Greatest Price

{3}


His iridescent eyes were spooky tone of sky blue, foggy ice around his jewel spheres; the moonlight reflected over his smooth black fur, providing for him the presence of an approaching wraith as Bucky stalked closer to the grave site; he felt the coldness of the ground infiltrated through his bones. Quietly he tested the stone with his paw, delving into the wet earth, and he felt numb against the frosty breeze wavering over his slim body. His blue eyes obscured with perniciousness as it cut as one with his jerking and gag into a glare.

"I hate this," Bucky protested coldly in nausea, feeling the clamminess of the ground retain against the cushioning of his paws. "Why?"

His head beat against the thoughtless considerations surging his memory—eating up pictures of his humanity with impulses of the midnight furred cat he was changed into by witch's cursive words.

Gradually, he contracted his foggy blue coals down at the heaps of grass—he felt his pink tongue lap against his fur as the staleness noticeable all around overwhelmed all his faculties.

Bucky curved his head hatefully and he gazed with disdain at the grime secured grave and blurring and overlooked name of the perished scratched over the rock that shadowed over his helpless structure he was a detainee who had gotten to be gobbled up in chasm and detached from humankind.

The dirty golden yellow light from the waxen moon got to be entangled in the profundity of his feline eyes as he stalked closer to the grave, and whitened an alarmingly step rearward from a shard of mirror set against the stone-the witch left it there remotely to decrease his plan to butcher his spirit and permit him to turn into a void of a subjugated and tormented cat. He sat unbendingly nostalgically gazing at impression of the slender creature welcomed him in the obscurity.

He shuddered, feeling his blood bubble and uncovered his teeth. He unleashed a non domesticated howl and in a flash he felt his little shape backlash back as he mulled over eagerly at the similarity he wore—he had the unique shading of his hair— chestnut and his puncturing eyes were still the brilliant, tender and savage blue rather than the gold he saw with the other stray felines.

His level and little muzzle had sprouts of stubbles and his body was thin with a long tail winding out of his posterior between his rear legs identifying feline appearance. Horrendously nauseated, he clipped his eyes close; feeling each fiber of his bolted soul attack pieces as he extinguished a horrid sound, "No," he said emphatically, his voice dry. His throat was tightening, vocal ropes limited. His breathing was getting harder to oversee. He felt the tears run adrift over his hairy face.

He rubbed his metal paw over his muzzle, attempting to wipe the tears clean. "This isn't me..."

Bucky glared at himself, absolutely appalled as he tore his eyes far from the mirror. He mixed to recover his resolved vanity, respect and his disobedient, unbreakable soul. He took an alternate look, exclusively peering past the impression of the feline and hunt down his actual self—the deadly and proficient executioner. The equalizer who was utilized like a weapon, with HYDRA pulling the trigger with each summon.

The Winter Soldier.

He hurled out a wretched breath, wrinkling his forehead as he gazed deeper, declining to handle incredulity rejecting the acknowledge the cool, gnawing truth that he will never turn into a human again—that he would decay in the jail and bear the torment of feeling his life slip further away in the insanity with every misery whimper that got away from his throat.

Gulping down his bravery, Bucky centered his eyes and gazed at the deception moral soul underneath the creature. There he was, remaining in the glass of the mirror—overwhelming, spooky and solid. His steely eyes were ashes of blue fire; his lips were still with the curve of his Cupid's bow breaking the dour scowl and his wide and etched jaw solid and hard with a lasting grip in the muscle. His dull and thick, untidy hair encircled over his threatening face. He looked perilous as his lips held the dimness of his debased nature.

"Who am I?" he discharged a rough murmur, his throat choked and tormented singed into his heart, however then his stern face moved his eyes welled with frightfulness as he brought down his head and sulked quietly, apathetic. "It doesn't matter...No one will remember that me anyways..."

He knew his presence was blurring deeper inside vessel of the feline he realized that he was no more the deadly and slippery professional killer The Winter Soldier-the best marksman, soldier and expert of stealth, no, he was a slave to a request a discouraged automaton for HYDRA's wiped out bemusement and he wasn't the only one with the unpreventable coldness of his destiny the two cats, feeble and vulnerable were a piece of the painful condemnation transfiguration, starvation, demise and afterward the more awful of all-slipping further into his new body, losing the weaves of memory, and spending his days slinking the avenues, anonymous, homeless and lost.

Anyhow he wasn't the only one.


