Back To Brookes // back to barnes bk2

1: dead man walking

      My waking was still, hot, and blurry. My face was buried in something warm, hot breath heated my already sweating face. I blinked a few times but my vision was blurry, as if my eyes hadn't opened in months and were assuming a permanent closed position. I laid still, trying to decipher the simultaneous feelings of fear and peace.

I wasn't in pain anymore. It ended. It started somewhere, and I knew at one point I was in great pain, but it was gone now. I felt whole, awake, and strong. So very strong. I breathed a breath of elation. I could save Bucky now.

Breathing deeply, I tried to become more alert. I opened my eyes, tilting my head back to piece together where I could possibly be. And to my horror, I wasn't alone. A man, so familiar but so distant, was laying beside me, asleep and with his arms around me.

But it couldn't be. I was awake. I was alert. I didn't feel drugged. Did he kidnap me? I couldn't even remember where I was before this.

Last I remembered, I was kissing Bucky for the first time in my room at Gehenna. That's not where I was. I was not in my room anymore.

The man was in a long-sleeve tee and jeans, laying on his left side. I only moved slightly, as to get a better look at him.

I was seconds away from anxiety-induced vomit.

We were laying on a broken bed with thin yellowed sheets. The room we were in was small, with no furniture, orange walls, and stained carpet. There were three doors to my right, and a door and one small window to my left. The room smelled of grass and pennies, and the carpet stains didn't leave much to the imagination.

I looked back to the man. It made me sick how familiar he looked. I ached to know what was going on. I didn't know where I was, what had happened, or who this guy was. He had a thick, dark beard. His long, dark brown hair was tied atop his head. His head was tilted back, mouth open, quiet breathing all to escape it.

My head spun in confusion. I tried to remember what was going on, but every memory I tried to access was fuzzy and made my head hurt. It was almost enough to make that afformentioned vomit make an appearance.

I didn't know what to do. Briefly I remembered a movie where a guy woke up in a room he wasn't aware of, with a girl he didn't know, and he had no memory, only to find out that his rapid use of drugs and booze killed all but a few of his brain cells. I was momentarily worried. But I'd never do that . . . right?

After a few more moments of rapid processing, I took in a shaky breath and asked. "What do you want from me?"

The man woke up lazily, yawning and rolling over and pulling the blankets over his shoulders with a sigh.

At the sight of a tired man, I felt more confident. I was awake, aware. I had the upper hand.

"I said, what do you want from me?" I spoke slightly louder, sitting up and assuming the stern expression. That nausea had vanished, replaced with a pounding heart.

He rolled back over, barely opening his eyes. At the sight of me, he sat up quickly with wide eyes, accidentally pulling the blankets - wrapped around his shoulders - up with him. "Maisie!"

I got off of the bed, assuming a rigid stance. "Who are you?"

A flash of confusion crossed his expression. "W-what?" He then chuckled softly, relief on his face. "You're awake . . . "

I shook my head in denial. "You act like that's a new thing."

"Because it is!" The rugged man sure did look a lot like Bucky underneath the extra hair, worry lines, and broader body.

I shook my head, not wanting to converse with him more than needed. "Who are you and what do you want from me?"

His ever-changing expression was now worry. He sat a little straighter, his right arm uncovered by the drooping blanket as he adjusted. "I- . . . It-I'm Bucky. It's Bucky. Your Bucky."

"No, you're not. You're not my Bucky. Y-you- . . . " I sighed, that feeling of fear and defeat crawling back. "Please," I begged. "You're not my Bucky. Just please tell me who you are. I'm scared, and I don't know where I am, and I want my Bucky. I won't report you . . . just please help me." I held my arms over my chest, posture weakened.

He breathed out, jaw slack as he ran his right hand thorough his hair. "Maisie . . . "

"Stop it! Just tell me!"

He looked down at his lap, then at his left shoulder. In one swift motion, he got the blanket off of his shoulders and removed his long-sleeved shirt. I reflexively cringed, then looked again.

"Your arm." I whispered.

The mechanical arm. The pink scars where the arm met his flesh were undeniable. I began to shake.

If the voice, facial structure, and long hair weren't enough, there was the arm.

This surly, tired man was Bucky.

"My Bucky." I broke down, my fear melting away.

He held his arms out, beckoning me back to the bed as if I were a child. I crawled back up, collapsing in his arms. He held me tightly as I cried, letting out my pent-up fear.

"My Maisie." He whispered, laying down with me in his arms, allowing me to pull myself into his chest.

After a long period of silence, Bucky shuffled so his leg wrapped around my torso and brought me as close as we could have been.

"I missed you." He muttered, pressing his lips to my hair.

That feeling of calm left me. Here was Bucky, but where were we? Why did he look like that?

"Where did I go?"

He cleared his throat. "You were asleep."

"What?"

He didn't respond. "We're in Illinois."

I didn't say anything. What were we doing in Illinois?

"It's been seven months."

I sat up at this. "What are you talking about?"

He sat up with me, looking me directly in the eye. He didn't say anything, just stared at me with an ache in his expression.

"Bucky, what? Seven months since what? What can't I remember that?" I began to feel uneasy again. My chest tightened like I was about to cry.

He inhaled slowly. "Maisie, are you okay?"

I cleared my throat, watching him blur as as I blinked rapidly. Shaking my head, I squeezed my eyes shut as heat creeped through my whole body. He was talking but I couldn't hear him. I felt myself lunge at him.