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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 44

So how’s everyone enjoying rock bottom? I’ll have you all know that the ending was originally going to be in the next part, but I kinda felt like it needed to be included here. You’re welcome.

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 4945

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: DEATH, violence, physical assault, injury, mentions of blood, anxiety, emotional/mental break, disturbing descriptions If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

You stare at the scene in front of you, unable to comprehend or accept what you’ve just seen but simultaneously unable to deny it.

Mikhail…

Mikhail.

It doesn’t go away. No matter how many times you blink, it stays the same.

Mikhail is dead.

It’s so quiet. Why is it so quiet? No, wait, you do hear something, you just have to pay attention. Voices – you finally tear your eyes away from your decapitated friend and raise them to the monsters surrounding you. Everything seems like it’s moving in slow motion, and you look down at yourself to make sure you aren’t drenched, because it feels like someone dropped a bucket of ice water over you. It’s a good thing you were already on your knees, because you find yourself to be incredibly unsteady and need to put your hands on the floor in front of you to support yourself.

You’re distantly aware of Anatoliy yelling instructions to his men, but it’s Nicolai’s command that finally fully captures your attention. “Soldat!”

The Soldier approaches Nicolai, seemingly unperturbed by the scene around him. “Yes, Komandir?”

“You have a new mission, one that supersedes the others and is to be completed at all costs. Do you understand?” He speaks calmly, completely uncaring that he’s standing in a pool of Mikhail’s blood.

Mikhail.

You have to drag your focus back to the conversation; something tells you it’s important.

“Captain America and his team are in the area; their profiles are in the briefing room, including pictures.” Nicolai watches the Soldier’s reaction carefully. When there isn’t one, he continues, “I want them all dead, and I want you to check in with a status update every three hours until your mission is complete; make sure you take fresh comms and extra batteries. I do not care what the reason is, if you miss a check in, milaya moya will no longer belong to you. If you miss two check ins, she will belong to everyone else. If you fail…well…let us just say that it is in her best interest that you do not fail. Her being taken away from you will be the least of your concerns when it comes to her. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Komandir,” The Soldier nods and turns as if to leave.

“Soldat.”

He turns back to stand at attention once more.

“You will bring back proof. I want Captain America’s shield.”

“Yes, Komandir.” He remains motionless, awaiting further instruction as Nicolai regards him with narrowed eyes.

A sadistic grin suddenly spreads over Nicolai’s face. “You will also bring me his head.”

There’s no reaction from the Soldier other than a curt nod and another bland “Yes, Komandir.”

This time it’s Nicolai that turns to leave, striding toward his brother and leaving a trail of crimson footsteps. The fucker doesn’t care, he doesn’t even notice.

Mikhail.

“Oh God,” you mutter to no one in particular; it’s becoming hard to breathe and even harder to focus, and your already tenuous grip on sanity feels nearly nonexistent. You can’t help but notice, though, even in your mentally fragile state, that with the sole exception of Nicolai using you in his threats, no one is paying attention to you in the explosion of chaos – Mikhail’s plan worked. You could probably walk out of this god-forsaken place and no one would be the wiser until things calmed down. Except, well, you can’t because you still have this motherfucking collar around your neck and they could press a button at any moment and end you.

Oh God, Mikhail…it wasn’t worth it…

You close your eyes to stop the spinning and to quell the fresh wave of nausea that crops up, and you’re so distracted and detached that you don’t react at all when a warm hand gently grasps your upper arm. In fact, you don’t move at all until you hear his voice.

“You should go back to your room.” Not quite an order, but more than a suggestion. Emotionless. Empty.

Blinking your eyes back open, you straighten slightly as you turn your head and nod slightly, not bothering to look up at the Soldier’s face. When you make no other move, he releases your arm and moves to kneel in front of you.

“Look at me.” There’s still no trace of Bucky in the tone, but there’s enough force in it to make you obey. So you do. He studies your face for a moment; his gaze holds no warmth but rather is analytical, much like the other night after Grigory hit you. “You can’t stay here. You’re in shock - you need to go back to your room.”

