There was nothing profound about falling from a train; one moment he had been safe and the next he wasn’t. Bucky wanted to pretend that he was fearless in the face of death, but that was a shameless lie he told himself. In those moments, whipping in the wind like someone’s forgotten laundry before a storm, he was terrified. There was no time to think of all the things he’d miss: warm spring days, working on cars, drinking coffee, reading the paper, hot showers, going to the fair…the list was endless. And Steve, oh God, Steve. There hadn’t even been time to lament him. There was only the relentless grasp of fear burning in his chest, eating away at his veins like a thousand tributaries of the River Styx. There had been hope until there wasn’t. Then he was falling. He remembered blinking once and when he looked up—searching for a last glimpse of life—the train was gone. If a man falls from a train and no one is there to hear him does he make a sound?
Darkness engulfed him. How long did a lay there—a mound of battered flesh and broken bones—on his unforgiving deathbed of snow? Minutes? Hours? Days? He didn’t know. There was only the inky blackness that settled over his brain, slowing the firing of each and every synapse and reducing his heartbeat to a dull thud. When they were boys, frogs had fascinated Steve and Bucky. They’d put one in the freezer to see if it really could survive being frozen. It did: too bad Bucky wasn’t a frog. Frost had begun to settle on his eyelashes when he awoke. The trees were blowing in the wind. Wait! No! He was moving, and that’s when he saw it. The deep chasm his body had left in the snow was soaked in bright red blood: his blood. Oh God! Where is it coming from? His vision began to blur. This must be hell. He craned his neck. On the train he’d been too wrapped up in himself—in his fear—to really look at Steve, to take in all the things he’d miss. He deserved eye contact with the devil, but when he tried all he saw was an arm and a shoulder before the tide of pain surged forward and he was pulled under.
Blinding light. Maybe he had been in purgatory. Maybe he could rest now. Then he heard the voices.
“We can definitely use him, Dr. Zola. Thanks to the experiments before he was rescued”. Use him? For what? He was just a corpse. A cold voice with a thick accent—Swiss or German maybe—replied, “We are lucky to have found him. He will do great things.” Bucky’s thoughts trickled like molasses. Do? Someone tell me what’s going on? He was shrieking, but no sound came out. All of his thoughts were sucked into the void. James Barnes is a ghost. I am a ghost. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He would give anything to go back and live one more day. He would make breakfast in bed for Steve just like he had when they were young and Steve was too weak to make it himself. Except this time Steve would be healthy. This time he wouldn’t let Steve eat alone. He would sit and talk. No, he would listen to every word that came out of Steve’s perfect mouth, and when Steve finished talking he would finally kiss him. He would tell him he loved him. That he had had always loved him. He would memorize the way the morning sun reflected off of Steve’s hair. He would go see his sisters and apologize for not being around more. He would read a book. He would finally pose for a drawing like Steve always begged him too. He would go to the beach. Or maybe Coney Island. He’d listen to his favorite record. God, he wanted to go dancing! He’d…He’d…do nothing. This was the end. There was a sensation on his cheek: a calloused finger had wiped away his tear. Then, all at once, breath was hot against his ear.
“Sergeant Barnes, do you want to live?” It was the man with the unplaceable accent.
Bucky’s heart thumped like a wild hare. He had never wanted anything like he wanted life. He felt the tug of desire in his gut. He was a starving man on death row and, given the chance, he would eat the life out of another man’s chest. This was greed. This was hunger. This was longing.
The man didn’t wait for an answer.
“You will be a gift to humanity, Barnes. You will be an asset”.