Words Are All We Have

Part 1: James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

Bucky wanders around the streets.
He has no clue where he is, where he lives and who he is. All he knows are the faces of victims.
He walks into an alley and sees a trashed mattress. He lets out a little laugh. "You're mine." He sighs in relief. He picks the mattress up and takes it to another alley. He vaguely remembers the alley, but he doesn't know from what.
He places the mattress against a wall and lies down.
From his bag he takes a candy bar he stole from a corner shop and a bottle of wine he took from a woman's bag.

He hears a little girl's voice. "Please, don't hurt him. I love him." A gunshot follows.
He takes the bottle and swigs it. "NO, BUCKY, NO." He starts hitting himself. He takes another sip. And another, and another, and another. He continues until he feels numb. He stuffs the candy bar down his throat and puts the bag underneath his head. He closes his eyes, but all he can see is a battlefield. A battlefield full of innocent victims.

The next morning he gathers his belongings and leaves a little mark so he can find his mattress in the evening. He starts his journey for food and booze in yet another corner shop.

"Good morning, sir. Can I help you?" The teenager asks from behind the counter. All Bucky does is stare. He doesn't quite remember how to communicate with strangers, especially when they remind him of one of his victims or one of his old friends.
He shakes his head and leaves the store.
He continues down the road to find another store.

"Mummy, look! He's got a metal hand! I want a metal hand when I'm older." A little boy on the pavement points at Bucky's arm as Bucky looks down to him. He blankly stares at him while he passes, showing no sign of emotion behind his eyes.

After Bucky has gathered his groceries, he makes his way back to the mattress. He opens his bag and takes the strip of painkillers. They would help ease the pain of his existance, he hopes at least. He takes 4 of the pills and swallows them with a sip of vodka.
He has no clue what time it is, but he reckons it's time for his daily ritual: drinking till you feel numb.

After about an hour or so, Bucky gets up and starts wandering around the streets with his bag. Hanging on the strap of the bag is a little dog tag, which reads:
In case you found me, I am Bucky.
Please contact Steve Rogers, I might be lost.

Underneath the text is Steve's phone number. It was a precaution taken by Steve after Bucky was found wasted in an alley in Brooklyn, not realising he was 5 minutes from his flat.

"Sir, what do you think you're doing?" A police officer asks whilst Bucky slams his head against a wall. He does not respond or stop. "Sir, have you been drinking?" Again, he does not respond and now, the officer notices the little dog tag on Bucky's bag and carefully reaches for it.

"Alright, that's enough. You're coming with me." He takes Bucky's hands without realising the strength of his metal arm. Before the officer can even blink, he is pinned to the floor. Bucky's gaze no longer blank, but angry and fearful at the same time.
Other officers hurry to Bucky and struggle to put his arms in handcuffs.
"Sir, you are under arrest for attacking an officer." Bucky lets himself fall to the ground and starts to tear up.

Steve looks at the clock when his phone starts to ring.

"You're late." He sighs and picks up the phone.

"Is this Mr Rogers?" A dull voice sounds through the phone.

"Yes, that is me. What did he do this time?" He sighs yet again.

"Well, what didn't he do this time?" The officer laughs on the other side of the line.

"I'll be right over." Steve grabs his wallet and jacket whilst hanging up the phone.

"Every damn Tuesday." He kicks his chair before leaving his flat.

There he sat; James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, with bloodshot eyes and his face covered in tears.

"No, Bucky, no. Wrong." He tries to hit himself, but his hands are chained to his back.

"He wouldn't stop hitting himself." A welldressed young man tells Steve.

"I've tried to evaluate his mental status, but he has been crying since his arrival."

"Sorry, who are you?" Steve asks.

"I'm a psychiatrist, I was called to assess Mr Barnes' mental state." He replies.

"Drunk. He is drunk." Steve sighs. "He always is." He walks up to Bucky's cell. He can't stand the look of the mess that is his friend. "Bucky, what happened?" Steve cries. "What happened to your face?"

"He was slamming his head against the wall." The officer who tried to arrest him says.

"I didn't ask you!" Steve yells. "Sorry." He looks down at his feet. "Bucky, you were found across the street from where you live. What did you do?" Steve asks again. Bucky looks up in confusion. He doesn't remember living anywhere. He doesn't remember having a home. Bucky looks into Steve's eyes and can see there is fear and concern. Steve places his hand against one of the bars, wanting to reach in to caress Bucky's strong jaw, but Bucky recoils from his extended hand, looking to it with fear and confusion.

"Oh Buck, we need to stop ending up here." Steve sighs as he turns around to search for the security guards so he can bail his best friend out for the eights time this month. "Come on, let's get you home. I think you'll be staying with me for a bit." Steve turns back around to face Bucky when he hears sounds of chains rustling. He sees Bucky struggling against them and hears them drop.

"Let's go." Bucky smiles.

"Did he just break the chains with his hands?!" An officer says in surprise.

"Shit, he did." Steve walks back over to the cell, "Buck, you've gotta calm down, ok? Are you hurt?"

Bucky nods and looks down to his wrist that is now purple and most likely broken. His metal arm lays a few feet away from him on the floor, his eyes only showing pain, but nothing else.

"Ok, let's get you out of here, I'll fix you up at my apartment. Maybe Tony will help with this. " Steve says as he picks up Bucky's prosthetic from the floor.

"Hold on, Mr Rogers and Mr Barnes." The weird psychiatrist stops the two. "I will only let him go if he gets the right help. We will hook you up with a therapist and a support group."

Bucky sighs, looking to Steve with an agitated look in his eyes."I'd really appreciate that, but there aren't exactly people with the same experiences as us." Steve argues.

"It's the only way to make sure that he gets the proper help, seen as he's in here almost every other week." The psychiatrist says. "Next time we catch him, he'll probably get locked up god knows where. You don't want that, do you?"

"No, we don't." Steve sighs.

"So, you will do as you're told. Therapy and support group." The psychiatrist states. "We will check if he has been turning up. Any violation, it being not turning up or shoplifting, will get you in deep deep trouble. Both of you. Mr Rogers, you are responsible for his actions and wellbeing from now on."

Steve nods and sighs, leading Bucky out of the police station with the metal arm in one hand and business card with the support group address in the other.