Run

Steve called that night.

“Hello?” Bucky said.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve,” Steve said. Bucky had the urge to hang up immediately, but he felt a little bad and he thought maybe this way, he could figure out exactly what was happening the next day at noon.

“Yes?” Bucky replied.

“Did you get Tony’s message? He’s going to help fix your arm,” Steve said. “He has guest rooms all set up at Stark Tower.”

“Where is that?” Bucky asked.

“It’s in New York,” Steve replied. “I just wanted to give you more of a heads-up. I’m gonna come and be there with you, okay?” Bucky frowned.

“I don’t want this,” he said.

“Don’t want what?” Steve asked and Bucky hung up.

Bucky had heard about Tony Stark, if only through snippets of conversation he caught from Hydra members placed near him. He didn’t like to think about Hydra because it brought a darkness into his mind, but right now, sitting on his bed, Stark’s letter in hand, he knew he had to strain himself and try to remember more.

To be honest, the Winter Soldier didn’t hear a lot from his cell. He was often alone, save the guards he knew were consistently on the other side of the metal doors. He didn’t know why they were there, because even he couldn’t remember his last escape attempt, but maybe there was another reason. Regardless, they were there, and he would sometimes hear them.

Words rose to his mind from places unknown when he drew forth those experiences of sitting alone and listening to gaurds’ chatter. Stark. Ironman. Avengers. Technology? A sharp pain struck Bucky on his left side suddenly and his thoughts careened off track as he sucked in a breath. His whole left arm was burning. Confused and in pain, his metal arm wasn’t supposed to feel!, Bucky lept up and grabbed his arm--and grabbed at air.

“Oh!” Bucky said, shocked that he had forgotten, surprised to be feeling pain. The pain was still there, but Bucky was looking at his side, of course he didn’t have an arm, there was nothing there!

Bucky imagined he could still make use of his left arm. It felt like he could sometimes, and he would go to do something with it and would find himself just a little stupidly surprised when nothing happened. Because he didn’t have an arm. Bucky gritted his teeth, embarrassed at himself and frustrated that there was nothing he could do to assuage the pain he felt. And he had been interrupted right when he had started to remember things, too. Bucky curled his right hand into a fist and drove it into his bended knee in frustration. Who knows what else he had been interrupted in remembering?

Bucky didn’t want to try again. He was afraid searching his mind might trigger pain, so he decided to only try to remember things in small doses, with large breaks, just to be safe. That dose, he thought reluctantly, was good for today.

A second thought he did have, though, was that maybe getting rid of his left arm wasn’t such a bad thing. People lived without limbs all the time. And that arm, as helpful as it was, was Hydra’s. It was the Winter Soldier’s. Bucky had shoved down his dislike for it because he felt like he needed it, but now that it wasn’t attached to him, he wasn’t 100% sure he wanted it back. He didn’t like the detestable star that felt like some sort of brand, he didn’t like the scary way it made him look, he didn’t like the fact that he had killed people with it under Hydra’s command. It wasn’t a prosthetic made for him with love. It wasn’t that Hydra had wanted him to be comfortable, it was that they wanted him to be useful and a broken assassin wasn’t much use to them. Maybe it’s fitting to lose the arm then, Bucky thought. Broken outside, broken inside. I match.

Bucky decided that when Stark’s minions arrived to retrieve him the next day at noon, he would tell them to take it and not bring it back. He could get along without it, like he was getting along without Hydra, like he was getting along without the Winter Soldier. It was a part of him that he wanted gone manifested as a real, physical part of him and should he be able to leave it behind.

So the next day, that is exactly what he told Tony Stark when he came, standing in his doorway and holding a large briefcase.

“Nice hotel you’ve got here. The stains in the carpets are really classy,” Stark said. Bucky wasn’t shaken. He stood at the doorway, holding it open with his right arm, his left arm’s sleeves held up with clips and safety pins.

“If you’re not here out of the goodness of your heart, why are you here?” Bucky asked. He didn’t realize it was rude not to invite Tony inside. Tony realized it was rude and he shifted, arms folded.

“You really have to ask?” He said. “Steve wouldn’t let it go.”

“I don’t want Steve’s pity,” Bucky said.

“Oops, too late,” Tony replied with a deadpan expression and moved forward, crowding Bucky out of the way and stepping into his hotel room. Bucky gritted his teeth.

“How does Steve even know?” Bucky asked.

“It’s hard not to know,” Tony said, kicking Bucky’s thrown sheets and dirty clothes out of the way as he moved towards the armour. “You’re all over the news after that overpass stunt. People noticed you walking away with a broken arm. I assume you’ve kept it in these drawers, right?” Bucky did, but he didn’t tell him that. He hadn’t wanted to be all over the news. What were the papers even saying?? He resolved to buy one as soon as Stark left.

Bucky watched Tony hunt through each drawer until he found the mangled metal in the very last one.

“Wow, you really destroyed this,” he said. Bucky shrugged his one shoulder, but Tony didn’t see. He set his briefcase on the ground and opened it up, fitting the metal prosthetic into the case inside and closing it back up.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, because he felt he ought to say it. “But I actually don’t want it and I don’t want to go with you. If you want it, you can have it, study it, whatever. But I don’t want it reattached to me and I’m not going anywhere.” Tony stared, briefcase in hand.

“You don’t want your arm,” Tony repeated, as though the thought was so strange as though to stun him. Bucky shifted a little and then shook his head.

“It’s the Winter Soldier’s, it’s not mine,” he said finally. Stark stared, looking him up and down, as though attempting to decode him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was told I was at the Winter Soldiers’ hotel room. Who do you think you are?” Tony asked, snark heavy in his voice.

“Can we just agree that I don’t want it and leave it at that?” Bucky demanded.

“What about it don’t you like?” Tony asked. “I could fix it, you know, that’s what I’m doing here.”

“I just don’t like it!” Bucky cried, throwing up his one arm. “Why do you care?”

“Because if you don’t have an arm, Steve won’t shut up!” Tony replied. Bucky took a deep breath. He couldn’t get away from Steve.

“Tell Steve I don’t want his help,” Bucky said. Was Steve seriously so blind as to believe that Bucky wanted his help, or needed it? He was more than happy to go about his business himself and not cause Steve Rogers any more reason for complaint. “Tell Steve to leave me alone.”

“Tell him yourself,” Tony said and swung past Bucky again, out into the hallway. He turned to face Bucky again. “Are you packed?” Bucky frowned and looked down at the clothes he was wearing.

“Enough,” he said.

“Then come on,” Tony said.

“I don’t want it,” Bucky tried again, but Tony Stark was already walking away.

“Don’t care,” he said as he walked, not looking back. Angry and feeling as though he couldn’t just leave the issue there, Bucky followed him to the counter and watched in dead-end frustration as Tony checked him out of his room.

“I’ve got a plane waiting for us,” Tony said. “We’ll take the car to the airport.” Bucky glared.

“Fine,” he growled. Stark was not an easy man to work with, but at least all he felt towards him was anger, unlike Steve Rogers. Anger was significantly easier.