hey i write fanfiction here

Simon didn’t even realize that he had been humming.

It had been a long time since he’d been so engrossed in a task, but the flight paths for their upcoming mission weren’t going to plan themselves, and as it turned out he had an absolutely stellar sense of direction. That was exactly how Grace had put it, too, and then he’d laughed to himself about the pun for another five minutes. But whatever. At a certain point it becomes endearing.

Grace’s impressed reaction wasn’t much to go by, given that he was (with love) a totally shitty pilot, but Simon had quickly fallen into the role after it was decided that he was going to continue working with Grace and Rocky. 

So now he was sitting at one of the desks in the living room of their habitat on Erid, pouring over star maps and humming to himself a song he didn’t even realize that he still knew as Grace milled about the house behind him.

“What’re you singing?” Grace asked, popping up behind him to look at the map over his shoulder. Simon nearly jumped out of his skin, smacking him lightheartedly before starting to answer the question.

So take strength! Strength in all our promises.

Take joy! Joy in all we give.

Take hope! Hope towards transcendence.

Fuck.

“It’s, uh…” He took a pause, suddenly finding himself overwhelmed with emotion. Something in-between sorrow and longing. “It’s a song I liked when I was a kid. Back… back on Eden.”

“Oh,” Grace said, clearly trying to figure out how to navigate the conversation. He never really knew what to do when he brought up Eden, which was fair. Simon never really knew how to feel about having to bring up Eden. Finally, Grace settled on, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s… you know. I liked it a lot. It’s catchy. Clearly; it’s stuck in my head and I haven’t heard it in years.”

“What’s it called?”

“‘Our Anchor.’ It was one of the children’s songs that was popular. I think it was one of the first to come out after the Rapture, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Did you guys have a lot of children’s songs that were specific to Eden?” Grace seemed surprised when Simon nodded.

“I mean, it was a good way to make it less scary, you know?”

“The Rapture?”

“The Tree. And… everything related to it.”

“Did that really work?”

“Worked on me,” He said, trying to sound flippant as he turned back to the maps he was looking at and hoping desperately that that was the end of the conversation. He still didn’t really know what to do with everything that he felt about Eden. He knew that what had happened to him wasn’t good. And it wasn’t normal. Some days, the thought of everything that he’d experienced made him so blindingly angry that he just wanted to scream. But then there were days like today…

The familiar tune reverberated through his mind, and it made his chest hurt.

He missed it.

He wanted to go home.

He took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as he refocused his gaze on the star maps, and tried to remind himself that he was home. Erid was home. Grace was home, Rocky was home, Adrian was home. He had people that he loved, and that cared about him and his well-being. Eden wasn’t his home anymore.

He just missed feeling safe so much.

We know why we stand within your glory.

We know why the station can still hum.

The exquisite pain we use to write your story.

Reminds us of the world we once came from.

“That’s not even the same song,” He growled under his breath, shaking his head to try and clear the thought. The lyrics that popped into his brain at that point were his favorite song as an adult, and it was much more… explicit in its theming. He looked down at the sharp white scar across his palm, raised from years and years of sacrifice, and he had to force another deep breath through his lungs.

“What was that?” Grace asked in response to the sound of Simon muttering to himself, and he shook his head.

“Nothing. Sorry.” He hadn’t actually meant to speak out loud.

“... Is it actually nothing?” Grace’s question was tentative, clearly trying not to push. But giving Simon an out meant that he wasn’t going to admit to anything. He wasn’t going to burden him, he wasn’t going to be too much.

“‘S fine,” He muttered, doing his best to get himself under control. But God, it hurt.

Most of the time, it was fine. He could distract himself. He could pretend that the way that his brain looked at the world was normal, that the way that he processed his emotions wasn’t deeply confusing and overwhelming. But then something would remind him, and everything came flooding back.

“Si…” Obviously Grace knew that he was lying. It wasn’t really hard to tell that he was lying. Simon just let his head drop into his arms on the table, staring at the blank wall across from him. He could hear Grace approach slowly, and he was trying to figure out what to say to get him to drop it before Grace spoke again.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But can I hold you? Would that help?”

Yes. God, yes.

He couldn’t let himself say that, though. He just laid there in silence for a moment before he finally allowed himself to nod. Forced himself to remember that Grace wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t actually want to. He didn’t need to feel guilty for accepting comfort.

He felt Grace’s hands gently grab his shoulders, coaxing him out of the chair and steering him towards the couch behind them. Moving took an immense amount of effort, and Simon felt like he all but collapsed into Grace’s arms as they sat down. Grace pulled him close, and Simon let himself bury his head in his shirt, everything in his brain becoming unbearably loud now that he was actually feeling it.

“It’s alright, love. You’re alright,” Grace said, his voice soft.

“Sorry,” Simon said again, the sound muffled by the fabric of Grace’s t-shirt. Grace just shook his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Never anything to be sorry for.” Grace brushed a bit of his hair back and kissed the top of his head, letting Simon press himself further into his embrace.

“Miss it,” Simon admitted.

“Eden?” Grace couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice, which confused Simon a bit. Yeah, it wasn’t a great place. But he still grew up there. He grew up with The Father’s words every Sunday, with quiet afternoons beneath the Tree, with the sound of those songs wrapping him in a blanket of comfort. Surely it wasn’t a crazy thing to suggest that there could still be a part of him that wanted to go back.

“Mhm.” Was the only thing he actually said, a quiet hum of affirmation. Grace said nothing for a moment, before finally asking another question.

“Si… it was a cult, wasn’t it? I’m not getting that wrong?”

The word made his stomach twist, but he still forced himself to nod. Facts were facts.

“Yeah. But… it was also my whole life, y’know? There were still good parts, even if…” He trailed off, not feeling the need to finish the sentence. Grace knew enough of what had happened to fill in the blanks.

Another contemplative silence, and another question, this time one Simon had never expected to be asked.

“Do you want to talk about the good parts?”

Whenever he’d talked about Eden, it had always been in the context of pain. Physical pain, mental pain, emotional pain. The ways in which his upbringing had rewritten his brain chemistry, shaped him into somebody who flinched at a gentle hand. At rest. At comfort. He didn’t know how to be a person, and he wasn’t sure if at this point he ever would. That was always what he told people about, because it was easier to explain himself that way. Why he was the way he was. Eden was a cult, it had been bad, it had hurt him. And sometimes he wished more than anything that he just felt that one thing.

But nobody had ever asked him to talk about the good parts before.

“It was the peace, mostly. The feeling of knowing that you’re safe, that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. Something was always watching over me. No matter how hard things got, I knew that I was protected. And… I miss that feeling a lot more than I thought I could. I don’t know if I ever even realized how much I felt it until it was gone.”

“I mean, I feel like that makes sense. Hindsight and all,” Grace replied, his tone clearly just trying to be supportive, to encourage Simon to continue talking. But Simon barely even heard him at that point. He was too caught up in his own memories.

“And the garden! God, Grace, I wish you could’ve seen the garden. It was breathtaking. The dome was entirely glass, you could see everything in space around you… I wish I could remember what it looked like before the Rapture. But even after everything had disappeared, the starlight still remained. Sometimes, I’d go there at night, or in the morning before church, and I would just lay in the dirt beneath the Tree and look up at the stars through the canopy. It was the most comfortable I ever felt. In the world, in myself… just being in that room made it all better, somehow. There was one night I even slept there, after…” He paused for a second, trying to decide how much he wanted to explain before just going with, “Something happened to one of my brothers. I was little, I must’ve been like 10 or 11, and I was so confused and upset and I went to the garden to pray and all I remember is just laying down beneath the Tree and feeling peace. There was never all this fear and anxiety and just general overwhelm that I feel like I’m dealing with every single fucking day now. It was just… calm. It was so calm in that room, when I was small.”

“That sounds absolutely beautiful, Si,” He said, letting one hand move to trace soft patterns over Simon’s back as he spoke. Usually Grace was the rambler in the relationship, but Simon was surprised to find that he didn’t mind the role-reversal. The attention was surprisingly nice.

“It really was. The music was great too; the song that I had stuck in my head earlier was just one of many. Sometimes I honestly get mad that I can’t listen to it anymore. Both because it doesn’t exist recorded anywhere and because even if it did, I feel like that probably wouldn’t be very good for me. That…” The idea of entering a room and hearing “Exquisite” playing out of nowhere filled him with a momentary bone-deep anxiety, and he shook his head against Grace’s chest. Grace’s arms tightened slightly around him, and he relaxed again. “That scares me a lot actually, I think I’d hate that. But fuck, I wish I wouldn’t, because that music went so hard. It was the highlight of every service for me, it was always the way that I felt the closest to God.”

“I feel like music can be extremely emotionally touching, that totally makes sense,” Grace affirmed, and Simon nodded. He felt his words starting to catch up to him, the pervasive longing that filled him earlier sitting heavier against his chest with everything he said. Because it had been good. It had been good, it had brought him peace.

And it had still scarred him.

Obviously he knew how manipulation worked. It was good until it wasn’t; the things he was experiencing weren’t uncommon, if the psychology Grace had quoted to him was to be believed. Even if aspects of his upbringing had been positive, a lot of that was simply because he was a kid. He didn’t know anything else. But now, even the positive memories were tainted by the knowledge of what Eden was. Every single thing he’d told Grace about, every moment of peace and calm and spiritual connection, could be traced back to emotional manipulation. To brainwashing. To abuse. It was all in an effort to make him believe. And it had worked perfectly.

