Title: Begin Again
Fandom: Captain America/MCU
Rating: R
Length: 3840
Content notes: Warnings for: amnesia, brainwashing, canon-similar angst and violence, possible consent issues, unsympathetic Natasha (I love her but she's not nice here), period attitudes toward mental illness. Contains mild sexual content.
Author notes: For fan-flashworks

Summary: A man who doesn’t remember who he is witnesses a series of mysterious murders from his apartment window. Private Investigator Steve Rogers decides to help him solve both mysteries. Steve/Bucky, 1940s noir AU.





It seemed like it all happened so fast. Even though it was just a few weeks that changed everything for Steve.

It started when he got a call from the old man who owned the Delightful Garden apartments (it was a tenement, no garden or delight in sight, but it wasn’t the worst one, and the owner had given Steve some tips on some of his cases).

“This new renter, I feel bad for the guy. I mean, he’s annoying as hell, he screams bloody hell in the middle of the night.”

“Probably half your tenants do that,” said Steve.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m telling you, though, something’s off with him. He’s skittish, you know? And he keeps telling me that people are getting killed in the pawn shop across the street at night. He can see it from his window, he claims.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, the first time. The police weren’t too happy about being pranked. But I’m telling you, this guy believed he saw it. Then the next night he saw another murder. But I asked around in the morning, and there was nothing. Finally, I asked this guy if he had family who could help him.”

“You mean you were trying to get him to leave.”

“Well, you know, if he’s better off somewhere else. But then guess what he tells me when I ask him about his family.”

“I’m not going to guess.”

“He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know who he is or where he comes from or nothing! He says his name is James but doesn’t know how he knows that.”

Steve paused. “Was he in the war?”

“He doesn’t know! Though that’s what I thought too, first thing. So I figure, my good buddy Steve, owes me a few favors, real good at finding things out. I mean, come on, Rogers, that’s what you do.”

Steve sighed. “Are you sure he’s not faking it?”

“Believe me. Meet him, and you’ll know he’s not faking.”

“…Okay. I’ll come by tomorrow night.”

--

“It’s there,” then James said, pointing out the window at the pawn shop. It looked run down, probably had some shady deals going on nearby, given the neighborhood. Most of the paint was cracked, and the sign was half faded, and bright red paint in the windows, exaggerating the quality of their products. It did look a little eerie, but it was probably just that the place reeked of desperation: people giving up things they’d never thought they’d have to can rally put a damper on a place.

James voice a cracked a little then, “I know you must think I’m crazy. I – I probably am.”

Steve looked at the man. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was well-built, though, strong looking, with a face that Steve had to think of as more pretty than handsome: full lips, full-lashed eyes staring up at him.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Steve said. “You say it happens every night?”

The man nodded, folding his arms so they huddled close to his chest. He looked sickened by the story he told: “Every night for the past week. Real late. I see someone walk up in front of the store. They just stand there and wait, like they’ve been lured there or something. And they look around, and they wait some more, and then – someone shoots them.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I hear the sound, then I see the body fall. Every time I run out to find out what’s happening, but the body is always gone when I get there.”

“Any blood?”

“No,” James answered quietly. “Like I said, I’m probably just going crazy.” He gave a little smile at Steve, as if he almost believed it were funny.

Steve frowned. The man seemed trustworthy, somehow, and Steve didn’t say that about too many people. James was probably hallucinating, but he deserved to know for sure.

“Okay, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay the night,” Steve said. “I’ll keep lookout on the window. You just do what you normally do.”

James smiled at him, almost in disbelief. “You – thank you. Really, Steve. Thank you.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. And the other stuff too.”

“What?”

“… The old man said you were having trouble remembering things.”

James paled. “Yeah, I… well I guess I’m even more messed up than you thought.”

“I find answers for a living. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t afford to pay you.”

“It's okay. I owe your landlord a few favors. Besides, I’m a sucker for a good puzzle.” He gave James a little wink.

James smiled, dazzling somehow. “Okay, Steve. If there’s ever anything I can do for you….”

“I’ll come knocking. So, you just get ready for bed like you usually do, and I’ll sit here in the chair by the window. All right?”

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

--

Steve did his best not to nod off as he sat and waited through the night. Finally, at about 4 in the morning, he heard screaming from James’ bed.

He rushed into his bedroom and grabbed him by the shoulders. James flailed but Steve managed to pin him down. He tried to talk to James, to calm him down, but it took a good minute until James stopped fighting – he was strong – and he lay still, panting harsh breaths.

Finally, he looked Steve in the eye. “I’m okay. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, buddy.” Steve let go of him and sat, half leaning on his side, next to James.

James wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hair was soaked. “What-?”

“You were dreaming,” Steve said, reluctant to tell him.

“But… just now. I saw someone getting shot. I was looking out the window!”

“You were in bed, dreaming,” Steve said gently.

James looked lost. “It felt real. It felt so real, Steve.”

Steve nodded. “Tell me what you saw.”

James shook his head and covered his face. “I can’t believe it was just a dream.”

“It could be a clue. To your memories. The mind knows things, but sometimes it buries them. Tell me what you saw, James.”

James looked down. “It was … like every other time. There was a man in front of the shop.”

“The same man as other times?”

“No. A new person every time. This time it was a man in a long coat. Had a beard. But--”

“What?”

“This is the weird part. He was completely alone on the sidewalk. Nobody on the street anywhere. But then right after he was shot, there was suddenly a woman there. Brown hair. She yelled, ‘Nick!’ and started covering his body with hers. She was wearing… I think it was a uniform. All black. But she was American. But I swear, she wasn’t there just a second before.”

Steve stared at him. What James was describing sounded a lot like an assassination that happened right after the war, one that Steve had heard about. A high-level official in intelligence had been killed, right in front of a bunch of troops, none of whom could catch or even glimpse the assassin who did it. There was a photograph taken after, a man in a long coat lying on the ground, and a woman crying over his body.

“Okay. Maybe you witnessed something. Maybe this is how your mind is teaching you how to remember,” Steve said cautiously.

“Why would my mind want to remember that?”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, James. But that sounds like a real killing that happened a couple years back. A lot of troops witnessed it. If you saw it in person, that would really narrow down your possible identities.”

“You think so?” James actually looked hopeful.

“I can’t promise anything. But I have some old army buddies that are still in the business. I’ll check some things out.”

James grinned at him, and he looked, suddenly, innocent.

“Just try and get some sleep now, okay?” Steve said, moving a sweaty strand of hair out of James’ forehead. He didn’t know why he did it.

“Sure.”

James rolled over, and Steve wanted to stay there, in the warmth of the soft bed, but he got up and went over to the couch and tried, without much success, to get some sleep.

--

James didn’t have much that would help Steve find his past. He had an ID with the name “James Buck,” but James confessed that the name had just popped into his head when he had bought his fake identification card. Steve had looked for anyone missing with the last name of Buck, but nothing had turned up.

He also managed to get some reporters’ photos of the assassination of Nick Fury. Most were confiscated by the government for the investigation, but Steve still had contacts and he managed to get some prints. He pored over them for hours and hours, looking for any face that even resembled James', but nothing. He got an old buddy to give him the names of the units that were present; it was right as they were disembarking from the long ship ride home, and Fury had caught a ride with them. It took some doing to get access to the files of every soldier present, but Steve looked through them all and didn’t find James.

Reluctantly, after five days of nothing but searching, he went back to James’ apartment to tell him the bad news. He ran through the rain, hoping to get there before the storm got any worse.

When Steve told him, James just nodded like he was expecting it. He thanked Steve for trying so hard.

“Nobody’s done anything that nice for me, ever. Well, not that I can remember,” James added with a dark smile.

“I’m not giving up. It’ll… just take a while to figure out some new leads.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to see you again, though.”

“Yeah. Me too. Are you… sleeping any better?”

James frowned.

“If you had another dream, that could be another lead,” Steve prodded.

“If you thought I was crazy before….”

“Hey, I haven’t once said you’re crazy.”

James paused. “Yeah, I guess you haven’t.”

“So?”

“It was a woman this time. Red hair. She was waiting by the pawn shop. And then a loud bang, and then she’s on the ground. Shot in the stomach.”

“Anything else about her that you can remember?”

James looked at him, nervous. “Beautiful, but hard looking, somehow. Long beige coat. And… here’s the thing. I keep seeing her now. All the time.”

“At night?”

“During the day. Like she’s following me. Like some kind of ghost.”

Steve stared. “Um, did you ever have these … observations during the day before?”

“You mean hallucinations. That’s what you think they are. It’s okay. Even I don’t know any more.”

“But… they’re new?”

“Definitely new. I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary during the daytime.”

“Okay, let me look into it.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. To get you all wrapped up in all my… nonsense.”

“I told you, I can’t resist a good case.” The lightning blared outside then, outlining the curtains in harsh white light, then the peal of thunder, loud and close. “Any other clues to your past that we haven’t talked about yet?”

James hesitated, then said, “You know how you asked if I thought I was a soldier?”

“Yeah.”

“I do… have some scars. I don’t know how I got them. Obviously. It could have been from climbing trees and falling as a kid or something.”

