My Name Is Bucky

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Steve opened the helicarrier that would take us back. Natasha got in and went to the cockpit, buckling up to pilot. She could put the machine on autopilot, but she didn't want to speak to me right now.

I held Steve's hand tightly with my real one, reliving the events over and over again. I hurt him. I hurt him and he's still opening his arms to me, letting me have a second chance. I squeezed his hand.

He looked at me. "Buck?" He spoke softly, as if he didn't want to disturb my thoughts.

I wanted him to. I wanted him to take all the bad memories out of my head and destroy them. I wanted him to tell me that I never did those things, that this was all a dream. I wanted him to tell me he saved me from the train. I didn't want to be broken anymore.

"How can you forgive me? I just almost killed your best friend and I hurt you. I destroyed this mission. Tony was right, you shouldn't have let me come." I sighed.

Steve shook his head. "None of this was your fault." He squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You are not a killer. You're a victim. I help victims. I'm helping you. And I'll do anything to make you feel safe again."

Almost like he could read my thoughts. "Thank you," I whispered.

***

Steve and I walked off of the plane, hand and hand, and headed to his floor. Steve stopped by the main floor first, and lead me to the kitchen to get us some food.

To my surprise, Sam was sitting there as if he were waiting for us. "Oh, so you are in love with Mr. Metal Arm here, aren't you?"

Steve immediately dropped my hand. "Sam. How are you feeling?"

"About as good as I can be for somebody who was just thrown out of a building." He scoffed.

"Steve caught you," I snapped back. "And if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

"That's comforting." Sam stared at me, and I stared back, refusing to back down.

Steve looked at me. "Why don't you head upstairs? I'll be there in a minute."

I gave him a small nod before looking at Sam again and jogging up the stairs. Nobody here would forgive me easily. Tony was gonna try to lock me up again. I know it.

I turned the shiny handle of Steve's clean, wooden door as I entered his floor. I took of my shoes at the entrance and headed to his room. Since of my....situation, Steve was okay with me using some of his clothes. I rummaged and found a read tank top I would use to sleep in.

I stared down at my metal arm in hatred and disgust. This was the part of me that made me a monster. If it wasn't for the arm, I wouldn't be an assassin and I wouldn't be a danger. If only I could get their stupid program out of my head. I thought to when they did it, trying to remember what they placed inside my head. My thoughts lingered to a knife...

Steve was in the doorframe. "Bucky," He said loudly. "Did you hear me?"

I looked up at him, snapped from my thoughts. "What?"

Steve gave me one of his soft, warm smiles that always made me feel safe. "I say we have that sleepover you've been talking about. Pushing the cushions together-"

"Just like we did when we were younger," I finished his sentence. It brought me less pain, but it wasn't a nice feeling.

Together, we took apart the couch and arranged the various cushions into a bed-like shape. Steve grabbed pillows from his room while I collected the blankets. I couldn't sleep without at least two blankets. I don't like the cold.