8

Echoes on the mind, laughs and great designs, lost in time.

[...] A screeching scream of a child. A glint of metal...


You weren't sure if you were still dreaming or if reality had officially become unbelievably terrifying. Your first instinct is to swallow the gasp that escapes your throat as your body is being rocked from side to side. A cloud of heavy orange dust had crawled up into your sinuses and you tried to find what strength you could to cough out the dirt and finally be able to breathe properly again. Your lungs felt heavy and they burned ardently, a feeling of nausea and suffocation overwhelming your upper belly in tight waves.

You couldn't be sick, not now.

You hear a strong voice calling out to you and your eyes finally somewhat adjust to the smog. You're able to see Bucky right in front of you, his face scrunched up in concern. He's yelling, you know he is, but your still-asleep mind can't seem to wrap around the words he is saying. You feel the taste from the Apple you had eaten hours before on the roof of your mouth, and the twigs dig into your palms as you stretch yourself up into a sitting position.

You look around, seeing nothing but that orange smoke, your visibility very small.

You're awake, and you snap your head to look at Bucky again, and this time he's pulling you up by your arm. You feel the digits of his flesh hand digging into your forearm.

"What's going on?" Your voice is hoarse and your throat is dry, begging for some water.

His brows are tight-knit and a growl comes from somewhere behind you. You freeze and you feel your eyes go wide, searching his for answers.

"We need to go. Now."

"What time is it?" You don't know why you ask, but you couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. The sky had hardly changed and you did not feel well-rested.

His irritation is all over his face as he ignores your question.

You look down at your belongings, only swinging your arm around to grab your backpack. Your eyes dart to your shoes.

"My boots."

A sound that could only be closest to a grumble escapes his throat, and he bends down to grab your boots in his hand. You're going to ask him again what's going on when he's starts running, bringing you with him by your left arm as he does so.

He's fast and he's urgent in his movements. That same growl from earlier echoes among the trees and you feel the hair on your arms stand up.

"What is that?" You ask breathlessly. You feel the bottoms of your feet aching from the severe pain of running barefoot over the branches and rocks.

Bucky makes a sharp right turn against a tree and your back falls against his front with a heavy huff. You feel his heartbeat under you and he's quiet for a few moments before whispering.

"It's a bear."

"Can't you just kill it with your fist?" You don't know if it was necessarily an insulting thing for you to say, you were only thinking logically. He was a super soldier, an Avenger. What damage could a bear do to someone like him?

But clearly it must've hit a nerve and you feel him quickly let go of you, making you almost topple forward. You spin around to see him snarling at you, his eyes dark.

"I could, but I can't see anything through this fog. I see what you see. Unless you can tell me for sure the coordinates of this animal, I'm putting us both at risk. We need to move. Now."

He pushes himself off the three and drops your boots next to you. He gives you a few seconds to tie them on securely and then he's on the move again. You follow him very close behind.

You couldn't risk losing him in this fog. Who knew how long it went for.

"The dust must've come in from the city overnight," he mumbles, "I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"Don't say that. You needed to sleep."

He's tense as he continues to walk through the branches and leaves. The smell of the oak is stronger and it's a reminder to tuck your scarf tighter around the bottom half of your face. It reminds you of when you were both walking through the abandoned city when he had fixed your scarf. For a fraction of a moment, you had thought that he had finally let his wall down. Obviously, you had been wrong.

You taste the oak and dust in your mouth. It was a bit like charcoal, that part of the burnt marshmallow that some people enjoyed except for the nice sweet taste.

"Should we be breathing this in?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer. Then he pulls his own hood higher over his face, "No. But we can't just hold our breath. Not when we don't know even know how far this fog goes."

"Can't we run?"

He ticks his jaw. "We can, but it's not worth the exertion."

"You seem very unworried."

He tucks his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out the compass. "Because I'm pretty sure it's just remnants of blown-up tanks and steel fires. Just cover your nose and you should be fine."

You knew he had served in World War II, and that piece of knowledge comforts you a bit, knowing that you were probably in the best hands right now. But you also feel immense pity for the man. Was war all he knew of?

"What made you want to enlist?"

"I was drafted."

You nod. "I didn't know." Your eyes dart down to the bag over his shoulders and you swallow thickly, "Should we stop for some water?"

He stops suddenly in his tracks and you find yourself almost running face front with his back. He turns around to look at you, an unamused glint in his eyes.

"I have a question for you."

