Notes

Two

(Note, this is James Buchanan Barnes, hardened and pained and very old, so yes, of course, there is cussing, from both reader and him. You have had adequate warning, do not proceed and then complain for the language. Ta.)

In which Bucky must use modern technology.

"Okay Buck," you winced slightly at his expression towards your new nickname, "I bet you're hungry and I'm damn near certain you're cold since my shower is crap, so you're gonna eat."
He seemed to be ignoring you, but you weren't the sort to pander to that behaviour.
"Oi!" You said, snapping your fingers in front of him. "Soldier, I don't care who you are, I'm not gonna take bullshit in my home. Understood?" Since serving in the army (before you were recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D.) you learned not to take crap from anyone (which possibly didn't go down well with your superior officers but eh, you earned respect from it).
He nodded very slightly in acknowledgement and you grinned. "Great!"

Bucky was totally taken aback by your sharp mood changes. He liked your attitude but he wasn't keen on this whole 'foster care' set up Steve had organised. He might have enjoyed his last experience of freedom 70 years or so ago, but he wasn't a child without worldly experience. Fuck it, he'd been through more than almost anyone but Thor and Steve.

"Right, so I'm not gonna give you crap so long as I don't have to take crap from you. I didn't really know you were coming til this morning, so I can only offer you things that consist of cheese, butter and bread. Cheese and butter, the fridge's on the left," you said, pointing to it, "and bread's in this top cupboard." Smiling, you stepped out of the open plan kitchen to the sofa in the living area.
"Toaster, microwave and oven are on the left of you. Ask me if you need anything else. I ate earlier and I'm going shopping tomorrow, so just eat as much as you can find!"
And with that, you picked up the remote, lay back on the sofa, turned on the TV and got out your phone.

Bucky stood by the kitchen, staring at you.

A minute or so later, you looked up from your phone back to him. "Hey, what's up?"
He spoke lowly, his voice quiet so you strained a little to hear him. "What are you doing?"
"Erm, not much, just texting Tony at the moment. Why'd you ask?"
"You're not....worried?"
"'Bout what?"
"Me."
"Hm?"
"Me. In the kitchen. Unsupervised."
"I don't see what the problem is, do you? You're like 90-something Bucky, c'mon, you don't want me to show you how to open a cupboard, do you?"
A minuscule smile crept on to his face, noticeable only by the slight muscle movement on his face. "No problem."

Ten minutes later, you remembered Bucky. You'd been so absorbed in your texts, (Tony's testing a new machine of thought-texting, but at the moment it has no filter - with hysterical results) you hadn't noticed what he was doing. You figured if he made sandwiches, toasties or cheese on toast, he'd be done by now, right?

You looked up to see him pop up from behind the bar, before dropping down again to search through the cupboards below it. "Yo, Buck, whatcha looking for?"
"Pan." He muttered gruffly.
"Behind you," you said, going back to your phone before you turned to him curiously. "What are you making?"
He paused to look at you. "Fondue."

You raised an eyebrow with an astonished gasp. "Omg, how have I never thought of doing that?!"
"I had to show Steve once."
"Dare I ask...why?"
"Carter, his girlfriend, had talked about having it with Stark and Steve thought he meant sex."
"Thank the Gods of Asgard!"
Bucky gave you a surprised and utterly confused stare. "...what?"
"You say the word sex. Without being awkward. You're a normal person, more normal than Steve! He gets so awkward when Tony even wiggles his eyebrows inappropriately, let alone when I make another 90-year-old-virgin joke!"
Bucky went back to fondue-ing.
"Okay, too far. I get it." You said, but still unable to keep the grin off your face.

Suddenly Bucky's movements became more aggravated, so you stood up to see what was wrong.
He held the pan with cheese in his human hand and was attempting to turn on the induction hob with his other one but receiving no reaction from the machine.
"Buck, woah, don't hit it."
"It's not working." He muttered gruffly.
You sighed, prising the pan from his human hand with difficulty, grabbing his metal one with ease and clenching his fist round the handle. "Heat sensitive. Try now."

Bucky was astonished at the ease in which you took hold of his metal hand, as if you didn't notice it was there. Yet, against his better nature he allowed you to adjust him like a mannequin, until he found the pan had switched hands.
Trying again as you'd suggested, the hob reacted to his touch and a large amount of different new buttons became available.

