Reaching Out | Bucky Barnes

27 |

I don't realize at first that I've woken up. The darkness I see now is the same that I saw when I slept.

My mind is groggy... it hasn't stopped being groggy for a while now.

How long is a while?

I've begun to remember flashes of fighting. Being locked in darkness. Pain. Screaming.

It seems like no matter how hard try to think back though, I can't unscramble my memories.

At some point I was brought to a room and had my arms bound at my sides.

When did that happen?

I remember excruciating pain.

And pictures... pictures of familiar faces.

The Avengers.

Bad.

My stomach rolls as they cross my mind.

No, they're...

I think they're good.

My body protests, but I recall a face; calm and drowsy atop a pillow.

Bucky.

My mind wars; conflicting emotions of comfort and pain shocking my body.

My thoughts practically sing his name.

Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

Bad.

No—good.

I miss him.

Him.

I try to think of his voice to calm me, like I think he used to, but my nerves are too much. My body locks up, anticipating pain.

Stop thinking about him.

About any of them.

They're bad.

My mind shifts to trying to remember how long I've been here instead.

But I can't.

Why can't I remember?

I need to... get out of this room.

Why am I in this room?

Doctor Hof...

She... she put me in here.

She let me out and I was in pain, then she put me back in here.

I need to get out.

I need away from her.

Another wave of nausea rolls over me and grip the sheets harder.

Stop thinking about leaving.

You can't.

This is where you belong.

But why?

My brain runs through my memories, some of them falling into an order that feels right. Flashes of me writhing in pain cross my mind. Flashes of other people in pain.

My heart thumps in my chest.

Was it yesterday that I fought those agents, or was it the day before?

It feels like it's been longer than that though...

I think back and realize.

I fought them more than once.

I focus, unable to discern when things happened. Where I went. Why.

I run a hand over my lips as the taste of rubber fills my mouth.

They put a bit in my mouth. Then... a headset. It dug into my temples. They strapped me into a chair and showed me things. Pictures and videos. And they would tell me I belong to them before I felt pain.

God, it hurt.

And... there was another doctor. He was bald.

Who was he?

He was saying something.

Why can't I remember what he would say?

Think.

If they told me it, it must be important.

Follow orders.

Think.

Think, goddamn it.

I must lay in the darkness for hours, memories slowly materializing behind my eyes. Each image making my stomach tighter and tighter at the realization of my situation.

I was brought here and kept in darkness.

Then she brought me for a procedure and took my eggs.

Then I was injected with their serum.

Then she had me fight her agents and I almost killed them.

That's when she mentioned shock therapy.

What happened after that?

She began bringing me to a room and showing me pictures and telling me I was theirs. Then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

When did I start seeing the other doctor? And what was it for?

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

But I've been here for weeks... a month... two? I don't know.

But I need out of this room.

No.

YES.

Find a way out.

Figure it out.