Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 15

"Where did this rock come from?" Bucky asks as I make coffee.

I turn, seeing that he holds the little round stone in his hand, "I made it. Took some time."

"Why'd you make a rock?" He asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

He looks better.  There weren't anymore nightmares after the big one last night, and I'm glad he got some sleep.  I dozed off for a couple hours too.

I roll my eyes at the question, "I figured we could use a good paperweight."

He flashes me a grin at the sarcasm, "Always a good thing to have."

"I just wanted to see if I could still do it." I explain, "It used to be easy.  It will be again with more practice."

I hand him his mug. He drinks it black.

Ew.

I turn back to my own cup of coffee and sprinkle some creamer and sugar in, stirring it with a plastic spoon.

"Thanks for last night." He says softly, "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"You probably woke everyone else up too," I tease with a small grin, "You didn't tell me the words were bothering you that much."

He shrugs, his fingers fiddling tracing the seam on the paper cup, "There was nothing you could do about it."

I snap the lid onto my cup and sit beside him on the bed, "I could've prepared. I haven't had to wake you up since the first week. Remember?"

"You were still my hostage," he chuckles, "Good times."

I hit him lightly on the arm, "Right. I certainly miss your creative death threats."

"Be honest with me for a second, Buck." I add after a moment, "Are they still bothering you?"

He looks at me, his eyes searching my face. Deciding.

"Yes." He says shortly, "But it really is fading. I just sometimes have trouble with what's real and what isn't sometimes."

"What do you mean?" I question.

He shakes his head, looking for the words, "It's like I know when something isn't really happening. Like the dream last night. I knew it wasn't happening because it didn't make sense. But I still react as though it were real. Same way with the memories I've been having. I know it's in the past, but when I remember, I panic. I want to fight them."

I nod in understanding, "So how do you fight something that isn't real?"

He shrugs, thinking, "I don't know."

"Maybe..." I begin, "Maybe focus on what is."

"On what's real?"

I nod, "When you're having these memories, and you get lost in them, maybe try focusing on what's happening around you.  Focus on your senses, analyze where you are."

"Like a distraction." He states.

"Like a distraction." I confirm, "Something to keep your mind busy. You could do the same thing when you wake up from a nightmare."

He considers it, "I guess it's worth a try."

He pauses, remembering something, "My notebook is almost full."

"Perfect." I remark.

I scoot away from him a couple feet, closing my eyes and concentrating on the shape and size of what I want to create

"Woah..." I hear as it begins to take place.

It's easier this time.  I'm getting used to it again.

I open my eyes as the last of the notebook takes shape, and I can feel it fuse together in my hand.

"The pages aren't lined," I murmur as I focus, "Do you want them to be?"

He shakes his head, "Sometimes I remember pictures.  This is probably better."

"Do you remember Steve yet?"

He goes silent for a moment, "Yeah. Mostly. He was such a scrawny kid, but he was always good. Always had heart."

"We should head out." He adds.

I nod, finishing the rest of my coffee and throwing our things back in the box they came from.

"You can't make us an airplane can you?" He asks curiously.

I laugh heartily, "I had trouble making a rock."

"Good point." He grins, "I guess we'll have to find an airport.  We'll have to get through unrecognized."

"Now that I can do."