He knew that he hadn’t really been given a choice. He realized that, and his anger towards that, before he even left Eden. He didn’t choose them, but he was still the one left with the scars.

But it was hard to remember that when he could still feel the weight of the axe in his hands. He had believed. He’d been fully committed to doing whatever he was told to do to protect the Tree. And he hated that, he hated that he had so easily fallen prey to blind devotion. A large part of him still blamed himself, despite the fact that he was never taught anything else. But he remembered how it felt to believe in something the way that he believed in the Tree. To be so deeply rooted in a cause beyond yourself, to truly think that you were doing something that was going to help the people that you cared about. And he couldn’t help but ache.

Despite himself, he missed that too.

“Simon? You’ve gone quiet there, love. You alright?” Grace’s voice made its way through his thoughts, and he nodded, curling somehow closer against him.

“Just thinking,” He said, and Grace brought a hand up to gently play with his hair.

“Did talking about it help? Or has it made you feel worse?”

“... Maybe both, I think. It’s… it is fun, to talk about the good parts with somebody else. I’ve never gotten to do that before. But… then I remember everything else, you know? And it just…” He trailed off for a minute, trying to figure out how to explain the way he was feeling before finally saying, “It just hurts.”

“Oh, Si. I’m so sorry.” Another kiss to the top of his head, but Simon wasn’t really there anymore.

“I don’t know what to do. About it,” He said, his voice quieter now. And he felt Grace shake his head.

“Right now, you don’t have to do anything except let yourself feel it. And it sucks, and I’m sorry, but I haven’t figured out a way to avoid that part of trauma yet. Not for lack of trying, trust me.” His tone was slightly lighthearted, and Simon couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, you’re the scientist. Get on that.”

“I said I was trying!” Grace defended jokingly, and Simon laughed. Grace was playing with his hair again, and he felt himself relax a bit, despite the ache in his chest.

“We can try together,” Simon offered, and he felt Grace shake his head again.

“No, I think you’ve gotta be healthier than me. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair! What if I want to do avoidance too?”

“Nope. Like you said, I’m a scientist. That means you have to listen to my advice.”

“Whatever,” Simon finally relented, both of them still laughing a bit. “It’s not like my brain is giving me many other options anyway.”

“And that is okay, Simon.” Grace’s hand moved from his hair to trace soft patterns on his back as he said, “You are allowed to feel your feelings. No matter what they are.”

Simon nodded, letting himself be pulled back into the memories a bit as Grace held him gently in his arms. His eyes drifted closed, and he took a deep breath.

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” He asked, and Grace nodded.

[LOGS FOR: Resident ID #14101314]

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[YEAR LOGGED: 669 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 11]

My mom said this would be good to do. She said that I’ve been acting “stressed,” and apparently writing will help with that. And she said that even though it’s on the computer, it’s locked up behind a password so that nobody else can ever read it, and so I’m allowed to be “totally honest.” But for the record, I wouldn’t care if anybody does read it. I’m not going to say anything bad.

I think she thinks I’m stressed because of what happened to Brother Christopher. But what happened to him wasn’t bad. I mean, I wasn’t there, but everyone told me that it was good. All of us exist to nourish the Tree at some point. I think that the reason why I was so upset after I heard about it was because I was just jealous that he got to do that and I didn’t. I was worried about him being hurt, but everyone told me that it doesn’t hurt any more than our prayers during church do. And that’s a good pain, that means that we’re helping the Tree. So it makes sense that if he was helping the Tree, it would hurt like a good pain, not like a bad pain. I fell asleep in the garden the night after it happened, and it felt very very peaceful. So I think that it was good.

Anyway, there’s a math test tomorrow that I need to study for. I’m already pretty good at math, but mom said that if I get a 100% on this one I can have an extra dessert this week.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 669 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 11]

Brother Andrew is mean and I hate him.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 669 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 11]

My mom said that hate is a really strong word, so I feel like I should say that I didn’t mean it. I don’t HATE him. But he IS mean and if I said he wasn’t mean I would be lying, and The Father tells us we’re not supposed to lie or the Tree will get sick, so I’m never going to lie ever.

Brother Andrew is mean and I might not hate him but I am still mad at him.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 669 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 11]

Me, Brother Andrew, and Sister Allie all got the best grades in our entire class this year! We went to the garden after school and we got to have the best thing in the whole world: ice cream! REAL ice cream, it was so cold and yummy and it was the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. And then tomorrow during church The Father will announce our names as the best students in our class, and then we get to go up and stand right next to him under the Tree up in front of everyone so that everybody knows that we are the best! I am so excited.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 669 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 11]

My mom said I was being too “prideful” about my grades this year. She said that it’s good to be proud of yourself when you do something well, but that being too proud of yourself makes you seem like you think you’re better than everybody and everything. And then I told her that I WAS better than everybody, that’s what having the best grades MEANS, and then she told me that was “disrespectful” and I should consider what I said.

I didn’t mean to make it sound like I think I’m better than everyone. I’m not better than her, obviously. And I’m not better than The Father. And I’m not a better PERSON than my adelphoi, which I think is what she meant, even if I am better at math and english than them (except for Brother Andrew and Sister Allie, they’re equally as good as me at math and english). So I think I understand why she was mad at me for saying that.

I think I’m going to go pray about it tonight, so that she knows that I understand that I did something wrong and I feel bad about it. I went and prayed by myself after what happened to Brother Christopher, and it made me feel a lot better, so it’ll probably make me feel better about this too. And then I’m going to tell her that I’m sorry for being disrespectful.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 671 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 13]

It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but I’m starting to feel really stressed again. School has been hard. There are so many students that I feel like I can’t really ask a question because there are thirty other people in the same room with a question. Some of my friends’ parents are making comments about how we’re not getting a good enough education, so they might as well just teach their kids at home, which also means that I’m not going to get to see my friends as often if I don’t get to see them at school. That would suck.

I don’t know. I think I’m probably stressed for no reason. When I tried to talk to my mom she told me I should pray about it, which I’ve been doing but it hasn’t really made me any less stressed. She’s been spending more time with The Father, so maybe I can ask her to ask him if there’s anything I can do? I’m sure I’ll feel better if I can do more to help the Tree.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 671 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 13]

It worked! I talked to The Father last week about having more worry than usual, and he said that I could come after school and help take care of the garden if I wanted to. So I’ve been doing that after school every single day this week and I feel so so SO much better! I’ve been weeding some of the plants, and today I even got to water the Tree (with regular water, not like how we do when we pray) which was so special. I just feel so much more connected to God AND the Tree. It’s been a really important reminder that everything I was stressed about doesn’t really matter, because the Tree and God are the only things that matter. I hope that The Father lets me keep helping him for the rest of my life!

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[YEAR LOGGED: 672 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 14]

It’s been a while again, but I remember my mom telling me that I could be honest here. And today made me feel really weird, and I feel like I can’t really talk to anybody about it.

We had church like normal (except it was at night this time, but that’s not the part that was weird) and after the band had finished playing, instead of doing a closing prayer like he normally does, The Father started talking about how the station is getting more and more crowded. And we all knew that, but then he said that he had a vision from God of what our next step in caring for the Tree was supposed to be. He said that God said that we needed to start helping those devoted — so just all of us, not the C.O.I. — cross beyond the Veil, and in turn their bodies would provide nourishment for the Tree. He said that it was going to be a group thing, like church, except he called it an “Evolution.” Because whoever was doing it wasn’t dying, they were evolving into the next phase for humanity. And I turned to my mom to tell her that I thought that sounded exactly like what happened to Brother Christopher a few years ago, but when I looked next to me she wasn’t there anymore. She was at the pulpit with The Father.

There was another woman standing next to her. I didn’t know her name, but apparently it was Natalie. And then The Father said that my mom is a strong person, and that she is “pure in her devotion,” and that she had shown him that she truly loved and cared for the safety of the Tree. So he was giving her the honor of doing the first Evolution.

Natalie knelt down in front of the Tree, and my mom picked up an axe.

And I think that I’ve written enough. It’s actually fine, it wasn’t that weird.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 672 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 14]

Today at church The Father told all of us kids that if we felt like we needed to feel a renewed closeness to the Tree, we could come up to the altar. I’d still been feeling kind of weird since the Evolution — which The Father said that the kids aren’t allowed to attend any more of going forward — so I decided to go. And I couldn’t be happier that I did.

We were all kneeling in front of the Tree and then he asked any adults who wanted to step forward and pray over us to do so, and SO many people did. It had to have been almost everybody in the room, up there just for us. My mom put her hands on my shoulders, but there were more people all around me who were touching me and praying for my salvation. It was such an overwhelmingly powerful experience, everybody was crying but in a good way. It was the closest to God I have EVER felt.

Afterwards, my mom gave me a special knife that I can use during my prayers. She said that I should nourish the Tree every time that I pray, even if I’m not at church, because it’ll help to keep it safe and healthy. I haven’t used it yet, but I’m going to try to soon. It’s beautiful, she made a holster for it out of leather and everything, so I can carry it with me wherever I go in case I need it. It was just such a wonderful experience.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 674 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 16]

Sometimes I wonder if I’m actually a good person.

I’m trying! I try so hard to do everything that I’m supposed to do, I pray and I talk to The Father and stuff, but I still feel like I fall short. Today with the youth group we were talking about insecurity, and I joked that I could name a dozen things that I didn’t like about myself, and then Brother Silas said that was something that I needed to work on because we’re made in the image of God, so I shouldn’t think badly about myself. But also he ended the group by saying that we’re all born within the dark of sin, and that implies that all humans are inherently bad. So I don’t really know what he was trying to say. I’m sure I just need to pray more about it and then I’ll understand.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 674 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 16]

Tonight was another evening service, which means that we did another purification. I haven’t participated in one since I was like 13, but I’ve just been feeling so off lately that I felt like it could help. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to re-promise my devotion. And of course, just like the last time, it was incredible.

