Man Of Another Time

one

My name is James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes Jr., former US Army Sergeant number 32557. Born on the tenth of March, 1917 in Brooklyn , New York. I am the oldest of four...

And I am no longer The Winter Soldier.

Bucky closed the grey notebook in front of him, trapping the pen inside. "This feels useless." he muttered to himself. He doesn't quite understand how writing down his daily thoughts is going to help him. He doesn't understand much of modern health care if you ask him. If he addressed the problems he's having now back in the 1930s he would get told to "toughen up" or to "stop being such a fairy".

Lately, it seems to feel like no matter how many times someone tells him... no matter how many times Bucky says it to himself, he can't ever really escape the tight hold of who he one was. Who he once was made to be.

Bucky subconsciously held onto his metal bicep, fingers pressing where the infamous red star had been just a little over eight years ago. Unable to sit still any longer he quickly got up from his little desk shoved into the corner of his living room. Looking down at the mess of blankets pillows on the floor he could no longer remember why he doesn't use a bed anymore. Could it be the comfort of feeling like he's back in the army? Is he punishing himself without even being aware? Is it muscle memory from his days of being a weapon of mass discussion? Or is he somehow more comfortable on the floor than a bed because of all the nights he's stayed over at Steve's apartment when Mrs. Rogers, or Sarah as she insisted Bucky address her by her first name, was working late?

Bucky rubbed his hands on his eyes to get himself out of thought. He doesn't want to think of Steve. Steve moved past this. Bucky should have moved past this.

Or at least that's what he's been trying to convince himself for the last eighteen months.

The thing is. Bucky doesn't want to be selfish, he wants to be supportive of his best guy. But there's something deeply rooted inside of him telling him every now and then that he simply should. Absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt, get the chance to be selfish here.

Out of all the years Bucky has known Steve he just could not picture him leaving him like that. After everything Bucky did for Steve growing up. The moments they've shared. The secrets each boy holds in their heart. That's not something someone should just throw out the window. It doesn't seem fair in Bucky's opinion.

Bucky sits down on the pile of blankets, bringing his knees up to his chest. He rested his forehead on his knees and covered his head with his arms, shutting out all light. This is the only way Bucky can seem to bring himself some kind of peace. Even if it is just temporary. He figures that if he can't stop thinking about memories with Steve they should at least get to be good.

Bucky focuses on the first memory that comes to his mind. It was 1936. Late December. Or maybe early January. Bucky can't quite remember details that insignificant. But he knows there's ice frozen over on the window sill, making it impossible for the window to be completely shut. He remembers how the cold air would give him goose bumps along his arms. One thing he can remember clear as day though is Steve. More specifically, the way his skin shined in the early morning sun.

The cloth pinned up to the window frame allowed just the tiniest slivers of the sun to shine through, making the younger boy's skin seem like it was glowing from within. Bucky scanned his eyes along Steve's arm. He looked soft. Like a newborn baby. But Steve was anything but a baby. Mentally speaking, that is, if Bucky had a dollar for every time he had to pull Steve out of a fight he started and is now currently losing, Bucky unfortunately wouldn't have enough money to find the Rogers family a better place to live, but at least afford to get Steve a pretty nifty heater. Physically speaking though... Steven Grant Rogers needs a lot of help. Which is why Bucky doesn't mind the times where Steve instinctively pushes his body further towards Bucky to look for warmth when gusts of frigid air come rushing through the window.