"Okay?" You perk a brow.

"I don't know anything about you or your life, all I know is about your little family and how they built a place that caused this mess in the first place. But, please, enlighten me. Did you always have everything served to you on a silver platter? Did you always get what you want and when you wanted it? Food, resources, entertainment, water?" His eyes trail over your face, "I can't figure you out, kid."

Your teeth clench together and your brain grows confused at his skill to mix an insult and a sincere tone all into one.

You tilt your head at him and take a step closer.

"I have held nothing but the utmost respect for you, Bucky. But I'm done," he raises a brow at you, "I'm done at trying to pretend like I can take your insults and your insinuations about me. You, do not walk over me. You do not have any power over me. You and I are one in this mission as a team and we are equals. You treat me like such. You can do whatever the hell it is you want to do when we get to The Capitol, but I will not stand by letting you attack my family. You might think you know me, think I'm a rebel just because I'm younger and because I'm sarcastic and have a tattoo, you might think you know me by making these assumptions, but you don't know anything." Your voice was wavering by the end of your little speech and you saw a flicker of something in Bucky's eyes, "I'm trying very hard to be your friend, your acquaintance at least. Why can't you just try to be civil?" You don't know where your balls and guts came from, but there it was.

You felt your eyelid twitch as you waited apprehensively for his response.

Bucky scoffed and gave an eye roll as he turned away from you. This made your skin crawl. Was there really no use getting through to this man? Was his skin really that dense and thick?

"How you got Captain America to be your best friend, I will never know." You mumble under your breath.

He doesn't give you any indication, but he heard you.

He was trying to the best of his ability to not think about the answer to your question.

But he couldn't help it as memories engulfed his brain. If there was anything worst than remembering the bad things he had done, it was remembering the good man he was before hell took over.

Bucky hadn't always been an asshole. He knew used to be a good guy, and he used to be happy. That was back when he had something to live for.

After he was brainwashed and after he participated in decades of horror and violence, everything he had ever been was stripped away from his character.

He wasn't that free spirit boy anymore.

He never would be ever again.

It killed him that he had been deprived of happiness and life.

Your presence was only a constant reminder of that. He didn't need you, he didn't want you near him or to help him.

Flashes of his ex-fiancé run through his mind and it triggers him instantly. He pulls his hood tighter over his head again, not wanting any emotion to show on his face.

He feels the blood in his head and he feels that longing for touch; for care.

He couldn't think of her. He wouldn't. And he certainly would not allow himself to think about the man he used to be, something you seemed to be digging at constantly.

An hour later you were both out of the fog. The skies above were starting to turn all different warm shades of beautiful purples and oranges. You both know sleep would not come again until tonight, so for the rest of the day, you would continue your travel south. You were halfway down an open field of overturned cars and abandoned homes. It was clear you were both in what used to be a middle-income family suburban area. Most of the homes are two to three stories, but what once used to be beautiful mowed lawns, were now overgrown weeds and wildflowers. Some of the homes' doors were open, and you couldn't help but try to peer inside to see what might've happened. Did the family leave in a rush? Were they ambushed? You feel a tight feeling in your chest as you remember your mom and dad. For most of your life, they had been your only ground, the only people to truly love you aside from Will. You still never understood why no one in school liked you, if it was because your family had more money due to being politicians or maybe because of politics in general - you never knew. But it hurt.

When you took your kickboxing class, it had helped majorly with your pent up anger and frustration - more so than any self given orgasm - and you never regretted taking it.

If anything, now here with the gorgeous Devil Incarnate himself, you regret not taking more of it.

You continue to look down the street. There's a specific small building that catches your eye. The windows on the sides are shattered. The sharp shards on the sides attached to the building were pointed inwards, glass and dried blood mixed with dirt which you could faintly see inside just past the window.

Bucky parts his arm out to stop you, and you look over at him confused. His brows are itched together in confusion and he's got his gun in a tight grip in his left hand. He shushes you and his eyes dart around wildly. You try to hear for what he hears but it's evident that it was something only he could pick up on because of his super hearing.

His gaze quickly goes towards the left and he motions with his finger for you to follow him. A couple of more houses later and you both look inside one of the small ones. It's a light blue home with black shudders. This door was also open and you could see straight into the stairs that led up to the second floor of the home.

There in the foyer was a small dear.

Bucky must have thought the same exact thing you did as he brings his gun up towards his face. He's just about to pull the trigger when you put your hand on his elbow, not stopping him but making him halt.

