Mesmerizing Nightmares

He was him again.

Cold as winter. The relentless assassin. He saw through his eyes, sensed with his hands, but his own body didn't belong to him. He felt disconnected and horrified. He could still remember it all, the screams, the deaths, and above all, the lack of emotions he'd felt while committing these atrocities.

Blood spattered his face, thick and disgustingly warm.

The person staring at him in the mirror was expressionless. He wanted to cry, but his lips remained sealed. He wanted to close his eyes but his reflection wouldn't stop glaring back at him.

The Winter Soldier didn't talk, but his silent accusations echoed loud and clear in Bucky's mind.

This is your fault.

I only exist because you're weak.

And he'd go on and on, in Russian, until the first word of a long, dreadful series was said, until he'd want to take control over him again, and every time he got further down the list.

Bucky woke up in the same way a drowning man would emerge from deep water: suffocating, a mute scream stuck in his throat.

"Here."

Shuri was crouching next to his bed, handing him a glass of cool water.

He accepted it with trembling fingers. The sensation of the water going down his throat was a relief.

(He was awake.)

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her dark eyes were glowing in the dimness of the room.

(No he didn't want to talk about it.)

Some part of him thought he should, so that they could put him under again, cryostasis keeping away his nightmares. He had to tell her that the Winter Soldier was creeping closer to his heart every night, that he became an entity of its own and wanted to use the keywords to take control.

"James?"

He exhaled, shaking less, pushing down his fears, putting on the mask. He was sharply aware of the sweat dripping on his brow and sticking his shirt to his skin.

"James?" she insisted, her cool hand finding his forearm.

This name…

(It was not him.)

"Please, call me Bucky," he murmured.

He hated his pleading tone. He hated his hoarse voice.

"Okay."

"When are you going to cure me?"

He walked straight to Shuri, followed by Ayo's wary gaze.

"Hello to you too, Bucky," sighed the Wakandian princess, her eyes fixed on the monitors.

"When?" he insisted.

He was vaguely aware that showing such hostile behavior would hinder the relationship he built with Shuri over the last few weeks. It also would make Ayo uncomfortable and prone to poke him with her vibranium spear. He didn't care anymore. The shadows under his eyes were deepening, his nightmares becoming more and more vivid every night.

He couldn't afford to lose control again.

(He'd rather die.)

"It's not that simple."

Shuri got up and stared at him. It was almost hypnotizing, the way she tried to read into his soul.

(I'd stare back as long as it took.)

"You are not a machine, Bucky, I cannot just reprogram your synapses without identifying what is triggering the other part of you."

The grip of the familiar visceral dread tightened on his heart.

"You're not bringing him out," he warned.

"What if it's the only way? Bucky, I am not going to order you to go out and kill people, if anything I'd ask to-"

"You are not bringing him out!" he yelled.

(He'd yelled.)

He froze into place, breathing heavily, acutely aware of Ayo stepping forward, ready to intervene. He raised his hands in peace and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

He needed some air. Without asking for permission, he headed out, and as the guards came to intercept him, Shuri's voice echoed: "Let him pass."

The full moon shone high above his head.

The night was so peaceful it almost hurt in comparison to his nightmares.

"Are you feeling any better?"

To his surprise, Ayo settled down next to him, the fabric of her Dora Milaje's armor spreading out around her.

(Was he feeling better?)

"I am calm," he responded, perfectly aware that he was not really answering the question.

Ayo seemed to search for the right words for a while. There were no "right" words for what he was going through, but he was grateful for her trying.

"If we do use the keywords, no one is going to abuse them. It's just a mean to an end."

He knew that.

(He really knew.)

"I don't think I can do it," he admitted.

Why was it easier to talk to Ayo than Shuri? Was it because she was a warrior? Because she showed no compassion?

"I feel like if it takes control over me, it would be for good this time."

"She won't let that happen, you know," Ayo said. "And if she's wrong, the Dora Milaje is more than capable to stop you."

Well, he wasn't so sure about that, the Winter Soldier did stand up to Captain America after all. He had seen the Dora Milaje in action though; they were not enemies one should trifle with. And there was the Black Panther as well.

Despite all these reasons, it still did not feel safe trying to use the words.

"I don't know. I really don't."

Ayo's eyes were riveted to his profile, and he kept staring at the moon, unable to speak anymore, afraid to give substance to all the horrible things that were haunting his mind and heart. He wanted to live up to Steve, he wanted to be cured, so why was he so afraid to take the first step?

"I have an idea," said Ayo, breaking the silence.

She got up, dusting off her skirt, and extended a hand to help him up as well.

"I think running is not enough. Let's strengthen your body, soul, and mind a bit more to prepare you for the challenges ahead."

She was offering the same unwavering confidence as Shuri when they started all this and somehow, it lightened his burden a little bit.

He took the offered hand and got to his feet.

"Alright. Where do we start?"

Ayo's smile was almost frightening.