Monster

Fifteen

I knew it was a nightmare the moment I saw him. When I was standing there among the rubble and broken bodies, all I could hear was the screaming and faded ringing of a grenade blast in my ear. I could still feel the heat of fire and the prickles of burns across my face. For a moment, I forgot I wasn't at home in my bed.

Until the smoke parted, and the screaming stopped. Then, all I could see was the man with dark, emotionless eyes and an arm made of metal. He stood on the other side of the courtyard. He'd already spotted me when I got up from behind the wall. He walked with confident strides. He knew where he was going and had no reason to run. I was his mission now.

Steve told me everything he could about what happened in the skies above DC. Bucky had been instructed to kill him. He believed this was the mission that caused the Winter Soldier's unraveling. But he didn't look like that man as he marched across the courtyard and right for me. This wasn't the man who had pizza in my kitchen or expressed his fears in my dull living room. This was the killer I was warned about. The Winter Soldier. The ghost.

He stopped before me with the rifle raised in my direction. He could have shot me from afar and been done with the mission all at once. But he wanted me to see his face before he pulled the trigger. To know that his mission would always be more important than me.

Or it was a test. He wanted me to shoot first. I had my rifle to my chest, prepped and ready for use. But I couldn't bring myself to turn it on him. It didn't matter that my life was in danger or that he was a stranger to me. I couldn't do it.

It didn't matter how I felt because I knew I was dreaming. And he was no longer a stranger. He was Bucky. I didn't know him very well, and his mind was fragmented. But he was someone with a desire to be free. To be anything other than what they created him to be.

The man in front of me had no intention of being anything other than the monster. His eyes were cold like ice, and the mouth that was born to smile was hidden behind his black half-mask. He wanted me to shoot, or he would shoot me. I stood and looked him in the eyes.

"I won't shoot you, Bucky," I said.

He snarled and lifted the gun so that the barrel pointed at the scar on my shoulder. Then he pulled the trigger, and I jumped up. My shoulder ached with the painful memory, and I rubbed a hand over the damaged skin. I counted my heartbeats. One, two. Three, four.

I was at home in my bed. The room was dark and shaded but empty. Steve decided against going home for the night. He thought I might need the company, but he wasn't there with me. I hissed and rubbed the pain from my shoulder.

The house was quiet when I stepped into the hallway. There was nothing but the distant sound of sirens somewhere off in the city.

"Steve?" I called out.

There was no response. He hardly slept, and he would have heard me even if he was in the spare room. But the door was open, and the futon was still made up. I was sure my nightmare alone would have woken him even if he'd slept on the couch.

I crept to the landing on the staircase and looked down into the unsettling darkness of the living room. There was a nervous twinge in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes it was hard to make sense of things soon after dreams. I couldn't remember what was real and what wasn't. Was this real? Or was this a memory too?

I headed down the stairs and hit the switch at the bottom. A lamp in the corner of the room cast a warm, yellow glow over the space. But the room was devoid of life. It didn't look like anyone had slept on the couch. The quilt Romanoff's team left was still neatly folded on the back of the sofa, unused. I turned down the hall and finally spotted him. The back door was open, but the screen was closed. So I could just make out the silhouette of his body against the neighbor's porch light.

The screen creaked as I pushed it open and stepped out into the chilly night air. The sirens had stopped, but dogs were still barking from far off. A few crickets chirped, one at least close enough to be in the nearby bushes. I took a seat on the porch beside him and crossed my arms to fight off the cold.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"Same as always," I replied. "But I saw him this time. Can't shake it. What about you? Doesn't look like you even tried."

"Couldn't sleep. Something tripped the light. It was probably a cat or the raccoon. But–I came out here anyway. Sometimes I come out here when you're asleep. Maybe I'm just hoping he can hear me."

"Do you think you'll ever get him back?" He breathed in and out slowly, taking his time getting to the answer. Summer was fast approaching, but the night was still cold enough to turn his breath foggy. He moved his arm and wrapped it around my shoulder, letting me steal his warmth. I rested my head on him, grateful that super soldiers were basically living space heaters.

"No," he finally said. "Not the Bucky I knew, anyway. But you might."

"Does it bother you that he came to me first?"

"No, I just wanted him to be safe. And I think you're the right person."

"You finally trust me?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Thank you for being here, Steve. I know that–I'm not the one you want to be here with, but I appreciate it anyway."

He planted a kiss on the side of my head. It didn't feel like one of those forced PDA kisses. It was meant just for me. And not because he had feelings for me, but maybe he considered me a friend. I couldn't remember the last time I had a real friend.