"Select a hob, plus and minus for heat, don't put your hand on the hob."
He nodded, but spoke again. "I thought it only conducts in pans for safety."
"Metal, Bucky. Metal pans."
He nodded again in realisation, almost forgetting his technological prosthesis. You went back to the sofa and soon enough he joined you, with a bowl of melted cheese and broken pieces of toast for dipping. You glanced over at him, eyeing his food momentarily, before going back to the programme on TV, which was currently F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and although Bucky didn't laugh once and you laughed approximately 43 times in the course of one episode (he counted), Bucky could feel a slight quirk of his facial muscles that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

~

It was far, far later in the night, you'd given Bucky the second bedroom to sleep in and near about 1 am, you awoke with the craving that has slowly been tearing your stomach open all evening.
A craving for cheese fondue.

Goddamn James Buchanan Barnes and his fancy fondues. Gods, you'd seen it once and now all you could do was think about how hungry you were.

After half an hour of failing to distract yourself, you got up and tiptoed successfully past his room. Sliding into the darkness of the kitchen, you were able to silently get out all the utensils you needed due to your meticulous knowledge of the inside of your kitchen. You grated the cheese, pouring it into the heated pan and after putting the toast in, you leaned back against the wall patiently.

The cheese started to sizzle slightly, so you moved to pick up the pan and take it off the heat.
There was a groan. So loud it echoed around the house. So full of pain and anguish, you could feel it, even though it was but a sound.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention, your power is negative empathic. Like literally, you don't share in it, you control people's negative emotion. So, if you get angry, you can channel the anger out of you into someone else. On the other side, you can take other people's anger, so they become peaceful and you have the anger. Same with pain, jealousy, fear and sadness. Definitely a scary addition to the Avengers and you often scared the lower ranks when you had to release the anger you'd absorbed from ten men.

Back to the point, you could feel the anguished cry and as it attacked your brain, you dropped the pan on your tiles with a crash and cried out slightly.

A mere couple of seconds later, Bucky was in the kitchen looking groggy and unamused. "What the fuck?"
"Don't what the fuck me," you snapped, irritated, before sighing tediously. You didn't fancy explaining your power, so you stretched the truth a little. "I heard you groan and it took me by surprise, so I dropped the pan."
His face didn't soften, maintaining the hardened glare. "What the hell were you doing with a pan at this time anyway?!"
"Fondue." You muttered.
"Sorry?"
"Fucking fondue, okay?!"
"Fondue."
"Yes."
"At," he checked the time on his new phone, "1:42 in the morning?"
"Yes."

The toast popped out and you both glanced over to it.
"Go back to sleep, I'll just have toast."
He glanced over at the pan, dented, the melted cheese all over the also dented floor, before looking back at you.
"It's fine. I'm not fussed, honestly. Sleep for fuck's sake." You grabbed the toast, took a bite and walked back to your room with it. "Well?" You said turning back to his frozen form. "You coming?"
Begrudgingly he followed you, nodding goodnight as he entered his room.

~

The next morning, 6 am, you awoke to a delightful smell. Following your nose to the kitchen, somewhat suspiciously, you were, to say the least, extraordinarily astonished to see Bucky standing behind the worktop cooking.
"Hey," you said with a smile, "what ya doing?"
"Fondue."
"At 6 in the morning?"
"You seemed up for it at twenty to two in the morning, I figured you might still want some now."
"You made it for me?!" Your eyebrow quirked up shocked, no one had ever really cooked for you since you left home.
He nodded, seemingly lacking emotion over the course of events.

You looked at the pan closer, before circling the kitchen to see all its sides. "You fixed the dent in my pan."
"Hm?"
"The pan, you pushed out the dent?"
"Mhm," he nodded. "Couldn't do anything 'bout the floor tho."
"No worries," you shrugged.

The fondue was amazing, totally satisfying your craving from yesterday and making the dent in the floor totally worth it. Finishing your food, you looked up to talk to Bucky, who was still eating. "Thanks Buck," you said happily. "Goddamn you're a good chef."
"It's melted cheese and toast, (l/n). Not hard."
"(Y/n)."
"What?"
"None of this last name shit, my name's (y/n). Use it."
"Fine." He said resolving not to use your name at all.
You sighed, knowing there was no way of you changing his mind at the moment.

