Chapter 1
The plane was lavish, sleek seats and neutral colours that did nothing to soothe the swirling mess of words and memories behind Bucky's blank stare. Sam had stopped asking him if he was okay after his third attempt that had been answered with a blunt “I’m fine”. His scepticism was written all over his face, but so was his exhaustion, which Bucky was banking on winning out.
Zemo had dropped into the first available chair, a stray strand of hair flopping in front of his eyes, and after a quick conversation with the pilot, was out like a light.
The other two men had elected to sit at the other end of the plane, trying to put as much distance as they physically could between themselves and the Sokovian aristocrat, which admittedly, wasn't very much. Bucky had folded himself into a corner, somehow managing to make his built physique look smaller, absently polishing his arm as he stared unblinkingly out of the window.
Sam sat across from him, crossing his arms over his chest, propping his legs up, and angling himself in such a way that he could still see Bucky clearly from across the plane. Countless questions sat on the tip of his tongue, unspoken, that he knew would get him nowhere. So he sat, kept an eye on his friend until his exhaustion took over.
Bucky pressed his forehead against the vibrating glass of the plane window, watching as the land beneath them disappeared into the vast ocean. This was supposed to be the calm before the next fight. The respite between missions for them to rest, soothe their aching bones, and tend to their injuries. He knew he was the only one awake, the other passenger’s breathing had settled nearly an hour ago, no noise in the cabin except the hum of the engine and the soft snoring of his friend nearby.
зимний солдат, атака.
He pressed his head harder into the glass, skin turning white, as though the cold pressure would somehow drown out Zemo’s words echoing in his ears. Somehow drown out the way he had followed the order so easily. The way the bustling bar had faded into white noise as he surged forward without a second thought. It was easy, almost too easy to switch his brain off and do as he was told. No. NO.
I am no longer the Winter soldier, my name is James Buchanan Barnes.
His stomach rolled and his throat constricted. He could still feel the crunch of bones beneath his fist. The fist that had long since been cleaned of any evidence of violence. But he could still see it. Still feel it. Still hear the screams. Still see Zemo’s smug fucking smirk and Sam, was that concern? Or fear? He couldn't decide which one was worse. His stomach lurched again.
повинуйся солдат
The nails on his flesh arm dug perfect Cs into the palm of his hand, almost drawing blood. Breath burned in his lungs and his vision blurred. Russian commands shouting in his head, overpowering the much less confident English response.
зимний солдат, атака.
I am no longer the Winter soldier, my name is James Buchanan Barnes.
молодец, солдат.
I am no longer the Winter soldier, my name is James Buchanan Barnes.
Тоска
No.
Семнадцать
No. please god no.
“Bucky?”