One punch.

Two punches.

Three punches.

The chain that held the sandbag to the ceiling was growing weaker and weaker as Bucky continued his assault, though it wasn't something he could exactly help. Since he and Connie had arrived at the safe-house, more and more memories inside Bucky's head were becoming clear. Not only did his mind now consist of good memories, but they also consisted of the bad ones in which he wanted nothing more than to remain forgotten.

Of course, Bucky remembered his victims. Knowing that he had taken so many innocent lives helped contribute to the amount of guilt he felt inside him, but remembering the details only made that guilt worse.

Bucky could hear their voices in his head pleading for him to stop; he could hear them begging for their lives to be spared for the sake of the families they had started and the friendships they had made. He could see the terror in their eyes as well as the horrifying acceptance when they realized there was no way to escape. There were so many tears, and there was so much pain, all of which Bucky now had his fair share of.

Four punches.

Bucky was trapped in the memories inside his head. He could see a little girl hiding in the corner of what looked to be a very lavish 20th century home. She was covered in blood and tears, and he knew it to be because of the middle-aged man that lay dead in the middle of the common room floor; the man's wife was resting much the same as he was in their bedroom upstairs, but he doubted the little girl was aware.

The little girl looked away from the man and up at Bucky. Her face was stained with tears and her big brown eyes showed nothing but absolute pain and fear. The girl wasn't that old. Bucky calculated she was at least nine years old, but it was of little importance to him. Finishing his mission was the only thing that was important to him; giving the world the freedom it deserved was the only thing that was important to him.

"Bitte tun Sie mir nicht weh (Please don't hurt me)," the little girl pleaded with him.

Deep down, Bucky wanted to listen to her. He didn't want to hurt her—he wanted her to have a chance to grow old and have a family—but a bigger and stronger part of him was telling him that hurting her was exactly what he needed to do.

He pulled his pistol from its holster at his side and aimed it at the little girl. Her brown eyes filled with more tears and more fear, and she cowered away from Bucky.

"Bitte (Please)," she begged once more.

"Leave no witnesses," another voice ordered him, a voice that he had grown to fear over the course of the years. If he didn't obey the voice's orders, he would be punished, and he didn't want to be punished. He didn't want to feel pain.

Bucky pulled the trigger without hesitating, sending the little girl falling to the floor in a pool of her own blood. He swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure of why he was feeling so terribly guilty because of his actions.

"Es tut mir Leid (I'm sorry)," he uttered quietly before taking off.

Five punches.

The sandbag chain snapped under Bucky's strength, sending the piece of workout equipment flying across the room. He looked at the sandbag with wide eyes, unaware that he had even been hitting it that hard in the first place. He was just so trapped inside his mind and his memories that he had no control over himself, and that wasn't exactly a good thing.

"Hey," Connie's voice sounded from behind him.

Bucky spun around immediately to look at her, slightly startled about what she would think after learning what had just happened. "C-Connie."

Connie's brows furrowed slightly and she looked past him to see the sandbag laying on the floor against the wall with sand still spilling from it. When she looked back at Bucky, she noticed the pain in his eyes and the way his metal fist was balled up so tightly at his side.

"Bucky?"

"I just. . ." Bucky trailed off, unsure of what to say to her.

Connie let out a sad sigh and started toward him. She grabbed his metal arm from his side and held it out in front of them, folding his hand out with her fingers. She gave the metallic limb a gentle and reassuring squeeze with her right hand and looked up at him, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones.

"You can talk to me, Bucky," Connie said to him.

Bucky nodded and looked down at their hands. He squeezed her hand as gently as he possibly could for fear of harming her before looking back up at her. As he stood there in front of her, every single emotion he felt was becoming stronger and stronger inside him. He wanted to cry and he wanted to punch out one of the house's windows, though her presence prevented him from doing the latter.

Connie reached her free hand up to wipe away a few stray tears that had fallen from his eyes, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "How 'bout you and I have a chat?"

