The Winter Wraith (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 28 - Wicked Games

Your mind is crushed beneath its scream, splintering before clawing itself back together only to be splintered again in a never-ending cycle. The remote activated one of those horrid sound machines, but you can't see it and if you couldn't find it, you couldn't break it. You whip your head back and forth, trying to work out where the cursed sound was coming from. It didn't seem to be weaker in any one direction, short of when you whipped your head down to the floor and roof. You could only think of one explanation: the speakers were in the walls. You couldn't very well collapse the room without risking burying yourself alive – you knew half of the Hydra compound was underground, you just didn't know which half – or rendering yourself unconscious from the sheer power it would require. You were already panting from the mental exertion of using your abilities, and the piercing sound was like adding the task of holding up a mountain.

The fact that you were having this mental debate brought your attention to the fact that, although your mind was alight, you could still think rational thoughts. You hadn't even fallen to the ground, unlike your previous experience with the machine. Your eyes dart to the remote still in Hoffman's hand, and you notice something you hadn't before: a dial. It seemed to only be set to about midway, which must have been why the frequency wasn't as painful as before. You know you have to stop the dial from being turned up any higher, but when you try to turn it down with your mind, the agony of using your powers against the howling noise floods your body. It was like a grenade had exploded in your chest, and the shards were making their way through your bloodstream, scraping against your organs and tearing holes in your skin. All you succeed in doing is flinging the captain and the remote into the wall, your telekinesis only managing to complete the basic function of shoving things around. His head cracks back against the concrete, but he doesn't lose his grip on the remote. The bloodstained smile has worked its way back onto his face, his thumb stroking the dial now that he knows you're aware of it.

You had wondered why he hadn't turned it up all the way, but the way his lips stretched into a maniacal expression spoke the words he didn't. Rather than incapacitating you and putting a stop to your little rebellion, he wanted to see you powerless. He wanted to see you desperate and in pain, watching as he defeated you with little more than a piece of technology. He was enjoying the show and in no hurry to end it.

The remaining soldiers begin to creep towards you, fingers hovering over gun triggers as they continue to wait on the captain's orders. The right side of Hoffman's face seems to go slack for a second, and his smile morphs into a sideways smirk. One of his hands lies open in his lap, his dislocated shoulder leaving his arm useless. A quick glance reveals a mess of pink and white, stringy tendrils reaching away from a misshapen ball. He twirls his eye between his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as his other eye – the one still in his head – stares you down. "You're weak now." He knew you were tired from using your powers, and the sound grating against your ears only served to wear you down.

Despite the truth lacing his words, a pained smile tugs at your lips. You think of James, and imagine him lying in a pool of his own blood before the Hydra soldier cleaned up his mess. "You were wrong, you know." Hoffman's brow inches downwards in confusion, and you elaborate. "What you said earlier. You'll never win."

He licks his lips, splattered with blood both his and not. He almost seems amused. "And why's that?"

The answer is simple. "Because I've got nothing left to lose."

With that, you turn to the nearest soldier, and punch him the face with a (f/c) stained hand. Abandoning all use of your powers, you revert to your physical training, being unable to use your powers any more without risk of collapsing. Your head is pounding, you vision blurred with tears, but, ironically, the instinct that made you such a good killer was working to keep you alive. You twist the gun from his grip, turning the barrel towards his head and pulling the trigger. The sound that erupts from the firearm is deafening, almost drowning out the sound weapon targeting you. Almost. The moment the soldier crumples to the ground, the frequency seems to get louder. You snap your gaze towards Hoffman. He still sits on the ground watching you, fingers grasping the dial.