Nodding again, you offer no resistance when he all but lifts you to your feet. For the briefest of moments you think you see a flash of desperate concern, a flash of Bucky, but then you blink and whatever was there is gone. Then again, it probably wasn’t there in the first place. You slowly shake your head at the ridiculousness of your wishful thinking, but it doesn’t stop you from staring at him, searching for the tiniest sign of hope.

A slight shake captures your attention, and you belatedly realize that his lips are moving; he must have been speaking.

It takes a tremendous effort to form your words. “Sorry, what?” you blink at him, searching for, willing a little of Bucky to come out. You again see a little bit of concern etched in his face, but before you get too excited he speaks, and it takes all your concentration to understand what he’s saying.

“You’re slurring your words – we need to get you back to your room, where it’ll be safer.”

The words are heard, but they don’t really make sense right away. It’s so fucking hard to pay attention right now. “What? I can’t – I’m sorry, what?” Shit. You can barely understand yourself. Right. That’s what he was saying. No wonder he looks concerned - he doesn’t have to love you or even know you to know that you’re pretty fucked up right now.

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath as he glances furtively around the room. “Hey,” he speaks quietly but intensely as he grabs your chin, forcing your unfocused gaze to meet his, “I know this is a lot to handle. I know this is hard, but you need to cooperate with me. I have an important mission to complete – if I fail they’ll take you away from me – but I can’t leave until I get you somewhere safe. I can’t pick you up and carry you, because it might attract attention and right now that’s the last thing you need, so you have to walk with me.”

Fuck. You’re in really bad shape. You recognize this, but can’t seem to snap out of it. It’s interesting, though – the Winter Soldier is clearly capable of some level of empathy. Huh. Even though he can be compelled to do anything as the Soldier, they obviously didn’t manage to wipe out all his humanity with the triggers. A small smile creeps across your face when you realize this means they never fully conquered Bucky. Ever.

“Hey.” Another slight shake brings you back to the bloodstained room. “Can you do that for me?”

“Huh?” Oh, right. Walk back to the room. “Yeah…yeah,” you murmur weakly, stumbling just a little when he slowly pulls you forward after your quiet confirmation.

With a solid, chilled metal hand on your arm, the Soldier leads you gently but firmly to your room. He guides you to the bed and makes sure you’re safely seated at the edge before kneeling once more in front of you.

“Stay here.” There’s no mistaking his tone – this is a direct command from the Soldier. The ice already flowing through your veins since seeing Mikhail’s murder freezes even more, and you couldn’t disobey even if you wanted too. Eyes wide, you just nod.

He watches you for a long moment before he leaves, and except for blinking and breathing you don’t move a goddamn muscle. He may have been gone for 10 minutes or 10 hours by the time he gets back; it’s impossible to tell in your current state. Not that you really care, anyway. The Soldier’s primary motivation for doing any of this is likely to protect what’s his, nothing more. His property. If it weren’t for the sharp pain of Mikhail’s death, you’d probably be willing to accept it, greedy for any little bit you could get of the man you love. Now, it just doesn’t matter. It hurts too much to hope and another crushing disappointment might send you flying over the edge.

You don’t move when the door opens; you don’t even look to see who walks in; you’re too preoccupied with Mikhail’s execution that’s playing like a YouTube video on a loop in your brain.

“I brought you some food and water.”

Oh. Okay, so he wasn’t gone that long. You hear the Soldier placing things on the table behind you, but don’t bother to turn around. What’s the point? This isn’t your Bucky; there’s no true comfort to be had here.

“I have to go now to report for my mission – I’ll probably be back in a few days. Do not leave this room while I’m gone.” Another direct order. You nod blankly as the words slowly sink in.

Mission. Mission? He has another mission? Wait. Fuck. No. No.

A surge of panic rushes through you as your mind clears somewhat, and you clumsily rise to grab his arm. “Wait! Bucky, no, you can’t! You can’t kill Steve! He’s your best friend!” This will destroy him. It’ll be irrevocable damage; he’ll never come back from it, not from killing Steve.

