You Are Not a Monster

The Outside

"What if I'm not the same
What if I never let go of the blame
What if you drag me back again
What if I won't you just pretend
Erase this memory
Escape this gravity
Is that how I used to be
Is that the price of my identity"

The Soldier woke to the sound of humming, something he hadn't heard for...well, he honestly couldn't remember how long. He was covered in towels, finding his armor missing. His wounds were bandaged, and there was clear tape on the back of his hand holding a cotton ball in place. He pulled it off, knowing from his experiences at HYDRA that there had been an IV hooked up to him. Even though he knew he wasn't there, that he was somewhere warm and comfortable, he shuddered as he remembered ice-cold liquid being pumped into his veins, burning in his flesh arm until it reached the rest of his body. He writhed in agony, held by the restraints holding him to the metal chair...

He clutched his head with his hands, sharp pain shooting through his skull as it always did when he remembered something.

Shaking it off, he found there was a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a gray t-shirt folded neatly beside him, and he silently put them on.

Standing was difficult, but with assistance of a small table shoved against the wall, he managed. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, and with it his head throbbed. Dark spots danced across his vision as he struggled to stay standing.

He quietly padded closer to the humming, finding himself in a kitchen. There, chopping various vegetables and placing them into a pot, was a girl with long dark hair braided down her back. She faced opposite of him, and didn't seem to notice his presence.

The sight of the knife caused the Soldier to go rigid, contemplating every scenario in which she would attack and he would counter, eventually eliminating the threat. He was pulled out of it as she spoke.

"It's not nice to stare, you know." She said, continuing to chop potatoes.

"Where am I?" The Soldier asked harshly.

"My house. In the middle of the woods." She replied, setting the knife on the counter and turning around. "I see you found the clothes I left for you."

"You're the one who healed me?" He asked, ignoring her comment.

"Unless someone else lives here, then yes. That would be me. Name's Samantha, by the way. Most people call me Sam." She answered, extending her hand. Instead of shaking it, as the gesture suggested, he glared at her.

"Or leave me hanging. That's fine." She said as she lowered it. He sensed sarcasm in her voice, but chose to ignore it.

"You could at least tell me your name instead of glaring at me like that."

"Bucky." He muttered after a minute.

"What?"

"My name. It's...I think it's Bucky." The Soldier said louder, remembering the man on the bridge calling him that.

The man on the bridge. Captain America.

No, he was more than just Captain America.

He was Steve.

The Soldier winced as memories of a scrawny, light-haired boy who probably weighed 90 pounds soaking wet flashed through his head.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

"Well, 'Bucky'," Sam said, testing the name. "Why don't you go upstairs and get cleaned up while I get dinner ready?"

"Dinner?" He asked.

"Yeah, you know, that thing that comes after lunch? You were out for almost sixteen hours."

Sixteen hours vulnerable, unarmed, and unconscious in a stranger's home.

And yet she did nothing but care for him.

"Judging by the state I found you in, you sure as hell needed the rest. Anyway, shower's upstairs, door at the end of the hall. Dinner should be done by the time you're out. That clear stuff over your stitches should keep them dry." Sam said, returning to cutting potatoes.

The Soldier...Bucky?...hesitated before following her directions. Stairs were a bit of a challenge in his state, especially because they were steep. Eventually he made it to the top, but not without mentally scolding himself for struggling to make it up a simple set of stairs.

The bathroom was, as Sam had said, at the end of the hall. It wasn't huge, but it was better than the cramped space they provided at HYDRA.

At least this one had a door.

He reached in and turned on the water to let it warm up before carefully removing his shirt as not to tear his stitches. He paused as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror: long dark hair was matted at his shoulders, his face gaunt and pale with dark circles beneath his eyes despite the sleep he had just gotten, bruises and cuts covering his entire body. He didn't see the old 'Bucky' that flashed in his memory, the one that seemed to always have a smile on his face and Steve at his side.

He didn't even see James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th.

He saw the Winter Soldier.