SamBucky Oneshots

I'm in love with an Angel - and I'm a fucking demon

He screamed in rage before tackling Captain America down, faint memories clawing and gashing their way out in his head; he ignored them. 

"And you're my mission,"  The soldier said with finality, though a diminished flicker of reminiscence struck him as he pinned down the blonde. He felt familiarity; but chose to ignore the flickering resemblance. This was his mission, and he was determined to accomplish it, just like he has been doing since decades; that was the purpose of his existence, that was the point of the soldier's life - just wipe-kill-wipe-kill-wipe-kill.

"YOU'RE.......MY.......MISSION!" He shouted in agony, delivering a punch to Captain America with every word. Memories hitting his head like a hurricane as he did so; a skinny little boy...a good friend. But then they faded again, buried deep within his wiped head - making him impassive once more. He managed a proper look at the worn off face, the swollen eyes and bruised cheekbones; the wounds across his face reminding the soldier of alleyways for some reason.

"Then finish it," The blonde remarked, his voice raspy and broken, "Cause I'm with you...till the end of the line."

His punch remained afloat above his head, his eyes dipped in confusion-desperation-anger. For the first time he didn't want to hurt someone, for the first time he didn't want to comply to his orders. Sucking in a shaky breath, he battled within his mind, considering to lower his punch; but a part of him reminded him of the pain he would feel if he did anything other than kill Captain America - as assigned. 

The floor below him gave away and he fell; desperation struck him like a truck as he gaped around to find the blonds - he was falling, memories erupting in his head again...a freight car, a friend...and a 'Bucky'.

But no, he didn't hit the surface; well he did, but not the surface where he could manage himself. 
"Strap him," A voice said and invisible hands collided with the soldier's chest, thrusting him into the chair. Clear and vivid recollections from his past swirled in his head; but they were being buried again, deep within. 
"NO!" The soldier shouted in protest, for the first and last time. The hands didn't stop; instead he felt tremendous pain surging through his body.
"No-no-no-no-no," He kept repeating under his breath. With every spark of pain came an exclusive memory of Steve, but not by his side - but by a young lady, with short-slightly curled hair - Peggy. Bucky miserably tried to forget his past, for the first time in ages, but he couldn't. As the pain swelled inside his body, more memories returned...they kept returning until Bucky shut his eyes, screaming in despair. 

"Open your eyes, Buck," A voice spoke, tender and livid. Bucky couldn't resist himself and opened his eyes. 
There sat Steve, his face wrinkled and a similar smile on his face; in his hands, he held a picture...it kept changing, from Steve and Peggy to several victims of The Winter Soldier; but it finally settled on a picture of Sam Wilson in his falcon outfit. 
"Готовы подчиниться? Солдат?" Steve spoke, with a smug look on his face; it wasn't his voice, but the voice was steel cold, almost as if Bucky, himself, was ordering to kill Sam. 

"No-" Bucky tried to reason but was instantly pulled into a void of blackness below his feet. He kept falling, shivering with fear and sheer anger. Then his feet landed, not on a harsh surface, but a somehow tender one. 
Bucky looked down, a part of his vision covered with his long strands of hair, and a mask, almost suffocating him, over his mouth. Below his feet, were the pleading brown eyes of Sam Wilson. 
"Buck please," Sam spoke, his voice quivering with fear and bitterness. There was a large wound on his forehead, blood spewing out uncontrollably. His brown eyes no longer radiating comfort, but covered with panic. 

Bucky wanted to pull away, he wanted to help Sam on his feet, he wanted Sam to be alive; but his mind wasn't in control. Lifting his metal hand, Bucky desperately tried to retreat it, or throw the pistol away; but nothing was working. He cocked the gun and pointed it at Sam's head.
"This isn't you Buck," Sam said, somehow his voice still sympathetic.