He Watched Her As She Studied Him, Expression Unreadable, Eyes Sharp But Not Unkind. Bucky Couldn't Be

HEADCANON : dissociation & derealisation .

Bucky experiences dissociation, derealization, and hallucinations as lingering effects of his trauma, brainwashing, and fractured identity. Strangely, these moments don’t happen in high-stress or violent situations. When he’s fighting, running, or reacting on instinct, everything is sharp, real, and immediate. It’s only when things are quiet—when he’s sitting alone in an apartment, walking through a peaceful street, or drinking coffee in a café—that the world starts to blur. The stillness unsettles him more than chaos ever did. Without the constant need to survive, his mind has space to unravel, and that’s when reality begins to slip.

In crowds, the world warps and shifts. City streets become too bright, too sharp, and suddenly, he’s back in a cold bunker. If someone grabs his arm unexpectedly, for a split second, he’s strapped into the chair again, metal fingers twitching as his body braces for pain. Sometimes, his body reacts before his mind catches up.

Bucky can sometimes experience visual, auditory, and even olfactory hallucinations, each tied to echoes of his past. He sees fragments of people he once knew, glimpses of Hydra operatives, or flickers of moments long gone. Sometimes, a scent or a sound pulls him back—a whiff of gun oil, the barking of an order, or the distant hum of machinery.

Similarly, there are times when the world around him feels unreal, as if he’s moving through a dream. His hands—flesh and metal—don’t always feel like they belong to him. His reflection in a window might move out of sync, or worse, he sees his younger self staring back, before everything went wrong.

The derealisation can sometimes lead to Bucky losing time. He can zone out entirely—losing minutes, hours, sometimes even days—staring at a wall, or going about a day-to-day routine while operating on autopilot, caught somewhere between the past and present.

Extreme pain can also trigger Bucky's dissociative episodes, however, this hasn't happened since his arm was blown off as he hasn't allowed anyone to hurt him that badly since. Bucky has trained himself to recognise the signs of a dissociative episode and is capable of pulling himself out of it using coping strategies and techniques, but it can sometimes take time to do so.

the body slumped against the wall, a smear of red streaking down cracked concrete while the sound of the gunshot rang in his ears. he watched her, silent, the dim light catching the steel of his arm as he stepped forward. her grip on the gun was tight—too tight. knuckles white, hands shaking, but not from fear. from something colder. something deeper.

❝ i thought it would give me a moment of peace. ❞

bucky clenched his jaw together tightly and reached out, slow, deliberate. his fingers brushed the side of the weapon, testing for resistance, and then he pried the gun from her hands. ❝ it's done. ❞ he said, because what else was there? he'd been where she was, he'd done what she'd done ten times over and even now, knowing what he knew, he'd do it again. // @staticveil , altered carbon prompts .

listened to boots on repeat for too long and now my brain is

HEADCANON :  war letters .

Prior to his deployment to the Italian Front and subsequent capture by the Wehrmacht troops at Azzano, Bucky wrote letters to his younger sister Rebecca religiously. At the time, she was only sixteen and had been living in a state orphanage in Park Slope, Brooklyn since their fathers death at Camp Lehigh. He also sent letters to Steve while he was training at Camp Lehigh for Project Rebirth, however, Steve wasn’t able to tell him that he had been selected by the USSR or that he had been accepted into the Army due to the secrecy of the project and Bucky was also not able to divulge much information about his duties.

He traded some letters with Connie as well, the pair of them often discussing the state of the war as she was a registered nurse, their letters would switch between casual banter and deep and vulnerable confessions of their struggles and challenges as either nurse or soldier, often attempting to uplift each other’s spirits through written word. One of Bucky’s letters included a pressed puglia that stained the letter purple.

After he and the other United Allies were rescued from the Hydra Prisoner Base, Bucky was reunited with Connie for a short time before he was deployed alongside Steve and the other Howling Commandos and Bucky returned to writing letters to Rebecca whenever he had the chance to sit down.