The adults weren’t called up this time, it was just the rest of the youth group, so there weren’t as many people praying over me, but it was still just as powerful. I was sobbing and all I could feel was love for the Tree overwhelming me. It was like it was speaking to me inside of my head, holding me and promising me that everything will be okay. The band was playing and it was one of my favorite songs, and I really do feel like I’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of my life. I’m so assured in my devotion, and I feel so free.

There are absolutely no words for the way that I feel when I’m standing beneath the Ironwood… it’s just so beautiful. It’s nothing but light. I think I must’ve fallen to the ground crying at one point, because I remember The Father picking me up and hugging me as everyone prayed. I almost don’t know how to explain the night, but I swear it was the closest thing to pure divinity I have ever experienced.

I’m just so grateful.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 675 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 17]

The Father called me into his quarters today. At first, I was worried it had something to do with my mom and her role, but he just said that God had put it on his heart to pray over me. So I stood in his office while he put a hand on my shoulder and prayed… to be honest, it was kind of off-putting. I’m never one to shirk a blessing, so I’m not upset about it or anything, I’m just really confused. He didn’t say anything, even while he was praying. His mouth was moving when I looked over at him, but I have no idea why. And when I asked him what he was praying for, he just said that he has an important decision to make soon, and instructed me not to question further when I tried. So if future Simon is reading this, hopefully we figured out what that decision was.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 675 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 17]

I figured out what the decision was.

Today I came home from school and The Father was there with my mom. Her eyes were red like she’d been crying, but there was a smile on her face like she had something exciting to tell me. And that’s when she asked if I wanted to take over her role in the church. If I wanted to start doing the Evolutions when I turned 18 next year.

I said yes, of course. We exist for one thing, and that’s to be keepers of Eden. To protect the last Tree. And I will do whatever I’m asked in order to uphold that purpose.

This isn’t to say that I’m super excited about it. I don’t necessarily want to… but I also don’t NOT want to. It’s just a lot to take in. It’s a lot.

I’ve been thinking about the first Evolution, the only one I ever attended. The Father said that the reason why he stopped letting residents under 18 attend was because we weren’t old enough to truly see the beauty in it. Our minds were too primitive still, and we’d just see violence where there was really pure light. And that does make sense with what I was feeling afterwards, so I’m excited to attend one again now that I’m older. So I can fully process and comprehend how beautiful it is.

It’s an honorable role. I get to help my adelphoi become closer to God, and I get to help nourish the Tree. I really am grateful for the opportunity.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 676 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 18]

I got my tattoo today! 

I think I did pretty well, too! I’ve got a relatively high pain tolerance, and while it wasn’t like it didn’t feel like anything, it also wasn’t like it was torture. I was nervous after hearing Brother James and Brother John talk about how badly it hurt, but it helped knowing that I was getting something that represented my devotion to the Tree. It was almost similar to the pain during prayer; it hurts, but it’s not bad pain. Whoever suffers in the body is done with sin, after all. Now I’ll have proof of my love for the Tree on my body until it rots, which is so cool.

Plus, I look badass.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 676 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 18]

Tonight was my first time leading an Evolution. My mom was there to help me, but I was the one who actually did everything. She’s been teaching me since last year when it was decided I’d take her place, so I knew all of the words I was supposed to say and all of that, but it was nice to know she was there in case I needed help.

I didn’t really know Sister Mary that well, but I remember her always being a very kind woman. I think I remember somebody saying that she had a really hard life before Eden… something about sex work, maybe. But no matter what, it’s okay, because she was able to be reborn as a daughter of Eden. And now she’s crossed beyond the Veil, and her body has become soil, and so that’s good. So tonight was good. 

Sometimes I do feel like the Tree looks weaker than it did when I was little. But it’s probably just nostalgia.

The axe was heavier than I expected it to be, my hands and arms are still shaking. I think that I need to work out more. My whole body is shaking, honestly. I doubt that’s a good sign when it comes to my physical strength. Though I guess I’m going to have no choice but to get stronger, because there’s another Evolution in a couple of days. So if I keep doing them this frequently, my body will get used to it eventually.

I’ll get used to it eventually.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 681 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 23]

Apparently I’m “Simon the Butcher” now. I don’t know who started it. I feel like it was probably Brother Friday. He’s like five years older than me, so he thinks that he’s an expert in everything. He says that I’m so stoic and efficient that you’d think I was killing a pig.

He doesn’t know anything. About me, about this role. About how I feel.

I have a job to do. My purpose is to nourish the Tree. That’s all that matters anymore. I pray and I kill and I pray and it all comes around again. When we die we become soil and when the last son of Eden crosses over there will be a thousand trees and I will not have to kill anymore. But right now there is one, and I will protect it, even if only because I don’t know what else I am supposed to do.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 681 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 23]

They want to paint the picture of me as this super devout hardass, that’s fine. I don’t give a fuck because I know that I’m doing what’s RIGHT. And even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. 

I know that it’s right because every single day I go into that garden, and I look up at the Tree and the dying light of all the stars around us, and I feel at peace. It is the ONLY time I EVER feel at peace. That HAS to mean something. There is nowhere else in the small world we have remaining that makes me feel as overwhelmingly GOOD as being in the presence of the Ironwood does.

It honestly makes me sad to think about the people who don’t understand. Not really my brothers, because even though they’re giving me shit they do still get what we’re here for. I’m more thinking about the people in the C.O.I.. It sounds insane to say that I feel bad for them, but I really do. They’ve never even SEEN the Tree. They’ve never had a chance to understand this peace. Maybe they wouldn’t be so deranged if they were given a moment to sit in the garden, to truly FEEL God in that room. 

I just wish there was some way we could help them. We don’t have to be enemies; if we were being logical, we would be working together anyway. There are only so many people left and we have far more than they do. But they can’t give up on their hopeless vision of humanity’s future, and I just cannot understand it. Our way is infinitely more hopeful, when you really think about it. There IS more for us. It’s just not here.

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[YEAR LOGGED: 689 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 31]

I’m not sure how right my mom was about these entries being completely private. I’m not sure how much I want to test it. Not that there’s really that much at stake for me anymore.

I can’t even ask her, either. She’s gone, and it’s my fault.

There was another Evolution today. I did another Evolution today. I did exactly what they told me to do, exactly what she wanted me to do, exactly what I have been trained to do. And now she’s gone.

And I can sit here and say that it’s a good thing, that she’s on the other side of the Veil with God and real food and real grass and all of the other people I’ve killed, but I don’t know how much longer I can make myself believe that.

She believed it.

When The Father asked me to do it, I almost begged him to change his mind. But she wanted me to do it. She looked me in the eyes and told me it would be an honor to die by the hand of the man she raised.

Her butcher.

I don’t know if I believe in God. I don’t know if I believe that anything that we’re doing is really helping the Tree, when it’s been so clear to anyone with eyes that the Tree has probably either been dead or dying for years at this point. That much human blood can’t truly be nutritional.

But The Father says the Tree will live again, The Father says the Tree will live if only we continue our devotion. We’ll be okay, we’ll all be okay as long as we keep doing what we’ve been taught is right.

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to see the Tree die, either. And I know, I know that it probably already has. But if there’s anything that we can do to help it, I do still want to. It’s… it’s all I’ve ever known. We moved to Eden when I was six years old, and then I was nine and The Quiet Rapture happened, and then… and it’s all I’ve ever known.

-----------------------

[YEAR LOGGED: 691 IMC]

[RESIDENT AGE: 33]

It’s decided. I’m going on the Filament Station mission.

The Captain said that they want to send our best. Really, I think they just want to get rid of me. Ever since my mom… I feel like they know that I don’t believe. At least, not in the way that they want me to.

But I have a plan. I’m going to help people, for real this time. I know the stated purpose of the deployments is to free the members of the C.O.I. from their misinformation, and to help them to cross to the other side of the Veil. Which is to say: kill them. The purpose is to kill them. 

But I feel like if I can just get them to come with me, if I can bring them back to Eden, then they’ll understand that there’s no point to all of this conflict. There’s no true future left for us in this shell of a universe, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t enjoy our lives while we have them. There are still beautiful things.

I have to leave my seed behind, but if everything goes according to my plan, it won’t be for long. Hopefully I can make my brothers understand what I’m doing, because if we’re all working together it’ll be faster to get people off the station. But I’m not going to tell anybody until we’re already over there. Worst case scenario, they threaten to tell The Father on me and I shoot them. Say they got caught in the crossfire. It wouldn’t be the first of my adelphoi that I’ve killed.

God. I really don’t want to have to do that.

I wish I could take my seed. It… the world feels smaller, when I look at it. A reminder. Of her, of my brothers, of the Tree. We’re all so much smaller than we want to admit.

It had become a part of their daily routine. They’d get up, get ready, and then Simon would get his check-up. On Dr. Grace’s orders, they’d never missed a day.

See, the problem with getting rescued from a decrepit submarine full of blood by an extremely loyal, extremely anxious scientist is that he’s going to want to run tests. A lot of them. So many fucking tests, at a certain point Simon had stopped bothering to ask what they were for. It was so weird, having somebody care about his well-being. It would be unsettling if not for the fact that Grace rambled the entire time, so he didn’t really have the mental space to think about it. Which was completely fine by him, for the record. He liked to listen to Grace talk, and he liked to not think about his problems. A win-win.

