From Darkness

I woke when someone grabbed me by the shoulder. I immediately swung my arms to fight them off, but one of them was stuck above my head, and the other only flailed against the back of a seat.

"Hey, easy," a voice said. "I'm just giving you some water."

I was breathing hard and panicked, and it took a moment to blink the haziness out of my mind. I was in the backseat of a car. On the floor. Stuck between the seats. My legs were cramped, and my arm had gone numb. A man was lying across the backseat, and the other leaning in from the front. I turned to him, confused.

"Where am I?" I asked. His eyebrows furrowed. I knew that expression. I knew that face.

"You're safe now," he said.

"How did I…?"

"Where did you expect to be?" I shook my head, confused again.

"My cell."

"Is that where they kept you?"

"Sometimes—Sometimes they…." I stopped, feeling the blood drain from my face. He took a deep breath and let it go.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore," he said. "I won't let you go back there. Ever. Okay?" If he was expecting an answer, he didn't get one. He turned toward the front. "You're dehydrated and malnourished." He procured a bottle of water from the front. I immediately reached to snatch it, but he held it back. "You have to take it slow." Instead of handing it out, he poured some into the cap and handed that over instead. I took it, but my fingers were shaking so bad that most of it spilled onto my hand. I sipped it anyway. Grateful for anything that would help with the raw feeling in my throat.

"I might be able to do this better with two hands," I remarked.

"Last time you had both hands, you tried to beat me to death with a stick," he quipped. I paused. Remembering the feel of the wood in my hand. The impact up my arms.

"I wasn't trying to kill you. I just wanted to knock you out."

"Why?"

"So I could get away." I handed the cap back out, waiting for him to give me more water. He didn't.

"I'll let you go if you promise not to do it again."

"I won't. I promise."

He reached above me to unlock the cuff from around my wrist. He didn't seem worried anymore. Or at least he'd learned not to trust me. I wasn't going to fight him anyway. I didn't think I'd be able to anymore. And now my mind was processing things a little bit better.

He took my arm and helped me climb into the front seat. I leaned against it and shut my eyes. The movement made it hard to breathe. Like I'd just run a marathon. My arms were weak and wobbly, and my head still pounded. But at least I didn't feel like throwing up anymore.

"How long has it been since you had something to drink?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You don't look like you've eaten much lately either. You couldn't bring anything up when then tranq made you sick." He tapped my arm, and I opened my eyes. He handed out the cap with more water. Once it was in my hands, he reached for something in the backpack at my feet.

"Tranq?" I asked. "What tranq?"

"Couple of scouts. Following your caravan. They hit you first. Missed me. Didn't get the chance to take another shot."

"What did you do to them?"

"I killed them, Jo. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"You said you don't do that anymore."

"I thought you couldn't remember."

"It's getting easier." I sipped on the water. He pulled something out of the backpack that looked like a protein bar. He opened it and broke a piece off.

"Do you remember the last time you ate something?" he asked, handing it out. I took it in my shaking fingers but didn't eat it. Instead, I just dropped my head back. I was still exhausted enough to sleep. But not the drugged kind of exhausted.

"No," I admitted.

"It might not go down easy then." He poured another capful while I tried to choke down the chalky piece of food.

"Where are we?" I asked, trying to spot something familiar out of the windows. But it was too dark to make anything out.

"Belarus."

"How did we get here?" He handed the cap back out.

"I drove."

"How long have I been out?"

"Depends. Since the last time you were fully conscious or when you got hit with the dart?"

"The dart."

"Been a while. Russell has been in and out. Seems to have a better grip on reality than you do."

"Russell," I said. "He doesn't like it when I call him that."

"You remember?" I nodded slowly and sipped on the water.

"They let me talk to him sometimes."

"What does he say to you?" I chewed on my lip and hesitated. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just trying to piece together what the hell happened in there. Neither of you has been very helpful."

"Chaos," I said. He didn't ask me to elaborate. "Do you think he'll be okay?" He was leaning against the steering wheel now, watching me and waiting to hand out more water when I asked for it. He seemed confident that I wasn't going to attack him again. Probably because there were no weapons within reach.

"I don't know. That was your job. Not mine." I handed the cap back out, but he twisted it back on the bottle and stuck it in the backpack. "I'll give you more in fifteen to twenty minutes. If you manage to keep it down." He turned back around and adjusted the gearshift to put the car back on the road. "Put your seatbelt on," he instructed. I didn't move. I was staring out at the darkness outside the window.

Something in it was watching me.

"Bucky," I said. I could see him pause from the corner of my eye. He didn't respond right away. He kept his hands on the wheel before turning to me.

"Yes?"

"This feels different."

"What do you mean?"

"It feels real."

He sighed audibly. I could see his shoulders hunch as if he hadn't slept in a very long time. But then he pulled the e-brake and turned back to me. He reached across my shoulder for the seatbelt and yanked it over me. Once it was snapped into place, he took the hand I'd left resting on my leg. He pressed my palm flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating. Strong and steady. I shut my eyes. One, two. Three, four. Clear as day.