You pushed yourself up from the barstool. "K Buck, imma go change, then I'm going to get food. I'm thinking you can stay here today, since you may be lacking on the sleep, my bad. Anyway, ring me if you have any problems or just general pop culture questions, I'm good for both."
He nodded in response.
"Awesome, see you later."

~

You arrived back at the apartment a good few hours later, having gotten somewhat slightly distracted in a music store and coming back with a heap of food and a shitload of CDs for not only yourself, but Bucky too, as well as two personal, portable CD players.

When you entered the kitchen/living room, you were happy, albeit surprised, to find Bucky watching the one and only 'Friends'.
"Oh, hey Buck." You said cheerily.
"(Y/n)," he said, nodding at your arrival, pausing before turning to ask you something. "What's a pager?"
You laughed slightly, "Oh don't worry, I didn't know what that was either when I first watched it. Pagers are kinda old tech now, Tony'd kill you if he saw you using one, he'd think it was like using a sword in a shoot out. It's a small device that bleeps if someone wants to contact you or sent you a message."
He nodded, blinking as he absorbed the information. "Thanks," he said, his voice quiet as usual.

The rest of the evening was pretty bland, you guys ate a mix of lunch and dinner since Bucky wasn't used to eating loads and you seemed to barely eat anything, he noticed. Later, you both unanimously agreed sleep was probably the best option for you and you parted to your own rooms.

-

4 am in the morning and Bucky awoke with a start, sweating and panting hard. Nightmares. Again. Or should he say, memories. Either way, they were not in the least enjoyable. He sat up, not keen on the idea of going to sleep. Fear was still shaking out of him slightly and he moved his hands to hold his head.
The feeling of metal against his skin surprised him very slightly, his nightmares had been of the first operation of many. They tried to infuse his arm with metal first, then tried to strengthen it, tamper with it, alter it until they screwed it up so bad, they amputated it and replaced it entirely. He shivered at the memory, shaking his head slightly in a vague attempt to shake it from his brain.

A few minutes later there was a knock at his door. He tensed, watching intensely as the door was pushed open slowly. Relaxing, his shoulders slumped at the sight of your face.
You pushed the door open further, revealing a platter full of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.
"I don't know if you like this sorta stuff but I figured you can't go wrong with cookies. Sorry, they're not homemade. Although from what you saw of me last in the kitchen, that's probably a relief."
He smiled infinitesimally in the darkness, unnoticed by you, as you settled the milk on his side table and sat yourself on the end of the bed and the cookie plate between you.

"How'd you know I was up?"
You froze up slightly, which Bucky observed curiously, before answering calmly. "I was up already, I heard you breathing super heavily."
He eyed you suspiciously, but said nothing.
"Memories?"
He stared deep into your eyes, desperate to know how you were almost inside his mind.
"I guessed nightmares, but nightmares are the worst when they're real and I figured that'd be enough to shake you like this." You held out a cookie, which he hesitantly accepted. "You get them every night?"
He bit into the cookie, nodding slowly.
"What about yesterday?"
"You woke me up before it got bad."
"Oh," you nodded, understanding. "Get some rest now, see if you get them again. If not, we're one step closer to knowing how to stop them."
He nodded again, watching as you left the room, leaving him alone with the cookies.

An hour later, Bucky awoke again, sweating harder, veins pulsing. He was so frustrated - with Pierce, for being such a bastard, with Steve, because if Steve wasn't there, Bucky would've frozen himself up again to protect the world, and he was frustrated with himself, for allowing it all to happen in the first place.
He got up, unsure of the time, but feeling vicious and dangerous. Images were flashing through his mind, of war, of the 40s, of HYDRA and of experimentation. He found himself in the living area, pulling the sofa up, throwing it at the wall, tearing at the cushions, punching through the wall and smashing through the small coffee table.

Meanwhile, you got up and made your way over to the door. Bemused, you leant against the door frame, watching curiously til he came to a slight halt, pausing as he breathed heavily. "You good now?"
Suddenly, Bucky snapped out of his rage and looked you in the face full of guilt. "Oh fuck, I didn't-, I'm not-, I-"
"Oh shut it already." You said with a smile. "You fancy breakfast?"

