Bucky stared at the latticing scars on his shoulder, the self-inflicted ones, not the straight edged ones that helped grafted his matte black arm. He liked his new arm, the more stealth feel to it the only thing that he kept from his old arm was the red star. A symbol of him accepting what happened to him and what he did. He rubbed his flesh hand on the seam where flesh met metal. Bucky felt the bubbled skin under his hand. The burns hurt when it was cold out, actually his whole arm ached, it was just when it was cold when it was worse. He pulled a jacket over him and walked out of Stark Tower for the first time since he came to Steve. He hated to be cooped up for long periods it would make him paranoid.
Natasha said not to blame himself because people liked him but were scared of him. Scared of his arms, scared of what people were capable of him. The torture, the punishments, the conditioned responses and the objectives. Bucky loathed the pitting looks on everyone's faces, Natasha said people couldn't help when they saw the scars and heard the screams they couldn't find him guilty without feeling guilt themselves. Bucky's shoulder ached slightly causing him to look up at the dark grey storms cloud and began walking somewhere letting his feet carry him and kept his head down.
It started to rain by the time he reached Central Park, he curled up on the bench ignoring the growling Russian echoing in his ears. The snarling German of the Skull and the snide Swiss accent of Arnim Zola. He curled tighter, missing the reinforced feel of his Kevlar suit. He would never tell Steve but he missed Hydra's structure, missed the blank safe freezing of the cryotube, he missed forgetting. Not remembering the colors of their eyes, what they were doing, how he killed them, and what would happen if he didn't. Hell, he missed not remembering Natasha. He wasn't liked by Clint, by Sam, by anyone besides Steve and Natasha. If Bucky wanted to be honest and he didn't want to but was, he didn't like himself either. THe way his room had to be frozen for him to sleep an hour, the way his room was more of an armoury than a comfortable safe place.
Bucky felt his lips curl into a grin,'Safe? What is safe?'
He wouldn't talk about it with the therapist about it but, some days he could still feel Zemo's hand inside of him. Digging, cutting, scraping, searching, studying, and experimenting. BUcky remembered the fire in his veins and trying to slice his wrists getting it to stop. He remembers bleeding out at the bottom of the ravine, being thankful the burning stopped.
A flare of hatred shot through BUcky making him whine and wince in reflex.
"He abandoned you." The Red Skull snarled in his ear. The soldier snarled at the Red Skull's sudden appearance, quitting his repetition.
"We rescued you, could have left you in that ravine to die." Bucky could imagine the Skull's boots echoing through the empty tunnel,"Upgraded you. Made you superior to everyone else."
The soldier's voice was growling,"Yes and I can't wait to meet you again, kill you end our suffering."
"The only way to kill me is to kill yourself, and could you do that to your Captain and your dearest Widow?"
The soldier stiffened before clenching his jaw,"If necessary."
"Barnes?" Bucky flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up and saw Clint standing over him, he jerked his shoulder from underneath Clint's grip,"WHat are you doing out here?"
"Out." Bucky said looking at Clint warily,"Not safe."
"What isn't safe?" Clint asked bring to mind Natasha, when she was first freed from her programing and could be around people, paranoid, wanting to go back, running out of the apartment and to a forest wanting to play a game of "tag".
"The tower." Bucky finally shuddered out.
Clint pursed his lips,"Then help me fortify it. Steve would thank you."
"Steve?" Bucky asked softly before following Clint back to the tower, unnerving the archer slightly with the complete and utter silence occasionally being broken by the pained noise Bucky made.