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There was blood. Blood everywhere! Why was there blood? The soldier didn't know, or maybe he did. His memories where fuzzy. It felt like he was dreaming, like the void in his head was filled with clouds.
He didn't really know where he was, not anymore. Hell, he didn't even know WHO he was.
But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was his mission - Sam Wilson. It was his mission to kill him. Maybe because hydra thought of him as a threat, or maybe just because the soldier needed an easy mission to get back in shape. But again: it did not matter. The Winter Soldier wasn't made for asking questions, he was made for killing.
And that's what the soldier was about to do. His face was stone cold while he was staring at his mission. He wasn't made for showing any emotion, or even feeling them if that matters. Sam Wilson was pressed against the wall, the solider was holding him by his neck. The Falcon's shirt was covert in blood, the soldier's arm was too. Maybe it was his own, maybe not. It didn't matter.
His mission was staring back at him, his eyes filled with fear. He was breathing fast, knowing that he was going to die soon.
Slowly the soldier closed his metal hand around the Falcon's throat. His mission did not try to fight back, not anymore. His breathing began to shorten. The Falcon closed his eyes, he did not want to see the Soldier while he was dying.
Sam Wilson took one last strangled breath, before going limp in the hands of the soldier, who looked at his mission one last time before stepping back and letting the body slide down the wall.
The Winter Soldier was about to take more steps back and finally leave the dead body behind - he was done with his mission after all. There was no reason to stay any longer - but then he was falling. The soldier didn't know what just happened, didn't know what he did wrong, WHY he was falling.
All he knew was THAT he was falling, fast. He was panicking - it starts to overwhelm him. He saw pictures flashing through his mind: snow, a train, people he did not recognize but somehow still knew.
The soldier felt human, so very human - maybe for the first time in his life, he didn't know. It made him panic even more.
Then he hits the ground and jolts awake before he can even feel the impact. His breathing is fast, his shirt is soaked in sweat and a silent scream is still on his lips.
Bucky is standing on his feet before he even realizes what just happened. His vision is still blurry, but his body is ready to fight. Ready to attack, ready to kill. He is ready to finish whatever his mission is - he is ready to comply.
Bucky's pupils are blown wide, his whole body is shaking. A frantic look on his face. He blinks a few times before he finally realizes where he his, WHO he is.
Bucky sinks down to the floor, tries to hide his face in his trembling hands. His eyes are filling with tears, blurring his vision even more. He does not care.
The world is spinning around him while he tries to calm his breathing.
"I'm no longer the Winter Soldier - I'm James Bucky Barnes. I'm no longer the Winter Soldier - I'm James Bucky Barnes. I'm no longer the Wi- Winter Soldier I- I am..."
A broken sob escapes his mouth and the world starts to overwhelm him again. It's too much. Everything is too much! The touch of the cold floor he's sitting on, the sweaty shirt that's clinging to his body, the faint sound of rain he can hear from outside the window - all this is too much.
His breathing is fast again, his body is shaking, tears are streaming down his face.
Bucky is scared, so fucking scared. He doesn't have dreams like this, not anymore! He is NOT the Winter Soldier, he is James Bucky Barnes. But is he really?
His dream felt so real, too real! Bucky is still not sure if his brain has fully caught up with reality yet, his head still feels like it's filled with clouds - it's almost comforting.
That's what scares him the most: It felt good to slip back into the soldier's role, to just follow his mission, not thinking about morals or consequences. To be nothing more than a weapon - to be the Winter Soldier.
Bucky knows that it was just a bad dream, of course he knows. But it doesn't make the feeling of... comfort less real.
He can still see it. Can still see the gray walls of the old warehouse they were in, the red blood on his metal arm, can still see Sam's dead body sinking to the floor...
He sobs again, louder this time. Sam! What did he do to Sam? Why Sam, why him?!
He knew this kind of dream all too well, even though he hadn't had one in a long time. Normally he dreamed of real victims, of real things. Normally it was more like a memory but this time... it wasn't!
But it still felt so, so real! How could he be sure that it wasn't real after All? That his mind isn't playing tricks on him to let him believe Sam's still alive? He just HAS to check if Sam is okay.
Bucky stumbles to his feet, wipes away the tears that are still running down his cheeks and looks around. He's standing in the living room of the Wilson's house, beside him is the couch he slept on only a few minutes ago.
He takes a few shaky steps - it feels like his brain is on autopilot.
Bucky doesn't know how much time has passed but it couldn't be more than a few seconds. He's standing in front of the door to Sam's room, hand on the door knob.
He tries to stop himself from opening the door, he really does!
It would be creepy and unnecessary to look at his sleeping fri- partner. Everything is fine, HE is fine, why wouldn't he?
But he can't shake this burning fear away. Just has to be sure - so he opens the door.