"What?"
"Breakfast? We're up and, as usual, I'm hungry. So, food?"
Bucky could barely nod in shock at your reaction, but after a moment he realised this was just you. Too chill to give a fuck that he'd just destroyed your furniture and punched a hole in the wall. And the other thing he realised, was that he really liked your chillness.

After finishing your Nutella on toast, you stopped to look at him, reading the side of the Nutella jar intently.
"You okay there?"
"Hm? Oh, uh yeah." He said lowly.
"Look, you have to change your outlook."
"What?" Bucky decided he didn't like the side of you that told him what he had to do.
Noting this, you backtracked a little. "Well, you don't have to. But having your memories back, no matter what they are, they make stronger." You said, knowing that the absolute certainty in your voice would convince him. You shrugged, "Sometimes people just need to be reminded of that."
He hesitated, before speaking quietly. "Even...when they scare you, when you don't recognise who you are? Those memories make you stronger?"
You nodded confidently. "You know what scares you, you can fight it. You don't recognise who you are? You can learn to. You can't fight what you can't see; you can't face your fears til you know what they are; you can't fix what you don't know is broken. Do you get where I'm coming from?"
He nodded slowly, something you'd become accustomed to whenever he was thinking or processing something.

Step one complete. Step two came tonight.
Your plan was to convince Bucky not to fear his dreams, well, memories.
Then you'd take the fear and anger from him gradually as he slept, so he'd believe that he wasn't afraid and therefore would continue to be less afraid, until you could leave his emotions alone for good as he'd no longer be scared of remembering.
It'd take time, but you were pretty certain you could succeed here where even the great Captain America failed.

-

That night, you sent Bucky to bed and proceeded to lay awake in your room, waiting until you could feel Bucky's emotions from his nightmares, dreams, memories, whatever. Reaching out slightly, you suddenly found yourself hit with a wall of anxiety and fear, which soon turned to pain, then anger, then back...
Figuring this was definitely him, you absorbed a touch of his fear, which he must've noticed, because suddenly his fear subsided on its own. Subconsciously, he was telling himself that you were right, he didn't need to be scared, this was useful to him. He relaxed into sleep, allowing the memories to flow over him in waves.
Every so often, pain, anger or fear would return again, which you delicately tapped into, reducing it just slightly, enough for him to calm himself.

And as the dawn came at around 3, his dreams disappeared and you fell back asleep, exhausted.

-

It was about 6 when you got up, three hours later. Your head pounded and you recognised an unfortunate amount of aggression building inside you. Figuring you'd exercise it out, you walked into the kitchen to find Bucky. He was surfing the Internet on his phone, still trying to catch up with the world.
"Buck, I'm gonna go train, so just help yourself to the kitchen for breakfast, I'll be down the hall if you need me."
He nodded, slightly suspicious of your dampened mood, but ignoring it. It was the early morning after all and Natasha was really bad in the morning, so perhaps you were having a bad morning too.

Of your three bedroom apartment, you'd decided to renovate the smallest bedroom into a small gym, in the centre being a huge punching bag. You tied up your hair, before attacking the bag for hours, then moving to the bike, before starting a range of non equipment work like planking and sit ups. It was lunch time when you stopped, finally having expended all of Bucky's rage. Feeling the sweat rolling down your face, you figured it would be best to have a shower before you ventured near Bucky, but as fate would have it, your stinky body walked face first into his chest in the hallway.
"Woah, er sorry Buck," you coughed awkwardly. "Wassup?"
"Bored," he said, irritatedly.
You pouted a little, unsure of what to do, before you remembered what you'd bought the day before. Running into your room, you returned a second later with the CD player and a stack of CDs.
"Here!"
He eyed it curiously, begrudgingly taking it from you.
"I got it when I went out, specially for you. I wasn't sure what music you'd like, so I grabbed a couple of my favourites and a heap from the 40s that you might like."
His lip quirked up visibly at the sight of a jazz CD. "You got this for me?"
"Mhm," you grinned happily.
To your absolute shock, he smiled softly back, before turning away to walk to the living area. He paused, turning to look over his shoulder at you. "Thanks, (y/n)."

You smiled. Maybe he was the winter soldier, but with you, he was more and more Sergeant Barnes, the man who died for his country's freedom.