𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗦 | bucky barnes

EIGHT.

"What are you gonna do to us?" Bucky said, staring knives at Zola. He glanced at Emma, who was staring down at the floor now, no longer pulling away from the guard's grasp. Bucky wanted to help her so badly.  He wanted to run to her side and pull her away from all this.  How could he have done this?  How could he say yes?  Bring her into all this?  If he had known... God, he wouldn't have even gotten to know her.  He would have just stopped it all from the start.

"You are going to have to give in sooner or later, Mr. Barnes." Zola didn't even look at his daughter.  He didn't even care.  It was as if she was just another one of the nurses. "You do know that, don't you?"

Bucky glared.

"No need for words, anyhow," said Zola.  "Words are a waste of time for someone like you.  Someone who is going to become what you will."

"Let us go.  You don't need us."  It was fruitless.  He'd tried.

Zola smiled.  It was unsettling look on someone like him— someone that when they get what they want, it's good for no one.  Bucky didn't like it.  He didn't like any of this.

"Bring him back to the procedure room," said Zola. The guards holding Bucky nodded, and began their attempt at dragging Bucky back down the hall.

Zola then glanced at Emma, then the guards holding her.  The guards stared at their boss, ready for orders. Emma didn't dare look up at him.  She couldn't.

"Kill her," he said. Then he turned away, like the coward he was.

Bucky's head turned and he pulled from the guards' grasps as he heard these words.  The guards holding Emma nodded, holding the barrel of a pistol up to her head.  Running for her life, she escaped their grasp just barely and tripped toward Bucky at the other end of the hall.  He saw her.  She was so close, so close to being able to pull her into her arms and take the shot for her—

But not close enough. 

In one accurate shot, the guard once holding Emmeline shot straight through her chest.  She fell to the floor, and Bucky was now only close enough to stop her fall.  Now, because of him, she was dead—dying— in his arms.

"Emma," he whispered.  It was as if time had stopped. 

Emmeline put her hand into his metal one.  He felt her warmth for one last time as she squeezed as tight as she could. Her grasp was slow and weak, but he knew what she was saying.  So much, yet, so little. Her eyes then slowly closed and her grip became nonexistent.  She was gone.

The guards were here now.  They dragged her away now, down the hall.  He watched them go and stood as they took her out of his arms.  "Emma!" he screamed.  She couldn't hear him.  He knew that.  He didn't even realize when the guard behind him took ahold of his arms and bound him in stronger cuffs than he'd ever worn before.  He wasn't strong without her.  He couldn't be. "Emma!"

This was how Zola needed him.  Broken. 

"How could you do this to her?" said Bucky, staring knives at Zola through the tears in his eyes. "She was your daughter!" He was screaming.  "How?"

"When someone gets in your way, Mr. Barnes, there is no way for you to love them.  There was never a way for her to be my daughter."

"But she was! She was your daughter!"

"And she was your weakness," said Zola, remnants of that smile lingering on his face.  Bucky hated him.  He hated him with everything he was and ever would be. With one motion of Zola's hand, the guards holding Bucky dragged him away so much easier than before.  She was his weakness.  She was his life— and yet, his undoing.

"Start the procedure," said Zola. 

"It'll never work," yelled Bucky.  "I'll never do anything for you," he said.

That smile again.  "We will see, soldier.  We will see."

— ♥ ★ ♥ —

James Bucky Barnes. James Bucky Barnes. 

His name echoed like a heartbeat through his head as they lowered the metal plates over his temple and cheek.  He felt vibrations all over as the machine powered up, ready to begin the start of the procedure.  Bucky wasn't going to let himself go.  He couldn't. Could he help it? Perhaps not.  But he had to try.  He had to.

James Bucky Barnes.  James Bucky Barnes.

Remember Steve.  Remember that time at Coney Island, and the way he used to be so short. The newspaper in his shoes. His mother's hospitality, even when she wasn't feeling well.  Remember your siblings. Your parents. The drugstore by your house.  The way your sister held her crayons.  Remember when you became a Sergeant.  When you finished your training.  When you first saw Steve again. Captain America.  Remember the missions. All that life. That real, true, life.

Remember Emmeline.  Remember the way she saved you, the way she felt to touch, the way her lips touched yours.  Remember her hair and her smile and her determination.  Her bravery.  Her eyes.  Remember she would always take care of you.  Remember her promise.  Remember your promise.  Please, please remember your promise. Remember the way that she helped you.  Remember the way she died for you.  Remember Emma.  Real, true, Emma.

James Bucky Barnes.  James Bucky Barnes.  James Bucky—

Screaming.  That's all he could remember after that.  Everything else was just blurry blinks of a previous life, but there were no faces, no feelings, no names.  Just his.  James.  Who is James?  He is James, right?  But there was nothing else.  Just pain, and shouting. 

Bucky was gone.  What was left now was a blank, memoryless slate with no feeling nor opinions, and no sense of self.  Just James.  That's all he had.  But one day, he was going to forget that, too. Who was James, anyway?

He felt like he was dreaming.  Was he asleep?  Was he awake?  Where was he? Why was he there?  God, he couldn't even remember why he had been in such pain.  He just remembered—

Wait. 

No, there was something else.  A name.  A feeling.  Not James— he was James— but another name.

Emma.

And hatred.  Did he hate Emma? No.  He didn't hate Emma.  A hand, her hand.  But he couldn't see it.  Emma. That's all.  And who did he hate?  Where was Emma?  Where was he?

Who is Emma?