"Are you sure we should shoot it? We don't want to draw any attention."

He shrugs with his one shoulder, "You want lunch?"

He's got a point. Sure, you both had your fruits and herbs which is not awful. But just the thought of meat sounded so nice. You slowly let go of his elbow and Bucky presses the trigger.

The noise of the gunfire echoes through the empty town. Even with a silencer, it sounded loud. You both watch as the dear collapses to the side, a gunshot dead center between its eyes.

Bucky swings his gun over. "Come on." He says.

You both reach down to grab the dear. He grabs it by the head and you grab the two hind legs.

She didn't look too old, maybe a couple of months. So she wasn't too large. It would be just enough meat for both of you.

Bucky's walking backward out the front door of the home when you ask.

"So we'll haul this thing until we see woods?"

"Don't fool yourself. We'll just bring it around the corner over there. I'll set up a small fire or something." You raise an amused brow as his eagerness to eat the animal.

He wasn't wrong, just a couple of yards off the road there was a small park. You watched, intrigued, as he removed his glove and cut the animal at the belly, the loud squelching sound echoing around you as its inside spilled onto the earth.

After he finished gutting the deer, you watched as he slid the meat off the skin and bone with skill. It didn't take too long for him to walk over you with two small halves of breasts of red meat, one in each hand.

"Grab your water bottle and just drizzle some water over it." You do as told and you watch curiously as he cleans the carcass, leaving it red and finally appetizing looking.

You help in building the fire while he jams two sticks into each meat slab. He hands you one and he keeps the other. You both sit there for maybe forty-five minutes, cooking, and finally eating the season-less food. It's bland and it tastes gamey. But like meat, nonetheless.

You're both quick on your feet and back on the road again not too long after. Bucky's got his hands on his backpack straps, holding tightly.

"We shouldn't have stopped."

You try not to groan.

"We were hungry."

He's shaking his head, "We lost time. We put down our guard. It can't happen again."

"It's only late morning —"

"We should be halfway past the river by now."

You take a deep breath at his tone, trying your best to not lose your temper. Why must he be so difficult?

"We're fine."

He turns fully towards you, "We are not fine!"

He stops walking and so do you.

"It's not even midday."

"We," he takes a step closer to you and you swallow thickly at his arrogant aura, "are supposed to reach The Capitol tomorrow night. That should not change. It has to be tomorrow. No later. You holding me back won't change that, if it comes down to it, I'll leave you behind," he looks down your face, "It's not like I need your help."

Your nostrils flare and your teeth clench together.

It happens quickly. He's in your face, looking for another throw down, and then he's falling backward with a heavy grunt.

Your heart beats away like crazy and you feel a fear you hadn't felt in a very long time. You hadn't felt it since you ran into a nomad a year ago. They had tried to kill you, just like they had Will.

You're on your knees, grabbing Bucky by the shoulder as he's half-sitting. You tilt him over until you see what looks like an arrow coming out of his upper shoulder.

"Oh my god, oh my god, okay. It's okay, let me just —" you're mumbling at lost for what to do, your hand hovering like crazy around the arrow, afraid to actually touch it. It doesn't help that Bucky is breathing quickly through his nose, his nose and eyes pinched together in what could only be intense pain.

Next, he does something that you had never seen anyone do in real life before. He grabs the arrow with his opposite arm and he pulls it straight out with a deep grunt followed by a whimper. You watch in horror as blood escapes the slit into the cotton of his coat.

Next, he pulls you down until you're on him and it startles you until you realize your mistake, another arrow shooting right past your head and into the field behind you.

"Stay the hell down." He tells you. You do as told, too afraid to do anything else. With his good arm, he pushes himself until he's sitting and he maneuvers into a position where he can get his gun out but he quickly lowers it back down again, "Damnit, it's a kid."

"What?"

"It's a kid," Bucky repeats. You watch from the ground as he raises himself up to a stand, "But the bow down, kid. We won't hurt you." The kid doesn't say anything, "We're not infected."

You don't know what the kid looks like nor what he's doing, but a few long seconds pass before Bucky reaches his hand down, motioning for you to stand up.

You turn around to see that there's in fact a kid with a bow and arrow and he wears a long coat, but very useless in comparison to yours. For a second you feel pity. He's dirty and he looks very tired. No way he was any older than seventeen, his little ginger hair poking out from under his dark green beanie.

He looks between you and Bucky, his grip on his bow tight.