“Show me?”

James pulled his shirt out of his waistband and lifted it up.

Steve whistled. These sure weren’t from tree-climbing. It was a whole mess of scars, seven different spots all over the torso.

“Yeah, you saw some action,” Steve murmured, then reached his hand out to delicately run his fingers over the texture of a large raised scar on James’ chest. He realized what he was doing then and drew his hand back, quickly.

“I’m sorry, I--” Steve said.

“It’s okay,” James said, “Really. It’s okay. But… I figure lots of soldiers have scars. This won’t help me find much out, will it?” He lowered his shirt.

“Not yet. If we get more information, it could help narrow it down.”

James nodded.

Lightning and thunder again outside then, and the rain started pouring down like a waterfall.

James looked at him. “You shouldn’t have to go all the way back to your place in this storm. I’m gonna make dinner soon, nothing fancy. Some soup with a little bread. But you’re welcome to stay here. We can share the bed, and if I wake up like a madman screaming about murders, then you can shove me off the bed.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile. “Sounds delicious. The food, I mean.”

“Good.”

That night, Steve lay beside James in his bed, the heat of James’ back against Steve’s stomach. James looked delicate almost as he slept.

Steve willed himself to remember that James had invited him to stay for purely platonic reasons, that the body in front of him, the scent of it, the smooth skin and dark hair and lush muscles, were there for Steve to protect and nothing else.

James got a lot more sleep than Steve did.

--

In light of James’ daytime hallucinations, Steve thought it was a good idea to start following James around during the day. He didn’t tell James, since he needed to observe his natural behavior.

Steve also started stopping by James’ apartment in the evenings, usually bringing something that would contribute to dinner. Steve told himself that it was because the poor guy didn’t have any friends of his own.

One night, as Steve was about to reluctantly leave, James said, “You could stay.”

He looked anxious.

Steve raised an eyebrow. It was too much to hope for, really.

“That night you slept here…” James continued. “First time I’ve slept through the night. Ever.”

James looked ashamed, to be pleading, to ask Steve like a child not to be left alone.

Steve wanted desperately to put his lips on James’, to promise to never leave.

Instead, Steve nodded. “Yeah. I’m comfortable here, too.”

James smiled at him, grateful, and Steve’s heart swelled a little. It was worth the disappointed desire, the restraint it took, to see him so happy.

Steve started spending the night every night then, and James’ nightmares stopped. Steve never touched James in any way he shouldn’t. But every morning, he walked over to the shower at the end of the hall and rubbed himself off to ease the tension of the night.

--

Steve had been following James around for two weeks before he spotted the ‘ghost.’

“You’re good,” Steve said, confronting her as she turned around a corner.

She smiled sweetly at him, daintily moving a red curl from her cheek. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Why are you following that man around?” Steve demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes were all innocence.

“Yeah, fine, you’re very good. But I’m onto you, lady. And you’re not leaving until I get answers.”

She tilted her head. “You’re going to grab a lady and drag her off somewhere in front of all these people? What if one of them wants to play hero?”

“They might not be so worried about you once they see the gun under your coat,” Steve said.

“A girl’s got to protect herself somehow.” She smirked.

“You ever been shot in the stomach?” he said.

Her eyes widened, the first crack in her performance. “

“Guess so,” he said. “Glad you’re doing so well.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m leaving now. Don’t bother me again. It won’t go well for you.”

She spun around and walked quickly in the other direction.

Steve watched her go. He knew enough from his time in the military to see who he was dealing with.

She was no ghost. She was a spook.

--

“A spy? A spy is following me around? Who the hell was I, Steve?” James asked, brow furrowed.

“We’ll figure it out. We’re closer than before. And now we know that you’re not seeing things.”

“Yeah,” James said, a small smile. “There is that.”

“And I was thinking, you should come stay with me for a while. I can protect you better at my own place.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course I would. I consider you a friend.”

James leaned forward and kissed him then, hard, fast. Steve kissed back, letting his tongue slide past James’ lips, savoring the taste, the closeness, before pulling away.

“This isn’t right,” Steve sputtered, looking away.

“Because we’re men?” James said, voice tight.

“Because you don’t even know who you are.”

James looked at him, discerning, then said, “Steve Rogers. If you are about to say that you’re afraid to take advantage of fragile little me, then so help me, I’m going to sock you one.”

Steve frowned. “It’s not that. But you… I don’t want to…you know.”

James leaned forward and gripped Steve’s lapels and drew him in. His lips were half an inch away from Steve’s. “If you honestly don’t have any desire for this, then I’m very sorry Steve. I won’t do it again. But don’t you dare protect me. I may be fucked up a hundred different ways, but I know when I want something, and I don’t need to be saved from this.” His breath was hot on Steve’s lips, his eyes dark with lust.