Until today.

It was routine procedure up until Grace went to check his heartbeat. Stethoscope in his ears, the end moving to press gently against Simon’s back. The cold made him flinch, like it did every day, but it wasn’t anything worth worrying about.

But Grace wasn’t talking.

His head was bowed in concentration as he read something off a tablet he’d brought over with him, presumably the results of some earlier test. He gently rested his other hand on Simon’s shoulder to steady him, and this time the touch made his heart rate skyrocket.

At first, he couldn’t really figure out why. Why the image he was seeing out of the corner of his eye made him feel suddenly and completely like he was going to throw up. He wanted to run, he wanted to start screaming. His body was telling him something was wrong.

And then the memory flashed itself to the forefront of his mind.

The Father, firm but gentle hands on Simon’s shoulders. Head bowed, mouth moving with a soft whisper.

Praying.

Tears pricked his eyes, and he tried so hard to remind himself that it wasn’t real. He wasn’t there anymore. He was okay, Grace was not The Father, Grace was nice and cared about him and —

And so had The Father. Hadn’t he? He’d cared for him, loved him and nurtured him like a son. Ushered him towards safety, towards salvation.

Put an axe in his hands and told him to swing.

“Hey, are you alright? Your heart rate just got really —” Grace’s head finally moved, looking up from the tablet to look at Simon and cutting himself off midsentence. “Oh. Woah, okay. Simon? What happened, what’s going on right now?”

He shook his head. All he wanted to do was run. To curl up in the corner, to not have to explain all of this and instead just be able to scream until he felt safe again.

“I… I have to go,” He said, standing suddenly from the exam table (which was just a lab table Grace had cleared off so he could sit on it, but that was semantics) and turning in the direction of the ladder which led down to the crew dormitory.

“Simon, are you okay?” Grace asked, following quickly behind him in a flurry of concern. “Did I do something?”

“No, no it’s not you,” Simon explained, even as his voice grew distant in his own ears.

Grace’s hands had left his shoulders already, but that didn’t matter now. His mind had already set the show in motion, he wasn’t going to be able to stop it until the curtain closed. He was seeing the Hail Mary in his eyes, he knew where he was. But his body didn’t. His mind didn’t.

He started down the ladder, single-mindedly thinking about sitting on the floor in the corner of the room like a child. That was his only goal at this point. A space where he could pretend that nobody could see him and where he could see everything that could possibly be around him.

He hoped to God that Grace wasn’t following him, but he knew that wasn’t very likely. Sure enough, he heard footsteps behind him, and he almost didn’t have the energy to tell him to go away.

Almost.

“I’m fine, Grace. Please,” He choked out, surely not sounding very convincing.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked, watching in concern as Simon holed up in the corner. He shook his head quickly, opening his mouth to tell him that he was fine again before a new memory overtook him. 

More hands replaced The Father’s. 

One of the nights he was purified, brought before the Tree to promise his devotion again.

Hands, all over his body. Touching any bit of him they could reach, arms and sides and shoulders and back. Everyone was crying, everyone was crying and they were praying and he was saved, he was saved, he was falling to the ground in tears of pure joy. The hands followed him, wrapping him up until The Father could come to pull him into his arms. He was safe, he was at home, he was good. He was being good.

On the floor of the Hail Mary, his entire body was shaking. He could feel sweat starting to bead on his hairline, heat crawling up his back in a way that made him want to scrunch his shoulders. He felt his stomach turn, and he dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to calm himself down. To bring himself back to reality.

Grace reached his hand out again, moving toward Simon in comfort before Simon smacked it away. So many people were already touching him, heads bowed in prayer or supplication or something else. He wanted to rip off his skin just to get the feeling off of him.

“I need…” He started to speak, to ask for some kind of help, but there was nothing that anyone could do. There was nothing he could do to make it better. He wanted his mom and he wanted The Father and he wanted everybody to take their hands off of his body.

“Simon okay, question?” He heard Rocky’s voice as he entered the room, but it was muffled in his ears. He held up a hand, trying to wave him away, continuing his fruitless efforts to try and convince everybody he was fine. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to be a light, a beacon of hope and positivity for the rest of the world, to encourage them to understand the truth of Eden. He was supposed to cry for the Tree, and nothing else.

Of course, Rocky also didn’t go anywhere. He just rolled up behind Grace, who was staring at Simon with a mix of confusion and despair.

“I don’t know what you need. What can I do?” He asked, despite the fact that Simon had already failed once at answering that question. He muttered something else to himself under his breath that Simon didn’t quite catch, and then took to pacing back and forth in front of him.

“Grace Simon both elevated heartbeat. Bad, question?”

“I’m fine, Rock. Just worried.”

“I’ll…” Simon tried to speak, even as his voice sounded distant in his ears, “... I’ll be alright.”

He was grabbing his legs now, gripping the fabric of his pants in his fists as he tried to wrench himself back into the present. The hands were growing less aggressive, less visceral, but the prayers they’d been uttering still bounced around in his head like a damning symphony.

“Simon leaking. Heart fast fast fast. Not alright, statement.”

“Mmm,” He just hummed in agreement to Rocky, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to purge the sounds from his mind. Praying and crying, praying and screaming, praying praying praying and asking him to promise. Asking him to give himself up, give up his right to choose. It was good, it was necessary, and it was divine. His life belonged to the Tree, and it was selfish to think otherwise. And every time, he had agreed.

Every time.

Deep down, he knew that he hadn’t been given any other choice. But on the surface, all he could remember was how badly he had wanted to.

“Simon, you’re safe. I promise, you’re safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you,” Grace said, clearly putting effort into steadying his voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He mumbled, manually forcing air in and out of his lungs. He had no clue who he was apologizing to.

“You’re okay, Simon. You’re okay. It’s okay,” Grace continued, kneeling down to be on his level, softening his voice in a way that reminded him distinctly of his childhood teachers. “It’s going to be okay.”

The cacophony was slowly starting to clear itself from his mind, and he felt himself becoming more and more present. He reached up to touch his cheeks, mortification racing through him when his fingertips came away wet. His entire body was still shaking, and he shook his head at Grace’s statement.

“They… they were praying. There were hands all over me, and all I could feel was fear; fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —” He let his head fall back against the wall behind him, willing the tears back into his eyes.

“Hey. You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Simon exhaled a slight laugh. “You don’t have anything to apologize for either.”

“I mean, it was my fault, wasn’t it?” Grace asked, his voice remorseful. Simon hated that he had to nod.

“Not really though. Just the way you were standing reminded me… reminded me of someone else.” He didn’t really want to explain, not in detail. The longer he spent on the Hail Mary, the more he came to realize that the way that he was raised wasn’t as loving as he’d thought it was. 

Yes, he’d renounced the religion. He still agreed with that, as much as a large part of his brain loved to scream at him for it. But he was finding it much much harder to renounce the people.

“You said they were praying,” Grace said. “Praying for you?”

Simon winced. “Praying over me.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well they had to be touching me, for one.” As he said it, a hand crept up his shoulder again, and he rolled it to shake the feeling. “And it’s emotionally much more… intense. More ritualistic, I guess.”

“That’s…” Grace trailed off, exhaling deeply. “Wow. That’s… a lot. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“It’s fine. It was a good thing, you know?” Simon supplemented, trying to brush off the sympathy. It made his skin feel itchy, guilt poking at his sides. He wasn’t supposed to make it sound like Eden had been bad.

“Was and is are two different words,” Grace said, and Simon chuckled again.

“Yeah, I guess they are.”

The room lapsed into silence for a moment, before Grace finally broke it.

“Simon?” He started.

“Yeah?”

“What can I do to help right now?”

He didn’t want to ask for anything. He still hadn’t really shaken the idea that every action must be equally reciprocated. But Grace clearly wanted to help, and Simon did actually have an answer.

“... Can I have a blanket?” He asked, his voice quiet. If he had something over his shoulders, nobody could touch them.

Grace nodded immediately, moving quickly across the room to grab the brightly colored quilt from Earth off of his bed. He held it out, before asking, “Can I? Or would that make things worse right now?”

He was taken aback for a moment. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before; they were the only two people around for light years. They’d hugged. Sometimes on long nights in the lab Grace would fall asleep with his head on his shoulder and Simon would have to carry him back to his bed. But this was different.

Simon had never been comforted by someone outside of Eden before. And he sure as hell had never been comforted by someone about Eden before.

Plus, he did have to consider that it was Grace’s hands on him that had brought him here in the first place. But that feeling was very different from what was going on right now. It had been more controlled, more formal. This was… relaxed. Or as relaxed as it could be, in the wake of everything that had just happened.

Also, it was really fucking hard to do that kind of shit with only one hand.

After a moment’s deliberation, he nodded, scooting slightly away from the wall so that Grace could drape the blanket around his shoulders. 

Fuck, he was so careful. His touch didn’t linger, it wasn’t firm. Nobody had ever been so gentle with him before. Treating him like a person instead of a pawn to be played.

“Grace?” He asked after scooting back against the wall.

“Yeah?” Grace replied, still crouched in front of him on the floor.

“Will you sit with me?” His voice trembled a bit when he asked it, the anxiety of repercussions racing back through his veins. But Grace just smiled softly.

“Of course I will.”

As Grace joined him up against the wall, he heard the sound of xenonite on the floor and realized that Rocky hadn’t left the room. He’d been so quiet he hadn’t really thought he was still there.