Blank eyes glance down to your hand on his arm before meeting your gaze. “He’s nothing to me but a mission I need to complete,” he tones as he sharply pulls his arm from your grasp and leaves. He doesn’t look back before closing and locking the door.

***

The days pass. Quicker than you’d like, the numbness begins to fade and the fog in your mind lifts.

You cry.

You cry for Bucky. You cry for Mikhail. You cry for your family. Finally, you cry for yourself.

You cry yourself to sleep and you cry yourself awake.

When the tears run out, you rage.

You rage for Bucky. You rage for Bucky, for Steve, and for those harmed and killed by the commands of evil men. You rage for Mikhail and for Izolda. You scream. You throw things. You break whatever you can.

The room is destroyed. You don’t care. It was fucking ugly anyway.

At least it tires you out.

You’re left alone. No one bothers you, not even to check on you. It’s both a blessing and a curse; if they leave you alone, you’re technically safe. Being alone, though, just highlights Mikhail’s absence. It becomes a constant ache.

Lonelier than ever before, you sleep.

***

On the fourth morning after the Soldier’s departure (at least you think it’s the fourth morning, hell, is it even morning? Early afternoon?) you awake from exhausted sleep to find that the sky is an unfair shade of bright blue with a distantly cold, uncaring sun. The way it reflects off the snow is blinding, and you can tell just by looking that it’s bitterly cold outside. It wants you to think that it’s warm out – the sun shines and tries to lull you into a false sense of security – but your nose would freeze shut the second you inhale. You know. It’s January, for fuck’s sake, and you’re no stranger to frigid winters.

Are the boys warm? Grandma and grandpa will make sure they don’t play outside in this kind of weather, right? Right. Your mom is unreasonably overprotective, especially of her grandsons. They’re fine. Probably better than fine. Great, even.

The trees dance and shed some of their crystalline snow, sending sparkling diamond drops into the air; it’s windy, too, which of course makes it even colder. Colder than a witch’s titty, your uncle would say.

Is Bucky keeping warm? Would he even know if he isn’t? Does the Soldier? He’ll come back to you, right? Wait, which one? Bucky or the Soldier? Or both?

Your eyes drift listlessly between the scene outside your window and the prison disguising itself as a bedroom as you nibble on one of the protein bars left for you by Bucky. Goddamn it. No. The Soldier. The line between the two gets blurrier; they’re two parts of the same person, so can you technically differentiate anyway? You suppose so, you have been to protect your heart, but it’s starting to take way too much effort.

A heavy sigh heaves its way out and you absentmindedly scratch at your scalp. You really need a fucking shower and a change of clothes.

Rising stiffly and slowly, you go to the dresser and pull out fresh jeans, underwear, a tank, a tee shirt, and Bucky’s sweatshirt.

A sharp stab hits your heart, like it does every time you wear the hoodie. Usually it’s because it reminds you of Bucky, which is why you wear it, but now it also reminds you of Mikhail. It’s here because he made sure to save it for you. It’s clean because he always made sure to throw it in the wash if it got dirty and got it back to you right away, so you were never without it for more than a couple of hours; he’d washed it for you the night before he was killed. The spot on the cuff that had been ripped open on the day you were taken was mended, because Mikhail wanted you to think of Bucky when you wore this shirt, and not of Anatoliy and how harsh he’d been when he removed the tracking device.

You momentarily lose all ambition as you clutch the soft blue bundle to your chest; you can feel the tears trying to gather in your eyes, but there just aren’t any left.

Your head itches again. Might as well shower, maybe you’ll feel better.

At least it passes the time.

***

The sun is quickly approaching the horizon when you hear voices in the hall, alternately speaking and laughing. You can’t make out what they’re saying, so you tune it out and focus again on the trees outside your window until the sound of a key turning a lock captures your attention. The Soldier is the only one with a key, right? Is he back? Is Steve dead?!

