VIII. Bucky

I don't know why he called me that name.

Bucky.

The word loops in my head, a whisper that won't fade. It doesn't belong to me, not really. I know who I am. I am the Winter Soldier. I complete missions. I eliminate targets. I do what I'm told.

But the way he said it—like it meant something—unsettles me.

I stare at the floor of the cold metal room where they keep me between assignments. The walls are bare, unremarkable. A cot in the corner. A single chair. A table. No distractions. Just silence and space to think.

Thinking is dangerous.

I shouldn't be thinking at all.

But I can't help it. The name won't go away. It sits in my mind like a splinter I can't dig out, and with it comes flashes—quick and disjointed. A street lined with brick buildings, the air crisp with the bite of autumn. A laugh, rich and easy, carried by the wind. A warm hand clapping my back, firm, familiar. A voice calling me that name—

Bucky.

A sharp pain lances through my skull, and I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. The images are too much, too fast, slipping through my fingers before I can hold onto them. They don't belong to me. They can't.

I press the heels of my hands against my temples, forcing a slow breath. This isn't real. This isn't me. It's interference. A malfunction. Something they'll fix.

The door hisses open, and I snap to attention. My spine locks straight, muscles coiling tight. A man enters first—one of them, but I don't bother committing his face to memory. He doesn't matter. It's the second figure that does.

Her.

She walks with a measured pace, her presence an unspoken command. I know her. Not in the way I should, but in the way a weapon recognizes the one who maintains it. She has been here before. I've seen her face in the haze of readjustments, in the quiet between missions. When my mind is no longer mine, she is there to make sure it stays that way.

"Winter Soldier," she says evenly, her voice smooth but firm. "Look at me."

I don't want to.

She steps closer, her gaze piercing through me. My head lifts against my will, my eyes meeting hers. It's instinct, a response I don't control. She is familiar, and familiarity makes it easier. Her voice is an anchor in the storm of my thoughts, a tether I want to sever but can't.

"You are confused." It's not a question. She knows. "Your mind is struggling. It is natural. But it will pass."

I don't answer. I can't.

She moves with purpose, closing the space between us. "Tell me your name."

The right answer is on my tongue. I know what I'm supposed to say. Winter Soldier. Asset. Weapon. But something else claws at the edges, something I don't understand. A different answer. One I don't know if I want to give.

"Bucky"

The name slips out before I can stop it. My stomach twists immediately. I said it. Why did I say it?

Her expression doesn't change. She doesn't flinch. But I see the shift in her eyes, a calculation, a decision being made. "No. That is not your name."

I swallow hard. "I—"

"You are the Winter Soldier," she says, her voice steady. "Say it."

It should be easy. It always has been before. But now the words stick. The name—Bucky—still lingers, a ghost in my throat.

Something sharp prickles at the edges of my vision, another memory pressing in, threatening to break through. Fingers digging into my uniform, shaking me. Blue eyes, wide and desperate. A voice, raw with emotion. "You know me."

My hand twitches at my side, metal fingers clenching, scraping against my palm. Frustration builds inside me. I don't understand why this is happening. It's never happened before. I complete my missions. I obey orders. That's what I am. That's all I am.

Why is this different?

I don't notice her stepping closer until her fingers press lightly against my temple. A simple touch, but it feels like an anchor pulling me down, centering me. Her voice drops lower, almost soothing. "Let it go. The thoughts. The name. They are not yours. They were never yours."

I want to believe her.

I want the confusion to stop.

My head feels heavy. My body, sluggish. The warmth of her touch seeps into my skull like a slow poison, sinking into the cracks of my mind. The name fades. The flashes dim. The voice calling Bucky grows distant.

I exhale slowly. "I am the Winter Soldier."

She smiles. It isn't warm, but it is satisfied.

"Good," she murmurs. "Now sleep."

Darkness takes me before I can resist.