The Winter Soldier keeps his eyes forward as he races down the road, only less than ten or so meters of the pavement in front of him illuminated by the flashlight at the head of his bike. Thick, tall trees rush past him on both sides in blurs, the wind blowing his hair back violently.

The night itself gives no indication of the events that are to come eleven minutes past midnight, in the middle of the woods fifty or so kilometers south of Zürich, Switzerland. It's a peaceful, quiet evening. The vast sky is littered with stars, looking over the green, forested land. Among the tranquility, the roar of the engine seems deafening in the Winter Soldier's ears, but he doesn't let it bother him.

He rides for a while, fingers tightening around the handles of the bike as he gets closer to his target. His mind is occupied with nothing but his mission, nothing but the knowledge that he has to execute William and Josefine Breining.

It's simple. Very simple, just like every other time he's been forced out of cryo sleep, tortured and brainwashed to the point of compliance, and tasked with yet another asassination.

That is all he has ever known.

That is all he would ever know.

Because that is what HYDRA tells him, and they own him, so they must be right.

Finally, after nearly an hour and a half of driving, the Winter Soldier spots the light of another car ahead of him, lights flickering through the trees. He steps harder on the gas and adjusts himself in the seat.

The coarse hum of the car identifies itself first, and then a 1964 Ford Thunderbird comes into view soon after, the exact car the Winter Soldier was told would be used. The deafening sounds of the two vehicles merge quite quickly, interrupting the serenity of the forest.

The Winter Soldier approaches the Ford in a matter of seconds, and he can see the heads of the two people sitting at the front. The top is down, which he would laugh at - the stupidity of it - if he had the capacity to laugh, to feel that emotion. Sometimes he feels like he can, like it's just a few steps away, right at his fingertips, but he always forgets before he can fully reach it.

He continues inspecting the car, his cold gaze calculating the best way to carry through with this. The woman in the passenger seat eventually looks behind her, but he knows she can't see him due to the headlight in her eyes.

All the better. If he's spotted, it will only make his job unnecessarily harder.

The Winter Soldier reaches behind him into his back pocket and pulls out a small handgun. Managing the steering wheel with one hand, he points the head of it at the back right tire, aims, and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings loud, much louder than the sound of the cars. He's used to it, but he catches the surprised screams of the woman as the car tips. He aims once more at the second back tire and does the same.

He watches as the Ford swerves to the side of the road and collides with a tree. He passes the crash and stops just a few dozen meters away.

The Winter Soldier walks briskly back to the Ford, smoke now rising from beneath the hood. He keeps his gaze between the two people frantically jumping out of the car, mumbling something to each other in panicked, desperate tones.

He tightens his grip on the handgun as he raises it to the man's head. He's still a fair bit away from the two, but he knows he will make it from there.

And he does.

The man collapses into the grass, blood oozing from a hole between his eyes.

The woman is sobbing, but her terrified cries mean nothing to the Winter Soldier as he shifts his arm into position.

"Please," he hears. "Please don't hurt me. I-I have a child."

For the first time in his history that he can recall, the Winter Soldier falters. He feels the stutter in his step, the slight bump in the smooth stream of his thoughts.

He lowers his gaze further down from the woman's face to see a little girl peeking out from behind her. He meets her terrified eyes. for a few seconds, and for that short moment of time, he considers the fact that maybe he shouldn't do this.

Maybe…

Maybe this isn't right…

The woman's pleads continue as he thinks, his mind in a state of disarray that he does not appreciate.

It doesn't last long, however.

He can't leave a loose thread. If he does, he'll be punished, and the last thing he wants is to experience that unbelievably agonizing pain that comes when he does something wrong that they don't like. No, he can't make a mistake. He has to do this.

The Winter Soldier straightens, levels his arm again, and fires.

The little girl screams as the bullet pierces her mother's tear-streaked face and her body crumples to the ground. She stares in shock at her, legs frozen and rooted to the ground.

She looks up at him in fear, and he can see it clear as day in her sparkling eyes, but it doesn't faze him.

The Winter Soldier does not get distracted again.

The girl wails harder as he points the gun at her.

