Masquerade (Bucky Barnes x Male Reader)

VII | Death Would be Better

CW: TALK OF SUICIDE.

[UPDATED]

Kurtis laid almost lifeless. His shirt was torn, covered in blood and mud. His face was bruised and bloody, his arms with cuts and scuffs all over. His head pounded in his chest, or maybe his heart pounded in his head. His nose was crooked and his knuckles where sore and bloody. His mouth was full of blood from who knows where. His h/l h/c hair was now tangled in knots of dirt.
He laid, unable to really move, he had never felt so much pain.

Bucky staired at him. One more good punch, one more slap if it was hard enough, he'd be dead. So why couldn't he move? He killed his best friend. He hurt the only people that ever made him feel at home. He tried to kill him, so why couldn't he move?

He picked up Kurtis by his torn shirt, sitting him up. He peeled off the mask, revealing his full face. With tears pouring down his face, he asked, "why?"

"Why do-" He coughed, spitting out blood. "Why do you care?"

"You killed my best friend. Why? Why do you want to kill me?"

"I was just- returning the favour." He breathed heavily.

Bucky gave a sad, and confused look.

Kurtis swallowed hard before speaking. "My name is Y/n L/n. My mother was Dr. Johanna L/n. She helped create you and your kind."

Bucky sat down with Kurtis, "You're going to die soon anyways. Care to tell the tale?" He wanted to know, he felt like he needed to know what caused his best friends death.

The man seemed shocked, he wasn't expecting this reaction, all he expected was his death; and yet he told his story.
"When I was fifteen, my mother sentenced my father and little brother to death. She said to me, as she made me watch them get brutally murdered, that it was the work of ein Engel des Winters. An angle of winter. When the man who had just killed my family looked at me, I never forgot his face. His face belongs to you James." He stopped for a moment to take a breath. Buckys eyes watered, but he didn't let anymore tears fall. "She took us both back to Siberia, and she locked me in a cell... her own son. She, along with the various other scientists of Hydra, would do nothing but torture and use me for parts. I was their guinea pig. They wanted to see what the side affects of the serum would do to such a young individual. They wanted to make super babies, and needed to start a little older than infants... By the time I was twenty-five they put me into cryo-freeze. I was in there on and off for fifty-five years, only used for small missions. When I woke up it was 2010. I escaped in 2015, and ever since then, I knew I had to kill anything, and everything that monster had ever loved or created." Tears ran down his cheeks as he built up the last of his strength to finish his speech. "It was never about Zemo. I only used him to unlock you. Now all I can think of, as you inch closer to ending my meaningless life, is that even when I was trying to do something right, I still ended up in the wrong shoes. Right- in her shoes." He coughed, his eyelids felt tierd, and his head hurt more now than ever. "You were my second to final mission."

"Who was your last?"

He hesitated, almost ashamed to say it. "...me." He gave a small chuckle, filled with pain.

Bucky staired at the hopeless man dead in the eyes. "The only thing I can think of, in this exact moment, is of giving you one last punch, and killing you." Y/n closed his eyes. He was ready. "But if I did that... I'd be the same monster that killed your family, and I'd be no better than Hydra."

A tear ran down Y/n's cheek. "Don't be a fucking hero now. Do it. Kill me for fucks sake! I can't sleep James! Everytime I close my eyes I see someone I've killed! You know what that's like God danmit! Death would be a better fait." He was desperate.

"It gets better." Bucky walks away and goes to find the control pannel.

With the little strength he has left, Y/n reaches for his knife. Bruce, now free from the electrical force thanks to Bucky, kicks it away from him.

"Not today bud."

Tears roll down his cheeks, he looks to Bruce with sorrow and pleading eyes, but he just nods his head. Y/n's breath quickens, panic flowing over his body. He had lost a lot of blood and the pain didn't make things better.

"Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein
Und das heißt
Erika" He mumbles to himself, a song he was taught back in Hydra. With such a dark past, it was odly calming to him.

As Bucky went along, putting everything and everyone back online, he found himself humming the same tune. Bruce went and tended to Natasha's wounds as Tony got a new suit and went to check on Sam. His vitals where steady, but he was still unconscious. Nat was ok, but would  need stitches and a few packs of blood to make up for what she lost.

"Baner. We have to get them all to the emergency quarters. Where's Cap?"

"He's... he-" Bucky tried to explain without tearing up.

"Spit it out- wait. Wheres the ballet guy?"

"He... he killed Steve."

"What." Tony looked around, when he spoted Y/n he went over. "What the fuck did you do?"

"In der Heimat wohnt ein blondes Mägdelein
Und das heißt
Erika." He was hardly audible.

"You son of a bitch. I should kill you!" He raised his arm, ready to shoot Y/n in the face.

"Dieses Mädel ist mein treues Schätzelein
Und mein Glück
Erika."

"Tony no!" Bucky pulled back his arm.

"He killed Cap. Your best friend." He shoved Bucky in his chest. "How have you not killed him yet?"

"Wenn das Heidekraut rot-lila blüht
Singe ich zum Gruß ihr dieses Lied."

"Because that would make us just as bad as the people who made me kill his family Tony and I am not that fucking monster anymore." Buckys eyes hurt, they sweeled from the amount of tears that had fallen from them.  "Let him suffer knowing that all this was for nothing."

"Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein
Und das heißt
Erika." Y/n's whispers had become almost nonaudible, and his pulse was dropping.

"Tony, we need to get Nat, Sam, and Kurtis to grounds now."

"His name is Y/n."

"Huh?"

"I'll explain it on the way. Let's go." He sluged Y/n over his shoulders and made his way to the field.

"Friday, get me a quinjet."

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