a lion among wolves, bucky barnes (hiatus)

twenty-five

SIBERIA, RUSSIA
2004

HIS chest heaved up and down hysterically, sweat and blood and tears running down from his hair, eyes, and nose, dripping over his lips and falling onto his bare torso. His hands quivered and no matter how he fought to steady them, they kept on shaking. He could feel some foreign drug swimming through his veins. But most terrifying was the chaos unfolding inside his head. Everything was blank. Empty and meaningless, until a spasm of memory flickered through the curtain, only to be vanquished by a shock of electrifying pain. Bucky began to sob. And then the anguish would sweep over him in a wave and paralyze him beyond tears. When will they stop? he wondered in agony. How many times had they done this? Tortured him without reason? No, there must be a reason. But Bucky never remembered what it was. One moment, he was returning from a mission, fresh blood on his conscience, and the next he was strapped to a chair and screaming and screaming and screaming until blood coated his throat. He wondered if they could sense his guilt. He always felt guilty. He just never knew why.

During a lapse in his pain, Bucky lifted his head. By some stroke of fate, his eyes fell on the open door. His ears caught shrieks that were not his own. Sounds of struggle. Of resistance. A squirming pile of limbs fell across the doorway, only to be forced to its feet and struck violently across the face. The impact snapped the figure's head in Bucky's direction. His breath caught in his throat.

A girl. It was a girl. Her mane of hazel hair veiled most of her face, but Bucky knew she was the prettiest thing he would see in a long time. Blood poured from her mouth. She stared him straight in the eye, terrified. The next moment she was swept away, and her screams resumed. Bucky was struck with the sudden urge to help her. Speak to her. But something stabbed into his arm and soon his world became black once again.

Bucky's eyes snapped open. He returned to reality, to his seat on the hot, uncomfortable park bench. The hum of traffic returned to his ears, along with the random chatter of careless pedestrians that had no idea a master assassin resided among them. Bucky's gaze swept through the faces of those who darted near enough for him to observe. More than once, he thought he saw her. But it always turned out to be someone far less remarkable. Suddenly, more guilt engulfed him. How could he even have the gall to think about June? To remember her as if they had ended on good terms . . . but had they actually ended? Had they even begun? He did not feel he had any right to decide. All that mattered was that he was gone, had broken his promise, and knew he could never face June ever again. He could sit and rot on this bench in Cottonwood, Arizona, and never bother anyone again. June could be happy—Bucky was sure of that. She could be happy with Steve. Because that was a fact to consider as well; Steve was in love with her and had certainly done more for her than Bucky could think about doing. Steve should have the girl this time. Bucky figured that was the least he deserved.

He brooded for a while, glowering and earning uneasy stares from concerned passerby. A thought hit him suddenly, a selfish terrible thought, but one that ignited hope.

June did not have to love Steve in return.

She did not have to want either of them and admittedly that would probably be the healthiest resolution, but . . . he missed her painfully. June had been the most constant thing in Bucky's life at one point in time, and he wanted her presence back. He wished every day he had convinced her to come with him. He thought it unjust that he had only fallen asleep next to her once. Maybe she could forgive him, and maybe they could be friends. Bucky did not know how well that would fare since he had always had a considerably difficult time just being friends with girls, but . . . June was worth it.

Of course, it was a last resort, but still. She was worth it.

But Bucky scowled at the idea of watching Steve and June be what he wished he and June were. How bearable would that be? He wondered if he was acting too entitled—he knew that whatever happened he would have to accept. Still, the prospect did not seem any easier. Bucky sighed. He was beginning to dislike Arizona. He kept telling himself over and over that he was going to stay as far away from New York as possible, yet deep in his heart he knew if that was true, he would have just left the country. No, eventually June would draw him back. Nine months without her had only fueled his infatuation, never diluting it. Just to speak to her again would be enough, at least for a while. Eventually, Bucky knew he would succumb to selfishness and want more. He would not act on it, (unless circumstances allowed) but the desire would blacken his heart.

He shook his head and covered his face. "Fuck," he whispered into his hands, one colder and harder than the other. Even the gloves he wore (which, in Arizona, was like torture) could not mask the chill of his metal fingers. He stood up abruptly and shoved his hands into his pockets. The walk to his hotel, if you could even call where he was living a hotel, was brisk and fueled by desperation. Bucky marched through the shabby, neglected lobby and took the stairs rather than the elevator to the second floor. He fished his room card from his jeans and slid inside.

In a sort of mania, Bucky began to pack. He threw whatever extra clothes he had, the $400 he had managed to get ahold of, and most important of all, his journals, into his backpack. He stole the toiletries from the bathroom, as well as the cheap bottled water housekeeping left out for guests. Satisfied with what he could bring with him, Bucky rushed back downstairs and threw his card on the welcome desk. The teenage girl sitting behind it barely gave him a passing glance.

Bucky stepped outside into the harsh afternoon sun, squinting against its brightness. He pushed a piece of hair away from his eyes and tried to recall where the nearest bus station was—he thought it was down the next street, but it was an unreliable hunch.  Frustrated, he went with his gut, and miraculously he turned out to be right. He used up half of his remaining cash to buy a ticket for a fare that would take him from Cottonwood to New York in a day and a half. It meant he would not step foot off the bus for literally 36 hours, but somehow Bucky did not mind. It would take him to June, so that's all that mattered.

He only hoped that once he got there, he would remember how to reach Stark Tower.

note.
lol guys the only dialogue in this chapter is "fuck" hkfkfkfkfjfjf
i was getting kind of bored with the avengers plot so i decided to take a little break from it. we got to see bucky!! he's doing well. for now. we'll see what happens next. heheheheh. anyway. i hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please comment what you thought or what you think might happen next—my readers are ghosting me and it's making me sad :(
until next time!! i love you guys!