Bucky swayed a little in the dim light of a street lamp. That was a little too much for today... He just left the Smithsonian Centre, where he learned more about his... past. Past life.
Civil clothes felt very odd an unnaturally comfortable in the same time. Bucky hissed. His right hand has been healing for a while now but it kept on givinh him an ocassional itches of pain.
Where to go now? What to do? He wished to have a criogenic chamber to sleep the night through, it was the only time where he could feel peace and quiet, in its freezeing embrace... He needed a rest, he needed this icy night, for regeneratinon. His body learned to cooperate with this unstoppable force.
Will his body be able to function without regular freezing? A dark siluette supported itself on the lamp's pole and gasped. The body possibly will handle, but the mind...
Bucky's eyes widened and the nightmare started speeding through his brain in an infinite slideshow of flashbacks. He knew him! He knew Steve Rogers... and before he was assigned to murder him, he was sent to kill... how many? Faces and screams, gasps and begging voices in many languages were there. They came in one, piercing wave and he didn't want to hurt them now, he wanted to calm them down. „I'm sorry... I... didin't know. I'm not who you think I am. Leave me alone!" Bucky really wanted to explain to them!
„Aaaah..." He also wanted to scream, but his chest was stiff and heart started beating like crazy. The man swayed again and landed hard on his butt. It hurt.
Sudden pain cut off the hurricane of thoughts and he realized what just happened. He almost laughed. Almost, with a strange, bitter laugh. But he couldn't because he forgot. He forgot how to smile.
Something warm next to his nose, on his face... He reached with the metal arm. A dim light showed a shiny object on the shiny metalic finger. Tears. Yes, he was human. He could cry. His heart felt like an empty hall, his soul was just a bunch of chaotic self- assurances now. Everything has been wiped and re-installed in him dozens, and dozens, and dozens of times. There was so little to work on. Only anger.
A man sitting on the side of the street howled and his voice exploded into one, unstoppable wheeping, which later brought an avalanche of deep, almost animalistic cry. Bucky tried to fight it, but he knew, like nothing before, that it must be his heart melting.