads at the top. She had said that the point of the homework was self-maintenance, so the Soldier starts with its most blatant malfunction: thinking it is a person.

What did you do that broke one of your inner rules? The worksheet asks. The Soldier referred to itself as “I” multiple times, it writes carefully.

What rule did your behavior break?

The Soldier is not a person.

Why did you feel bad after engaging in that behavior?

The Soldier should not break rules.

Where did this rule come from?

HYDRA.

What makes you think the rule is good or right?

The Soldier pauses at this question. This rule had been harshly enforced at HYDRA, but here…no one has taken any notice when it had referred to itself as a person. In fact, people keep asking the Soldier for a name, referring to it as “him”. Maybe…maybe the rule is void here. Maybe it isn’t right here.

How does this rule help you?

It keeps the Soldier from being punished.

How does this rule hurt you?

It makes the Soldier’s handlers teammates confused.

Should you keep, modify, or trash this rule?

The Soldier considers everything it–he–it had written above. The purpose of the rule is to keep the Soldier from being punished, and yet…the Solder has not been punished here. And the rule had come from HYDRA, which is no longer active. He–it– he– checks the box for “modify” and moves on to the last question.

What is the best possible version of this rule?

The Soldier might be a person but has not been gifted a name.

He hopes Rebecca will be proud of his self-maintenance.

***

Sam's no occupational therapist, but he did get to watch and learn from them pretty closely in his Master's, so at this point, he's the best person to teach Bucky how to be a human. It's a tragic paradox: the man can fly planes and speak a dozen languages, but he's never been taught how to take a shower or cook or do laundry. Well, he doesn't remember being taught that. Which is where Sam comes in.

Sam's first step is to ask JARVIS if Bucky's okay with him visiting during his afternoon slot. Sure, Sam could just go up to Bucky's floor with just an announcement, but he wants Bucky to have as much say in the matter as possible. Autonomy's some good shit.

JARVIS informs Sam that, yes, Bucky says Sam can visit, and so Sam grabs his backpack and steps into the elevator. When he walks onto Bucky's floor, he sees Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, a worksheet in front of him. Not standing at attention, which is a massive improvement.

“Hey, man, whatcha working on?” Sam asks.

“Self-maintenance,” Bucky says, sliding the paper so Sam can see it. “Identifying thinking errors.”

“That's cool,” Sam nods. “Remember our bet?”

Bucky nods, and Sam could swear his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Well, I've been thinking I could teach you some things. Things a person would know, like bathing and cooking.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “So you can win the bet?”

“Nah, man,” Sam laughs. “Just so we're on a level playing field. I think it's a bit unfair to measure yourself based on ‘what a person does’ if you just haven't had anyone teach you.” Bucky nods slowly in understanding. “If you get through my little bootcamp and still think you're not a person, I guess I owe you twenty dollars.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, “what is the first task?”

“Well, I was thinking we should start with bathing. The most basic ‘person thing’ you identified not knowing. Is that okay with you?”

Bucky nods, standing immediately and beginning to shuck out of his clothes.

“Okay! Hold your horses, let's head to the bathroom first, yeah?” Sam is so thankful at this moment for his classes on aging and dementia, because this is surprisingly not the strangest thing he's seen a patient do. Bucky looks at him, a bit confused, but follows Sam to his apartment's bathroom.

“Alright,” Sam says once they're in the privacy of the bathroom. “There's a couple different ways people bathe themselves. You could either take a bath, which means we'd fill up that tub with water and you sit in it, or you could take a shower,” Sam taps the showerhead, “which means you'd stand under running water from here. Which do you prefer?”

“Shower,” Bucky says immediately, reaching again for his t-shirt before Sam's hand gently stills his.

“Still not nakey time yet,” Sam explains, before pulling several bottles from the shower. “I figure it's easier to explain this without you being all wet. This bottle,” he points to a tall bottle with a pump, “is body wash. You can use your hands or put it on a washcloth. This one is shampoo, and this one is conditioner. These are both for cleaning your hair.” Sam sets the bottles back in the shower before turning on the spray. “I'm going to set it to a temperature I like, and you can tell me if you want it hotter or colder, yeah?”

Bucky nods, studying the way Sam turns the nobs and then switches the water to come out of the showerhead instead of the tap. “Come test this, stick your hand in the spray.” Bucky does, pulling his hand back after a few moments and asking, “hotter, please?” Sam fusses the nobs some more, and the next time Bucky sticks his hand under the spray, a pleased look crosses his face.

“Alright, so I'm gonna stand out here and walk you through everything, does that sound okay?” Bucky nods, his hand creeping slowly to the hemline of his shirt, and Sam laughs. “Yeah, that's right. Now it's time to take your clothes off.”

Bucky does so, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on top of the closed toilet. He steps under the spray, and for a long few moments, he just…stands there.

“Is this how you would clean, before?” Sam asks, and Bucky nods. “Never had hot water, though.”

“Well, you can have all the hot water you want now,” Sam smiles at him before handing him a washcloth. “So, get some body wash on there, yep, then rub it together and get it all soapy, yeah perfect!”

Bucky's a quick study, washing down his arms, chest, and legs at Sam's direction. Bucky's certainly put on weight in the last week, but he's still a bit gaunt, collarbones showing at his chest, hip bones still too sharp. Sam can also now see the myriad of scars across his body. Knowing how badly Steve has to be injured for it to leave a mark, Sam can only imagine what led up to every scar marking Bucky's body. The worst of the scarring is concentrated where the metal arm meets Bucky's flesh shoulder. Bucky hands Sam back the washcloth, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“What's next?” Bucky asks, and Sam walks him through using shampoo and conditioner before shutting off the shower. “Okay, here's a towel for you,” Sam hands him a plush white towel. Bucky takes it with a shocked look on his face. “I get a towel?”