Connie led Bucky into the living room and sat him down on the couch before heading into the kitchen to grab both of them something to drink. She had spent the previous day doing nothing but stocking up on food and drinks for her and Bucky, and at the moment they were set for the next few weeks.

After grabbing two bottles of water, Connie headed back into the living room. She sat down on the couch beside Bucky and handed him his bottle, which he took without hesitation.

"So, what's going on?" Connie asked as she placed her water bottle onto the coffee table in front of her. She grabbed Bucky's right hand and began peeling off the tape from his workout while he spoke to her.

"My memories." Bucky sighed, "They're all coming back."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Connie asked him as she tossed the remnants of his tape onto the coffee table.

Bucky shook his head. "Not when the memories consist of every horrible thing I've ever done in my life, Connie. I see everything in so much detail and I can't stand it. I hurt so many people and ruined so many lives. How am I supposed to get over that?"

Connie frowned as she looked at Bucky. She wanted to lie to him and tell him that he would get over it, but as someone with experience in that particular field, she knew she couldn't do it.

"You won't get over it, Bucky," Connie said as she looked down at her hands to avoid his eyes. "Years will pass and you will still feel that gut-wrenching feeling inside you, despite the fact that you were forced to do everything you've done. The pain doesn't go away, nor does the guilt; it never will."

Bucky let out a breath and slumped down in his seat. Her words were not at all what he had anticipated. "What a brutally honest response."

Connie looked over at him. "I'm not saying what I'm saying to make you upset, Buck; the last thing I want is to see you upset, but I've been through this before, and lying to you about something like this isn't something I'd feel good about."

"So, I'm destined to live a life full of nothing but pain and guilt, huh?"

"No," Connie shook her head. "That's not what I meant. After I was recruited for S.H.I.E.L.D., knowing that I was helping people instead of hurting them made the pain and guilt I felt so much easier for me to deal with. Instead of tearing families apart, I was helping keep them together; instead of taking away life, I was giving it. I'll never not feel that pain or that guilt inside me, but knowing everything I've done over the past six years helps ease it."

Bucky shrugged. "I just need to be good. . ."

"That's one way to put it."

"The problem is, Connie. . .I don't know how to be good," Bucky said sadly.

"What do you mean you don't know how to be good?"

"All I've known for the past five decades is how to kill and how to harm people," Bucky said, his voice strained as he grew overwhelmed with emotion. "Even now, after spending so much time without being brainwashed, there's still that small part of me that feels it needs to 'give the world the freedom it deserves.' I don't know how not to be that person, Connie."

Connie let out a breath and grabbed his hand in her own, giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze. "You are not a bad person, Bucky Barnes. Take it from someone who knew you before you were forced into this horrible life."

"What was I like?" Bucky asked her hopefully, tightening his grip on her hand.

"You were the sweetest and most caring man in the world," Connie told him with a smile on her face. "You cared more about those around you than you cared about yourself; you took care of and protected the ones you loved no matter what. You were a loyal and devoted friend and a hopeless romantic."

"I wanna be that man again," Bucky told her. "I don't wanna lose myself to Winter."

Connie chuckled. "I used to think that I had lost myself to the person I had become during my time with Hydra, but I was wrong. I'm definitely not the same person I was when I was with you and Steve, and I probably never will be again, but so many aspects of that person still exist inside me, just as they do with you. No, you may never be the man you used to be back then, Bucky, but there is still a part of that man inside you that you have to hold onto, okay? You haven't lost yourself."

"I'm guessing we wouldn't be sitting here together if I had, huh?" Bucky chuckled lightly. It was almost like music to Connie's ears.

"Even if you had, we probably still would," Connie reassured him. "I'd do whatever I could do to bring you back."

"You really do care about me, don't you?" Bucky asked quietly as his facial expression fell serious.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Connie's mouth and she nodded. "More than you know."

"I've never told you, but knowing that you do gives me a reason to keep fighting what's inside my head, so thank you," Bucky told her.

"Not a problem, Sergeant."