Steve closed the distance, kissed him again, rough at first, then slow, languorous, until Steve had leaned James back onto the couch cushions and had moved a hand up the side of James’ waist.

James grinned at him, greedy. “If I’m going to your place, maybe we should have a little fun on our last night in my room.”

Steve nodded. He felt helpless against James’ smile.

Worse, he loved the feeling.

--

Steve knew that if a spy were following James around, then he was pulling on some long and tangled strings. He needed to call in the big favor.

Sam was Steve’s buddy in the army during the war. Officially, Sam was now a stunt pilot for the moving pictures. Steve was the only one Sam told about his actual job: army intelligence officer, using the stunt cover as a way to go places others couldn’t go. Sam was the only one Steve knew who had a chance of getting intel at this level, and even though it was a risk for Sam to do it, Steve had to ask.

He knew Sam would come through. They had saved each other’s lives more times than he could count.

It was another couple of weeks before Sam was able to find the intel. He handed Steve a thick file, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You might not like what you find, Rogers.”

“Thanks for doing this. I owe you, Sam.”

Sam smiled. “You owe me anyway. Remember the Riviera?”

“You always bring that up,” Steve grumbled in jest, then reached out to shake the man’s hand.

“Be careful, Steve. Whatever you’re into, you need to be careful.”

Sam walked away then, ducking around the corner, quick to get his distance from a city he had no reason to be in.

--

Steve could barely breathe as he read the file.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Soldier.

Hero.

Beloved by his fellow soldiers.

Captured by the enemy two years before the war ended.

Medical experiments on his brain.

Amnesia engineered by an exact combination of drugs and electricity.

Brainwashing.

Turned into an assassin for the enemy.

Repeated amnesia treatments, every time he started to remember.

Suspected victim: Nick Fury, high level intelligence director.

Confirmed victim: Natalie Rushman, intelligence agent. Survived after being shot in the stomach while protecting an asset.

Dozens of other victims. All matching dreams that James had.

Captured 6 months ago. Identified as James Barnes. When taken into custody, appeared to remember nothing.

A memo from Agent Rushman, suggesting that Barnes would be a valuable asset if they continued the brainwashing and amnesia treatments but simply directed his considerable sniper skills back toward the enemy.

A memo from a higher up, name redacted, suggesting that they release Barnes into the public and observe him closely to determine his level of adaptability and intelligence and his likelihood of remembering his past or relapsing into loyalty to the enemy.

A report from a psychologist suggesting that the asset would likely be traumatized if he remembered everything he had done.

Another report from a different psychologist suggesting that this trauma might be useful in breaking the asset’s spirit.

A request to dissect the asset’s brain when and if he is killed.

A request from someone else to begin making a list of enemies that the asset should be ordered to kill.

A report from Agent Rushman, stating that the asset is adjusting well to life and would likely be able to take on intelligence gathering duties if needed as well.

An order from the unnamed higher up, telling them that no decision would be made without more extensive information, and to keep watching the asset.

Steve swallowed, throat dry.

He ran home.

--

“So… my name was?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said.

“I can’t believe I guessed James right. I guess my memories are still in there somewhere, huh?”

“Maybe. I don’t… want you to get your hopes up.”

“And the red-haired woman?”

“Spy.”

“Their side?”

“Our side, technically. But still very dangerous. She, uh, is following you because you witnessed her getting shot. You know she’s a spy. She’s afraid you’ll break her cover,” Steve said.

“But I would never do that.”

“She doesn’t believe in seeing the good side of people, I guess. That world can do that to you.”

“So, those people I saw in my dreams?”

“Your unit took a lot of casualties, witnessed them too. Those were all people you saw die during the war. The dreams were probably a way for your brain to work through the horror of it all.”

“Oh.”

“But with a spy on our tail, we need to leave town for a while. Keep to the ground. I know a guy in Virginia, he’ll let us stow at his farm for a while. It won’t be exciting, but we’ll have food and a roof over our heads and no spies deciding whether to kill us or not.”

“I can’t ask you to leave everything behind, Steve.”

Steve leaned in, kissed James slow, sensual. “I’m taking everything I need with me,” he said, sliding a possessive hand onto James’ hip.

James smiled. “Okay. If you think we really need to go.”

“We do.”

James nodded. “I can’t believe it, though. All those dreams. All those poor people dying on the streets. I was so sure it was real, and then… it was.”

“Yeah, James,” Steve said, swallowing thickly. “It’s all real.”