You want to tell him about the Avengers camp just outside of the city, and you look at Bucky, waiting for him to tell him. But he doesn't.

You feel guilty and also angry at Barnes. You take a step forward, "There's a place you can—"

"We were just on our way out of here." Bucky cuts you off sharply, knowing what you were gonna do. His mouth is in a straight line, "We mean no harm."

The boy says nothing for a bit and then looks back at you again. It kills you.

Eventually, he nods, pulling his beanie over his forehead.

Bucky sighs once the boy is gone. He grips his hurt shoulder tightly with his metal arm.

"Hurts like a bitch." He groans.

You had almost forgotten he was hurt. You look down at his shoulder.

"Let me see it."

"It's fine, it's practically superficial. Nothing my serum can't fix in a few hours." Still, you reach your hand over covering his metal hand with your own over his wound, "What are you doing?"

"Helping with the pressure to stop the bleeding." After a bit, you lift your hand and he lifts his own, happy to see the blood had stopped oozing so much. "See?"

He doesn't acknowledge your help, but instead just spins back towards the direction you were both going. "We need to keep going."

"Why didn't you tell him about the camp?" Bucky doesn't say anything, "That's kinda rich. Holding onto something that could potentially save his life."

"It's not a refugee camp, trust me he would not do well there and people would not want him there, he's just fine out on his own."

"Are you kidding me? You're telling me he wouldn't do well with food and water? A shower, maybe?" Bucky takes a deep breath, "Please tell me because, clearly, I don't understand."

"Because it'd be just like that damn place! Like that damn wall we're going to. Don't you see that? We can't just create another place like that, not when it can potentially become something just as horrible, we can't just trust anyone."

You kind of understood it, but your heart still felt heavy and your face falls sullenly.

"But he's just a kid."

"Yeah, well so was I."

His answer leaves you angrier and wanting to know more all at the same time. Who was this man? Would you ever know? When you had heard about Bucky Barnes in high school and college, this is not what you had in mind at all.

You both didn't share another word, the air still tense between the both of you, for the rest of the day. For dinner, you both ate an apple on the go and walked and walked. You even make it past the river in silence.

Thankfully, the weather today wasn't so bad. It wasn't too brittlely cold and there were no more cities or towns.

Just woods - just the way you like it.

Bucky doesn't have to say anything to you and neither do you to him. Maybe it would have to be this way for the next six months.

The sun is gone when you both find yourselves walking through a deserted amusement park.

"We'll sleep here tonight," Bucky says. He points to a carousel, and it creeps you out. The horses' eyes are still bright as if painted on yesterday, "We'll sleep in there."

You don't complain. You didn't feel like talking to him anymore today.

Anyway, tomorrow would be the last day before you both reached The Capitol.

Hopefully tonight you'll actually get some damn rest.

It was in Indiana and Rebecca was the best little sister Bucky could possibly ask for.

So much that he'd come home from school with his adolescent hands tied behind his back holding a little gift for her almost every day.

She'd jump out in front of him with her little puppy eyes.

"Bucky!" She'd squeal, throwing her tiny arms around his shin.

Just her happiness made him smile so hard that his eyes would crinkle up at the sides.

After he'd hand her the little bag of chocolates and give her head a little ruffle, she'd say:

"Daddy says he's been waiting for you, Bucky."

Bucky gave her a small smirk, "I know, just wanted to get my best girl her little chocolates first," he'd shrug his shoulder nonchalantly, "I am the best brother in the world, aren't I?"

"Best brother, sure. But seriously, your father has been driving me mad. You were supposed to be here an hour ago." Bucky's mother had walked into the foyer, her voice taunting and dripping with discipline.

Bucky's smile dropped slightly as he brought a nervous hand around his neck, rubbing there.

He would squint his gorgeous blue eyes and bite bottom lip slightly in fear.

He always knew what would happen when he made his father late to camp.

He remembers the last time when his father made him run 5 miles non-stop through the heavy downpour.

Right after, he'd have him slouch under the barbed wires purposefully making it lower, making him cut himself various times.

His hot tears would mix in with the rain, making it essentially pointless.

It wasn't that his father was evil, but he was strict. He said it was to help him build character over what matters most and to make him strong.

Bucky still remembers the first time he held a gun. It was as if a part of him that was missing was finally in its place. And his father caught on too - he was born to be a sniper.

"One day, you'll be the best. Maybe even a better man than me." His dad had said.