"That's because it is real," he told me.

"I didn't—I didn't want to."

"To what?"

"To hurt you."

"Then why did you?"

"It was different every time. But the objective was always the same."

"What was it?"

"I saw you kill—so many people. And the only way I could stop it is if—I killed you first."

"Did you?" I lifted my other hand and rubbed my eyes. The memories weren't hidden behind a veil anymore. I could pull them apart if I tried hard enough. But my head felt like I was being squashed. My body felt too weak to focus. I couldn't sort them. Just touch them.

"I didn't want to," I repeated. Because that was the only clear thing. The desperate plea. Please don't make me? Please don't make me hurt him?

"But you did." He didn't ask. Just made a statement. I couldn't correct him. "I'm still here. Your family. They're okay. Your parents, your sister. Everyone is okay. It wasn't real." I took a deep breath and worked past the lump in my throat.

He let my hand go. I pulled it back to my lap, picking at the bandages on my suddenly cold skin. He turned to the front but didn't put the car back on the road.

"The last time we saw each other for real. When was it?" I questioned.

"I took you to Russell. After you'd hit your head. They—pushed you over the balcony. I had no choice but to let them take you. He said I'd regret it, and he was right."

"The balcony," I repeated. "That's not—that can't be—no." I sat back up straight. The seatbelt held me down, but I felt a panic jump in my chest again. "No, you came for me. You got me out. We were—in Ohio—I remember. I remember going home. I remember you meeting my parents." He turned back to me to stop me from trying to get away again. This time both his hands wrapped around my wrists, and I froze. He leaned over the center and tried to get me to look him in the eye.

"Jo," he said. "Jo, look at me." I couldn't. The darkness outside of the car was moving. Looming in closer. It was going to swallow me whole. "Please?"

I did what he asked. I turned back to him and studied his face. I knew his face. And not just because it haunted my every goddamn nightmare, but because I'd wanted to know it. Not for the damage he'd caused and the fear they wanted me to feel, but because I used to look at him and never wanted to forget. Every line and curve of his face was familiar. Tied to nothing but the feeling of safety and comfort and...

I knew what he looked like when he smiled.

The way his eyes shined when the sun came in dappled through trees and blinds.

He took my hand and returned it to the place above his heart so I could feel it beating. Blood had caked the side of his face. He'd tucked his hair behind his ear so it was easier to see. His eyes had a softness that I hadn't seen in a long time. Only in the good memories. Only ever the good ones.

"Whatever they made you see," he started, "it wasn't real. The last time I saw you, you were lying on the hood of a car. I had to let you go because—I knew I wouldn't be able to save you otherwise. You or the kid. Whatever happened after that—if it was me you saw—it wasn't real."

"This is," I stated. He nodded, and his jaw unclenched.

"Yes. This is real. I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't kill anyone. Not anyone who wasn't already trying to kill you or me first." I shook my head. My own heart was pounding in my chest. So much, I could feel it in my throat.

"They can still make you. They can control you. They told me exactly how they're going to do it. They'll make you hurt me in every way you can." His jaw clenched again, and he pinched his lips.

"They can," he agreed. "And that's why we have to get away. To make sure they won't get the chance."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Jo. I'm just—I just want to protect you. And I think—you should go back to Stark." I shook my head, my fingers involuntarily flexing into fists, twisting his shirt in my fingers.

"No, no, no. I can't go back to Stark. Not to New York."

"Why not?"

"Chaos. Darkness."

"Jo—I don't know what that means."

"It's in me. I'll kill them. All of them."

"Jo—you didn't kill me. You had the chance, and you didn't take it."

"It's different with you."

"How?"

"I don't know. Just that I was never meant to be a weapon for you."

He moved his hand off of mine and touched his fingers to my chin. My heart jumped into my throat. My first instinct was fear. Fight or flight. Run away. Hit him. Protect myself. Protect them. But then it faded. It was a light touch. Gentle. Calming. Warm. Welcome.

"What do you remember from DC? Before they came for you?" he asked. I shook my head slowly. My fingers were still clenched in his shirt, but he didn't move away.

"I don't know. There's just—so much in my head. All the time."

"Do you remember that day we talked in your kitchen? I told you they would try to make you kill me? You made me promise not to let you?" I nodded.

"I think I do."

"I wasn't lying. I didn't fight you because I trusted that you wouldn't be able to do it. Maybe it was a test. I just didn't think you'd actually be able to do it. So I had to believe that you were still—well—you."

"What if I did?"

"You didn't." He moved away, forcing me to release my grip on his shirt. "I trusted you. I still do." He sat back in his seat and got the car moving again. I rested my head and pulled my arms back to myself. I wanted to be small. To fade back into the darkness.

"I wouldn't trust me," I said.

The radio on the dashboard had gone silent. So now, all I could hear was the hum of the engine and the shallow breaths of the man in the backseat. He didn't have anything else to say.