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I think I’m a Clone Now
Dec. 19th, 2022 12:45 pmPost
Steve Rogers doesn’t talk about the gaps. It’s natural to have them, all of the medical research that’s been spouted at him by experts have driven the point home. The mind is a strange thing after all. It retains personally important information, disregards it out of pocket, holds onto the strangest things, and lets the past fade into fog.
It’s normal not to remember your mother’s face when you haven’t looked at it in years as long as you know her name and birthday. It’s fine having your childhood blur into bullet points because while they might have been formative years, you were always so sick during them so it’s not like they had anything worthwhile for the brain to cling to. The war had been horrifying, too much for any person to want to remember with any real clarity, so it’s been boiled down to bullet points on a timeline graph.
And all of that is before the sixty some years of being frozen. Advanced healing can’t fix everything, right?
All of that had been fine because no one who knew Steve before he put the plane down into the ocean had survived him with their own minds intact. There had been no one to point out his idiosyncrasies. No one to look at him funny when he ‘misremembered’ important things in his life that hadn’t made into the history books or the archived letters from those stationed with him or the propaganda films taken to show the folks back home about how Captain America was helping to protect their freedoms.
There hadn’t been until Bucky Barnes somehow broke out of HYDRA’s control, that is.
And perhaps that’s why Steve fought so hard to save him. The gaps in his memory have been caverns. The doctors said that the mind would heal and may fill in details for him as he connected new experiences to old ones, but that hadn’t happened. Not in any of the long years he’d been awake in this modern world.
He had needed Bucky as much as Bucky needed him. Two half minds might help to cobble together a whole after all.
Base reasoning aside, Steve feels nothing but numb when he picks himself up from the ground, standing over Tony Stark with his crushed in chest plate and broken reactor. He has no ide where that anger had come from. No idea why he had gone to such terrible lengths to stop his friend.
He drops the shield before Tony even tells him to, fingers slipping from the leather handle, before he shuffles back to where he had left Bucky.
Cold. Numb. Still frozen. The perfect soldier.
Steve Rogers doesn’t talk about the gaps. It’s natural to have them, all of the medical research that’s been spouted at him by experts have driven the point home. The mind is a strange thing after all. It retains personally important information, disregards it out of pocket, holds onto the strangest things, and lets the past fade into fog.
It’s normal not to remember your mother’s face when you haven’t looked at it in years as long as you know her name and birthday. It’s fine having your childhood blur into bullet points because while they might have been formative years, you were always so sick during them so it’s not like they had anything worthwhile for the brain to cling to. The war had been horrifying, too much for any person to want to remember with any real clarity, so it’s been boiled down to bullet points on a timeline graph.
And all of that is before the sixty some years of being frozen. Advanced healing can’t fix everything, right?
All of that had been fine because no one who knew Steve before he put the plane down into the ocean had survived him with their own minds intact. There had been no one to point out his idiosyncrasies. No one to look at him funny when he ‘misremembered’ important things in his life that hadn’t made into the history books or the archived letters from those stationed with him or the propaganda films taken to show the folks back home about how Captain America was helping to protect their freedoms.
There hadn’t been until Bucky Barnes somehow broke out of HYDRA’s control, that is.
And perhaps that’s why Steve fought so hard to save him. The gaps in his memory have been caverns. The doctors said that the mind would heal and may fill in details for him as he connected new experiences to old ones, but that hadn’t happened. Not in any of the long years he’d been awake in this modern world.
He had needed Bucky as much as Bucky needed him. Two half minds might help to cobble together a whole after all.
Base reasoning aside, Steve feels nothing but numb when he picks himself up from the ground, standing over Tony Stark with his crushed in chest plate and broken reactor. He has no ide where that anger had come from. No idea why he had gone to such terrible lengths to stop his friend.
He drops the shield before Tony even tells him to, fingers slipping from the leather handle, before he shuffles back to where he had left Bucky.
Cold. Numb. Still frozen. The perfect soldier.
