Bucky set down the manila folder he'd been given a few hours ago, running a hand tiredly over his face. The same face stared up at him from a cryo-tube in the faded old photograph he held. He hadn't wanted to know the details of what they'd done to him, but he'd needed to. Bits and pieces had come back to him as he read.
"Guess they liked to keep me nice and fresh for later." He threw the photograph down with a sigh. "Whenever they were done with me, I went back in the freezer. If I ever acted up, they'd wipe me, then back in the freezer. Like a fuckin' popsicle."
"I take it you don't want any ice-cream later then, huh?" Steve handed him a cup of coffee, taking a seat across from him.
Bucky just stared at him in silence.
"It was a joke, Buck."
"Right."