Broken Pieces
“Soldat, here are your mission parameters.”
The Asset tried to pay attention, but the words all seemed to jumble together inside the handler’s mouth. No matter how hard he tried, he could not understand what was being said. The Asset’s heart began to race, a seemingly unneeded reaction that he could not explain. He knew that not listening to his handler’s words was a grave mistake, to be punished and corrected to ensure that the Asset’s flawed programming would learn from his mistakes.
Something inside the Asset was scared by the thought of punishment, but that made no sense. The Asset did not feel fear. Fear was a human emotion, and the Asset was only a weapon.
The handler finished reciting the mission parameters, but the Asset hadn’t been able to listen. The straps of the chair tightened around him, looping around his legs, arms, and head.
Wipe him.
The Asset knew that struggling was futile, but his body seemed to react on instinct, straining against the bindings holding him down as electricity began to course through his body. The pain was always too much; a visceral, overpowering agony that he could not bear in silence. The Asset felt a scream tear its way out of his throat, but he could not hear it over the blood rushing in his ears.
The restraints suddenly gave out, and he fell on the floor.
There was snow under his hands, cold and painful. The Soldier’s fingers seemed to disappear in the white. There was snow everywhere, turning everything white. The Soldier’s finger hovered over the trigger. The man was begging, on his knees, with tears streaming down his face. His cheeks were red from the cold.
Red was everywhere. The snow was stained with blood. It kept spreading, turning everything into the most haunting shade of crimson as the man bled out in the snow. All the Soldier could see was red.
Natasha ducked under his punch, her red hair dancing before his eyes. He threw another jab with his right arm, then feigned with the left before swiping her legs out from under her. She hit the floor with a grunt, and he stared down at her in disappointment. She looked at him with pleading eyes.
Get up.
She tried to stand, but her arms were shaking too badly to hold her weight.
Bucky, please.
He did not know who Bucky was. The Soldier glanced at their handlers, staring at them with suspicion, before repeating, Get up.
Natasha looked up at him, and suddenly her face became distorted.
Please, Bucky!
Her voice morphed and twisted, turning deeper and more desperate.
Bucky! Grab my hand!
Bucky stared up at Steve, meeting his terrified gaze as Steve’s hand tried to reach for him. He knew he was going to fall. He could sense it, deep inside of him, sense the freezing air rushing past him as he fell.
Steve was still reaching for him, and Bucky tried to grab his hand, he really did, but his arm was hurting, and everything began to slip away. The sky, then the mountains, then the train, until all that was left was Steve’s stricken face and his outstretched hand. Bucky tried again, but he could feel his fingers slipping away too, and then he was falling, with Steve’s scream echoing in his head.
Bucky! Bucky! B-
“Bucky! Baby, wake up!”
Bucky’s eyes flew open as he choked on a scream. Instinctively, he tried to roll off the bed into a crouch, but as soon as he moved pain sliced through his arm. He gasped, cradling it close to his chest before struggling to get to his feet.
He realized he was on the floor, not on the bed, and the covers were half-pulled off. His panicked brain kept stuttering all over the place until a thought crossed his mind, and–
“Tony?” he asked breathlessly, caught somewhere between lost and desperate.
“I’m here, baby.”
Bucky turned to his left, where Tony was reaching for him, crouched low on the ground and looking shaken himself. When he saw Bucky looking at him, his mouth curved in a watery smile.
“There you are, love. You just had a nightmare, and I think your arm is broken. Can I touch you?”
Bucky’s head still felt fragmented, like rational thought was something out of its grasp, but he nodded nonetheless. Even without being able to understand or explain why, having Tony close to him felt more important than anything in the world.
“Good, good, that’s good.” Tony’s voice was a soft murmur, and a soothing balm for Bucky’s panicked mind.
As soon as he was close enough to touch, Tony did so, sliding one hand into Bucky’s hair while the other came to rest on his cheek. “You back with me yet?” he asked gently as his thumb began rubbing slow circles on Bucky’s cheekbone.
Bucky shook his head, because the echo of Steve’s voice was still ringing through his head, and Tony made a wounded noise in the back of his throat.
“That was a bad one, wasn’t it?” Bucky knew the question was rhetorical, so he didn’t answer. “That’s ok, honey, just follow my lead and breathe with me. In, and out. Just like that.”
Tony guided him through a few minutes of controlled breathing, only stopping when Bucky asked in a raspy voice to be brought some water. The trip to the bathroom and back took less than thirty seconds, and then Tony was slowly tipping a glass of water in Bucky’s mouth.
Bucky had tried to grab it himself, but his arm had seized so badly he’d almost blacked out.
“Yup, that’s definitely fractured,” Tony sighed.
Bucky swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that for some reason sprung up at that. “I’m… I’m really broken, aren’t I?” he asked, and Tony immediately knew he wasn’t referring to the arm.
Tony smiled sadly before tenderly kissing Bucky’s forehead.
“I’m a mechanic, baby. Fixing things is what I do.”