FarFlungDreamer
Member
"Holy Cow," He gasped, kneeling down and helping up a woman struggling to raise off the stenched floors. His stomach did a dive, and he felt like he was going to break her. She was thin as a skeleton, he could feel her bones, loose skin hung off her bones like a dress a size too large. She could hardly walk, most of the people that were alive could barely...
Their eyes, though, bothered him a sight farther. He recognized the look, the foggy, glazed look of pure survival. That.... lost feeling he'd brushed with himself. Anger licked through him, steady and filled with a cold rage, like it did every time he thought of that stuff. It wasn't often that he did.
But sometimes he couldn't help but think back to the factory, to Zola and his goons. Those damn blue lights, locked behind his eyes still. He'd thought that he'd seen every hellish pit on the front... what a fool soldier he'd been, drafted and bruised, but not understanding the sort of true suffering Bucky could see here. The kind he had only brushed dangerously with for however long it had been before he was rescued.
But once the 107th went to Azzano... and Bucky had thought the war had changed him. But it hadn't... not until then. When they were all mowed down, with no hope, by wondrous terrors.... the lucky survived... they said. Bucky hadn't been sure the dead weren't lucky until Steve saved him against every odd in the known world. Captured... forced to work for that damn factory, everything coated in that blue light. The doomed glow, some of the guys said... personally... Bucky had decided that hell's fire was just blue, and not red like they'd thought.
When you got too tired to work, or if you fought back when they threw you in the cage.... they took you to isolation. Where you found yourself newly acquainted with that devil's light... Bucky had been. He didn't think about the time he'd been strapped down to that table. He didn't want to. No... he suffered there, been tortured, pumped full of who the hell knew what, but he survived, clinging onto life just out of pure spite. Some basic will to not let go, even when that would be so easy.
Then Steve showed up.
He still didn't believe it, his sickly friend, living the good life in Brooklyn he'd thought, back home, safe, with small comforts and lots of girls. But no, the punk showed up after all. Changed... physically maybe, but it only made his dumb, reckless ass more capable of being an idiot. But damn... if Bucky didn't kneel down before bed, whatever bed happened to be, and thank God each day that Steve had shown up for him. Had taken him away from Arnim Zola and the devil's blue light.
He walked by Steve's side each day since then, fighting against those bastards! What they'd done to James, done to all four hundred of those men, those they killed in the field, what they were doing to the world... it light an anger in James. One that had always been there, burning low throughout his life. Now, with the Howling Commando's he felt it come out. He was darkened, but he wasn't out of the fight, his spirit wasn't squashed so easily, those nazi hydra bastards could be damned. He'd see each last one of them torn down before he'd rest. Rage might have pushed him at times, but more than that, Steve pushed him. He pushed everyone, just by being his own self, charging on through whatever came his way. Steve helped Bucky follow the right path after Hydra and the things they did... well it was for the better good.
Besides, it felt like he steadily could go back to the two of them in New York.... they were changed, both of them, and the world was hardening them... and yet, it couldn't change that much. They had each other to keep them each in check. To remind them.
It couldn't change Steve, he realized, and it hadn't so far. Bucky knew that was just Steve's stubborn showing. Except, Bucky worried... this... this was maybe more hellish than what he'd seen in those Hydra factories... and Bucky remained ever stubborn himself that Steve wouldn't be changed by this either. Not Steve. Never Steve.
"Hey, I know that look," Bucky called to Steve, walking closer besides him. His voice was low, but had turned more strict addressing his friend. That look where Steve questioned himself was rare... and not many people looked long enough to see Steve doubting himself. Doubting what he could do, or what he didn't get to do. He thought he had to save the entire damn world, that this serum made that his job. It didn't, and while Bucky couldn't convince him out of that any more than he could convince him to leave the bullies be back then, or to stop signing up for the army, he wouldn't let Steve beat himself up. Bucky wouldn't let him go down that road. Not here... not with all these souls who had truly suffered on his back.
"You hear me Steve?" His voice turned commanding and he grabbed Steve's shoulder, looking past the hat he wore. "They need you out there, those kids walking out o' here? Them and the dozens still in this war need us," He said, giving his shoulder a shake, reminding him he wasn't alone too. He watched Steve's face to make sure he was really listening.
Everyone saw 'Captain America!' some propaganda Steve embraced so he'd be able to do some real good. But despite it all, all the horrors, despite Steve saving him more than he could count, as capable as he was, more than anyone... Bucky just never could see the good Captain. He just saw Steve, and he never saw him winning the fight like everyone did. Cheering Steve onward, Bucky could see the taxation it caused. He saw the way Steve's smile shrunk just a bit less with every passing 'victory'. Because Steve had always seen those in help... always found what needed to be done, what was right... and even when he found people, saved them... Steve didn't really see that. All he saw was those he couldn't save. This stupid mantle, this experiment gone right... all it did was give his dumb friend Steve a 'good' reason to shove himself into every responsibility he could find. He took on the world, because they all imagined he could... and he decided he should.
Bucky knew one thing for certain, despite all his unimaginable strength and his recklessness... Steve was just a man. Now James couldn't do very much, wasn't as good as he'd thought he was, but he'd never stop trying to prevent Steve from chipping more of himself away than he already had. In this war... that wasn't possible... but Bucky could try to stop Steve from taking on too much onto his shoulders. Stop him from blaming himself as much as he could.