“‘Course, man. There's a whole stack of them in the closet. We can do a lesson on laundry, too.”

“Oh, thank you.” Bucky takes the towel tentatively, drying his hair and the rest of his body, before reaching for his clothes again.

“One more thing,” Sam pulls a bottle from the counter. “Lotion,” he explains. Sam's fine with bathing a brainwashed assassin, but he draws the line at him being ashy. “You might not need it all over after every shower, but I'd recommend it over your scars every day at least. It'll hydrate the skin and should make you more comfortable.”

Bucky accepts a pump of the lotion from Sam, working it into the scars at his shoulder. “How often do people shower?” He asks while getting dressed again.

“Well, it depends on things like how sweaty you get, the kinds of exercise you do, but I'd say a good starting point is at least once every three days.” Sam pulls a wide-tooth comb from one of the bathroom drawers. “Do you know how to use this?” Sam could swear Bucky almost rolls his eyes at him.

“When am I expected to be operational?” Bucky asks, working the comb through his hair.

“Operational?” Sam asks.

“Service-ready,” Bucky replies, turning to face Sam. “Natalia said I’m not here for fieldwork.”

Oh. Still in the Soldier mindset, then. “That’s right. You’re not here to go on missions with us,” Sam says carefully.

“I understand.” Bucky puts the comb down on the counter before turning to Sam. “Who am I servicing tonight?” He asks meekly, eyes looking at Sam’s shoes.

Sam’s stomach drops and feels like it keeps falling for at least three floors. “That’s–we’re not–” he can’t find the words, so he pauses and takes a breath. “When you say ‘servicing’, do you mean…sexual favors?”

Bucky nods, his eyes still not leaving the floor. Sam wants to punch a wall, but instead, he says: “That wasn’t in your files.”

Bucky shrugs, a sad gesture. “It wasn’t an official function.” Sam feels white hot rage. This whole time, had Bucky felt like…like Sam was preparing him? Primping him like some kind of show dog?

“Okay,” Sam takes another breath in through his nose, trying to bring his emotions under control before Bucky thinks he’s mad at him . “Can you look at me for a second?”

Bucky’s eyes flit to his, and Sam can see the apprehension written clearly across his features. “ No one ,” Sam says, softly but firmly, “is going to ask you for that here. Okay? If anyone touches you, and you don’t want it, that’s not okay. Do you understand?”

Bucky’s eyes dart between the floor and Sam’s face. “I–I don’t have wants ,” he locks eyes with Sam. “I don’t understand, I don’t–” his breathing quickens, and suddenly Sam’s catching him, guiding the both of them to sit on the bathroom floor.

“Okay, breathe with me, alright?” Sam exaggerates his inhales and exhales. “We’re just gonna breathe for a few minutes.” Bucky does his best, gulping back air and forcefully exhaling it, and after a few minutes, his breathing evens out, though it remains shaky. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Sam has to resist the urge to take Bucky in his arms and hold him, because goddamn does he look so sad and frail at this moment. “Got nothing to be sorry for,” he says instead. “Nothing’s wrong with you either. You’ve just gone through a lot of shit and you’re figuring it out.”

Bucky’s head leans back, hitting the side of the tub with a thunk, and his eyes close. “I just, I don’t know how to know if I like or dislike or want or don’t want, but everybody’s asking me questions like I do know. ”

Sam shifts so he’s sitting with his back against the tub too. Not caging Bucky in, but still present. “Well, even if you don’t have a label for it, your body is pretty good at telling you what you like and don’t like.” Bucky gives him a quizzical look, so Sam continues. “For me, I hate mushrooms. Don’t know why, always have. If I accidentally get some mushroom in my food, I can tell, I smell it or taste it and my stomach feels all kinds of bad. You ever feel like that?”

Bucky nods. “I don’t know why, but I know the shakes, the ones here? They taste better than the ones at HYDRA.”

Sam nods. “There you go, that’s one thing you like. Your body’s telling you that there’s a difference between the food here and the food before. And today! You wanted a shower instead of a bath, you could tell you wanted the water to be hotter, because your body told you. Same thing with touch, with everything else. Sometimes it can be hard to hear what your body’s telling you, but I promise, your body knows, okay?”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath and picks his head back up. “Is that going to be part of person bootcamp?”

“It can be,” Sam replies. “Or you can ask Rebecca about it. Or both. Or neither. We’re going at your pace here, alright? It’s whatever you want. And no one's going to be mad at you for wanting or not wanting things.” Sam moves to retract his hand, still holding onto Bucky’s bicep from where he caught him.

“Can you–” Bucky starts, then shuts his mouth almost instantly.

“What?” Sam asks, gently.

“Can you…stay?” Bucky flicks his eyes between Sam’s and the hand on his arm.

Sam presses his hand more firmly back against Bucky’s skin, brings himself closer to the man so they’re pressed together at the sides. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, closing his eyes once more. “I think I like it.”

[rolandtowen]

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter that I find hilarious (in and out of context):

Sam's fine with bathing a brainwashed assassin, but he draws the line at him being ashy.

[rolandtowen]

If you're following along with my latest fic, here is the playlist I listen to when I'm writing the Soldier's POV! Feel free to listen when reading or suggest other songs you think would fit!

[rolandtowen]

update I'm now watching Ted talks from occupational therapists

diving into Alzeheimer's research for this fic #justgirlythings

[rolandtowen]

aaaaand then my muse demanded an angsty scene immediately after this. hope yall enjoy when the chapter is live!

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter that I find hilarious (in and out of context):

Sam's fine with bathing a brainwashed assassin, but he draws the line at him being ashy.