‹ Prequel: Monster
Sequel: From Darkness

Hell Bound

Thirteen

When we got home, I hurried into the house to see if Bucky was still there and okay. But when I busted through the front door, the living room was empty. Graham came in behind me and set the box down on the floor.

“Damn it,” I said. He shut the door and looked around at the evidence Bucky had left in his wake. The TV was still on, and the blankets were messy from use. But the water bottles and snacks I’d left for her were gone. So was the bottle of ibuprofen.

“This is something he does a lot, huh?” Graham asked. He jumped right into cleaning out the box.

“Ugh,” was my response. I headed right for the stairs. “It’s my least favorite trait!”

I went to my bedroom to change and be alone while I sulked. But when I reached the room, Bucky was sitting on the edge of my bed. He was facing the window with his back to me. I almost jumped.

“Jesus,” I said, clutching my chest. “I thought you’d left.” He turned to glance at me. His skin was still pale. Stubble had taken over his chin, and the circles under his eyes were glaringly dark. He looked exhausted.

“I tried,” he admitted, turning back to the window. “Didn’t get very far.” I approached the bed and sat down beside him. The blinds were open, but the room was dim thanks to the tree that shaded the window from the slowly setting sun. I could just make out the sky beyond the dying leaves.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked after a moment. He shook his head slowly; his blue eyes were still focused on the window.

“Trying to remember. I didn’t want you to find me up here. I just….”

“Couldn’t get back down the stairs?” His jaw tightened as if he hated admitting he was having trouble moving. He didn’t like having a vulnerability. But then he nodded, and I knew he was only admitting it because he trusted that I wouldn’t turn it against him.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured like this,” he explained. “But they always had ways to make it go away. I’ve never had to deal with it on my own before.” I reached out to grip his right hand. It was warm and callused. He looked down like he hadn’t expected me to touch him.

“You’re not on your own.” He glanced at me quickly before turning back to the window. I kept my grip on his hand, and he didn’t try to pull away. “Did it work? Have you remembered anything?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I have something—but then it slips away.”

“Like what?” He stayed silent for a moment, studying the shadows the trees left on the walls. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, but he seemed peaceful. Whatever chaos caused him to break my mirror that morning was now subdued, if not gone. At least for a moment.

“Not memories,” he finally said. “Just—familiar. Like I know things, but I don’t—I don’t know why or how I know.”

“What exactly feels familiar to you?”

“The shadows.” He motioned his free hand toward the walls. The shadows swayed lightly in a silent breeze. “I feel like—this is normal. Like I’ve seen it before.”

“My house is familiar to you?”

“Parts of it.” He moved his metal hand over my comforter. It was the same boring floral pattern Romanoff picked out when she redecorated my house. “I feel like I’ve seen this before. I know what it feels like. But I can’t recall a specific memory.”

“It’ll come back to you. It did before.” He turned to look at me again. This time his expression relaxed as his blue eyes examined my face. Then he reached out and touched a metal thumb to my lip. He was gentle, and the metal was smooth and cold.

“Every time—I feel like I lose more and more of myself. I feel like there’s less of him now than there was when I was here before.”

“Less of whom?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say.

“James Barnes.” I nodded slowly. “That’s why I broke the mirror.”

“I understand.”

“But I feel safe here,” he continued. “It’s the first time in,” he paused to shake his head, “it feels like the first time I’ve ever felt safe. And I know there has to be a reason.” I moved my hand up the length of his arm, feeling the ridges and plates of metal, all the way to where my fingers grazed his scarred skin. He moved his hand to my shoulder, seemingly oblivious that it was marred by scars he’d left behind.

“Some part of you must remember something,” I said.

“I’ve been in this room before,” he stated. I nodded.

“Yeah, you have.”

“I slept in this room.” I nodded again.

“Yes.”

“You were with me.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“You were….” He stopped and turned his head to the side, apparently hearing something I wasn’t. Then, a moment later, I heard clumsy footsteps on the landing.

We immediately put space between us. Like we were two teenagers almost caught kissing in the dark. But he kept his hand on mine, and I didn’t take it back. I didn’t want us to lose our connection completely. Graham appeared in the doorway and peeked inside.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he noticed.

The switch flipped. Bucky’s shoulders tensed. His spine went straight, pulling at the many stitches on his chest and stomach. His expression darkened, and he looked toward the door.

“So are you,” he said. But his voice had gone from soft and gentle right back to vaguely threatening. I let go of his hand and stood up.

“We should get you back downstairs while we have the chance,” I told him. “I was thinking of getting pizza for dinner. If that’s cool with everyone. But I need to check your sutures and get the towels out of the dryer.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll help,” Graham said. “If that’s okay,” he added with a sarcastic look at Bucky. Bucky shot me a dark look, and I sent it back. I didn’t want him to hurt my friend for being a smart ass. Bucky stood slowly and then nodded in his effort to be polite.

“I’d appreciate it,” he said, but it sounded forced.

I wrapped my arm around his waist, and his came to rest over my shoulder. He was still having trouble moving his feet, and I wondered how long it took him to get up the stairs in the first place. He didn’t accept Graham’s offer for help until we reached the top of the stairs. Then his metal arm went over the kid’s shoulders, and I knew he was either in serious pain or trying to inflict it. Probably both. Because by the time we reached the bottom floor, his face had gone several shades paler, he began to sweat, and Graham had a grimace on. Like he’d just been slowly tortured with five pieces of blunt metal.

I took it from there. Bucky dropped his arm from Graham’s shoulder, and the kid immediately began to rub the place where his fingers had been. I helped Bucky limp back to the couch, and he sat down with an irritated sigh. He looked up at me as I fussed over him with the blanket and pillow.

“Give him a chance,” I whispered when I caught him staring.

“I am giving him a chance,” he told me. “He’d be dead if I wasn’t.”

“Then try to refrain from digging your fingers into his shoulder blades. He’s just a kid.”

“Twenty-three,” Graham reminded me from the hallway.

“And stop eavesdropping!” I snapped, but Graham had disappeared into the kitchen. When I turned back, there was a hint of a smile on the corners of Bucky’s lips.

“I’ll stop,” he said. I smiled back, satisfied.

“Good.”

“But only because you asked me to.”

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes and headed toward the hall.