Even if the stars don't shine

Please

  There were gunshots somewhere. Everywhere. Aimed at him. Not like this, he kept thinking hard in his mind, not like this, please, not now. He felt a heavy presence near him but he couldn't see what it was, or anything else for that matter. Where was he? Where were they? It was they, there was someone else with him. Always with him. Think!

  There was the sound of wind, rushing images of snow and steel. Too fast, it was too fast. Cold, it was definitely cold. Gunshots, there were still gunshots aimed at him- at them. Cover, find cover. He had found cover, the someone else with him- Steve, oh, it was Steve. It was fast, what they were on, fast and incomprehensible now... It wasn't always. He imagined it was simple once.

  Simple job, crack- crack- crack. Gunshots. He kept trying to ignore those. He wasn't inside anymore. Something had knocked him- something hard and great and awful. His feet felt airy and solid, heavy and light. It was strange. Where was Steve- coming, he was coming. He would fix this.

  Before he was the one fixing things- fixing Steve and his back-alley fights, his bruised eyes and bloody mouth. He always knew how to fix it and now he was thrown in the deep end of a new situation and his head was swimming. Swimming in the cold, thin air.

  His arms hurt. His gun was gone now. There were still gunshots, just not from him. From inside, oh, he wanted to be inside.

  Steve's face- it was panicked and blurry and sad. His arms hurt. Something was giving way. He could feel the weakness in the bar he was grasping onto. Oh God, he was thinking, Oh God, no, please God please, not like this, not in front of Steve. But it was- it would be.

  The bar gave away and fell- himself falling with it. Steve couldn't look- Steve's blurry and distorted face, shifting this way and that, hid into his arm. He couldn't watch his best friend fall.

  God- no please, oh, fuck not like this, not-

  Too late.

  His arm, fuck it hurt, blood, so much blood, a trail of blood. He was being dragged- was he? Where was he? White and red. White and red and blue. His uniform... what uniform? What was that uniform from? Where was it from? White and red and blue and silver.

  When his eyes opened he saw flesh and silver. No, he thought, no this isn't right- this isn't- who are these people? Not good- not on my side. Not Steve. He thrashed and the world was sinking. He was sinking with it. Prick. A prick in his arm, he remembered it.

  He remembered their faces- the faces of evil. What were they doing?

  Black.

  Everything was black again.

  He woke up with a start, a heaving, short and heavy start. She had woken up with him and sat up swiftly, seeing his shaking hands. He was whispering something and choking. She leaned in and touched his arm- he definitely felt that. He recoiled immediately and looked between his legs at his hands, having brought his legs up to rest his arms on.

  "Bucky it's me, talk to me- Bucky-" she tried.

  It was like he couldn't even hear her, as if he'd sectioned himself off and now everything outside became the void.

  She saw how violently his hands were trembling, his hunched body was shuddering. "Bucky- James, it's Lana..."

  He seemed to hear that. He turned to her, wet lines down his cheeks and fear struck in his eyes. "No... no, no, no..." he kept whispering.