You Are Not a Monster

Break Me Down

"Break me down,
Replace this fear inside,
Take this nothingness from me.
I want to find,
I want to shine,
I want to rise,
Break me down.

I try to find myself,
I find the stranger trapped inside,
And I'll take one more step away,
From the face I used to recognize..."

The Soldier didn't even realize what he was doing as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the old piano. He wasn't even sure why he was gravitated toward it, but something about it felt familiar.

He carefully folded the key cover back and sat at the large bench. There were panels in front of him as wide as his broad shoulders, and he knew if he slid them back there would be a space where he could insert a piano roll. How exactly he knew this, he wasn't sure. It just came to him, the same way combing his hair or drinking water had. There wasn't even a painful memory involved.

Lightly testing the keys as not to damage the ivory, he winced when he heard how out of tune the piano was. Still, he placed his fingers over various notes in each hand and began playing. He got so lost in the happy melody that he didn't notice the absence of clanging pots and running water in the background.

"You're gonna have to teach me that." He heard Sam say from behind when he finished.

"I don't even know how I played it." The Soldier muttered. "Or what it was."

"It sounds kinda '30s, maybe '40s. I love that kind of music." Sam said. "You know anything else?"

The Soldier shook his head in response, but still sat staring at the keys.

"Does it help you remember?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

Once again, the Soldier shook his head.

"Is it therapeutic?" She tried.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly.

"Well, when I'm stressed or upset or anything, usually I play the piano. It helps me relax and escape the chaos. Kind of like reading or listening to music." She explained.

The Winter Soldier hadn't ever been truly "relaxed" since before the train. For seventy years, or at least the portions where he was conscious, there was never a moment where he was truly calm, at least in that sense. Unless lying prone for hours at a time on top of a building with a sniper rifle counted.

He didn't think it did.

But, according to Sam's explanation, yes. It was therapeutic.

"Could you...play something?" The Soldier asked hesitantly.

"I'm nowhere as good as you, but I can try."

Sam walked up to the piano and the Soldier scooted over so she could sit. Though everything in his body screamed to run, put distance between them in case she wasn't who she said she was, he forced himself to refrain from tensing and edging away from her.

"Just as a warning, there are spots in this where I'm not too great at it. I swear this piece was written just to torture pianists." She said as she placed her fingers over the keys.

Though the piano was so out of tune, it was still a beautiful piece. Sam made errors, but when she did she quickly picked back up. The Soldier had studied her as she played. He watched as her fingers so forcefully struck the keys in some spots and so gently in others, the way her body swayed at some parts, how she slowly placed her fingers after a fermata.

After she struck the last note, she let it ring for a moment before cutting it off.

"I know it's not the best, but-"

"That was beautiful." The Soldier cut off. Sam looked up and smiled.

"You like it? I've been working on that thing for years."

At first, the Soldier wasn't sure how to respond. He'd never been asked if he liked something before. Of course, he wasn't ever taught to have preferences either. Only to follow orders.

"Yes. I...love it." He said slowly, testing the term Sam had used earlier. He gave her a questioning look to make sure he'd used it correctly. In response, all he got was a laugh and an even wider smile.

Just seeing that, the way her eyes lit up and she smiled- genuinely smiled -made the Soldier's lips curve up into a small, lopsided grin. It felt odd, as he couldn't remember a time in the past 70 years where he'd actually smiled.

He just hoped he was doing it right.

"So he can smile." Sam said.

After a moment, the Soldier's lips moved, as if he was going to ask something, but he stopped.

"What?"

"Could...could you play some more?" He asked tentatively.

"Sure! Any preferences on what you'd like to hear?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, um..."

Sam tilted her head in thought.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and the Soldier flinched. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you-" she quickly apologized.

"It's fine. Just play." The Soldier said. After a second thought, he added, "Please."

This one was slow, melodic, and the Soldier's eyes closed as she played. This song wasn't familiar, just as the other one wasn't, but it was still beautiful. When it was over, the Soldier opened his eyes.

"Do you know anything else?" He asked.

"Not much anymore. I have a bad habit of starting to learn something and never finishing it. By the time I'm interested in learning the rest, I've forgotten it." Sam replied. Once again, there was an awkward moment of silence.

"I could teach you how to use the TV." She suggested.

The Soldier nodded in response and helped Sam cover the piano before following her into the main part of the living room. There was a couch set up in the middle of the room, a coffee table in front of it. A large, thin screen (which was apparently a TV) hung above the fireplace on the opposite wall.

"What kind of show do you want to watch?" Sam asked as she plopped into the spot beside him. He reflexively tensed, but then relaxed when he realized she wasn't going to do anything.

As was common, he didn't know how to answer, so he shrugged.

"Alright then, time for a little channel surfing." She said. At first, the Soldier was confused by the expression, but soon learned it was a term used for browsing through television stations.

"Wait," he said suddenly. Sam stopped and looked over.

"Back one?" She asked. He nodded. She turned it back to what was apparently 'The History Channel.' A documentary on World War II was on.

"I haven't seen this one." Sam said. She didn't seem to notice the Soldier's eyes widen as he soaked in all the information from the screen. He didn't just watch the images on the TV, he remembered being there, fighting with the same weapons, wearing the same uniform...

An image of a group called the Howling Commandos popped up, all standing behind...Steve. And right there to his left was Bucky.

--•--•--•--•--

a/n:
Sorry I haven't posted lately, I've had a lot of stuff going on and I really haven't been in the mood to write. I know this is just a filler, but next chapter will have a little more action. Thanks for sticking with it so far!