Captured // A Winter Soldier Story

chapter nine // trek

✮✮

"Breathe in, breathe out. Let the human in."
-Human by Of Monsters and Men

✮✮

reyna's point of view

We clambered to our feet again after resting for a moment longer, and continued on our trek through the woods. My feet were sore and my leg felt like it was on fire, but Bucky kept going, so I did too. We wanted to put as much distance between us and Hydra as we possibly could.

A mile or two from where we'd originally stopped, we stopped again, this time for the rest of the night. Bucky untied and cleaned our bandages in a nearby stream, laying them on nearby bushes to dry, and I sat down with my back against a tree, my bleeding leg splayed out in front of me and my uninjured leg bent at a right angle. My makeshift hair tie had fallen out somewhere between the running and the fighting, so now my gross hair lay messily across my left shoulder. The last time I'd 'washed' was when I'd been forcedly hosed down in a cage. That now seemed like years ago. A layer of dirt seemed to be coating my entire body, and I'm sure I smelled terrible.

Not only that, but the last time I ate was two days ago- before that, I couldn't tell you. My ribs were definitely prominent. My green Henley was torn to shreds, exposing my entire stomach. My feet were cut up from running through the woods barefoot. A trail of dried blood ran from my heel to my thigh.

In short, I looked (and felt) like shit.

But Bucky made it better. He didn't say anything as I tried to catch my breath, but he sat across from me against another tree, a silent, stoic comfort against the pain ravaging my body. I knew that my body hurt, but I hadn't realized just how much it hurt until now. I could hardly stop myself from grimacing.

When he noticed my obvious discomfort, he put his hand on my leg, locking eyes with me. I tried to smile slightly, though it probably looked a little grotesque. He gave me a sad smile in return.

"Get some sleep. I'll take first watch," he said quietly, eyes scanning the tree line again for the hundredth time since we'd stopped. I frowned.

"No. You've barely gotten any sleep and you were shot twice. You sleep, I'll watch," I argued, sitting up more and grabbing my empty gun in an attempt to at least look like I was capable of protecting us. He saw right through the facade.

"That gun isn't even loaded, and I can't sleep anyway. Just rest," he said, a hard-to-read expression on his face. I sighed and shook my head, not wanting to press any further.

"I hate it when you win," I muttered, and he smiled slightly, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Go to sleep, Reyna. I'll keep watch," he said softly. I gave in after a minute and laid down on my good side, my eyelids crashing closed against my will.

Before I fell asleep, I thought of Bucky. I thought that if people were colors, then Bucky is a deep purple- he is bruised, but he is also strong, and brave, and quiet. He is confused and sad and hard but also gentle and soft. He is silently suffering and at the same time fighting to hold on to any shred of life he can wrap his fingers around. And if you read his actions, his body language, his movements- you'd see a hint of pink. A sliver of love and care that underlay everything he did. A piece of him that is truly him, that no amount of torture, pain or terror could erase. He looks stoic, but there is a cascading river of emotions in him, and he feels every bit of it.

Bucky Barnes is purple. He is bruised, he is strong, he is quiet- but oh, God, he's as beautiful as they come.

--