Only a Memory | Bucky Barnes

Chapter 3: Flashback

Bucky stared down at his metal appendage in complete disgust. He had seen that look in Steve's eyes as his gaze landed on Bucky's bionic arm. It was a look he got often—but this time it hurt a lot more to see it.

Bucky hated that he had his metal arm. He hated why he had it. He wanted to tear it off and throw it out the window, far, far away where he would never have to lay eyes on it again. He felt like a monster with it attached to his body, even though he couldn't even explain why in ways that anyone would ever understand. It was a part of him that wasn't him. It didn't belong.

He told his father, George, once that he wanted it off. He didn't have much to say to this, so he called in Winifred, which was exactly what Bucky had been trying to avoid. She had yelled at him, saying that he was extremely lucky to have an arm like that, and there were many kids his age who couldn't afford what he had and would kill for it.

The thing was, Winifred and George didn't have to pay for Bucky's metal arm. It had been something that a few Russian geniuses had been working on, and Bucky was practically their test subject. Now you could buy one, but it was extremely expensive. It had some fancy name, too, but Bucky hardly cared so he had forgotten it already.

Everyone once in a while this would happen. Bucky would fall into this never ending turmoil of thoughts. It was like his brain was being put into a blender, then shoved back in his head only for Bucky to feel like he hated himself, life, and just about everything. It was hard to escape sometimes. Today it was worse, because Bucky knew that amongst others Steve now hated him too.

He angrily kicked the corner of his dresser, howling in pain as he did so. He hopped on one foot, reaching for his wounded toe. Bucky tripped over his knapsack that was on the floor and tumbled backwards onto his bed.

His eyes met with the brown eyes of his brother's on the other side of the room, in a picture frame on his desk. Everyday it became more unbearable to look at, but to take it down would be in insult to Derek's memory. He couldn't look at it, feeling that deep down it was his fault that his brother was dead.

He remembered the day of the accident crystal clear, like he was watching it from the tv and not like he had lived it three years ago. He played the memory in his head over and over again, despite that it seemed to break him apart a little more each time.

Bucky slipped, once again, into memory lane.

Derek huffed in annoyance as he slammed his car door shut. Bucky swore he felt the whole car shake.

"I don't know why I have to drive you around everywhere," Derek complained loudly. "Like, can't you just ride your bike or something?"

"It's thirty minutes away," Bucky defended. "I rode my bike to his house before, remember? Besides, you're not doing anything anyway."

"Maybe I was. Maybe I had to change my plans." Derek put his keys in the ignition and pulled out of their stone driveway.

"You didn't." The way Bucky sounded so certain irked Derek, even though he was right.

"You're always assuming things. How do you know?"

"You have no friends." Derek scoffed at this, but yet again it was true.

Up until recently, none of the Barnes children had any friends. Bucky had recently made his first with a boy who lived at the town over and went to his school.