“Milaya moya, I have not seen you in days! I did not realize you were locked in, it is a good thing I have copy of the key, yes?” Nicolai’s jovial voice grates on your nerves, but you don’t move; your shoulders droop mentally but not physically as you realize that you aren’t as safe in here as you’d hoped. Like anywhere around here is actually safe. “You must be famished, my dear. You should join us for an early dinner.”

Whoever is with him snickers. Whatever.

“We prepared something special, just for you.” The snickers erupt into loud laughter as Nicolai speaks. “Come, my little fox! The Hounds would love your company tonight! We have ordered special entertainment as well.”

You know that he won’t leave you alone until you acknowledge him, so you slowly turn to face him. Oh great. Grigory’s here, too. Asswipe.

Grigory chuckles mockingly when he gets a glimpse of your face. “God, this is what you look like before Mikhail put make-up on you? I did not realize he was so good at his job.”

Nicolai barks out a laugh as you glare at Grigory.

“You know what, Grigory? Fuck you.” Uh oh. Your case of the fuck-its has returned, and Mikhail isn’t here to temper your rage. Grigory abruptly sobers at your tone as you continue but Nicolai doesn’t even try to suppress his grin. “You don’t like how I look? Tough. This is what I look like when my face is swollen and bruised from when you hit me. This is what I look like when my face is blotchy and my eyes are puffy from grieving. And guess what?” You turn your glare to Nicolai as your voice rises, getting closer and closer to shrieking as you continue. “This is your fucking fault!! You, and your megalomaniac desire to rule the fucking world! You, the self-appointed super-villain, employed a mad scientist, had me poisoned, and basically kidnapped me. You’re trying to kill my friends, you used me as bait, and now you’re keeping me as insurance to guarantee the Soldier’s compliance. Then, when Bucky breaks through, you’ll keep using me to manipulate him into doing whatever you want him to do, because apparently your goddamn superpower is exploiting the love people have for one another. AND YOU FUCKING KILLED MIKHAIL!!!” You didn’t realize you were holding a bottle of water in your hand until you chuck it at Nicolai’s head, which he neatly sidesteps. “It’s a pretty shitty situation for me and those I love, so please, PLEASE excuse the shit out of me if I don’t give a flying piss-soaked fuck how I look!”

Nicolai bursts into loud, uneven laughter as Grigory stares at you. “Have you lost your mind, you crazy bitch?”

You stare at him for a moment before you let out a sardonic giggle. “Yes. Yes, Grigory, I think I have. I’ve lost my goddamn mind.” At this point, even you can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or serious. “Congratulations. You win.”

Nicolai is laughing so hard that he’s bent at the waist, and it takes a full minute to regain his composure. “Oh, oh milaya moya, you do not disappoint.

It suddenly occurs to you that you’re the special entertainment he mentioned earlier.

Well shit.

“Well, come along, milaya moya. We do not want to keep the others waiting.” Nicolai smirks and extends an arm. Yep. A real gentleman.

You stand hesitantly, not wanting to go but knowing you don’t have a choice. The rooms spins for a moment – the result of not eating or drinking enough over the past few days. After pausing briefly to steady yourself, you pull your head up and your shoulders back before crossing the room with all the dignity you can muster and walk straight into the hallway, ignoring Nicolai’s proffered arm.

Grigory starts to protest, but Nicolai shushes him. “Leave it, Grigory. She is amusing me.”

You don’t look back as you walk, choosing instead to pretend they aren’t there. Anatoliy raises an eyebrow when you walk into the dining room first, but you ignore him as your eyes settle on the table. Good – there are only five place settings, and Anatoliy and Metzger are already seated. That means the others are for you, Nicolai, and Grigory; the Soldier must not be back yet. Relief floods through you as you take your seat.

He must not have missed a check in since you’d been left alone until now, and if he’s not back yet there’s the possibility that Steve is alive and well, right? You can only hope.

Something tells you that you’re being extremely naïve.

Nicolai and Grigory take their seats and begin discussing some sort of new concoction that Metzger cooked up. The conversation eventually turns to guns, who’s who on the ally and enemy fronts, and possible uses for the Soldier. They talk around you the entire time, and you drift in and out of the conversation as your mind periodically wanders.

