Author's Note:

I'm always trying to improve my ability to pull a person into a character's headspace or feel their emotions, and your feedback will help me know if what I'm trying for is working or not. Even an emoticon or button smashing tells me something useful and can influence what I write more or less of.

I respond to all comments and it's always fun to hear your thoughts ^^

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"STEVE!!! Steve!?! Please.... Please... Steve.... It's so cold.... Can't feel anything.... Where-Where are you...? Don't leave me... St.... Don't want to be here anymore...."

Darkness cleared into a few blindingly bright lights.

"Sergeant Barnes."

'N-no.... Not you. Please....'

An electrical saw screamed at my ears only to be drowned out by my own.

"NOT MY ARM!!!!!"

They're taking it. All over again.

"STE – !!!"

A force slammed right into my gut. Wind rushed past me. Chilling right down to the bones.

Desperately, I reached out. Metal found its way under my fingers. A bar. It froze my skin. Numbing my hand. The frost made it slippery.

But I had to hang on. I had to. I had to retur –

"Let go!"

A man in red, white and blue held onto the side of the train. Fire breathed out of his mouth as he yelled more words. Words I couldn't understand. Horns pushed through the blue helmet. Bloody worms burst out of his left eye. He moved closer and closer, crawling along the outside of the car wall.

Something's off.

'This isn't right.'

I had to hold on.

I had to return ho –

A scream tore from my throat. The metal rod broke free. The faster the wind blew past me, the smaller the demon shrunk. Right into the distance.

My body spun. I couldn't control it.

The cliffs got too close. My hand got caught between the rocks. Broke my bones. Ripped away part of my arm.

"Eleven targets," a man stated. Someone to watch over logistics. "Get it done."

A Barrett M82A1 laid snug in its case. Ready.

Setting up was simple. Routine. I could do it in my sleep. Lying on a metal table. Finding the boardroom.

A calm breath left my lips. My body completely stilled.

The target. A couple miles away.

He settled in my crosshairs. He had no clue. No idea as to what his future held. How short it actually was. All the target knew was the scotch. The drink he was pouring for himself.

"No!" I gasped, sitting upright. A vibration getting stronger and stronger on my right wrist.

"Mr. Barnes. Mr. Barnes, you're in my house. You're in D.C. Can you hear me, Mr. Barnes? I am Eve. You're in my house. You're in D.C. Can you hear me?"

"Yes," I breathed out, barely able to pry my fingers from their grip on the blanket.

"How about some water?" she suggested, stopping the vibrating alarm to wake me.

I snatched the bottle off the nightstand. My shaking hands were barely able to twist off the cap. They crushed the plastic mid drink, spilling water everywhere. Even went up my nose.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Barnes? Your heartrate's gotten more erratic."

Through my coughing, I managed to choke out a, "I'm fine."

"If there's anything I could be with help with, Eve's the word," she repeated like she had ever since Valeriy told the A.I. ghost to leave me alone, which she has.

Anything beyond the bedroom door, though, was her domain.

Peeling off the water soaked blanket and gathering it in my arms, I headed off into the bathroom to hang the fabric over the curtain rod to dry. It was almost routine by now.

I peeked out of the curtains at the dark street lit by lamps.

Another quiet night. No extra shadows. Nobody wandering around, as it should be. Most were asleep at 0427.

Except for a few people.

Keys tapping on a laptop and a frustrated growl in the room next to this one. Valeriy's still awake. The young woman never had a regular sleeping cycle.

A cat darting between shadows and shrubbery.

A dim light in the window across the road. Likely the young boy of the household reading under a blanket with a light. The idea of it was almost... familiar.

Like a memory I could almost grasp.

A blanket tossed over my head. A lamp to light the dark space. A heavy book in my lap. Words filled my vision, etching themselves into my –

A slam of the laptop closing signaled Valeriy's retreat to the land of dreams. "Night Eve."

"Good night Val."

And the nightmare came crashing back into my mind. Curling up in the corner was all I could manage to hold it all together. Everything felt cold. Numb. My vision was narrowing to a point. All I could hear was my blood pumping at my ears.

That made me a useless asset. To be decommissioned.

'I need to be of use. Or... Or they'll –'

"Mr. Barnes? Is something the matter? Not to be dramatic, but your heart rate has skyrocketed, and your oxygen levels have plummeted."

I shook my head, pulling in a gasping breath. Desperately trying to calm down. To get everything back to normal. Waiting for my sight to clear up. Waiting for my lungs to stop screaming. Waiting for the next time I lose it all.

