The Mechanic || 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳¹

thirteen

Someone touches your cheek. For a moment, you think it's Bucky. Bucky who saves you. Bucky who never forgot about you.

Then someone cuts you. Cuts the star open.

You raise your head in one sudden movement. The blade strays from its path and opens a new cut, a new injury straight through your cheek, cutting the star in half.

You raise your feet, kicking Pierce in his chest. You won't let them do this. You're not their pet anymore. You know who you are. You won't let them do this.

You won't let them do this.

You will fight.

He falls backward from his chair, shouting to the medics. Your body is burning. Burning with hate, burning with disgust, burning with determination.

The cuffs are closed around your hands. You grab the armrests. Rip them off the chair. Nothing seems impossible anymore. Nothing seems real anymore. Nothing is real.

Nothing means anything anymore. Nothing but killing Pierce. Killing him in the slowest way possible. In the most painful way possible.

Kill. Him.

He stumbles backward. Guards shoot at you. You dodge. Hit them with the armrests still cuffed to your arms. Crushing their skulls, one after the other. Stabbing them with whatever sharp objects you find lying around. Syringes. Scalpels. Knives.

Blood stains the walls, the floor, the chair.

You hit the armrests against the wall until they break open and let your arms go. You grab the gun of one of the dead guards. Drenched in blood. Still working. You shoot the medic who is hiding behind his table. Five times. Until his chest only consists of a bloody mess.

You walk out of the room. Alarms are blaring. Guards are running up to you. You're not scared. Not frightened. Not panicking. Not reacting at all.

Blood spills over the floor. Blood spills over your shoes. Blood spills over you. You shoot one guard after the other.

The hallways are filled with a metallic taste. You feel it, taste it, smell it, see it. Red. Red, red, red, everywhere.

They all die. Everyone who dares to stand in your way gets at least one bullet shot through their brain. When your gun is empty, you take another. There are enough dead guards.

Your steps are calm. Your thoughts have stopped. You feel calm. Everything is happening around you. Not in you. Soldiers are shouting, running around, screaming in pain or horror when they get shot, when they get hurt, when they get killed.

No one survives. No one. You don't know how long you've been doing it. You've changed guns a few times. You're drenched in blood. It's sticky and warm. Promising.

Then the soldiers don't run from you. They run to you. See you. Freeze. Don't turn around.

You raise the gun. Ready to shoot.

Three shots for three guards. You didn't pull the trigger. They fall to the ground, and you see him.

He drops his gun. You don't.

Silence. Overwhelming, crushing silence. One of the soldiers whimpers. You shoot him a second time.

He walks to you, his steps echoing in the empty hallway, you remember that sound, you remember the way he walks, you remember his face, you remember his eyes, you missed him, missed him, missed him so, so, so badly...

You run to him. Fall in his arms. Grab his shoulders. Start sobbing. Crying. The blood from your suit stains his. He doesn't mind.

"Is it over?" you ask. He stays silent. Caresses your back. Sighs deeply.

"No," he whispers. "It will never be over. But I'm here. I'm here with you. It will be all right, remember?"

You open your mouth. Want to answer.

A sound behind you. You jump out of Bucky's embrace, turn around.

Pierce stands there.

Smiling.

How dare he?

You take Bucky's gun from the floor. Start walking to Pierce. Rage clouds your mind, rage, anger, the wish to kill, the wish to end all of this.

Bucky grabs your arm.

"Are you going to let your girlfriend kill people out of rage, Barnes?" Pierce asks. "Aren't you supposed to be a hero now?"

Does Bucky want to stop you? Stop you from killing the man who tortured you both, destroyed your lives?

He can't decide. He looks to you, to Pierce, to the gun. Then he lets you go.

"Go on," he says, "he deserves it."

You raise the gun. Pierce's face turns pale. His smile drops. He looks to Bucky.

"I thought you were supposed to be a good guy," Pierce spits, venom drenching his voice. Bucky shrugs.

"If killing you makes us bad guys, I prefer being one." He smirks at you.

You smile back. Maybe a bit too wide. Maybe a bit too crazy. Maybe completely psycho. Maybe you're smiling how The Mechanic would smile. But at this moment, you don't care.

You pull the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. You shoot until the gun is empty and Pierce's face unrecognizable. Every shot hit him right where you wanted it to hit. His body slides down the wall, leaving behind a trail of blood and skin and flesh and hair.

You turn back to Bucky. He holds out his hand. You give him the gun.

"That's it," he says.

The alarm is still blaring when you walk out. No one stops you.