There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and it’s making you hot and uncomfortable. Nausea sets in, so you sip at your glass of ice water to try to calm your stomach. Dinner has yet to be served; not that you have an appetite or would eat much anyway, but the longer it takes for dinner to come, the longer you’ll have to deal with these creeps.

A bead of sweat runs down your temple and you’re tempted to rest your head on the table when the food finally arrives. Apparently Nicolai had meant it when he said he’d made something special; these dinners are usually ridiculously formal, but this is the first time plates have come out with silver domes covering the food. If you felt better you’d be rolling your eyes at the gaudiness of it all.

A huge dish is set before you – with the cover reaching almost 18 inches at its apex, it’s big enough to be a serving tray. What the fuck is Nicolai playing at now? Is he running out of ideas for ways to torment you? Is he going to force you to eat an entire roast? What the fuck?

You stare at the polished surface as you feel all eyes on you. A quick glance at the entrance shows a few men filing in, whispering as they move to stand along the wall.

Yep. You’re the ‘special entertainment.’

Your heart starts racing, and the combined heat and nausea make it nearly impossible to remain seated. God, you just want to lie down somewhere cool.

“You are looking a little pale, milaya moya. Perhaps you should eat something?” Nicolai’s comments start a titter of badly suppressed laughter around the table.

“I’m really not hungry,” you mumble, increasingly desperate to find a way out of this, but not seeing any alternatives other than to go through it.

Anatoliy leans over to drape his arm around your shoulders. “Perhaps you would like me to feed you, lisichka? Like lovers in a romance novel?”

There’s another round of laughter as you shake your head. “No,” you murmur quietly as you swallow hard against the painful churning in your empty stomach.

“No what, milaya moya? Do not forget your manners,” Nicolai mockingly interjects.

“No thank you, Anatoliy.” They smirk at your polite whisper.

Everyone snickers as they remove the covers from their plates; a quick glance around the table shows you that it’s chicken with roasted potatoes. Ugh, more fucking potatoes, but otherwise harmless. You’ve always been given the same thing as the others, so you probably just have a whole chicken, right? The tray is the right size for that.

Okay. You can do this – it’s just dinner. It’s not like they’d ruin their own meal just to play a joke on you, so it can’t be too terrible, right? You just have to go through with it and then you can go back to your room and lie down. Preferably with the window open. Yes, just eat and get it over with.

The room suddenly quiets when you raise your hand to lift the lid. It makes you even more nervous, but you don’t really have a choice. You raise the cover slowly, first seeing the green garnish at the bottom of the plate. When nothing jumps out at you or looks overtly suspicious, you raise the lid the rest of the way.

The world stops turning.

Your eyes don’t blink.

Your lungs don’t draw in air.

Your heart, unfortunately, keeps beating.

Glassy eyes that were once a clean blue stare at you. Sandy blond hair, stained and matted with blood, stands up every which way. It’s…

It’s…

It’s fucking hard to think with that screaming echoing in your ears.

The lid slips from numb fingers, crashing to the table and knocking Steve’s head off the plate and onto the floor next to your feet. Your body reacts, jumping out of the chair and unintentionally into Anatoliy’s lap.

He’s saying something – laughing – into your ear, but you can’t hear anything over the screams.

Your screams.

Anatoliy wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking something that you can’t understand.

The next shriek coincides with the heaving in your stomach as you violently vomit bile, which causes Anatoliy to release you. You grab onto the chair you’d vacated to stop your forward momentum, and as you get another glimpse of the head you feel a tug around your waist to pull you back up. Standing and turning at once, you push away from him and scramble backwards until your back hits the wall.

Your head shakes violently back and forth as your entire body trembles. You see smiles and laughing, and mouths moving as they talk. Some point at you, some double over in mirth. Someone approaches you from the side.

Both sides.

You scream.

You fight when someone grabs your arms, but it doesn’t do any good, not really, although it takes two to restrain you as a third approaches. Somehow you manage to get an arm loose and you throw all of your weight behind a punch that lands solidly against someone’s face. His screams join yours as a fourth person calmly walks up to you. His hand arcs down, and a sharp jab hits your thigh, and then another.

