A Little Song Bird

Part 4: Shit's Hitting the Fan: The Road Begins

August 4, 2019

3:52 pm

Goddamn, who's screaming like that? My lungs are burning and my throat is so raw.....it's me.

I catch sight of my hands and the next scream dies in my throat, instead sobs heave themselves out of my lungs, while my ribs screech in protest. Looking past my crimson hands I see the ice splattered with blood.

So much blood.

Screwing my eyes shut, despite my throbbing cheek. I know exactly what is on the ice in front of me. Flashes of the past appear in my mind...I've lost count of how many W's I've made. Sometimes it would be two, so I'd kill double the men to make it for him. It was the ultimate show for him, the perfect display of his pet.

To kill on the ice without flaw is the way to become a god on the ground, is what he'd tell me.

He'd throw big parties and I'd be the main entertainment for the underworld.

Vomit climbs my throat without care and I can't stop myself. Dropping to my knees, I empty my stomach on the ice in front of me, till nothing but bile comes up. Sitting back on my heels, I try to get my breathing under control as my stomach still spasms.

Fucking broken ribs.

My head snaps up when I hear soft footsteps in front of me. At first all my mind registers as a male form and I can't help but scramble backwards.

"Easy, little star. It's all over." It's Loki... meaning they came for me and that they are safe. My mind is racing still.

Did they get Morozov?

Is anyone hurt?

Where's Saint?

Where's Bucky?

I'm so caught up I don't notice him coming closer, he's already crouched beside me. "Can I touch you?" His voice is soft, softer than I've ever heard it. My brain is fractured, the music won't come. But his voice is almost like a song.

The itching is overwhelming, the only thing stopping me from scratching is the blood already caked on my fingers.

Any logic or rationality I had left was brutally stripped over the past few hours, so I started signing at him. My voice is lost to me.

'Please keep talking. The music is gone.'

He frowns at my hands. Does he not understand? Where's Bucky? He knows. I need him but I also need the man next to me. But Bucky is mad at me? But I shouldn't? But his voice....

Shakily I reach out for his hand and pull myself up, Balancing my skates I go to pull him along but he moves too slow. Angrily, I glare at the boot-covered feet.

Skating is like walking, how could he not have any?

At times like this I wish talking was easy. But now I get to act like the abused kid I am and I hate it. Pointing at my own skate-clad feet and then at his, I cross my arms and wait. If he's got any brains he'll figure out what I want.