“Rocky? Are you here?” Simon asked. Rocky rolled back into view, seeming more hesitant than Simon had ever seen him before.

“Simon okay now, question?” He asked, and Simon made something in between a smile and a grimace.

“‘Okay’ is a strong word. But I’m still here.”

“... Rocky Simon hug, question?”

Simon smiled for real this time, and nodded. “That would be really nice.”

Rocky joined the two of them up against the wall, and Simon let himself lean up against the xenonite ball as Rocky moved within it to be as close to him as possible. He was warm, and it helped to soothe the last of the residual shaking in Simon’s limbs. He could feel Grace moving to be closer to him as well, though he was still leaving a safe distance between them.

“Grace. You can join the hug too, I promise I won’t freak out again,” He joked. It was more so Grace didn’t feel like he was being left out, but Simon was surprised at how good it felt when he curled up against him. He wrapped one arm around his middle, resting his head on Simon’s right shoulder after a moment of hesitation.

Simon reached out to grab Grace’s left hand with his remaining right one, letting their fingers tangle together on instinct. He felt tears welling up in his eyes again, but it was for a different reason than before. He wasn’t feeling fear. He didn’t want to run. He felt… safe. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he felt truly safe.

“Thank you guys,” He said, his voice barely audible in the still air of the dormitory. Rocky hummed a response, and Grace squeezed his hand gently.

Nobody spoke for a long while after that, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t awkward. He was surrounded by people who cared about him. He wasn’t sure the last time he could say that, either.

“You should be getting ready,” Steve said accusatorily, arms crossed as he took in the sight of Bucky sitting on the couch.

“Relax, I was about to get up,” He defended, and after a look that made it very clear Steve didn’t believe that for a second, he left the room. Bucky rolled his eyes, though he did start to get up from the couch with a wince.

“Woah man, you alright? Get hit or something?” Clint Barton strolled into the room, taking note of the way his friend was moving like he’d recently been shot. Clint knew a thing or two about that feeling, people liked to shoot him with guns. And arrows sometimes, when he pissed Kate Bishop off (which was often).

“No, my shoulder just hurts. And my neck. And my knees, for some reason, which is stupid because —”

“Who’s your physical therapist?” Clint asked, crossing in front of him to plop down by where he just was on the couch. Bucky looked at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you not see a physical therapist? If you’re dealing with chronic pain, you probably should; I finally had to after the tenth or so time I got kicked out of a third story window. Or off a roof…”

“I’m not dealing with ‘chronic pain.’ My body just hurts all the time.”

“Chronically, one might say.”

“Alright, fuck you.”

“I’m just trying to help!” He defended with a laugh, as Bucky turned and started to leave the room. He called after him, “I’ll send Steve my guy’s number!”

Bucky turned around at that, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you send it to Steve?”

Clint looked at him like he was stupid. “We’ve known each other for a while now, Buck —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And I cannot think of one single time that you’ve done anything to help yourself of your own volition. Guaranteed Steve loves you enough that he’ll make you go, though.”

“I’m a grown adult. You can send it to me.”

Clint was silent for a minute before saying, “I’ll send it to both of you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to leave again. “And I say again: fuck you, Clint.”

“Always good talking to you, Bucky!”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” He called behind him, though he couldn’t hide the small amused smile on his face. Thankfully, his back was to Clint as he turned the corner and headed down the hall to get ready.

----------------

The date had been lovely. A beautiful dinner, a walk in the park, a perfect evening. 

And it would’ve stayed that way if Clint Barton hadn’t decided to continue sticking his nose in other people’s business.

“Why did Barton send me a link to a doctor’s office?” Steve asked, tossing his phone face up on the bed so Bucky could look at it before turning back to the closet to grab his pajamas. Bucky just groaned out loud at the question.

“Because he thinks he knows better than me.”

“About what?” Steve turned back to him, an unmistakable look of concern on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” He said, in the cadence of somebody who was very much not fine. Steve crossed his arms, and internally Bucky made a mental note to shoot Clint with a gun the next time he saw him.

“Wow, very convincing, good job Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky just rolled his eyes before moving to take his shirt off so he could put his pajamas on as well. Of course, the motion made the tendons connecting his neck and shoulder feel like pulled taffy, and he couldn’t hide his involuntary wince.

“Goddamnit,” He said, knowing there was no way he was getting out of this conversation now. “I used to be way better at not doing that.”

“Not doing what, taking your shirt off?” Steve asked, and Bucky stifled a laugh.

“You know what I meant, asshole.”

“I do,” He said, and his voice softened slightly as he crossed the room to be closer to Bucky. “Mo mhuirnín. How long has it been hurting you?”

Bucky sighed, resigning himself to the topic as he plopped down onto their bed. Steve sat down next to him immediately, a gentle hand on his right shoulder as he not-so-discreetly looked for signs of injury on the left.

And obviously there were signs of injury. Decades of scar tissue from being broken and rebuilt over and over and over again were going to leave a permanent mark. The skin around the socket where his metal arm attached to his body was warped, but it wasn’t the first time Steve had seen that. However, it was the first time that he’d seen Bucky in this much visible pain from it.

“It’s usually not that bad,” He said, as if he could read Steve’s thoughts. “Obviously it always hurts a little — my whole body always hurts a little — but it really hasn’t been super bad in a while. I think I might’ve strained something on our last mission.”

“Forgive me if I worry about how much pain you define as ‘a little,’” Steve said, turning his gaze back to Bucky’s face as he shook his head.

“I’m fine, Stevie. Seriously.” He turned to meet his eyes, and hoped to god that he’d drop the issue. “Clint’s just making assumptions.”

But of course, this was Steve Rogers. The man had never dropped an issue in his life. “If you’re in pain, even only a little bit of pain, all the time, I feel like that warrants concern.”

Bucky tried very hard not to let himself get frustrated. He always got frustrated in situations like this, where he felt like people weren’t listening to him. Where he felt like they were trying to decide things for him. And when he got frustrated, his communication skills went out the window.

“I said I’m fine. If I was concerned, I would’ve said something.” His tone was sharper than he wanted it to be, but he wasn’t yelling. He hated yelling at Steve.

It’d taken a long time post-Hydra for them to get to this point. For him to be able to understand that people cared for him in a way that was soft, that kindness wasn’t a threat. And unfortunately, he was still working on the idea that vulnerability wasn’t weakness.

If he admitted he was in pain, that he needed help, he was opening himself up to exploitation. Somebody could use that against him, to hurt him, and it was a doctor and he hated doctors and they were going to hurt him again and he wasn’t sure if he could handle —

“Buck? You there?” The sound of Steve’s voice and the feeling of him grabbing his hands jerked him back into reality, and he was surprised to find that he felt completely off-balance.

“Yeah.” His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he was trying desperately to sort through everything that was running through his mind.

“You were doing the staring thing again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Were you having a flashback?” Steve asked, starting to move his hands away in case physical contact was the trigger. But Bucky just tightened his grip on them, keeping him near.

“No. Just… thinking.”

“Want to catch me up?” His tone was attempting to be lighthearted, but Bucky could tell that his slight concern was moving into something closer to genuine worry.

So much for having a relaxing evening.

“I don’t like when you guys try to go behind my back and convince me to do things,” He started. That was the easiest bar to cross. “I know it’s just because you care, but it makes me feel unsafe. I want to trust you and I need to know that I can.”

“Buck, I’m sorry. I never meant to —”

“I know, I know you didn’t. I just wanted to put that out there.”

Steve nodded, clearly letting him continue talking before he said his piece, which Bucky greatly appreciated. If he was going to have to actually sit down and talk about what he was feeling, he had to do it all at once. Ripping the bandage off. Otherwise he’d just flounder and talk himself in circles and say a lot without actually saying anything at all just to see if he could trick his brain into thinking he did, and that wasn’t productive for anybody.

“I don’t like doctors. Which sounds stupid and childish, I know, but I feel like you can understand why I wouldn’t be the biggest fan of the idea of going to another office where people are going to be poking and prodding at me.”

He paused for long enough that Steve knew he was fine with him speaking. “Do you know what a physical therapist actually is?”

“... No.”

“It’s not really a doctor in the way that you’re thinking ‘doctor.’ I mean, I haven’t ever had to see one —”

“Stop bragging.”

“But they’re a lot more laid back. Mostly just walking you through exercises, assessing more internal damages to your muscles and stuff that you can’t actually see. There’s not going to be any needles or weird machines or anything.”

The combination of those two things together sent Bucky back for a second, and he took a beat to stare at the wall over Steve’s shoulder before actually focusing back on him. If Steve noticed, he didn’t say anything, which was good because if he brought it up every single time Bucky zoned out like that then they’d never quit talking about it. It happened at least once a day, anymore. Something would trigger a memory and he’d have to let it wash over him for a second before he could manage to make himself move on. 

Just one of the many wonderful repercussions of healing.

“I don’t like doctors, and I don’t like people knowing that I have a physical weakness.”

“Respectfully: you’re missing an arm, Bucky.”

“And my current one, despite the fact that I hate that it exists, is way stronger than the previous. So: not a weakness.”

“I know that it’s not a weakness. But it’s also not a crime to admit that it’s hurting you, and that maybe it’s gotten to a point beyond your control. You’re a human being, you’re allowed to admit when you’re in pain.”

Immediately, the programming he spent all his waking moments fighting against roared back up for a second to remind him that “the asset does not —”

He cut off the end of his sentence, catching the words as they left his lips and honestly very annoyed that his brain worked without his permission. Steve’s expression changed immediately, and it made Bucky’s heart wrench. He hated the look on his face when he accidentally did that.

