MARVEL one-shots

Stucky #1 part 2

Bucky's POV

The pain was everywhere. Or...wait a minute. No it wasn't. I actually felt numb all over my body. Couldn't feel a damn thing. Weird. Weren't you supposed to suffer from excrusiating pain after getting fucking shot? Apparently not in this case. 

It was dark, and I couldn't see a thing. But that was probably because my eyes were closed. I frowned, and tried to identify where i was based on what i could feel. I was lying down on something cold and hard, but dry. I realised that wherever I was, it was somewhere inside a building of some kind. I tried to move my arms, but quickly discovered that that didn't work. The cold metal around my wrists made me understand that I was wearing handcuffs. Typical. Instead, I tried to move my whole body, by kind of wiggling from side to side, in an attempt to create some kind of movement. And I guess you could say I succeded, since I apparently moved a little too much to the right, because suddenly I felt my body losing contact with what I had been lying on and I fell, hitting something equally as hard. Something which I assumed was the floor. 

"Fuck..." I breathed out, and grimaced. That hurt. Just a bit, but still. It was a feeling that I didn't need, nor did I appreciate it. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw a clean, grey floor, probably made out of cement. I lifted my gaze a few inches, and saw metal bars separating me from an empty chair and an empty room. In a corner to the left there was a closed door, and that was pretty much it. The room didn't even contain a window, but it did contain, which I saw out of the corner of my eye, multiple cameras, all fixated on me from different angles. 

I forced my body up in a sitting position and let out a heavy breath. I realised that I was in some kind of cell.

 In that same second, extreme pain shot through my head and almost knocked me to the ground. It hurt so bad, I couldn't keep myself calm. I opened my mouth, and I screamed. 

Well. This is fucking great.

Steve's POV

The cup of coffee in front of me was newly brewed; black and hot, the smell reaching my nostrils. My head was in my hands as I stared at the file on the tabel infront of me, his picture staring up at me. His uniform was clean, his hat was sitting far back on his head and he had a cheeky grin on his lips. His dark hair was much shorter than it was now, and his eyes weren't empty. No, they were filled with life and adventure.

It was an old picture; the edges were crinkled and the coulour had gone a bit on the brownish-yellowish side, but I still recognised him perfectly. 

Bucky. 

This picture was from the year 1943. I had taken it myself, just before he was sent to Europe to fight in the war. He looked so happy, and so proud to be wearing that uniform: to fight for the right of freedom. I sighed, and thought about how he didn't get to wear that uniform for too long, before he disappeared. Before he was captured by Hydra, I mean. I remembered the look he had on his face when i had found him in Dr Zola's lab. I winced at the memory, and closed the file. 

I sighed. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Why did he come back? How was that possible? He fell from a train, he should be dead, right? I didn't understand.

I ran my hand through my hair, when I heard a door open. I turned around in my chair, and saw a young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent walking towards me with a strange look on his face. Was it worry? Excitement? A combination of both? Before I got a chance to ask him, he opened his mouth.

"Captain."

"Agent" I answered at his salute, and nodded. "Do you have any news?"

"I do, sir. He is awake."