Safe with me

Chapter 9: Somewhere safe

Memory is a strange thing, the way it links and connect words and sensations and emotions.

When you were little, one of your favorite things to do each summer, was visit the local swimming pool. Finding a quiet corner to yourself, you would flip onto your back and float, letting your mind drift away, finding that relaxing feeling of blank nothingness. Eyes closed, ears dipped below the surface of the water, it was the oddest contrast of sensations, the fiery orange sunlight burning behind your eyelids, tempered by the coolly muted silence of blue waves.

Memory is a strange thing, and it's so hard to understand the triggers that bring it rushing back.

You haven't thought about those lazy summer days in years. Suddenly the remembrance arrives with the force of a hurricane, orange light tattooing designs behind your eyes, the feel of water dripping down your face, the world around you bizarrely muffled.

Memory is a strange thing, and opening your eyes right now requires an impossibly inhuman effort.

Open, open, open.

There are a thousand needle pricks digging into your face, a thousand pounds pressing on your eyes, and your brain fights to obey this one small command.

Open, open, open.

Nothing is working, nothing is happening. Your body feels like lead and terror begins to set in.

Open, open, open. Come on, OPEN.

Air pours into your lungs as you jolt awake with a gasp, searching wildly for something, anything, to hold onto.

Bucky is crouched on his hands and knees above you, the breadth of his body sheltering you from the debris raining down. He has you pinned beneath him, one arm curled around your shoulders, while his metal arm bends awkwardly behind him, shielding his head from the chunks of falling stone.

The world is crumbling into chaos, but all you hear is the steady thump of your heartbeat, curiously wet and slow as you stare up at him. He's covered in concrete dust, the thick powder accomplishing in ten seconds what seventy years of slave labour couldn't, and Bucky Barnes finally looks his age. Dust settles in the tight lines around his eyes, his dark hair a shock of white hanging forward.

Blinking dully, you see his mouth move, recognize the way his lips twist around the sound of your name, but the silence remains. His eyes glow fever bright, a sizzling electric blue against the pale dust on his skin, and the desperation in them is unnerving.

He ducks his head again, his mouth touching the shell of your ear. You feel his hot breath puffing against your skin, but still, you hear nothing.

What a peaceful sensation, this silence. Maybe it's preferable to reality.

It doesn't last.

There's a faint, metallic ringing in the distance, like marbles clattering on tin as it pings, louder and louder and louder until the world suddenly roars back to life, exploding in a deafening burst of sound. Overwhelmed, you cling to Bucky's jacket in panic, while your ears pop and crackle, readjusting to the madness around you.

Sirens pierce the air, shrill wails echoing through the night, swirling blue and red lights flashing, and the only sound louder than the arrival of help, are the shrieks of people around you.

"Bucky?"

You can barely hear yourself say his name, but he must catch it, because his face sags in relief. He removes his arm from your shoulders and simply points to his face, wordlessly telling you to focus on him. When he pushes his hair back, you notice a clear device tucked into his ear, which lights up at the touch of his finger. When he speaks, his voice is loud and fast.