It had happened so much in the beginning. Referring to himself in the first person was a habit that he had to build from the ground up. The asset was a machine, a weapon, and was to be referred to as such. And then time went on, and he healed more, and he understood that he was a human person with thoughts and feelings and the freedom to make his own decisions. It was slow-going, but referring to himself as himself, as Bucky, got easier and easier.

But that didn’t mean it was easy. That didn’t mean the programming just went away.

And part of him was so frustrated because in his mind, it had been so long since he’d been there. Three years was nothing compared to the seven decades he’d spent in captivity, but they’d felt like an eternity as he tried to wade through everything that had happened to him. Surely he should be rid of all of this by now, surely he should be fixed. Right?

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, letting his gaze go to the edge of the bed where he had been worrying the corner of one of their blankets beneath his fingertips.

“Do you want to finish the sentence?” Steve asked, his voice so gentle. So much gentler than Bucky thought he deserved. So much gentler than Bucky ever thought he would get. “Would it help to get it out, I mean?”

Bucky considered it. And his mouth worked before his brain did.

“The asset does not feel pain,” He practically spat, the words emotionless and trained from decades and decades of repetition. Steve just nodded.

“Okay.” Steve took in a deep breath, and Bucky remained motionless staring at the blanket until he felt Steve put a hand on his thigh. Another deep breath, and this time he copied. He knew what to do with that. “Do you want to dispute that, or do you want me to?” 

Bucky knew that he could. This was something they’d developed early on, a recommendation from some therapist or another, he could never remember. He’d seen so many at this point. At first it was just him and Steve, but at this point it had been picked up by most of the team. Whoever was around when he did it would ask, and either he would remind himself that he was human or they would.

It took him a long time to be able to do it. His mind would scream at him whenever he would, and it was so loud. So loud. It was still loud, but he’d gotten better at quieting it recently, at reminding himself that he could be more than the soldier he was designed to be. For some reason, tonight was different though. Maybe it was the vulnerability making his skin crawl, or the prospect of having to admit to himself and everyone else that he needed help. But tonight, he just needed to hear somebody else say it.

“Can you?” He asked, and even the act of making a request gave him some mental pushback.

God, their evening really had devolved.

“Of course, Buck. You’re a human being; you’re not an asset, you’re not a weapon. You’re allowed to acknowledge and admit that you are experiencing pain, and that doesn’t mean that you’re weak or you’re failing.”

Steve’s hand was still gently resting on his thigh, and Bucky let the words hit his ears and tried so hard to believe them. To remind himself that he was free, and he didn’t have to go back. He could feel a headache brewing behind his eyes, and he was once again overwhelmed with frustration that he couldn’t just live like a normal person. He couldn’t just have a relaxing evening with his boyfriend where they have one cursory conversation about something a friend brought up and then move on. Every conversation leads to a breakdown, every thought leads to further unraveling, every single moment spent in his own brain leads him closer and closer to complete mental collapse. 

Everywhere he looked there was a reminder. He could never forget about it. He couldn’t just make a coffee or cut his hair or watch a TV show; he didn’t have permission. He’d never been allowed to do those things without permission before.

He didn’t even respond to what Steve had said. He just let himself fall into him, feeling so much of everything that he couldn’t even figure out how to express it. It had been a second since it had been this bad. He hadn’t referred to himself in the third person in months.

Steve rubbed his back gently, letting Bucky bury his head in his chest. After a few long moments, Bucky spoke again.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that, Buck. And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

Bucky shook his head reflexively. He was breaking so many rules right now, Steve had no fucking idea. But he wasn’t apologizing to himself for breaking them, he was apologizing to Steve for making it his problem. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“Like what?” Steve asked, clearly trying to coax more out of him. And Bucky didn’t like that; he’d picked it up from their therapist.

“Can’t handle anything. Feels like everything is a fight anymore. In… my head.” The word “my” came out with resistance, and his brain was yelling at him that this was too much information. Nobody else needed this. Shut it down, put it away, it’s unhelpful and irrelevant and he was not performing the way that he was supposed to.

“Do I have to be the one to remind you that you are trying to unpack seventy years of brainwashing? You are fighting. It’s going to be a fight, because you’re fighting against the shit that they told you was true about yourself. But hey, look at me for a second, muirnín.” Bucky didn’t move from his arms, but he did tilt his head to look up at Steve. “None of what they said was true is. You are a human being. You are a good and kind person and they had no right to try and take that away from you. You’re so so strong, but right now I want you to know that you don’t have to be.”

It was the final statement that really broke him, that let the hurt radiate through his body in a way that his mind rarely allowed. He was still too emotionally overwhelmed to cry, but he felt himself shake slightly in Steve’s arms as the words overcame him.

He was good and he was kind and he was strong.

And he needed help.

“I’ll go. To the doctor that Clint suggested.”

He felt Steve pause for a second before he nodded. “I’d almost forgotten that that was what we were talking about, to be honest,” he said, his voice cautiously lighthearted. Bucky couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh, but he did feel an amused smile grace his lips for a second before Steve spoke again. “But I think that’s a good idea. I think it’ll help a lot, in the long run. And if you hate it you can always just leave. Nobody is keeping you anywhere you don’t want to be.”

“I can just leave,” He repeated, mostly as a reminder to himself. The concept was still so foreign to most of his brain.

“Anytime you want,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded against him. Everything in his mind was still so loud, it still hurt so much. But at least he knew that he wasn’t going at it alone.

“Do you want to get changed and we can lay down? We can talk about it more or just relax, it’s up to you,” Steve offered, and Bucky nodded again. They disentangled from each other so that they could put on their pajamas — a task that they’d both been in the middle of before his swiss-cheese ass brain had decided to ruin everything — and get ready for bed before returning to each other’s arms.

Steve moved to play with Bucky’s hair, his arms wrapped tightly around him as though he could make it go away with just an embrace. He was trying to protect him, always trying to protect him, and it made Bucky’s heart ache. He felt like he’d never truly feel like he was worth all of it. All of the emotional devastation he wrought, the destruction that seemed to follow him like a shadow. Not always visible, but always with him. Omnipresent.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled again, the third time he’d apologized that night. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to keep doing it.

Nobody understood, that was the problem. They could learn, and they could listen, but they would never truly understand. There was no way to convey it with words, no explanation that would suffice to describe the experience of feeling like your brain was full of landmines. Like you were possessed but by yourself, like you didn’t feel in control of your own thoughts ninety-nine percent of the time. In his darkest nights he wished to go back, if only because there he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel the repercussions of everything that they did to him, he just had to feel pain and then blankness and then cold. Orders and pain and blankness and cold. Over and over. It was horrible, it was disgusting, it went against everything that Bucky Barnes as a person stood for.

But it was simple.

Nobody could understand brainwashing if they hadn’t been brainwashed. There was no way around it.

Still, Steve Rogers was going to try. To the end of the line, he was going to try.

“Buck. Please stop apologizing, love. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky wished that was true. But he didn’t say as much. He didn’t even really think that he wanted to talk about it anymore, but words kept leaving his mouth because he felt he owed his boyfriend some sort of explanation. It’s just that there wasn’t one, and there never would be.

The pounding in his head compelled him to shut his eyes, and the spike of anxiety that came with the prospect of nighttime overcame him for a moment. Because night meant sleep, and sleep meant nightmares. Sleep meant nightmares or laying awake with his own thoughts for hours trying to stop his own racing mind. Either way, it was a bad time of day for him.

But Steve was here. He was warm and he was in Steve’s arms.

It wasn’t always enough. But blissfully, that night, it was.

As per usual, he was ambushed the second that he pulled his car up to the docks.

Sam’s nephews sprinted across the deck to him, and he groaned lightheartedly as they immediately latched themselves to his arm.

“So, when does the whole ‘metal arm’ thing stop being interesting to you two?” He quipped, and both boys laughed.

“As soon as it stops looking cool,” AJ remarked, trailing Bucky as he made his way over to where the Wilsons and some of their neighbors had already started to gather. He smelled something incredible cooking, and he looked around for Sarah before he heard her call out to him.

“Bucky! You drinking?” He turned left to see her holding out a bottle of beer from the cooler in offering. He just laughed.

“Unfortunately, still doesn’t really do anything to me.” As the words left his mouth, Cass ran up and tackled him from behind, and he stumbled forward a bit with a grin. “If these two don’t let up though, I might need to!”

“Come on, guys. You’re never this happy to see me!” Sam emerged from the house holding a tray of something, dodging people as he set it down on a nearby table.

“We see you all the time, Uncle Sam,” Cass argued.

“Plus, Uncle Bucky’s got a metal arm,” AJ said, hands on his hips as if that was a completely airtight argument. Sam just raised his eyebrows.

“Technically, it’s vibranium,” He countered. AJ shrugged.

“That’s even cooler. And still a metal. We’re literally learning the elements right now.”

“Alright, I get it,” Sam said, his tone lighthearted as he crossed the deck to grab AJ and lift him into the air. “Somebody thinks he’s smarter than me!”

“It’s not his fault if he’s right, Sam!” Bucky teased from the side before turning back to Sarah. “You know, I think I might actually take you up on that beer.”

“And I absolutely wouldn’t blame you for that,” She laughed, passing him one as they both watched Sam attempt to fight his nephews.