By some grace of God... Steve let him, most of the time. Maybe because they grew up together, maybe because once Steve was a sick little square who needed the help, needed to let Bucky do that... but he'd never stopped doing that. Steve never stopped letting him. Hammy
Their eyes, though, bothered him a sight farther. He recognized the look, the foggy, glazed look of pure survival. That.... lost feeling he'd brushed with himself. Anger licked through him, steady and filled with a cold rage, like it did every time he thought of that stuff. It wasn't often that he did.
But sometimes he couldn't help but think back to the factory, to Zola and his goons. Those damn blue lights, locked behind his eyes still. He'd thought that he'd seen every hellish pit on the front... what a fool soldier he'd been, drafted and bruised, but not understanding the sort of true suffering Bucky could see here. The kind he had only brushed dangerously with for however long it had been before he was rescued.
But once the 107th went to Azzano... and Bucky had thought the war had changed him. But it hadn't... not until then. When they were all mowed down, with no hope, by wondrous terrors.... the lucky survived... they said. Bucky hadn't been sure the dead weren't lucky until Steve saved him against every odd in the known world. Captured... forced to work for that damn factory, everything coated in that blue light. The doomed glow, some of the guys said... personally... Bucky had decided that hell's fire was just blue, and not red like they'd thought.
When you got too tired to work, or if you fought back when they threw you in the cage.... they took you to isolation. Where you found yourself newly acquainted with that devil's light... Bucky had been. He didn't think about the time he'd been strapped down to that table. He didn't want to. No... he suffered there, been tortured, pumped full of who the hell knew what, but he survived, clinging onto life just out of pure spite. Some basic will to not let go, even when that would be so easy.
Then Steve showed up.
He still didn't believe it, his sickly friend, living the good life in Brooklyn he'd thought, back home, safe, with small comforts and lots of girls. But no, the punk showed up after all. Changed... physically maybe, but it only made his dumb, reckless ass more capable of being an idiot. But damn... if Bucky didn't kneel down before bed, whatever bed happened to be, and thank God each day that Steve had shown up for him. Had taken him away from Arnim Zola and the devil's blue light.
He walked by Steve's side each day since then, fighting against those bastards! What they'd done to James, done to all four hundred of those men, those they killed in the field, what they were doing to the world... it light an anger in James. One that had always been there, burning low throughout his life. Now, with the Howling Commando's he felt it come out. He was darkened, but he wasn't out of the fight, his spirit wasn't squashed so easily, those nazi hydra bastards could be damned. He'd see each last one of them torn down before he'd rest. Rage might have pushed him at times, but more than that, Steve pushed him. He pushed everyone, just by being his own self, charging on through whatever came his way. Steve helped Bucky follow the right path after Hydra and the things they did... well it was for the better good.
Besides, it felt like he steadily could go back to the two of them in New York.... they were changed, both of them, and the world was hardening them... and yet, it couldn't change that much. They had each other to keep them each in check. To remind them.
It couldn't change Steve, he realized, and it hadn't so far. Bucky knew that was just Steve's stubborn showing. Except, Bucky worried... this... this was maybe more hellish than what he'd seen in those Hydra factories... and Bucky remained ever stubborn himself that Steve wouldn't be changed by this either. Not Steve. Never Steve.
"Hey, I know that look," Bucky called to Steve, walking closer besides him. His voice was low, but had turned more strict addressing his friend. That look where Steve questioned himself was rare... and not many people looked long enough to see Steve doubting himself. Doubting what he could do, or what he didn't get to do. He thought he had to save the entire damn world, that this serum made that his job. It didn't, and while Bucky couldn't convince him out of that any more than he could convince him to leave the bullies be back then, or to stop signing up for the army, he wouldn't let Steve beat himself up. Bucky wouldn't let him go down that road. Not here... not with all these souls who had truly suffered on his back.
"You hear me Steve?" His voice turned commanding and he grabbed Steve's shoulder, looking past the hat he wore. "They need you out there, those kids walking out o' here? Them and the dozens still in this war need us," He said, giving his shoulder a shake, reminding him he wasn't alone too. He watched Steve's face to make sure he was really listening.
Everyone saw 'Captain America!' some propaganda Steve embraced so he'd be able to do some real good. But despite it all, all the horrors, despite Steve saving him more than he could count, as capable as he was, more than anyone... Bucky just never could see the good Captain. He just saw Steve, and he never saw him winning the fight like everyone did. Cheering Steve onward, Bucky could see the taxation it caused. He saw the way Steve's smile shrunk just a bit less with every passing 'victory'. Because Steve had always seen those in help... always found what needed to be done, what was right... and even when he found people, saved them... Steve didn't really see that. All he saw was those he couldn't save. This stupid mantle, this experiment gone right... all it did was give his dumb friend Steve a 'good' reason to shove himself into every responsibility he could find. He took on the world, because they all imagined he could... and he decided he should.
Bucky knew one thing for certain, despite all his unimaginable strength and his recklessness... Steve was just a man. Now James couldn't do very much, wasn't as good as he'd thought he was, but he'd never stop trying to prevent Steve from chipping more of himself away than he already had. In this war... that wasn't possible... but Bucky could try to stop Steve from taking on too much onto his shoulders. Stop him from blaming himself as much as he could.
By some grace of God... Steve let him, most of the time. Maybe because they grew up together, maybe because once Steve was a sick little square who needed the help, needed to let Bucky do that... but he'd never stopped doing that. Steve never stopped letting him. Hammy
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