Remembering Freedom

Nightmares

WARNING: Self-harm occurs in this chapter.

A series of noises pulled Jemma from sleep and she reached for the syringe she'd put under the pillow when he'd started yelling things in Russian. His voice was pained and she wished she could understand him, but all she did was turn over to watch him. She shot a glance at the alarm clock. 2:36am.

She was glad the hotel hadn't had much business when he started screaming, a long drawn wail that Jemma knew all too well. It was the same way she'd cried out as she fell from the plane, but she knew there wasn't anyone there to catch him before he hit the ground and she bit her lip as he switched to English.

"Please make it stop..." He was curled on his side. "Just make it stop..."

Each cry brought tears to her eyes, but she knew that moving out of the bed would alert his instincts and she also knew what those instincts would tell him to do. Her heart ached as his shoulders started shaking in silent sobs. She clenched her jaw as the silence was broken by all too familiar screams. It was like the base all over again, forced to listen as he was stripped of what made him human. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of metal scratching metal as he sat up in bed.

"Please...I don't want it." He'd found the mess of scar tissue and was...God digging a knife into his shoulder as if he wanted to pry it off himself. "Take it off..." The familiar copper scent of blood filled the air as blood ran down his bare chest and Jemma finally got out of bed.

"James..." She reached out with a hand, the other holding the syringe. "James its Jemma..." Her feet were quiet as she slowly approached him and she figured that was why he reacted so badly when she got too close, suddenly finding herself thrown halfway across the room, her hand bleeding from when he slashed out at her. She pulled herself to her feet, her ribs protesting as she did. She was surprised to find that she still had a grip on the syringe, but the surprise faded as James got to his feet and turned. The Winter Solider stared at her with vacant eyes.

Jemma's heart leaped into her throat and all she could do was slowly back up as he walked toward her. She knew she was cornered when she felt the wall at her back and his arms caged her in. She swallowed, pulse pounding in her ears as a warm hand wrapped around her throat. She felt the stickiness of his blood on her neck, the roughness of his skin as the fingers twitched ever so slightly. She looked at him. There was almost a wrongness with the face of Bucky Barnes having flat eyes, like only the man with long hair and stubble-covered jaw was the Soldier...

"What's in the syringe?" The accent was gone, his voice back to its deadness. His hand tightened around her throat when she didn't respond. When he spoke again, it came out at a growl. "Tell me."

She shivered at the animalistic sound. There was no way she could lie, but there was no way she could tell him the truth. Both options ended with him snapping her neck. She coughed as his grip slowly cut off the oxygen. All she had to do was get the syringe into his arm, but she knew it was easier said than done. Instead she stated a half-truth. "It's uh..." She coughed. "It's Pentobarbital..."

Fingers dug deeper into her neck, the nails breaking skin. "What does it do?"

"It'll help me fix your shoulder...it's pretty cut up. It helps with the pain." It wasn't a lie. In small doses, Pentobarbital was used for a relaxant, to make a patient calmer. She popped the cover off the needle. "I just want to help."

His metal wrapped around her wrist as she lifted the syringe and twisted, several bones breaking. He didn't react to her scream of pain, but seemed kind of shocked when she caught the needle with her left hand and jammed it into his arm, pressing down on the plunger.