-------------------------

It didn’t take long for the party to get into full swing. Sarah Wilson’s cookouts had become somewhat notorious in the neighborhood, and Bucky was grateful to have been invited to every single one. While he hadn’t been able to come every time just because of how far away he lived, he was there often enough that people knew him — besides the fact that technically, everybody knew of him — and he was happy to say that he was at least amicable acquaintances with most of them. He never claimed to be the best at socializing in the modern day, but he was clearly doing something right if all of these people continued to want him around.

The sunset over the water was always a sight to behold, no matter how many times he’d seen it. The first cookout after they’d fixed the boat, he remembered finding Sam staring out at the endless sea, and he found himself doing the same as he wandered in the direction of the ocean.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy talking to everybody. Sometimes he just needed a minute alone, to realign. He sipped what he was pretty sure was his third beer and steadied himself for a moment with the sound of the gentle waves, the chatter of everybody behind him fading to the most pleasant background noise. But when he turned around to go back to the group, something felt different.

Maybe it was the way that the fading sunlight lit everything up, or the purity of the love found here, or the fact that this was the closest thing to family he had felt in years. Hell, maybe it was the alcohol finally managing to make a dent against his superhuman metabolism. Either way, as he watched the group from afar, the moment felt heavier. He was overcome with a flood of emotion, and he was shocked to find his eyes watering.

It was all so beautiful.

And it was his.

Wasn’t it?

Peace was hard to find for somebody with his background. Very rarely did he find himself looking around at the life he had built and believing that it belonged to him. Something like this… it felt too good to be true. Like an illusion, a fading dream conjured up by his brain in an attempt to maintain some sort of sanity. Everything good that he’d ever had had been ripped away from him in time.

So why would this be any different?

He looked away from the crowd and back out towards the water, blinking away a wave of tears that seemed to come out of nowhere. The omnipresent anxiety living in his bones flared for just a second to whisper that they could find him. That this was temporary, that he could always be forced to go back. It was inevitable, it was what he was designed for, it was who he was meant to be. He’d had his reprieve. It was time to go back in.

But they couldn’t make him anymore. They couldn’t make him anymore. He’d lived for so long without the will to choose his actions that sometimes he forgot he had it now. Even if somehow Hydra survived and came back for him, they wouldn’t get past the skills that they gave him. If they were going to drag him back, he wouldn’t be going without a fight.

Nobody could make him do anything that he didn’t want to do, anymore.

He had to keep reminding himself of that. Free will was still a foreign concept to a large part of his brain.

He allowed the sounds of the party and the waves to overwhelm him for a moment, blotting out all other thoughts in his mind. And for some reason, the simple beauty in that sent another wave of tears through his system, one that he quickly wiped with the back of his hand before looking back in the direction of the group.

This was his life.

This was the life that he had built for himself. Where he felt happy and supported and loved by the people he chose to surround himself with.

It was the life that he’d built, and he got to keep it. Nobody was coming to take it away. Not again. Not this time.

A contended smile settled onto his face, and he was shaken somewhat out of his reverie by the sight of Sam striding over to him.

“Trying to avoid my family, are we?” He teased, and Bucky just laughed.

“Never. Just got a bit overwhelmed for a second.”

“You alright?” He asked, and Bucky was surprised to find that the idea of talking about what he was feeling didn’t make him want to jump headfirst into the ocean. He looked over at Sam and nodded.

“Yeah. This… it’s just all so beautiful. I have a hard time believing it’s real, to be honest.”

“Buck…” Sam looked at him for a long moment before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You deserve to be happy. You do know that, right?”

Bucky stared at the ground for a lot longer than he planned to, at that comment. Because there was still that nagging little part of him, the part that hadn’t truly processed that he had been brainwashed, the part that was dead set on making him hate himself forever, that still didn’t really think he did. After everything he’d done, after all of the pain that he’d caused, how could there exist a world where he’d get to experience a sunset?

“I’m working on it. Knowing that, I mean,” Was the answer that he settled on. Because he was. He was taking steps to let himself experience joy and warmth.

Even small things had started to become acts of defiance. Every time he put on a comfortable sweatshirt, every time he allowed himself to just sit and watch a stupid movie, every time he leaned down to pet his cat, he was working on letting himself be happy. Reminding himself that the world was something that he could still enjoy. Obviously there was still so, so much pain, and it could be easy to let that be the only thing that he focused on. But there was also beauty worth finding, even if sometimes it came with anxiety.

“It just feels like somebody is going to take it from me,” He spit out before he could stop himself. “Having good things in my life feels like a threat.”

He said it with a weak laugh, attempting to be lighthearted, but Sam just nodded with a deep-rooted understanding in his eyes.

“It’s hard to let yourself experience comfort when you’ve been in survival mode for so long. Also: you’ve got PTSD, man. None of this is surprising.”

“Yeah well, my therapist sucks, so it’s not like she was going to sit down and explain to me the symptoms.”

“Google is free.”

“And? I’m from the 40s.”

“And you’ve been in the 2000s for long enough. Figure it out, old man.”

Bucky laughed for real this time. “Damn, low blow. Here I was thinking that we were bonding.”

“If we’re just now bonding, then what the fuck was all that time we spent fixing my family’s boat?”

“I don’t know, labor exploitation? Having a guy around who can grab things without getting burned had to have been super helpful.”

Sam threw his arms up in mock frustration, though he was having a very hard time hiding his amusement. “Dude, the one time that we needed that skill, you literally forgot about the metal arm and used a wrench anyway.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky joked, because he didn’t really have anything to say in rebuttal. It wasn’t his fault that he was right-handed.

They fell into an amicable silence after that, both of them turning to look out at the nearly-set sun over the water. After a while, Sam spoke again.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it? I feel like I’ll never get tired of this view.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.”

“The sunset, or free will?” Sam asked, and Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from his mouth. He glanced over at Sam and saw that he was smiling a bit to himself, and it almost felt like a milestone, the fact that other people could joke about it with him. It got exhausting sometimes, being all brooding and mysterious.

“Both, asshole,” He replied, and Sam laughed outright at that. After another beat of silence, he put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’ll get there, Buck. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

He faltered, unsure how to respond to that before just turning and wrapping Sam in a hug. “Thank you.”

Sam returned the hug, and for a second Bucky was overwhelmed by how grateful he was for the people in his life.

His life.

His.

Nobody else’s.

“Anytime, man. Seriously,” Sam said as they broke apart, and Bucky nodded. They glanced back out towards the water, before looking towards the party.

“Alright. I think I’ve been antisocial long enough,” Bucky said. “Your nephews’ friends don’t believe that I can lift all five of them with just the one arm.”

“Jesus, can they cool it with the obsession with your arm?” Sam shook his head as they started back across the dock.

“Just admit it: you’re jealous that they think I’m cooler than you.”

Sam looked at him, appalled. “Excuse you, I can literally fly. Also, I’m Captain America! That’s cool as hell!”

“Keep telling yourself that, man.”

The amicable chatter of the party enveloped them again as they returned to the group, and Bucky mostly fell back into a rhythm. The sun didn’t take long to set after his and Sam’s conversation, but it was summertime in Louisiana. The air would stay warm.

“And how does that make you feel? When you picture yourself in that situation?”

It was a trick question. It was a stupid fucking question. Because obviously the answer was “bad,” but there was so much more to it than that.

Bad, but he doesn’t deserve to be allowed to feel that way.

Bad, but it wasn’t really, was it?

Bad, but at this point he really just needs to get over it and move on.

Bad, but if he admits that then they’ll punish him.

He doesn’t say any of this. He settles on, “I mean, bad. Obviously.”

“Very descriptive of you. Could you give me a little bit more to work with?” She said, looking at him like she could read the internal storm going on in his mind. She couldn’t, he knew she couldn’t. Nobody knew what to do with him, nobody knew how to help; there weren’t a lot of doctors who were trained in undoing the lasting side effects of brainwashing. But he didn’t know how to fix himself, so here he was.

Plus he didn’t want to get arrested. So there was that too.

“I mean, I recognize it as a bad thing that happened, it’s a bad memory. The things that the Winter Soldier — that I — did, were really bad.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about the things that you did. I want to talk about the things that were done to you.”

He did not want to talk about that.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about that.”

“Well, tough shit Bucky, you’re here for an hour.”

“Have I told you yet that you’re a terrible therapist?”

“Many times. Anyway, let’s get a bit more specific: how does it feel to picture yourself in the chair? The one that Hydra used to wipe your memories?”

He found it funny that she felt the need to clarify. As if there would be any other chair in his life that would be significant enough that he’d need to talk about it in therapy.

Oh god no, not an armchair! His greatest fear! He was basically cowering in the corner. He would be —

“Bucky? Are you listening to me?” She asked again, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes. I’m thinking.”

“Hopefully all of that thinking is being used to find me an honest answer and not another way to very conspicuously dodge my questions. You’re not going to work towards any lasting healing by lying to me and avoiding ever thinking about it.”

“It’s really optimistic that you think that I never think about it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I think about it all the time. Every day. Even when I’m actively trying not to, it still sits in the back of my mind, there’s literally no way to avoid it.”

“Which I think is completely understandable, given the scale of what they did to you.”

“And what I did.”

“Sure, yes, what you did. But you need to remember that you didn’t have a choice. It’s less something that you did and more something that you were forced to do.”

“Just because I was brainwashed doesn’t mean that I didn’t do it. Just because I wasn’t in control of myself doesn’t mean that it wasn’t my hands that killed all of those people.”

Fuck, this was making him emotional now. He hated when these appointments made him emotional. He never knew what to do with that; he wasn’t great at having emotions, as a rule. Outside of Wakanda, of course. Something about Wakanda just made everything feel safer. He had half a mind to move there permanently, if he didn’t have other shit he needed to resolve in the rest of the world.

