Monster

Fifteen

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

Until the smoke parted, and the screaming stopped. Then, all I could see was the man with the dark, emotionless eyes and an arm made of metal. 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 all he could about what really 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 toward me. This wasn't the man who had pizza in my kitchen or expressed his concerns in my dull living room. It was the killer I was warned about. The Winter Soldier. The ghost.

He stopped just before me and lifted his rifle. 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 this mission would always be more important than me.

Or it was a test. He wanted me to shoot first. I had my rifle against my chest, prepped and ready for use. But I couldn't bring myself to turn it. It didn't matter that my life was in danger or 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 set in a firm straight line. He wanted me to shoot, or he would shoot me. I stood straight and stared 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. He pulled the trigger, and I jumped up to shout. My shoulder ached with pain, and I rubbed a hand over the damaged skin. I counted my heartbeat. One, two. Three, four.

I was at home in bed. The room was dark and shaded but empty. Steve had decided against going home for the night. He thought I might like the company, but he wasn't there anymore. I hissed and rubbed the pain from my shoulder. The house was quiet when I stepped into the hallway.

"Steve?" called.

There was no response. He hardly slept, and he would have heard me even if he was on the couch. I was sure my nightmare shout alone was loud enough to wake him up even if he'd fallen asleep downstairs.

I crept to the landing on the staircase and looked down into the 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.

I headed down the stairs and hit the switch at the bottom. A lamp in the corner of the room illuminated the space, but the room was devoid of life. It didn't look like anyone had slept on the couch. The quilt 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. I could see the silhouette of his body against the neighbor's porch light.

I opened the screen and stepped out into the chilly night air. 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. The condensation turned to fog in the chilly air. Then he moved his arm and wrapped it around me so I could steal his warmth. I rested my head on his shoulder.

"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 who you want to be here with, but I appreciate it anyway." He turned and planted a kiss on the side of my head. It didn't feel like one of the forced PDA kisses. It was meant for me, and not because he had feelings for me, but maybe just because he considered me a friend. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a real friend.