And they don't stop.

They don't stop until he pulls the trigger.

And-

Bucky Barnes shoots upright with a huge inhale of air as the echo of the shot rings through his head.

His hands hastily feel all around him, trying to understand where he is because his eyes are seeing nothing but darkness. Raspy, quick breaths escape his throat, his heart beating so fast he's sure it's going to break his ribs.

Bucky lets his eyes dance around. His thoughts are racing, telling him that he's back at HYDRA, back in the chair where he's going to get his mind and memory taken away from him. Again.

He's going to suffer, as he always does. HYDRA makes sure to wipe him often, but the pain is something he never truly forgets. The pain and the fear that comes with it.

"No," he whispers, immediately moving his body. He can't be back there. He just can't.

As Bucky's legs swing off and his feet touch the floor, he realizes that the surface he's lying on is soft. HYDRA never lets him be comfortable. Ever. He knits his brows together as his eyes begin to adjust, and he finally takes in his surroundings.

A black rectangle against a blank wall - a television? A bookshelf to the left. A window to the right. A hallway and a kitchen up ahead.

Sam's house.

He's at Sam's house. Of course.

Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, willing himself to relax.

You're fine. You're not in HYDRA's grip.

You are no longer the Winter Soldier.

You are James Buchanan Barnes and you are safe.

Silence is steadily returning as Bucky gets his breathing under control and thoughts back into places not so dark and horrible. The temporary return to peace doesn't last long, however, as the patter of footsteps is quickly sounding throughout the house. Bucky opens his eyes back up just as the light in the hallway turns on and a silhouette comes to stand in the doorway to the room.

Bucky doesn't need to see the face of the person to know who it is. He sighs and drags his hands down his face.

"Did I wake you?" he asks Sam, his voice a lot shakier than he would like it to be.

"Yeah. Did you have a nightmare?"

Bucky winces, never thinking he'd have to admit something like this to Sam. They carry out missions together and shoot at the same people, but they never talk about their personal issues with each other. Still, Bucky answers with, "Yeah."

"Have you been having them long?"

"Nearly every damn night since I got free of HYDRA, Sam."

The man doesn't say anything to that, just crosses his arms and watches Bucky settle back down on the couch. He presses his cheek into the pillow and averts his gaze to the floor, studying the pattern of the carpet.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"I worked with people like you, Buck. I can probably help."

"It's late."

"So?"

"Besides, I already tried a therapist. Not really my thing, it turns out."

"Okay, if you're talking about that lady that made us stare at each other, I don't blame you for still not having your shit together."

Bucky smiles softly at that, but then turns his lips back down at the thought of having to go back at some point to complete his court-mandated sessions. Oh, God, how he doesn't want to go through it again.

"At least let me listen," Sam suggests. "I won't try to help."

"Yeah, you will."

"No, I won't."

"Sam -"

"Look, man, I'm really tired and I won't offer this again, so how about you put aside your doubts and talk to someone properly about your fucked up issues for once?"

Bucky's slightly taken aback by the harshness of Sam's words, even though he's gotten used to the man and the way they speak to each other a long time ago. He knows, somewhere in a part of him he doesn't like, that Sam is right. He hates it when Sam is right.

"Alright. Fine."

"Good. I won't hold your damn hand, but I just want you to talk."

Sam flicks off the light in the hallway and collapses into the smaller couch next to Bucky's head. He sighs as he waits for his...friend to adjust, and then a silence stretches for a minute or so as Bucky tries to figure out where the hell to start.

He's kind of hoping Sam will fall asleep before he can begin, but Bucky can tell by the way his breaths sound that Sam is wide awake and waiting.

"It was sometime in the late 1960s," Bucky finally manages. "I was...I was woken up and tasked with locating two threats to HYDRA trying to make their way across Europe to find shelter." Bucky really despises how retelling the story is making him relive it again, as he never truly forgot the way it felt to do what he did, but he grits his teeth and continues. "I-I tracked them down to Switzerland. Caught up to them in the middle of the woods. Crashed their car.