The screams die down to hysterical cries, then to pathetic whimpers. Finally, you’re quiet. And motionless.

They’re still laughing at you. Laughing at your reaction to your dead friend’s head. Laughing. You’re surrounded by demons and you’ve no idea how to escape this hellish nightmare.

The tranquilizer they dosed you with has you physically sedated, but although your mind grows cloudy it does nothing to quench the hurt in your soul. You’d do just about anything in this moment not to feel.

Someone – Nicolai – briefly kneels in front of you as he places a hand to your feverish cheek. “Oh, milaya moya, you do not disappoint,” he chuckles before rising and returning to the table.

They continue eating. The fuckers continue eating, with no regard at all to you lying on the floor, helpless, or the severed head at their feet.

They’re finishing dessert when footsteps sound in the hall, and just a few seconds later the approaching sound of the Soldier’s voice breaks through the fog in your brain. “I’ve cleaned and polished the shield as you asked, Komandir. Where would you like it?”

“Just set it down for now, Soldat. I’m afraid you have missed the entertainment; milaya moya reacted stronger than expected to her gift, and needed sedation. Get her out of here and report back to me. Then you may eat.”

“Yes, Komandir.” A few moments later you’re in familiar arms, but you feel no joy. None at all.

Steve’s dead, by Bucky’s hand.

He’s not coming back from this. You’d seen the guilt he still carries over trying to kill Steve; he’s incredibly resilient, but successfully killing his best friend? No. Once he realizes what he’s done, he’ll self-destruct.

You’ve lost Bucky forever.

You think of nothing else as he carries you back to your room and gently lays you on the unmade bed, pausing only to pull the covers up to your shoulders before leaving. Hot, stinging tears leak from your closed eyes, but you don’t bother to wipe them away. Not that you could, anyway. You’re not sure what they gave you – most likely a cocktail of powerful tranquilizers – but it’s left your body useless and has almost completely frozen your mind.

You lie alone for a few more minutes, or maybe hours, until everything shrinks and goes dark and silent.

***

The Winter Soldier comes to you later that night.

You don’t know how long it’s been, but the drugs have mostly worn off. Bummer. You’re lying on the bed, facing away from the door, but you know it’s him because you recognize the deliberate and measured footsteps made audible by the heavy boots he wears; so foreign and yet at the same time so achingly familiar.

He walks in and turns to lock the door, as is his habit.

You lose the ability to breathe when you hear him walk toward the bed – the cadence is slightly and unexpectedly different; more grace and less menace.

These are Bucky’s footsteps.

Your breath hitches in your chest because God, you’re so afraid to hope, but when he sits on the edge of the bed and sighs your name in a broken whisper, you know.

You slowly lift yourself to sit up, and see him sitting, head down and shoulders slouched with his forearms resting on his thighs. “Bucky?” You’re afraid to move; you don’t know what’s going on and you’re terrified that he’s going to disappear if you blink.

He wipes his hand over his face. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he whispers before taking a deep breath. “I, uh, I disabled the camera feed before coming in here and put it on a loop of you sleeping; they can’t see or hear us right now. It’s safe to talk, and Stark’s monitoring the hall. He’ll let me know if someone -”

You release the breath you were holding and throw yourself at him.

Bucky catches you and holds you tightly - so tightly you can barely breathe - but you don’t care.

“I love you so much, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, but I had to do it. I had to, I had to be the Winter Soldier,” he mumbles into your hair repeatedly as his left arm wraps around your back to hold you close while his right hand cradles the back of your head.

“You came back to me,” you whisper against his neck, and you feel him stiffen before he gently pushes you back so he can meet your eyes. He stays quiet as he caresses your cheek and smooths back your hair, the small, broken smile on his face at odds with the heavy sorrow and remorse in his eyes.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice cracks as he utters your name. It takes another long moment before he speaks again. “I never left.”

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky series #when everythings made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am) WEMtbB #part 44 #sorry guys #i promise the worst is now over

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