Fragile - A Bucky Barnes Story

Break

"Lucky?" Bucky calls out, grabbing hold of each shoulder, attempting to steady my swaying feet. "What happened, what do I need to do?"

"Just need aleve and rest, think you can walk me back to my room," I groan as I lean against his chest. I was taken back by him sweeping me up into a fireman's hold. "You don't have to carry me!"

"Your ability is a mutation right, you have to expend energy to use it?" He questioned aloud what I had explained in the first meeting. "You can't use any more energy just trying to get back to your bed or you'll pass out."

I figure arguing would waste more energy or cause the migraine to worsen to the throw up stage. I just grunt in acknowledgement and allow him to carry me back across the lawn to the door and up the elevator, as he exited the elevator and began down the hallway leading to the bedrooms, I heard another set of footsteps.

"What happened? Is she okay?" it was Steve's voice from what I could tell, and he sounded concerned.

"She did a lot of work in my head and it gave her a migraine," Bucky explained as he slowed his stride. "Open the door, will ya punk?"

"Does she need to go to medical?" Steve asked as I heard the doorknob turn and swing open. Bucky began to carry me back, pausing slightly before continuing on to my bedroom.

"No, she just used too much of her powers," Bucky sat me down on the plush comforter that laid neatly on top of my bed and disappeared for a few minutes, when he came back he cleared his throat to get my attention. "Lucky, here's the aleve."

"Thanks Bucky," I murmured softly, squinting my eyes open to see his outstretched hands, one holding a small blue pill and the other a glass of water.

"Your welcome, I'll-" he grabbed the glass back from me and set it on the nightstand by the bed, his eyes scanning the room as he thought of his next words. "I'll come back and check on you at dinner time."

"You don't have to do that, I'll be fine. This happens anytime I do rehabilitation work," I let out a dry chuckle as I sit back and place my hand over my eyes. "It's why I stopped doing it anyways."

"I'm sorry," his voice sounded genuinely apologetic. I peaked out from behind my hand and saw the downturn of his full lips.

"Please don't, out of the handful of times I've done it," I glance up at his deep blue eyes and force a smile through the pain. "You are the most deserving. I'll be good as new in a few hours so no need to worry."

"Buck," Steve's voice called out from my living room, his figure appeared in the doorway after a moment. "We got some work to do in the training room, let's let Lucille sleep."

"Thank you again," I tell Bucky before a groan comes from my throat. I wave him off as I turn on my side and beg for sleep to come.

I heard the heavy footsteps of Bucky as he exited my bedroom and the small chatter between him and Steve as they left out the front door.

No matter how hard I tried to sleep, all I could do was replay the memories of Bucky's that I had seen, especially the one that haunted me the most. Bucky had been beaten so badly that a normal person would have died halfway through the floggings. His blood coating every inch of his body, his hair soaked and dripping crimson tears onto the cement below. An army of soviet soldiers taking turns bringing down batons, whips and bamboo canes were used to beat him into submission, to break his spirit before they carried him away to a single metal chair and tortured his mind.

The one thing I can remember the doctor saying in a strong accent.

We must break your body before we can break your spirit.

And then they would repeat the trigger words in Russian.

желание

ржавый

печь

рассвет

семнадцать

доброкачественный

девять

возвращение на родину

один

грузовой вагон

As his head hung back, eyes wide and afraid, he looked every bit of dead as they wanted. They were breaking him. No, they had broke him.