"I remember the smell of the smoke, the sound of their voices as they shouted to each other to run, to hide. But-but none of it ever registered in my mind. It was like it was muffled, or like-like a filter wasn't letting any of that stuff through."

"Buck -"

"You told me you weren't going to say anything."

He can hear Sam's deep sigh, can see in his mind the dramatic rise and fall of his shoulders.

Just keep going.

"Uh…I-I killed the man first, and then moved on to get-get rid of the woman, when…" Bucky pauses. If he didn't want to share earlier, now he really feels the deep desire and urge to keep this part to himself. What will Sam say? Will he hate him? Will he look at him differently? Well, Bucky really can't care less what Sam thinks of him….but that's what he wants to be true, it's not close to reality, and Bucky absolutely hates that realization.

Shit.

"You're doing great. Go on."

Bucky is well aware Sam is capable of tenderness. He counselled veterans before he got involved with Steve and him, after all. He isn't always an asshole, but this is so foreign that Bucky just wants Sam to leave. He can't do this with him, with anyone.

Okay...best to get it done, and when this is all over, I'll disappear and I'll never have to see Sam's face again and the way it looks when he rests his eyes on me, knowing everything that I've done.

"I don't know why, but HYDRA didn't tell me that there was a third person traveling with the two I had to assassinate. They didn't inform me of a...a child."

Even without his eyes on Sam, Bucky can feel the man tense when his breath falters slightly. Oh, God, this was a mistake…

"Sam, I can't do this…" Bucky murmurs, the whimper at the end flooding his body with shame. Keep your damn shit together.

"Keep going," Sam encourages, as though sensing Bucky's wishes to bail.

Bucky doesn't resume, not at first. He squeezes his eyes closed as hard as he can and lets a tear slide across the bridge of his nose and drip onto the pillow, creating a dark splotch. He hopes with all his might and being that Sam didn't catch it, perhaps by the light of the moon filtering in through the window.

"I remember...I remember realizing that what I was doing was wrong, just for a moment. It was brief, but I swear it was there, Sam. I swear to you on my life, I wasn't going to do it. I saw the girl and-and the terror in her eyes and I wanted to stop, I really did. I-I-I just couldn't resist the shit they did to my brain, and -"

"Bucky."

The man stops, and it's now that he recognizes his complete and unnoticed loss of control. His cheeks are wet, his chest is rising and falling rapidly. The sudden vulnerability sends a wave of embarrassment through Bucky, and he turns his face further into the pillow, away from Sam's piercing gaze that he knows is on him.

"You don't have to prove anything to me. I know it wasn't your fault."

"I killed a little girl, Sam," Bucky whispers, letting the words finally free after so many silent, torturous years of keeping his past hidden and buried.

They're both quiet for a moment. He can't even imagine what Sam is thinking right now. Winter Soldier or not, it was him, it was his body, and he'll have to live with the terrible things he did for the rest of his goddamn life.

"If an innocent kid walked in here right now, would you kill them? Bash their skull in with your metal arm? Shoot them with your gun?"

"Jesus, Sam, no!"

"Exactly, because you're Bucky Barnes, and the person that did all those things was the Winter Soldier. You were brainwashed, stripped of your identity. You can't blame yourself because you didn't have an ounce of a choice."

"It's not that simple."

"It is, actually."

"No, it's not. I remember every single thing they made me do. I can see it from my point of view, feel everything, hear everything. Sam, it's not...it's not easy for me at all to just accept that it was someone else, because for the rest of my life, it will seem like it wasn't."

Bucky takes in a shaky breath and angrily wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. He's going to kill Sam if he ever brings this up again.

"Okay, look, I understand. Well, I don't completely, obviously, but I know what you're saying. The problem is you can't do shit about that anymore. What's done is done, and yes, it sucks that this will torment you for as long as you live, but you'll just have to deal with it. Have you been doing anything on your own to try and make it better?"

"I-I've been trying to make amends. With people I enabled, people I wronged."

"Well, there you go," Sam says rather cheerfully, and Bucky swears he hears a hint of a smile in his voice. He doesn't dare look at him, though. "That's the most you can do, Buck, and you should be proud of yourself for taking that step."
Bucky nods softly, eyes on the tree swaying gently outside. "There's so many names, though. You should see my list. I don't know how I'll ever cross each one off, Sam."

