[Ever since he emerged from cryo for good two years ago, Bucky's not been much for sleeping. Even in the first few days on his own, nightmares haunted him. He certainly didn't deserve restful sleep after all he's done and the same holds true now as he stares up at the wall, listening to Steve tossing and turning on the cot. With half a mind to run again, Bucky pushes his eyes open when they start to droop, but soon he can't fend off sleep anymore than his friend.
They begin the same as always: with a rising curtain of glass. Steam billows out onto the floor and cuts between moments of clarity. He falls, always falling, and then he's seated in the chair. Electricity sparks around him and his head goes fuzzy with agony. His fists clench but they can't pull at the manacles closed tight about his wrists. Everything he remembers is disappearing again, slipping down into the vortex. Russian fills the Siberian air and then his mind is crystal clear.
'Good morning, soldier.'
'Ready to comply,' rumbles from his own mouth in reply.
'I have a mission for you. Confirmed kill in ten hours. Steve Rogers, Captain America.'
He stands on the catwalk overlooking the glass belly of the hellicarrier, target across from him. The pistol slides out from his holster first, short raps accompanying each shot until the gun is knocked out of his hand by a shield. A knife follows but that, too, is rebuffed by the shield. Without options, his fury pushes through him as he tackles his target over the metal railing separating them from a ten foot drop onto support columns. They brawl closer and closer to the edge and he knocks his target down. He presses his limited advantage and finds himself crashing against the glass below.
He's found his pistol and he's shooting at the shield again, then the knife makes a return appearance, this time biting into his target's shoulder until he knocks the latter away. He dives for a tiny chip on the glass but is picked up by the throat.
'Drop it' a familiar voice fills his ears as his fingers clench tighter around silicon and aluminum.
His fleshy arm snaps and white hot fire burns through him. Bones break and his throat creaks at the pressure applied to his neck. Stay awake stay awake stay----
He's up again and pulls the trigger at his target, who stops and stumbles and his mission isn't complete yet. Not until... not until...
Steel rains from above, trapping him, but his target returns to his side, does his best to lift the column trapping him to the glass. Blood oozes from his target's wounds, but he strains all the same.
As soon as he's free, he attacks his target again. Fire dances around them, sparks fly, and he's launching assault after assault.
'You've known me your whole life.'
Metal demolishes bones, breaks blood vessels, cleaves tissue.
'Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.'
Another hit, broken eye socket, and his target stumbles back to pull off the blue helmet adorned with an A. Blonde hair is matted and his face swollen.
'I'm not going to fight you.'
It's not his choice, really. Bucky charges and fist after fist rains down upon the face so familiar and yet so distant.
'Then finish it. Cause I'm with you to the end of the line.'
Fire takes both of them.
Bucky awakes with a soft sound of distress, but his knees are scraping the floor, boots catch on one leg of the cot and jostles the occupant. He sees Steve's face, thinner, less swollen, less broken and bruised and purple and oh god oh god oh god.
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They begin the same as always: with a rising curtain of glass. Steam billows out onto the floor and cuts between moments of clarity. He falls, always falling, and then he's seated in the chair. Electricity sparks around him and his head goes fuzzy with agony. His fists clench but they can't pull at the manacles closed tight about his wrists. Everything he remembers is disappearing again, slipping down into the vortex. Russian fills the Siberian air and then his mind is crystal clear.
'Good morning, soldier.'
'Ready to comply,' rumbles from his own mouth in reply.
'I have a mission for you. Confirmed kill in ten hours. Steve Rogers, Captain America.'
He stands on the catwalk overlooking the glass belly of the hellicarrier, target across from him. The pistol slides out from his holster first, short raps accompanying each shot until the gun is knocked out of his hand by a shield. A knife follows but that, too, is rebuffed by the shield. Without options, his fury pushes through him as he tackles his target over the metal railing separating them from a ten foot drop onto support columns. They brawl closer and closer to the edge and he knocks his target down. He presses his limited advantage and finds himself crashing against the glass below.
He's found his pistol and he's shooting at the shield again, then the knife makes a return appearance, this time biting into his target's shoulder until he knocks the latter away. He dives for a tiny chip on the glass but is picked up by the throat.
'Drop it' a familiar voice fills his ears as his fingers clench tighter around silicon and aluminum.
His fleshy arm snaps and white hot fire burns through him. Bones break and his throat creaks at the pressure applied to his neck. Stay awake stay awake stay----
He's up again and pulls the trigger at his target, who stops and stumbles and his mission isn't complete yet. Not until... not until...
Steel rains from above, trapping him, but his target returns to his side, does his best to lift the column trapping him to the glass. Blood oozes from his target's wounds, but he strains all the same.
As soon as he's free, he attacks his target again. Fire dances around them, sparks fly, and he's launching assault after assault.
'You've known me your whole life.'
Metal demolishes bones, breaks blood vessels, cleaves tissue.
'Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.'
Another hit, broken eye socket, and his target stumbles back to pull off the blue helmet adorned with an A. Blonde hair is matted and his face swollen.
'I'm not going to fight you.'
It's not his choice, really. Bucky charges and fist after fist rains down upon the face so familiar and yet so distant.
'Then finish it. Cause I'm with you to the end of the line.'
Fire takes both of them.
Bucky awakes with a soft sound of distress, but his knees are scraping the floor, boots catch on one leg of the cot and jostles the occupant. He sees Steve's face, thinner, less swollen, less broken and bruised and purple and oh god oh god oh god.
He has to get out of here, he has to run.]