“Can you at least let yourself acknowledge that it wasn’t your fault? That you didn’t have a choice?”

“That feels unfair. That feels like I’m letting myself off too easy.”

“Is there a threshold of suffering you need to reach to feel like you’re worthy of grace, Bucky?”

It honestly would’ve been less of a shock if she’d just punched him in the face.

“Is there a threshold of suffering you need to reach to feel like you’re worthy of grace?”

The question bounced around in his mind, and he wanted to scream that yes, obviously yes there was. The threshold was the amount of suffering that he had inflicted, the threshold was the amount of suffering that he had been expected to endure.

Of course, that was never going to be reached. The bar was always being raised. He would complete a mission successfully, he’d be a perfect soldier, and he would be rewarded with more pain. More missions and more pain. There was never going to be a time when he had suffered enough, because they had made it so he could never view himself as anything more than the pawn they made him into. A puppet with nobody pulling the strings.

“I… I mean…” He started to answer, but he was floundering. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say in response to a question like that. “Obviously I inflicted a lot of suffering, so I feel like —”

“No. I’m sorry to cut you off, but I can’t sit here and allow you to continue with this rhetoric. I need you to acknowledge that you didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Obviously I didn’t have a choice. I know that.”

“But do you? Have you really metabolized the emotional implications of that?”

“Don’t condescend to me, obviously I know that I didn’t have a choice. I understand the emotional implications, I’ve been living with them since I escaped Hydra.”

“I know that you understand them. But understanding something and actually letting yourself feel the weight of it are two completely different things.” She leaned a bit farther forward, and he felt like she was about to say something that he was not going to want to hear. “They took the choice from you, Bucky.”

He was right. He did not want to hear that.

He was shocked to feel tears stinging his nose, and it took his brain a second to catch up to his nervous system well enough to process why he was on the verge of crying. Because if they took the choice from him…

“I should’ve had a choice.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even fully process them, and his therapist sat back in her chair again in approval. But he barely even noticed. Suddenly, the only thing he could picture was his body on the operating table.

“I should’ve had a choice.”

He all but whispered it to himself the second time, and he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Obviously he understood that the things that he’d done had been against his will. And he knew that what had happened to him was bad, objectively. But he’d never really considered before the angle that he should have been given an alternative at all. They took that from him, the ability to decide if he wanted to. Instead, he was just expected to follow orders and be okay with it. Even if those orders meant the end of his own life.

“What do you feel, when you picture yourself in that chair, Bucky?” She asked again, voice softer this time. He just shook his head.

“I don’t think…” He trailed off before looking back up at her, eyes glassy. “I need a minute to process, please.”

“That’s fine. Do you want me to step out for a second?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I just…” God, he really had never been good at having emotions. Especially after seventy years of not being allowed to. He looked at the ground again, taking a few steadying breaths before looking back to her. “I should’ve had a choice, right?”

“Of course you should’ve had a choice. You are a human being, you deserve to have the freedom to make your own decisions, and it’s awful that they took that from you.”

“I… for some reason, I never thought about the fact that they did. I conceptually understood that what I did was against my will, but I never… there was never any other option. I always just agonized over the things I should’ve done differently while I was in there, not…”

“The fact that you never should’ve been put in that situation in the first place?”

“Yeah. That.”

“... Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling right now? Can you put a name to it?”

He hated when she phrased things like that. It made him feel like he was a child. Still, he replied, “I feel like I should be more angry. But… I really just feel sad. I feel really sad for him.”

“For who?”

“For younger me. The version of me that they found out in the snow and chopped up. I just wish —”

“Hold on, pause. You do understand that that was you, right?”

“Obviously. I just… I feel like I have a hard time acknowledging that, you know? Bridging the gap between me during and me now. I can feel unabashedly bad for me when I was young, because I hadn’t actually caused anybody any harm yet, but whenever I think about the things that happened to me, I have a hard time being able to emotionally acknowledge that they happened to me. They make me sad, obviously, but it’s sad in an abstract way.”

“Which is absolutely a coping mechanism; our brains do that when we’re dealing with traumatic events. Distancing yourself from the emotional weight of the experience can be a helpful way to survive something, at the time. But at some point, you have to bring it all back together.”

“And I can’t really figure out how to do that last part.”

“It seemed like you were sufficiently emotional a couple of minutes ago.”

“Yeah, that… that’s the first time that’s happened to me. In a while.”

“Can I just say something honest real quick?”

“As if you ever do anything else.”

“The things that were done to you were bad. I know that in all of the conversations surrounding your time as the Winter Soldier, everybody just wants to talk about the things that you did — and that everybody includes yourself, by the way — but I feel like you need to allow yourself to feel the weight of the fact that the things that happened to you were objectively horrible. And it’s okay to be upset about that. It doesn’t invalidate anybody else’s experiences or emotions for you to allow yourself to be upset about what was done to you.”

He had honestly no idea what to say to that. There were really only a handful of people in his life that made him feel like the things that he’d gone through were actually things that he’d gone through, and over half of them were dead now. So to have somebody say it so plainly…

He really didn’t expect it, this time. He thought he had things under control. He was a man, he was a soldier, he was —

He was sobbing on the couch.

The tears hit him completely out of nowhere, to the point where even his therapist looked a bit taken aback. It was the first time he’d cried in front of her ever. Honestly, probably the first time he’d shown genuine emotion in front of her ever. And it made him feel awful, it made him feel horribly exposed and cold and —

“What are you feeling right now, Bucky?” She asked, and for possibly the first time, he actually knew the answer.

“Vulnerable.”

Every part of him was raw nerve, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath something and hide. To not have to face this in the cold light of day, under the cruel glare of grey and fluorescent lights. To not have to face the fact that he was broken, that maybe it really was that bad and this wasn’t just going to go away if he ignored it for long enough. It was a serious issue that he had no clue how to fix, how to help himself recover from, how to move on without damaging himself even further. This was never supposed to have gotten this complicated, he was never supposed to have made it this far away. They would’ve wiped him by this point, he would never have been able to dwell on feelings like this before. Hell, he would’ve never even been able to have feelings like this before.

“You asked what I feel when I picture myself in their chair?” He asked, shocked that he was even able to talk through his tears.

“Yes, I did.”

“Grief. That’s what I fucking feel. It’s grief,” He spit the words out before he could convince himself to take them back, to remind himself that he had no right to feel like that when he’d caused hundreds of people infinitely worse of the same emotion. For the first time in his life, he felt completely unmoored from the present, but not in a way that dragged him back down into guilt. The scenes playing in his mind weren’t scenes of his victims. They were scenes of himself.

The operating table, the experiments, the cryochamber, the chair. Fear and electricity and pain and cold and pain, over and over and over until he was needed again.

“But I knew him.”

It was the first time in decades that he’d tried to talk back again. That he’d tried to make sense of the fact that he was still a person, still somebody who had feelings and memories and thoughts and dreams and fears. And they’d hurt him for it.

They had always hurt him for it.

“And what are you grieving, when you picture what happened to you?”

“I… there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can do to go back and stop them. There’s nothing I can do to stop this from having happened. There’s nothing…”

This was who he was now. Yes, he could heal, and the emotional impacts could be lessened, but he could never rewrite history. He could never truly erase the past. The Winter Soldier would live in his bones forever, even if it wasn’t actually in his head anymore.

There was nothing that he could do to save himself.

“I wish…”

What did he wish? That none of it had ever happened? Obviously, he’d been wishing that for years. What was different about today?

“There’s a version of myself that was better. There’s a version of myself that none of this ever happened to. I wish I could see what his life is like.”

“That is not uncommon, amongst people who have experienced life-altering traumas like this. But fixating on who you could’ve been if it hadn’t happened isn’t a productive avenue of healing. Like you said, you can’t change the past.”

There was something else nagging at him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A weird anxiety coursed through his body the longer that he talked about it, an anxiety different from the kind that typically came with any of his previous attempts to be emotionally vulnerable. An anxiety that only cropped up when he tried to touch on details, when he tried to actually paint a picture of the things that they had done to him.

The anxiety that came with being punished.

There was nobody left to punish him, though, he had to remind himself. He was not there anymore, he did not have to spend every waking day waiting for the other shoe to drop. For either the world to end or his life to end, whichever happened first. He told himself this over and over, and still he couldn’t really make himself believe it. Believe that he wasn’t going to be dragged back to that chair tomorrow, that this temporary reprieve wasn’t all some beautiful and horribly strange dream. Because they would find him eventually. His work was never done, they would find him again and he would have to go right back to the way things were before. In twenty years this would all seem like something he imagined in a fit of desperation, just like that night in Austria when Steve rescued him. He was only allowed happiness for so long.

“Is it over?” He asked her, not recognizing his voice when it left his mouth. His tone was desperate in a way he’d never heard it before. “It’s over, isn’t it? It’s really over? I’m actually free?”

Her expression softened, and she nodded. “Yes. It’s over. You’re free.”

“I don’t have to go back. Right? They can’t make me, not again. I don’t have to go back.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, anymore.”

The words hit his ears, but he found himself unable to believe them. Memories of the first time he was promised freedom raced through his mind, and he longed for the certainty in Okoye’s voice. But he knew that no matter how many times somebody told him, this was something he was going to have to internalize for himself. He wasn't sure if he'd ever truly be able to believe that the life he'd built for himself was something he was allowed to have.

It was really over.

He was free.