"Mr. Barnes? Shall I pull up our satellite feed of deep space? Would that help?" she questioned, a soft musical tune flowing through the speakers under her voice. Something classical.

"I'm... I'm fine. You don't have to baby me," I grunted out.

Letting the sniper training slam into place, I waited for the little lights on the bracelet to turn off. For my body to return to peace.

"Babying you would be quite different. This is merely holding out a hand. None of this is easy even with help. It's damn near impossible alone, Mr. Barnes."

I huffed a grumble in response, reaching for the notebook on the night table. If I could write it all out, the nightmares, maybe they'd stop. Or at least quiet down. Hopefully. Anything for my mind to find a figment of peace.

"Your levels seem fine now, so as usual, if there's anything I could be with help with, Eve's the word."

I cracked open the notebook and was greeted by Cyrillic letters that covered the pages. It sickened me how natural it was once writing became familiar again. No matter how I tried for English, Russian would seamlessly take over before I knew it.

With a sigh, I flipped to a clean page. Taking pen to paper, I began logging the nightmare. Most of it memories. But parts of it... it couldn't have happened.

Shooting American soldiers in the war.

'I couldn't have done that... right? I didn't shoot my own brothers in arms... did I...? I... I... might have...?'

It hurt just trying to sort out the mess in my head. The memories I could barely grasp onto. The ones that I could... I couldn't trust. Not completely. They've been twisted by Hydra.

Or so I hope.

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1522 and the only thing I was almost sure of was that he didn't breathe fire.

It would have been useful on the Helicarrier. Nor did he have horns. I didn't see any horns. Not on his helmet. Not on his head. The exhibit pictures and films didn't have any fire breathing or horns.

The man... the exhibit said was my best friend. He wasn't the demon in my nightmares. I could at least be sure of that. Some part of me knew that was true.

I need to protect St

"Fuck! My eyes!!" were the words that froze my fingers on the page.

A heavy sigh spilled through the kitchen speakers. "I believe you have more than your eyes to worry about, dummy."

A clattering of metal on metal echoed from below.

"Ah shit... my hand."

I could almost see the pout on her face, as the faucet ran.

Placing the pen and notebook back in their spots, I stretched out my arms and legs for the first time in eleven hours and four minutes. That was when I noticed the delicious smell that permeated the room.

Something sweet.

Something almost familiar.

Rising from the bedroom corner, I silently followed my nose. Straight into the kitchen, where Valeriy was bent over the sink. Not a clue that I was there. Too busy with a hand under the running water and her other arm over her eyes.

Stepping into the room, I found the source of the smell. Scattered on a metal tray were a bunch of slightly charred cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.

Excitement welled up somewhere inside me.

Something from long ago.

In another time. In another life.

This didn't feel right. It didn't look right. I should be shorter. Much shorter. Kneeling on the tiles, that seemed more familiar. Having my chin level with the counter. That was closer.

I reached my hand out for a cookie only to see a flash of a wooden spoon smacking a little hand. My hand. Yelled words were garbled at my ears, but even so, I knew they were a warning.

The cookies needed to cool.

A memory.

It had to be a memory.

The voice... the voice was important. Something that left a warmth within my chest.

I reached for the cookies again. Hoping to hear it. To find the words it spoke.

Nothing.

I tried again.

It was somebody important to me. I could feel it. Somewhere in my sieve of a mind, I knew. But that's all I knew.

That they were important.

"Valeriy," I called out urgently.

I needed to know. Before it all disappears... again.

A scream tore out of her throat. "Bucky? What is it?" she asked, squinting her eyes in my direction.

"I need you to smack my hand with a wooden spoon."

I reached out, praying to pinpoint another fragment of that memory. Still nothing.

"Huh...? O-okay?"

A drawer opened to my left and the young woman hobbled her way over to it.

"That's a brush, Val. One to the right. No, the other right."

"Thanks, Eve." Valeriy settled against the counter next to me. "I just whack it?"

At my nod, she flicked her wrist and the wooden spoon bounced off my outstretched hand with a slight sting.

"Again."

Nothing.

"Again. Again...."

Still nothing.

"It's not working," I managed to force through my gritted teeth.

"It'll come back, Bucky." Fingers combed through my hair. Pushing it out of my face.

I reeled back, away from her. Away from those fingers. Slamming into the cupboards in my attempt.

"Bucky, you can lick the bowl instead," a voice echoed in my head.

And that was when it hit me.

"Mom."

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Author's Note:

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