As before, he wasn’t able to divulge much information about their activities back to Rebecca so most of his letters discussed members non-classified information, usually details about the other Howling Commandos (such as Gabe Jones proficiency at the trumpet and Dugan’s terrible singing), in passing he would mention cities that he had passed through but was no longer residing, and other minor details about the people that he met from the various resistance groups that they worked beside against both Hydra, and Nazi Germany.

He continued to write to Connie as well, though the letters between them were few and far between due to their work.

Following the end of W.WII when the Smithsonian began developing the Captain America exhibit, members of the museum reached out to Rebecca as Bucky’s only living relative. She donated some of Bucky’s war letters to the museum where they picked and chose from those available to them to display for Bucky’s memorial. When Bucky began piecing together his history in 2014, he stole the letters that were on display to help trigger more of his suppressed memories.

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

he took in the sight of her, all sharp lines and lethal elegance, a predator carved from shadow and scarlet. the gleam of her sai caught in moonlight and neon, but she wasn't aiming to kill. not yet. he let the distance between them close, let her blade kiss his throat—just enough to break skin.

she's good, but he's been in the game too long to be caught unprepared. his own knife presses against her stomach, sharpened point cutting through fabric just enough to touch skin. ❝ don't start something you can't finish. ❞ he said, voice like gravel, words edged with something sharp and unrelenting.

he tipped his chin back, daring the scarlet assassin to make a move. to step in or out, to attack or defend, it mattered little to him. either she was a nuisance, or an obstacle, but he was prepared to go through her if he had to.

Something hadn't felt right from her peering through the shadows out the window of her hideout. A light reflecting onto the window in a way unexplainable based on what could easily be perceived by the surrounding sources.

Her target asleep. The assassin vanished from the safehouse to the mysterious glimmer reflecting on the window. Feet silent on the way up to the adjacent rooftop. Her sai spin silently in her hands in preparation for the threat she finds herself about to face.

The door opens in silence and Elektra's movements are swift. Eyeing her new target down, assessing his features and their surroundings. She knows of this man if a man is what he could be called. Could she even be called a woman in this state?

After her analysis, the assassin slips behind the soldier. Her sai points into his throat, lightly puncturing the skin near his windpipe. "I'd be careful of your next moves, Winter Soldier."

Gentle Care

Taking care of them...

"Hey, it's okay. Show me?"

"What did they do to you?"

"Don't cry - I've got you."

"That's okay - get it all out."

"Deep breath, I have you."

"Sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."

"I've got a bandage for you."

"This is going to sting, but we have to clean this."

"Oh - okay - we're hugging about this, okay."

"It'll all feel better in the morning."

"I can't believe someone would do this to you..."

"I'm going to protect you."

"Get some rest. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're safe now."

"I'm just going to wipe your face."

"When's the last time you cried like this?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, I promise."

"One day, you'll be okay. For now? It's okay to hurt."

"You want a hug?"

"I've got a blanket for you."

"Nice and cosy..."

"It's okay if you fall asleep."

"Just get some rest. You need it."

"Hey, I made you food."

"I know it's easy to forget to eat when you feel like this."

"You don't need to feel guilty."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

"There's nothing better than a toasted marshmallow."

"Just hold onto me. There we go."

- John Wick: Chapter 2, 2017

the desert wind howled like a wounded thing, whipping sand against his face as he crouched at the edge of the excavation site. it was crawling with men, not mercenaries. not common grave robbers. trained, conditioned, battle hardened. hydra personnel moved differently than most professionals, there was always a cold lick of obsession, of mad superiority that stuck to them like a bad smell.

and that was when he saw her. a woman, dark curls, sharp brown eyes, and barely restrained contempt. a civilian, a hostage or prisoner, either way, she didn't belong there.

bucky was already moving, switching objectives quickly as he shattered the distance between himself and her, a shadow against the sand dunes he avoided the floodgate lights, skirting patroling guardsmen unseen and unnoticed. he reached her in seconds, crouched behind a half-buried obelisk and spoke in a whisper. ❝ don't react. ❞ he said as way of greeting, ❝ can you run? ❞ // @disasteregyptologist , semi - plotted starter .

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLIDER (2014) dir. Anthony & Joe Russo