Plums of Peace

~Chapter Three~

When it rains it pours. 

Lately, Bucky has been having a lot of good days. Remembering things, being social, and sleeping well. He felt normal, not like he used to feel, but how he anticipated another normal person would feel. Unfortunately, today is far from a good day. After he got home from Amy's, he sat on the porch for nearly four hours. It's been a long time since he's done that. After getting out of HYDRA he would sit, unmoving, just thinking about what he did, as the Winter Soldier, as Bucky, and as Bucky after being the Winter Soldier. 

Mostly, he thought about how he was still the Winter Soldier. Ok, so, he hadn't killed anybody in a year, but he still is hurting people. He hurt his sister, he hurt Steve, and he hurt his family. As he sat on the porch that night, he felt dirty. He scratched at his skin as if he could get it off. As if that would right all of his wrongs. Looking at his prosthetic arm made him almost throw up his dinner. He stopped himself short of ripping the entire thing off together. 

Today is no better. He laid in bed after his alarm went off and then called in sick to work. When someone rang the doorbell, he didn't answer. He assumed it was Amy, no one else ever stops by. He just curled into himself more and glared at the same spot he had been glaring at the entire morning. After he finally pulled himself out of bed, he opted out of breakfast. Instead, he walked down to the barn. 

He grabbed an empty bag of chicken feed and stuffed it with some sand and sawdust. After he tied it off he rigged it up to the rafters. He fully intended on beating on the punching bag for hours, his super strength had other ideas. After two hits he knocked the bag clean off the chain. Sand and sawdust spilled over the entire floor. 

He sinks to the ground in shame, gripping at his hair. He hates having superstrength, more often than not, it reminds him of the people he hurt. How out of control he is. Sure, he can do mundane tasks without breaking anything, but at HYDRA he never ever pulled his punches. The concept is so unnatural, that he doesn't even have the simple ability. 

Anger boils under his skin. His hands buzz with the familiar want, no, need to punch something. To break something. To hurt. That only angers him more, he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to need to break something. Steve has the same strength as him. He doesn't want to hurt people. He doesn't want to break anything. 

Am I really that fucked in the head?

A deep feeling of pain and regret settle in his stomach as he pushes himself up. He walks over to the pile of brick he had bought on a really good day. He is planning on doing some landscaping. With a grunt he lets his fists slam into the bricks. On first contact, it only cracks a little. On the second contact, it shatters. The sleeve uncomfortable constricts his titanium arm. He can't move. He's stuck. Without thinking, he rips the sleeve clean off his arm and throws it to the other side. 

He punches the stack of bricks again, sending sharp pieces flying around the entire barn. He feels the sticky trickly of blood on his right hand but chooses to ignore it. He makes his way to the second stack of brick that is met with the same fate. 

Bucky is heaving. His lungs are tight and he feels like he can hardly take a breath. It reminds him of HYDRA, before he got cleared for field missions he would train. He trained for hours until he passed out. At first, he would beg to stop. As he slowly become the Winter Soldier, he began to love the feeling. 

He's not the Winter Soldier anymore. He is a free man. Yet, he loves the feeling. For the first time in a while, he wants to go out and fight. He wants to kick, he wants to punch, he wants to fight, he wants to kill. He wants to have a gun in one hand and a knife tucked in his boot. He wants to battle. 

Was he blaming everything on the Winter Soldier? Was it easier than admitting it was really just himself?

He grabbed a brick that was still whole and smashed it on the ground with all of his might. The broken pieces leave more cuts on his hand. By now, blood is running down his arm and covering his fingers, dripping slowly onto a pool on the ground. It covers his shirt and even smudges his face. 

Bucky would have hated it. He wouldn't have been horrified. The Winter Soldier never minded the sticky feel of blood covering his body. It meant that he did what he was supposed to. He did well. 

Bucky is a free man. Yet, he can't bring himself to feel horrified. In fact, it makes him feel accomplished. He trained, he worked hard, and he did well. 

Was he blaming everything on the Winter Soldier? Was it easier than admitting it was really just himself?

Steve has the same serum, superstrength and all. He doesn't get amusement from killing, from destroying. Maybe he had everything wrong. Maybe, he should never call Steve. Bucky damn well knows that Steve will do anything for him. Hell, he already has. Bucky can't let him slip down with him. It's always been Bucky's job to take care of the kid, maybe the best way to do that is to stay away. 

"Oh my god! Are you ok? Should I call an ambulance?" A feminine voice calls out in fear. 

Bucky fixes her with a menacing glare. He probably looks downright terrifying, with crazy eyes, dark hair falling on his face, pale light reflecting off of his arm. Not to mention the pile of broken bricks and the blood steadily dripping from his fingers into a pool below him. Or the smudge of blood on his face. 

He doesn't register the girl's face at first. Then he notices her dark hair and wide eyes. It's Amy. Fuck. Bucky's face softens and his muscles relax. His face drops into a frown and he turns fully towards the girl with scared eyes. 

"No, no, please don't do that. I'm fine, I promise." His voice is frantic and fears bubbles in his chest, "I swear, I'm fine." Of course, that isn't the truth, but he'll say anything. His voice sounds as if it is on the verge of tears and he grabs for a towel, wiping the blood off. It's only then that he feels the pain stinging at his hand. It will heal soon, but that doesn't take away from the current pain of it all. 

"What the hell did you do?" 

Every encounter Bucky has had with Amy, she was pleasant and bubbly. Her demeanor now is anything but. Her eyes are wide and her voice is sharp. 

"Nothing... You should go," Bucky says. The situation makes him uncomfortable. Despite his strength and power, he can't help but feel vulnerable. 

"No. I'm worried about you, Bucky. After last night I wanted to make sure you were ok," Her voice is softer than before, more empathetic, but with a strict edge. It sounded just like his mom used to sound. Or Rebecca sometimes, if she got angry. 

Bucky doesn't respond for a moment. In the war, Steve had been the only person to truly care for him. Worry about him and watch out for him. Even before that, his mom was so busy trying to support the family. When Rebecca was young, Bucky was always the one to look out for her. She loved him of course, but Bucky hasn't felt that either since HYDRA. 

"Why?" His voice is quiet and more so than he would like to admit. 

"I care about you." 

"Why?" Bucky asks again with a little more edge. 

"Well, Bucky-" 

"My real name is James. James - "