Just Him&I: In Universe of Cruelty

Part 14

Can you help others if you can't help yourself?

My head is splitting. I'm lying on the rain-soaked ground, dark, elongated stains marking my back. Twilight has covered the city, leaving only the small moon above for light.
As soon as I came to my senses, I tried to remember what had happened that day.
It seems—it was a sleeping pill and Mia... Where is Mia now?
I wandered almost the entire district, roaming the empty, seemingly dead and lonely streets.
I looked in every corner, every crack. She was nowhere to be found.
Time passed too quickly, and I didn't even notice the sunrise, which bathed everything around in light. The buildings and structures were covered in an orange glow, a color reminiscent of diluted blood in water. I didn't know what to do or where to look for her. The only thing I knew was that Brock had taken her, and imagining what he would do to her was unbearable. The serums have long been destroyed, so I need to find Mia as soon as possible.
I'm not sure I can handle this alone. I pulled my hood down tighter, continuing to walk down the dead roads, glancing around occasionally—maybe I'd see her in the light of day.
The rain had stopped; everything around smelled of wet asphalt and earth. I rubbed my neck, still numb from the recent dose of the drug. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her.
It felt like hallucinations—I could hear her voice. I could even smell her—sweet vanilla and cinnamon. Her face appeared before me, blocking out everything else, leaving only her image. Green, fox-like eyes, a small, neat nose, small, red lips, thick, short black hair.
It was as if my mind was conspiring with my soul, tormenting me more and more, leaving bloody cuts in the area of my heart.

The phone's ringing echoed in my head. First, second, third, fourth. They rang for eternity, until a familiar voice on the line pulled me out of my trance.

— I'm listening. – Steve – it was Steve. Thank heavens!

— Steve, it's me, Bucky. – my voice was rough, making my head throb.

— Bucky? God, what happened? I've been looking for you for months. It's like you fell off the face of the earth. – I could feel the joy in his voice, in contrast to my own feelings.

— Steve, Mia is missing. I need your help. – my last hope was in his help. I was probably digging my own grave, but at least I'd be sure she was safe. I'd take care of myself.

— Of course, but I'll need some time to locate her approximate position. – as expected, he would always help me.

Now we're driving about ten meters away from the car where we suspect Mia is being held. Rumlow is driving, with two guards in the back. They looked big and armed. We've been following them since they got in the car.
Steve is driving our car, and next to him is... I think it's Natasha, with Sam and me in the back. Steve says we can trust them, but I'm not feeling too friendly and staying on guard.
Their car turns right toward the forest. We keep driving to avoid being noticed. We stop and walk those few meters on foot.
I have a pistol and a few knives with me—more than enough. I'm in a leather jacket and black pants. Steve is in his suit with a shield on his back. Natasha's in a fitted, full-body suit with various weapons hidden in it.
Sam is, in my opinion, in a ridiculous costume with wings, surveying the area from above.

— I see them, fifteen meters to the east. – I hear through the earpiece in my right ear. We quickly turn and pick up the pace.

— Don't worry so much. I'm sure she's okay! – Natasha tries to reassure me. I give her a harsh look.

We're lying in wait, and I see her digging a hole. She looks terrible, beyond words. Mia is covered in cuts and wounds, barely standing. I feel rage boiling within me. I clench my metal hand, while gripping a knife with the other. Veins stand out on my hand, and I dread to imagine how I look now.

— I'll go around back, you guys stay here. – Natasha reports, quietly and almost imperceptibly moving closer to them. I turn back to Mia, still watching her. My heart feels like it's being torn to pieces. It seems I felt fear for someone else for the first time (since I stopped being the Winter Soldier).
I wanted to get up, but noticed she dropped the shovel. Steve stopped me.

— What are we waiting for? – I was furious, about to snap, feeling like I might combust.

— We need to know what they want from her....—

— Go to hell, you son of a...— she didn't finish the sentence as we heard the shot. And her last words. We burst out of hiding and opened fire. She fell dead into the hole she'd been digging. I couldn't even comprehend what was happening. My heart stopped along with hers in that single moment. A lump formed in my throat.

We were surrounded on all sides by agents of some organization. They captured me without hesitation. The only thing I saw was Mia's bloody body being pulled out of the hole. Medics and others were near her. I looked around, searching for the one responsible for all this. Rumlow—he was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go, damn it?
The sounds of voices, cars—they all blurred into one. I was just looking around like a madman.

"Where is he?"

I don't know how much time has passed since my arrest, and honestly, I'm not counting. I'm sitting in a room, or rather a cell—it really looks like a prison. Cold gray walls, a metal bed with a thin mattress, a small wooden table with a bottle of water on it. I'm alone here. I'm used to living in such conditions. Memories from Hydra gradually return. When you sit alone in a cell, you can't help but think about things that happened. Before, I always kept myself busy to avoid remembering. But now, it's a different situation.

— We have rules. – A female psychiatrist, or as I call them, a "mind-bender," around forty or forty-five, sat across from me on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room. Her dark hair was neatly tied back, she wore strict black trousers and a dull, dark-blue shirt.

— It's not rules, it's a system. – I didn't even want to listen to her. My voice echoed in the room, leaving a bitter taste and dryness in my mouth.

— I'm here to help you. – These self-proclaimed psychologists will drive me mad. All that matters to me is Mia, something they're carefully keeping from me. So, I'm not going to talk to her.
I don't know where Steve is now, but I hope he gets me out of here. How many times has it been already? – a rhetorical question.
I'll stay here until this therapist declares me either a danger to society or mentally sound. But the outcome is always the same—I'll be serving my punishment, whether it's working for S.H.I.E.L.D. or serving time in prison. I don't even know which is worse.