Strife of Misfortune(Wattys2016)

Memories

Bucky's head smacked loudly against the wall. The pain split his nerves in half. With a groan he opened his eyes to find himself in Steve's room. The windows were shattered and his furniture destroyed. Standing before him was a disheveled Steve, hair messy, clothing ripped. He panted. Bucky closed his eyes. He was the worst person alive. "It happened again didn't it?"

"Bucky..." Steve responded, reluctant to speak any further.

"It did happen." Bucky climbed to his feel, white flashes of pain burst from his skull and he nearly dropped to the floor. Steve caught him and helped him to stand up. "Was I that bad that you had to hit me that hard?"

"It doesn't matter." The hero responded.

"Yes it does." The assassin debated. "Tell me, did it happen or not."

The blond hero was silent for a while, reluctant to recount the events that had transpired to Bucky. His friend was still healing, he was still searching for himself, worrying him would only delay the process. So, Steve remained quiet, his handsome features fixed in contemplation and worry.

The man sighed. There was no use in hiding it from Bucky. He was determined to know, his silence would only infuriate him. "Yeah.". Steve nodded. He saw the color leave Bucky's eyes. He looked so pitiful like that, with his eyes opened wide, his brows sculpted into that woeful bunch.

"Dammit!" Bucky swore, the message hitting him hard. He paced the floor, tangling his fingers in his brown hair and searching the walls as though a solution would protrude from them any moment now. There was none. He was left with his guilt and shame as his guidance. "It keeps happening!"

"Bucky, everything's going to be fine." Steve tried to sooth him.

"No it's not." He disagreed. "I can't stay here." He walked out of the room with Steve trailing behind him.

"You can't leave!" Steve cried. "Your condition is not as bad as it seems."

"Don't underestimate it, I've nearly killed you twice and was without my bionic arm. What will happen when I get it back huh?! Tell me. Do you think you'll still be standing?" Bucky asked, meeting Steve's eyes in a hard and unwavering gaze.

"Yes." The hero answered confidently.

"Then you're a fool." Bucky said, not allowing Steve's confidence to disarm him of his argument. Steve shouldn't be too sure of himself, he was harbouring a lethal weapon, a man with more blood on his hands than Death himself. He could scarcely remember his time as the winter soldier, but there was one thing he remembered. It was their screams. Their gut-wrenching wails of agony, the tearing of their flesh and their blood. They were the disturbed voices of his victims, the nameless faces plaguing his dreams. Bucky then looked at Steve, at the man he barely remembered but knew he loved dearly once. He could become a nameless face. The winter soldier still lurked within him, on the prowl for prey, for blood. Dominance. He couldn't let that happen. This man was so kind to him. He represented to Bucky everything he lost, his old life, his friends and family. Steve was the embodiment of those fragments, to lose him was the destroy the last remains that linked him to his past self. Bucky would rather sacrifice himself than lose the person he was trying to remember.

"And you're a coward, running away from your problems." Steve said, jolting a reaction from Bucky. The man returned, walking hastily towards Steve till only mere centimeters separated them.

"Hey! I'm doing this to protect you."

"And I'm doing this to protect you!" Steve said. "We'll fight this together for old time's sakes." He returned to that dreadful day, returned to the deafening sounds of the helicopter, returned to the merciless muddy waters. He remembered that day, that scar on his memory. The bruise burst and festered into that agonizing guilt Steve carried for all those years. Here Bucky was standing in front of him, alive, breathing and speaking. Steve remembered the days when this was just a dream. He remembered being willing to sacrifice his soul to speak to Bucky again, to laugh with him, and to hold him again. There was no way Steve was returning to those days. His soul was up for auction. He was willing to see it through. "I won't lose you. Not again."