"Start with one. You can't fix everything at once. It's either this or you take the easy way out, and we both know that's not an option."

"No, I've-I've considered that," Bucky says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He regrets it instantly.

Sam goes quiet, and silence is so deafening that Bucky feels as though he's being swallowed up whole by all of Sam's judgement, all of his shock and disappointment. "Are you still...thinking about it?"
Might as well be honest one last time. After this is over with the Flag Smashers, Sam surely won't be seeing a whole lot of me.

"Occasionally. I mean, what do you expect, Sam? Years of torture and being controlled and...and sexually assaulted-," Sam sucks in a sharp breath of air at that, "-and you expect me to not want to end it all? Don't worry, I won't shoot myself around you. I have the sense to wait for a better opportunity."
"Bucky."
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"It wasn't funny." He waits a few seconds. "I'm...glad you're still here. I don't know what I would do if you weren't."

You'd move on.

Bucky swallows a lump in his throat and turns onto his back, closing his eyes to make sure he doesn't catch a glimpse of Sam. He doesn't want to know exactly what he's thinking right now.

"Thanks," he mutters.

"Take my advice, Buck, and know that I'm always here to help."

Bucky doesn't reply, and he assumes that the ongoing silence is an indication that Sam is going to leave him alone, but the man never moves from his spot. Bucky has absolutely no wish to continue talking, and he's thankful that Sam's not prying more information out of him. He doesn't know how he'd be able to handle more of the awful, toxic truth spilling out of his mouth.

He supposes he should be grateful to have Sam here. It's been more difficult than he'd like to admit without Steve, without his best friend. He'll never tell Sam or anyone else how close he got to slitting his wrists in those months after Steve left. At least Sam is providing some sort of a distraction, some kind of support that maybe will ultimately keep him on this planet for a little longer.

For what, though? What does he have? Sam is taking the shield to carry on Steve's legacy, he's constantly being haunted by his past, and after he makes all his amends, what will there be left? Sam certainly won't need him to protect the world. He'll do fine on his own. Bucky's family and friends are dead. The rest of the Avengers that he could reconnect with are scattered and doing their own thing.

He'll be free to do whatever he wants, and when he disappears, Sam will never have to know exactly where he went.

Maybe one day Sam will find out, and he'll curse Bucky for doing exactly what he said not to do, for ending his life before he could even truly obtain one. Ironic, since he's 106 and has barely done anything worthwhile with his time.

And he probably never will.

"I'm glad you're still here."

Really? Are you?

"Buck? You asleep?"
He considers staying quiet, but after a few seconds answers with, "Yeah. Why?"

"Give me your hand."

Bucky doesn't speak for a moment, the request rendering him speechless. "What?"

"Just do it."

"Why?"

"Just give me your hand for God's sake. Your real one."

Eyebrows knitting in confusion, Bucky moves his arm to reach somewhere behind him. At first there's nothing, and then…

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks as Sam's fingers interlock with his. Sam doesn't reply, though, just tightens his grip in a manner that almost seems reassuring.

Bucky wants to pull away at the same time as he's hoping Sam never lets go. This is strange and new and...very unusual, especially coming from Sam, but it's comforting in a way that he hasn't experienced before. He finds himself slowly squeezing back, heart racing and breath catching in his throat as he makes the small movement. He's sure his hand would be trembling, too, if it wasn't tangled with Sam's.

Despite the position, Bucky starts to drift back to sleep. The feeling of Sam's grip on his hand lures him into a sense of safety, and he can't help but revel in the feeling of it. The fact that it's coming from Sam of all people is slightly alarming, and probably something Bucky won't ever forgive himself for indulging in, but for now, screw all of that.

He needs this right now.

"I thought you said you weren't going to hold my hand," he says softly, on the edge of passing out.

"Shut up, Barnes."

Bucky allows himself a smile, and then lets sleep take him away once more.

The nightmares do not touch him, and maybe that's something he can consider living for.

Someone.