Secretive - Bucky Barnes

6 || Focus

[Nova]
For over two hours I am now walking through the streets of Berlin. Through slowly getting greener parks, through streets that are clean and streets that smell of urine and are sprayed with graffiti from bottom to the top. I even once pass a few guys that are taking in drugs via injection in the morning in the middle of a narrow alley. 

I need somewhere to go, and rest. Take a good nap, without any nightmare, although I think I do not have any say in that. 

To go to Carly is impossible. She betrayed me like anyone else did; I now can tell she knew the second I showed her a picture of James, and she kept her mouth shut. But why? Why would she? The latest the moment she had taken him for a talk behind my back, it is clear she knew that I did not. I even asked her about every single of the Avengers and their alliances, and she never said a word about the Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers's best friend that surprisingly is a hero, too.

How is this fair? How is it possible to trust her again and claim her as my best friend? If it was the other way around, the first thing I would have done was asking her if she was sure with her choice.

But she let me ran blindly into that knife, knowing the stab would hurt me, and did nothing to prevent the blow. I cannot forgive her for this, at least, not for now, with it all being way to fresh.

And then, I barely have any other friends. Or at least, friends that are good enough for me to ask for a shower and their couch for a couple hours. And even if I had here, I do not have my phone with me. I could not even call them before spontaneously showing up in their front door.

On top of all that, there is nothing in my rucksack but my fighting suit and two bottles of water, and my favourite cookies; dark dough with white chocolate. Nothing useful for now. No wallet, no papers, no identification. Nothing. I could not even check into a hotel. 

In the end, with tiredness becoming more and more overwhelming, my lids threatening to close with every further step I take in cause of energy loss, I walk along a lost train trail in the North of the town. With having my family and government in my back, I never needed to run or make myself any hiding places in here, but now? I would not wonder if my parents decided to call the police and make them collect me, bringing me to some higher force to get me back into their claws, under control. And I really, really, want to prevent this.

So I needed a plan, anywhere they would not even consider me staying at, and what is better than a lost place? 

By now, the sky has clouded, but soon enough, I reach the underground train station and see no more of the weather. It really is disgusting; even during the walk down, the smell of faeces and drugs hit me inevitably. Thanks to my eyes, I do not need any flashlight to see, but when I walked down the broken tiles and dusty stairs, I for once wish my sight organ would not work. There are spiderwebs everywhere, some nasty green substance dripping on several spaces from the cracked ceiling, and then and now, decayed food or excrements would decorate the sides where passengers waited a long time ago. The lights stopped functioning for seemingly twenty years or so, and on the wall next to the railway lines, the name of this station is not even readable anymore on its shield.

Completely lost and disgusting. But completely silent and empty. Sometimes, it simply has to work. Circumstances do not matter.

So, careful where I step, I find myself walking to the broken elevator. Soon enough, I push open the rusty door, just to see the square body of it sunken down to the very end of its pipe. Meaning, I cannot even consider sleeping inside it. I sigh when I slip through the gap that is just big enough for my slim body to fit through, and climb down the thick cable that are as dusty as Jonas's room always has been. I swallow back tears before I continue, and finally reach the top of the metal box. Luckily, no rats or mice, neither something any living being had excreted. 

The half laying, half sitting position is to be used to, but I managed to get some sleep at worse places in the past. With my bloodstained suit as my pillow, I snuggle my hands into the pocket of my black hoodie, and try not to think about the dirty environment I chose to spent some hours in.

The dreams come in sections, like my brain was reliving memories and putting in odd thoughts by itself. A few of them were happy, like the times I played Lego with Jonas when we were kids or celebrated my birthday with Carly in a cinema, reading books with James in the library. Even in my dreams, the latter hurt the most. Then, there are fractions of worse things, like the blood I spilled in Paris, the teenager I killed on top of that house close to Wembley Stadium, not long ago. 

The strange things though, come with the blackness in between every of my dreams. Like it would always be played out in the background, but sometimes, someone writes over and makes it indecipherable. Hides its presence with the memorials of my life. Then and now, though, I would be able to see what it is, and am stunned, shocked, rather. Because it always is the same, but I never experienced it myself.

The enchantment. Clear as the sounds of wind chimes, and equally as high, but a lot more harmonic. The image underneath: A mountain. A very, very high mountain. I never saw any pictures of it, I know that for sure, and especially not in live. But how is it possible I dream of it nonetheless? It is said people only can dream of things they saw beforehand. There is no way our brain simply can make up faces or places or destinations on its own, this is scientifically proven. But how does my brain work against all odds?

I do not know how long I slept, but in the end, the enchantment grew too loud to be only a creation of my subconscious. Woken up with eyes wide in shock, I shake my head, trying to gather myself, stretching. I am still in the dark, still entirely lonely. Which is good, because no one found me yet and my hideout is a safe one. But a stinky one, too. I should search for a forest or something, with a river. Take a bath. I feel like rubbish.

Standing up, the choir of angelic voices rises another time, and I sigh, leaning back. Well, in the airplane, I came a little closer to their purpose. To why they are there in this form: They want to tell me something, something they could not until now. Maybe, if I thought and focused on it more intensely – and now I can, being all on my own and safe for the moment -, I can figure it out.

By now, I think I solved the question of why they erupted firstly now. Sad as it is. Guessing it has to do something with the glowing eyes of mine, I think James – again – was my trigger. The moment I feared most for him, losing sight of him on the battle field with Chloe on my own heels; that was the moment the power inhabiting in me decided to get to its fullest. Sure, the eye-colour-changing happened way before, but the point it was highest was the one I was afraid of anything happening to James. With the awareness of his touch intensifying my senses one time in that stony tunnel in Mexico, he just has to have been my trigger.

And then the voices came, faintly, just after I cut Chloe's throat. Perhaps, and I am almost convinced by this, they have been there before, but I just did not listen close enough, did not have the mind to hear their tones.

Closing my eyes, I try it one more time. Try to focus on it, make every other cloud of thoughts in my mind subside, calm down. Inhaling. Exhaling. Inhaling. Exhaling.

It is easier than it had been in the plane, with everything around me now being completely quiet. Soon, their voices become glassy, and the number of vocal cords seem to reduce themselves. I focus on the highest, the lowest, the middle one: but nothing more than breath-takings at first. Like whatever there is in my head badly needed to get some air, indicating at it actually living, and really terribly trying to get me to know something.

I try harder, force my abilities to bend down for my will. Force my entire concentration on the voices, so much I feel myself heating up, and a couple minutes later, sweat slowly sneaking its way to the surface of my skin. I grab the thick, dark cables of the elevator in my front, fingers clenching around it in effort. My entire body tensed, starting to shake at some point.

But it works. 

It works.

Finally, one of the voices becomes clearer than every other one. I would say it's one of the tenor section, but I do not know enough about music to be sure. Whatever it is, the enchantment, making me dizzy for at least half an hour now, is made of two words.

Mount Fuji.