Their screams ripped through his mind. They shattered the silence that wrapped around his apartment like a heavy blanket.
Bucky's chest fell up and down in a rhythm. He exhaled deep, exhausted sighs and nearly burned holes into the wall with his fiery glare. Memories of his former life crawled their way out of the farthest corners of his mind; he always pushed them as far back as he could, but the images of his victims pushed their way out. Bucky's metal fingers curled into a fist before they fell open. He slowly stretched them out, moving his gaze to his arm. It was a therapeutic exercise; it allowed him to understand that his arm was under his control. Hydra no longer controlled him or what he did with it- he was able to choose.
As if hearing his victim's screams wasn't punishment enough, Bucky had to look at the prominent fear your eyes held for him. As he clenched his metal fingers into a fist he brought his mind back to earlier that day. When you looked at him, he could see the disdain. It cut like a knife to see someone have such strong emotions towards him- especially since he was lucid.
Bucky's own eyes used to be cold, holding nothing but an empty look. He never felt anything when he assassinated anyone he was ordered to, but now that he was tapped into his emotions it hit him like a truck. You saw him as the monster he always saw himself to be; it was written all over your face and even in your speech. No matter how hard Bucky tried to run from his past, it always caught up to him.
To top it all off, he had ignored your apology.
Deep down, it wasn't anything that you said that bothered him. It was how he felt he deserved it. One of Bucky's demons whispered to him and let him believe you had every right to react to him the way you did, that he should have been the one apologizing. He swiped his metal hand across his lips.
The screams became distant, slowly fading as he brought himself back to reality. Bucky's dog tags swung gently below him as he stood from the floor. They slapped against his bare chest and defined his pectorals. His fingers slowly closed around them. If Steve were still there, what advice would he give? Bucky thought it was a cruel joke Steve was playing with; putting you in his hands, trusting him with your life. He couldn't even trust his own mind, how on earth was he supposed to protect you?
Bucky stepped to his refrigerator and pulled out a beer. The cap slipped off with just a snap of his left fingers, and he brought the icy bottle to his lips. The alcohol bit his throat and burned as it went down, yet he welcomed the feeling. Bucky closed the refrigerator door and glanced at his cellphone that rested on the table.
He began to realize that Steve disregarded everything he'd done, all of the problems he'd caused as The Winter Soldier. His best friend found him worthy enough to look after you and be the protection you needed. But he couldn't overlook the fact that you didn't want him to be your guardian- you made it very clear you didn't like him.
Bucky brought the bottle back to his lips. Some character you were. He'd been briefed on your history; your parents were killed in a blazing house fire- one so powerful that the firemen weren't able to put it out. Yet nobody mentioned how you came to know Steve. Not even Steve himself.
Bucky's phone began to vibrate obnoxiously against the table. He walked over to it and set the bottle down, only to pick up the phone and glance at the caller. He was almost inclined to ignore it again, but some unknown instinct told him to answer.
Bucky placed the phone to his ear.
"Before you say anything, don't," you began. "I just need to know where Sam is."
Bucky remained silent. Hearing Sam's name brought forward memories he pushed away. His interest was slightly peaked, but he truthfully didn't know how to respond.
"This is an emergency."
Bucky remembered you said you'd only call him for emergencies, and that definitely got his attention. Something in his heart tugged and the first thought that ran across his mind was that there was something wrong with Sam.
"What's wrong with Sam?" Bucky found himself asking.
"Do you know where he is or not?"
His fingers tightened around the bottle. He couldn't tell whether he was annoyed with you or agitated with himself for answering the phone. He leaned against the table and placed the edge of the bottle to his bottom lip.
"I'll answer your question when you answer mine."
Your exasperated sigh met his ear. Bucky could tell you would rather be doing anything other than talk to him. Perhaps that was the only thing you two had in common.
"He gave away Steve's shield."
The statement didn't register the first time, and when Bucky went over it a second, he understood why it was an emergency. A wave of emotions crashed into him; he felt a strange sense of disappointment and frustration, wracking his brain over why Sam would ever think about giving up Steve's symbol. It was... wrong. It most definitely didn't feel right, and now all Bucky wanted to do was confront Sam himself.
Make that two things you had in common.
"I'm coming with you."
There was a moment of silence on your end. There were muffled voices and he could make out the sound of someone yelling. After what seemed like a minute, your voice returned to his ear. You sounded defeated, with a hint of minor rage.
"Fine. But we're coming to get you. You're going to sit in the back and not say a god damn word. What's your address?"
Bucky listed his address, albeit a little hesitantly. He didn't trust people much- especially when it came to his personal business. But this was different. He dreaded the moment he'd have to sit in a car with you and a stranger, yet he understood the importance of this. You and Bucky were both equally agitated with Sam. Maybe that would be the only reason you two would be civil.
"If you aren't outside, we're leaving without you."
The line went dead. Bucky dropped his phone onto the table, along with the bottle. His metal hand slid through his hair and fell limp at his side. He went from being contempt with the silence between you two, to becoming completely annoyed with the idea of being in the same car. But there was a much larger picture in front of the hatred you both shared.
Bucky's hand gripped onto the soft fabric of his jet black long sleeve. He slipped it on, sliding it over his toned chest and concealed his dog tags. It hugged his upper body and looked snug around his arms- defining his body with each movement. Bucky shrugged on his leather jacket and lastly slid on his leather gloves. Bucky didn't like to admit to anyone that he was insecure about his arm, or that it made him uncomfortable showing it off in public. Concealing it made him a little more comfortable.
Finally, he slipped out of his apartment and headed to the front.
The daylight was harsh on Bucky's eyes. He pressed his back to the railing just outside, and kept his attention focused to the street. He didn't know how long he had been waiting until a car rolled up along the sidewalk. You sat in the passenger's seat, never bothering to look in his direction.
Bucky curled his fingers around the door handle and yanked it open, soon to slip into the backseat. Bucky glanced at the woman in the driver's seat, and she introduced herself as soon as he shut the door.
"It's wonderful to finally meet you, James. I'm Dianne, the one who talked some sense into (y/n)."
Dianne barely had time to flinch from your smack to her arm.
Bucky tipped his head forward. "I'm not supposed to talk."
Dianne smiled, putting the car in drive. "Just pretend (y/n) isn't here."
She received another smack.
"Just drive, Dianne. He only gets to talk when he needs to give us directions."
"I'm beginning to think I should just let you protect yourself."
You turned to face him. That same hatred and slight fear dancing in your eyes. "You know what? That's a wonderful idea. You can do this one task as my guardian and when we're done, I'll cut you loose and you never have to see me again. Deal?"
"Deal." Bucky said, and he smacked his hand onto yours.
"Good, now start giving directions."
You turned, falling back into your seat. Bucky couldn't understand why, but he felt drawn to the constant challenge you always beckoned. Even if the old him would have squeezed the air from your lungs, that didn't stop him from imagining it now.
And he realized it was going to be a very long car ride.