I hurled the photo away from me and out of my hands, feeling dirty from even letting it touch my skin. The photo didn't make it that far, it only fluttered itself back down on the table a few metres away from me which was enough for me to still see him clearly, holding a gun with his mask wrapped around that face of his, only showing his eyes that burned with murder.

My mind flashed back to the argument I had with Steve long ago about him.

"Steve, I don't care if he's your best friend or that you see something in him again! He will ALWAYS be a murderer. He hurt me and took my parents away from me."

"It wasn't him, (Y/N). He had no choice."

"Sorry, Steve, but you're on your own."

Was this Steve's way of trying to get me to see him in a better way? Or was something terrible going to happen to the point that he felt the need to put some guy with a bloody reputation in charge of my safety? I went a long time making sure I didn't have to see him again or his stupid face but it seemed like today, that was going to end.

Hatred swirled within my stomach and I felt nausea rise up within me. My throat felt full and I choked, immediately throwing myself off of my chair, causing it to wheel back aggressively, hitting the wall behind it hard. I quickly went for the bin in the corner of the conference room, starting to heave my guts out inside of it. My hands gripped the bins rim tightly enough that my knuckles turned white.

A harsh cough scraped my throat as it exited my suddenly dehydrated lips and I stood back up, using my jacket sleeve to wipe at my mouth as I slowly recovered from my little spit fest. I went back to the chair I had gotten up off, sitting back down in it before moving my legs in a walking motion to wheel the chair back over to the table. My hands reluctantly reached out once more, beginning to spread all of the loose papers of the file before me, examining every little bit of it.

The papers had information about all of his victims and what he did to them before assassinating them. He did everything HYDRA had asked him to do in the exact way that they described; from shooting them in the head to knifing them in the throat. Another photograph was peeking out from underneath a nearby file piece and when I noticed it, I swiped it up quickly without a thought in my mind.

'James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers'

It was a photo of the two in what looked like a bar in the '40s with a bunch of other guys and I assumed it was from World War II. My eyes squinted as I took in the details of the Soldier; he looked happy, his arm wrapped around Steve's shoulder. His mouth was contorted in what looked like a grin that was about to turn into laughter. He was normal, happy, and stress-free. I felt just a sliver of guilt for him pang into my chest but it disappeared as quick as it came.

It still doesn't change the hurt he caused me.

My eyes flickered up to the click of the conference room door opening slowly. A woman peeked her head in, before shuffling her whole body into view. "(Y/N)? We're ready for you now." She smiled slightly at me, "Are you ready?"

"Y-yes." I stuttered, knowing that I was lying. I would never be ready.

My body picked itself up out of the chair and I shoved the happy photograph of the soldier into the same pocket I put my car keys in quickly before she could notice. I don't know why I did it, I just felt like I had to.

The doctor and I walked side by side in complete silence all the way to her office which felt like a whole ocean away. It made me feel even more unsettled as we grew closer to her door. Anger and nausea began to beat at my stomach with an imaginary baseball bat.

I just couldn't stomach the idea of being in the same room with someone who ruined my life. We stopped right outside of her office door but she didn't open it to reveal the soldier. Not yet.

"Did you read much of that file?" She asked me, her hand resting on the same doorknob I nearly twisted to peek in.

"No." I told her the truth, I barely read the files but I already knew and read enough to know that he was disgusting.

"Good. It was a bad decision leaving the file at the desk for you to read. You won't get to know the real James just from a few pieces of paper." A few? The file was like an encyclopaedia. She twisted the doorknob, opening the door for me to walk through, but I stood still for a moment.

"With all due respect, Dr Raynor," I deadpanned, "I've seen enough of the soldier to know the real him." An already impatient sigh was heard from her in response as I walked into the dreaded office, my eyes glued to the white leather chair I would be sitting in across from the soldier who sat uncomfortably on the grey sofa.

Something inside of me urged me to look at the man and so I did, my eyes meeting his intensely troubled blue ones and the whole world stopped around me and blurred out. All I saw was him; the soldier in the flesh once more. Except his eyes weren't fuelled with a burning passion to kill, they were fuelled with exhaustion and trouble. But that didn't stop the image of his metal hand around my throat or his hand pulling the trigger of a gun to shoot me dead.

"James, you know what to do." Dr Raynor ripped me out of my trance and my surroundings turned back into HD.

The soldier let out an uncomfortable sigh before leaning forward towards me, clasping his gloved hands together between his lap. I didn't realise how close he was to me until his hand brushed lightly over my leg as the distance between us closed.

My leg very visibly twitched when it was touched and I let out a quiet whimper as fear hit me like a brick. His lips began to move but I didn't hear anything, my brain flicking off the switch to block out whatever he was saying. All I could see in my head was an image my tormented mind delivered to me of him shooting my parents dead in my living room before coming for me.

"(Y/N)?" Dr Raynor's worried tone took me out of my new trance once more and I looked over at her, clearing my throat awkwardly. I noticed that the murderer before me was no longer leaning forward, instead, he had his elbow upon the armrest of the sofa, his covered hand hiding his mouth as he eyed me curiously. It made me feel uncomfortable so I shifted my weight in my seat, crossing my arms tightly over my chest to place pressure. It was a mechanism I had to prevent any panic attacks that would possibly show up.

"Sorry." I forced myself to apologise to the therapist, "I was uh, I was somewhere else. What happened?"

"James?" Her eyes moved back to her troubled patient.

His name is not James. He could never be James again.

He let out an agitated groan, his hand dropping from his mouth and slamming onto his lap, "Really? I have to do it again?"

Dr Raynor gave him a warning look and I got the feeling that she wanted to throw professionalism out of the window and give him a smack.

"Fine." He muttered before those troubled eyes turned back towards me, his pinning stare making me feel small which I hated with every bone in my body.

"I am no longer The Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes and you're part of my efforts to make amends."