Disclaimer: None of the Characters are mine. The song belongs to Pink Floyd.

A/N: Reviews, suggestions, and scenarios you would like to see happen in this story make me happy. Thanks.

The Happiest Days of our Lives

When we grew up and went to school
There were certain teachers who would
Hurt the children in any way they could

"OOF!" [someone being hit]

By pouring their derision
Upon anything we did
And exposing every weakness
However carefully hidden by the kids
But in the town, it was well known
When they got home at night, their fat and
Psychopathic wives would thrash them
Within inches of their lives.

Steve's hand tapped a staccato rhythm on the edge of the table. A sure tell, when he was comfortable enough to do it, that he was stressed and angry. Hard lines creased on the edge of his eyes as he fixed his gaze on the wall across from him.

"You watched it, didn't you?" Bucky sat down at the table next to him stiffly, sighing when his shoulder blades made contact with the back of the wooden chair. They were in his apartment in the Avengers tower. He had been transferred to the suite two weeks prior, and while it was his, it was really Stark's. That was okay though, he hadn't owned anything, not even himself, for a long time.

"Yeah." Steve responded in a clipped voice.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Steve shot him an incredulous look. "I needed to see it." The "it" was a film collection of the Winter Soldier's conditioning and training. Training in this sense was synonymous with torture. Steve switched from tapping his fingers on the table to repeatedly squeezing his hand into a fist. Nat had delivered it post a Hydra raid yesterday, and after taking a few hours to decide, Steve watched it that morning.

"Fine. I wish you wouldn't have watched it." Bucky answered.

"Buck…"

"You could've asked." His face was dark with emotion. Steve hesitated, and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder sighing heavily.

"Yeah, I guess I could have. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't their fault, you know."

"Buck…"

"I'm serious, they got it just as bad. If they didn't do it to me than someone else would've, and they would've had the same things done to them that they were doing to me. Cut off one head and two more will take its place."

Steve, feeling sick hearing Bucky talk like that in combination with what he watched a few hours previously, pushed off the table and stood up, rubbing circles into his eyes and temple and paced the kitchenette.

"Bucky. That doesn't matter. They are still responsible for how they treated you, for what they did to you. They chose to be there, they chose Hydra, and they are responsible for their actions!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice. In the recent past Bucky reacted adversely to it, but he couldn't help it. The currently living monsters from the video were lucky they were in a jail cell and in FBI custody. It was probably the safest place for them.

"Am I not responsible for mine then?!" Bucky shouted back also pushing off the table and standing up. It had been a recent and ongoing argument/discussion in the Avenger household. Bucky, gaining back memories and piecing together the puzzle of the past 70 years, wanted to atone for the bloodshed and violence he had been a part of. The Avengers, most loudly Steve, rebelled against the idea. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know what he was doing… but James Barnes did know what he was doing. He might not have been able to stop himself, but he remembered the crack of bones, the sluggish gush of bright red blood from a chest wound. He knew the intricacies of setting up "accidents," and disappearing into a crowd. For 70 years he committed atrocities, and he watched it all replay in his dreams every night. It was his fault. He was responsible. He stared witheringly at Steve for a long second and then turned and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Aw, c'mon, Buck!" Steve said through the door. A loud crash answered him soon joined by the sound of sliding furniture as it was moved to barricade the door.

"Go away, punk."

Steve leaned against the doorframe with his hands on his head for a second before walking out of the Bucky's apartment taking deep breaths.