The quieted orange of streetlamps reflected over brownstone; eager and depleted from an alternate disillusioning pursuit, Captain Steve Rogers rearranged quietly down the empty road. He looked rumpled, out of spotlight all alone considerations, as his sneaks crunched the stirring the leaves as he walked on the walkway, he didn't try checking the messages on his Starkphone, he was caught in a cover he could call his own despondency, permitting the blame and regret hide him from the world, however his determination was substantial and solid, he burned through three months gathering data of his closest friend's unfeeling and honorific past.

He spent his evenings shouting and tangling under the sheets of his bed, as the frequenting nightmarish pictures devoured his brain until he got to be hot with chastening scorn. He was lost in the domains of his tormented mind, feeling the cold prick of regret encase his bones as considerations streamed back numerous years, however with void. He had missed seventy years of his life-stuck in a solidified casket under the thickness of ice and water, feeling the world proceed onward without him, conveying the defacing blame of Bucky Barne's passing.

"You know...Sometimes I think you like being a punching pack, Rogers," Bucky said, an affectionate grin tugged at his lips. He tenderly connected an a cube of ice over the wounded cheek. "How often is this now...Seven...Eight?"

"Ten," Steve jumped, gritting his teeth. "I had him on the ropes, Buck."

Bucky tightened lips up, and shook his head, "Right, much the same as you had the others on the ropes, huh, Stevie?" he brought up, and gazed at the youthful blonde haired kid, an egotistical smile on his etched face as he wiped off the smears of blood from Steve's base, part lip.

"I never asked to get punched, Buck."

"No," Bucky moaned, solidly, "yet that big mouth of yours doesn't know how to keep shut when you're in the spot."

Steve brought down his eyes, "I figure that this entire thing is truly my fault...I'm solid in my words, yet not anyplace else,"

"Stop with the dramatizations, Steve," Bucky whispered, tapping his friend's jaw, "You've got me to clean up the wrecks you make." he looked down at the other kid with his true blue eyes, "And I'm never going to let anything happen to you, little punk."

He grinned happily at the blaze of memory, letting pictures of a more youthful Bucky Barnes replay in his troublesome mind as the he strolled to the crosswalk and held up for the traffic light to switch green.

Every deadlock of Barne's location made him sink deeper into defeat, slamming his bones with the heaviness of sadness; gagging him until he got to be voiceless. Today, Steve felt his least, viewing neighborhood kids accumulate on road corners spruced up at superheroes and creatures. Friends and brothers. Memories.

Murmuring profoundly, Steve hauled out Bucky's dog tags from a pocket of his pants, holding the chain and plates of metal up to the shine of light, gazing with his trained stone cobalt eyes at the name and date of conception scratched always, it was the main rest of Bucky's presence.

"I can't do this, Bucky,"

Bucky grinned, his blue eyes brilliant with warmth, as he set his hand immovably on Steve's hard shoulder, "Take a look at me, Stevie," he talked placidly, lips never vacillated. "I realize that you can do this...If you fall...I'm here to lift your thin ass off the ground."

Steve looked down, his blood was squirming, as he gulped a bunch a trepidation and gazed at the rough crest. "Why did I give you a chance to talk me into this?"

"You needed fresh air and plus we never do anything fun," Bucky snickered dryly, smirking with a tender shine in his eyes. "Come on, if you want you can take my hand... You know that I will never let you go, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Steve blew out a breath, ruffling his golden tendrils of hair, and reached out his frail hand, and felt his best friend's hand envelope over his own, and

with one heave of breath, he climbed the large rock, and stood next to Bucky while saying mutely, "I don't ever want to lose you, Buck." he sniffled, brushing his finger under his nose. and with one hurl of breath, he climbed the expansive shake, and remained beside Bucky while saying mutely, "I never want to lose you, Buck." he sniffled, brushing his finger under his nose.

"Hey," Bucky returned, hunkering down low, lifting his jaw up, "You're not going to lose me..I'm always going to be right here..." He lightly tapped Steve's chest, careful not the damage the rib bones. He told him with certainly, and wrapped his broad arms around him, pulling him into a massive, brotherly hug. "We're brothers...Stevie Rogers...Stupid and brave. We're always going to be together, because you've got me and I've got you..."

Feeling the warmth of Bucky against him, Steve twisted his lips into an unbalanced smile, and shut his eyes.


"I simply need you back, Buck," Steve whispered faintly. He felt a surge of torment cut through his heart. Furthermore he held the anchored chain near to the solidness of his midsection; muscles strained, making his blood stir with fluid warmth. He fixed his grasp into a clench hand.

He attempted to inhale, however everything was desolation.

Raising his head, Steve leveled his blue eyes to the poles of moonlight, he spoke with strong declaration in his voice, "I will find you, James Barnes. I promise."