Never would I have thought that our plan could spiral out of control like this. We thought we were superior to Hydra, but that was a grave mistake—literally. We were so focused on having Sitwell as our hostage and making it to the launch of the Helicarriers that we lost sight of everything else. But who could have anticipated an attack in broad daylight, right in the middle of the highway? Now we're sitting in a vehicle, probably on our way to our own execution. Great. As if that wasn't bad enough, they've put an electric collar on me, as if I were some kind of unpredictable beast. If I even think about using my powers, they'll quickly show me what they think of that. No, thanks. Our hands are bound with cuffs, which makes it impossible for me to keep applying pressure to the bullet wound that's still bleeding freely. The graze on my thigh also burns like fire by now. If this goes on much longer, I'll be dead before we can even attempt anything to get out of this situation. But I guess these guys wouldn't mind avoiding the mess of my blood on their hands. I let my head hang to the side and keep my eyes closed—every movement becomes more excruciating, and my head is pounding.
I still feel like I'm standing beside my own body, whether that's from blood loss or the fact that James Buchanan Barnes has returned from the dead, I can't say. I simply can't comprehend how any of this is possible. Maybe it wasn't really him, maybe we were wrong? "It was him," I hear Steve say. His voice sounds muffled and much too far away for someone sitting less than a meter in front of me. Steve is certain it was him, and if I weren't in so much pain, I'd probably still think this is just another dream. "How could that be possible? He fell from that train in 1944, there's no way he could have survived." That's Sam, at least I can still tell the voices apart. None of this makes sense. "He looked at me like he didn't know me," Steve's voice is fading away; I must be slowly losing consciousness. But I can still hear the pain in his voice. One of Steve's greatest wishes has come true. He had to watch his friend fall to his death, and getting him back was everything Steve ever wanted. Bucky is back, but not in the way he had hoped. They say you should be careful what you wish for—this is probably the perfect example.
"That was 70 years ago. How is he still alive?" asks Nat, who's sitting somewhere next to Steve. My breathing is becoming more shallow. Too shallow, if you ask me. Flashes of moments from my dreams keep playing before my closed eyelids. They say that right before you die, you see the most beautiful memories of your life. I can't remember much, and my most beautiful memories are probably my dreams. "This is Hydra's work. They must have experimented on him and made him into what he is today." I think Sam said that, but I can't be sure. None of us have a clue what's going on right now, and understanding it seems impossible. "Whatever they did to him, he survived the fall. They must have found him, and I wasn't there. I just accepted that he was dead." There's so much guilt and regret in Steve's voice that it hits me like a punch to the gut, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. He never truly accepted what happened. He never got over the loss of his best friend. After Bucky's death, he kept fighting for him, and to this day, he's been waiting for Bucky to return. I gather every last bit of strength I have to look at Steve. "It's not your fault." It's barely more than a whisper, but he understands it. I close my eyes again and hear Steve sigh. No matter what I say, he will still blame himself, and there's nothing anyone can do to change that. Steve didn't search for Bucky back then for understandable reasons, just as no one else did. There was no time to search for a soldier who had fallen on German soil, and everyone was sure he couldn't have survived.
"Even when I had nothing, Bucky was there." I've never seen Steve so defeated before. Seeing him like this physically hurts and makes my throat tighten. "We'll find him," I breathe, though my eyes remain closed. And I mean it. With every fiber of my being. Seeing Bucky like that has awakened a feeling inside me that I can't describe, and I don't even know where it's coming from. It's like a chasm within me, making me want to burn this entire world to the ground and watch everyone responsible for it die screaming. But even that strength won't keep me alive much longer. I groan through gritted teeth and drift further and further away from reality. The darkness is closing in, and it holds so much peace. So much calm. But I want neither. I will not die here today.
---------
It's raining outside, and I'm sitting here wrapped in a blanket with tea while writing this story. If you ask me, there's nothing better.
This story keeps growing and growing, and more ideas keep coming to my mind.
A friend once told me, "If a candle grew brighter with every new idea you had, the world would never be dark again," and when I say I had tears in my eyes, I mean it.
Thank you to every single one of you who reads this <3
YOU ARE READING
Who the hell am I (english version)
FanfictionUPDATES EVERY DAY AT 5 PM! She remembers nothing. Where did she come from? What happened? How did she get here? Where is her family? In short: she doesn't know. For two years, Elora has wandered, never staying in one place for long. Always searching...
