So, I definitely realize I’m better writing at Spanish. Any warnings I have to make? Yeah, probably don’t read if if you like to think Bucky’s time in Hydra wasn’t as bad as everybody thinks. So, Grammarly is a bitch and I can’t know which one are my Premium mistakes. Sorry for the grammar, that’s why I say I’m better at writing in Spanish. So, hope you like it! (By the way, I don’t support any of the actions display in here. I just wanted to write something honest during Bucky’s time being the Winter Soldier)
He is alive. Or that's what she prefers to think. Whatever those blue orbs are saying from where they are, she doesn't understand. He's alive. She's sure she just saw his arm moving towards her a second ago. He's alive because he blinks and has that unusual gleam that everyone who's not dead possessed. Yes, she thinks you can consider him alive, but at the same time, you can't.
She gets rid of her sleep through rubbing her eyes. She extends her hand to the little lamp that rests next to her bed. Under the yellow light, the stranger looks even more alive.
—Hi—the greeting coming out of her throat sounds weird because of the hoarseness in such a smooth voice. The white pajamas are too baggy; the pale colors of her bedroom make the intruder stand out. But she doesn't see that, as she looks at him as if she didn't have a better companion besides the sad man in black, sitting in the sad rocking chair at the foot of her bed —Are you the tooth fairy?
But she doesn't seem to mind.
—Yesterday, Grandpa told me that if I go to sleep early, the tooth fairy will take my teeth and leave a lot of money under my pillow—this time, when she smiles, she strokes the little gap inside her mouth with the tip of her tongue. The man looks at her, and more silence comes after —This is yours— she says, taking out the tiny, tiny teeth. She comes close to him, crawling. She has her hair messy because of the dream she was having. One in which the ground is flat and beautiful but she prefers to fly. The stranger contemplates how she extends her pretty little treasure. In his eyes, a light can be seen by everybody who gets invited to be that close. It seems to be the kind of light that once upon a time shined in his darkest corners. Nowadays, it's all just memories, though.
Her little hand touches his big black glove. And she smiles again. —Thank you for coming. Charlie said that all that Grandpa said were lies, but I always believed you existed. I almost didn't sleep for seeing you.
The sounds of the night can't be heard, cause the windows are closed. There are stars glued to the wall. And there are stars glued to the sky too. The little girl goes back to her side of the bed, crawling again.
—I'm so happy to see you— she whispers. The soft way in which her lips move, her short fingers are clinging to her blanket, that was yellow too. He knew it was an unusual night. He knew it was a weird night. —It feels good not to be lonely. Are you lonely too, fairy?—Lonely? He had never thought of that word hadn't she said it. Lonely. Even the way the word would roll in his tongue was strange. Lonely. Lonely. Lonely. —Now you can come by every day, and we won't ever feel alone anymore.
—You are a little bit bigger than what I thought, tooth fairy —she says softly, as she snuggles in her bed. With her cheek touching the cold sheet. The man says nothing. Nothing. Nothing. —But it doesn't matter because I was able to meet you and now I can buy the book that Charlie was asking for. Do you have brothers too? Sometimes they can be kind of annoying. And it's ugly not to be able to punch them when they do something to you. I love Charlie a lot, though. But, shhhh, you have to keep the secret—her finger is hovering over her lips. Under that fucking yellow light, she is turning into a vision. —Hey fairy, could you please come a little closer?—It seems as if the sounds of the night started to whip at her window. The palms of his hands rely on the armchairs of the rocking chair so he can get up. Anyone could hear the wood crisping under his grip. There's no sound in his footsteps because of the light rubber of his shoes over the floor. Now, the yellow light finally touches him. It reaches him. It coils him. —I need to tell Charlie that you are paler than we thought and hairier — when he sees her hand raising, he stops her by her wrist. The seconds were heavier all of a sudden. And even more difficult to leave behind. She looks at him, questioning with her eyes why did he stop her. And in his gaze, there's a very curious discovery. It seems he's feeling surprised. His fingers slowly let the little girls' wrist go. Her hand continues with her journey. Her destination? The stranger's cheek. —But you are just as soft as I imagined.
Her hand strokes his cheek as long as he allows it. When she stops, the Winter Soldier can still feel the phantom of her fingers playing in his skin.
He looks at her under the yellow light. And all of his questions are stuck in his tongue. But it doesn't matter. As he contemplates her from this angle, she gives the impression of knowing the answers to every single one of them.
And then, it starts.
The subtle beep in his ear.
The cruel determination to get the job done.
And that feeling, the memories mocking him. His mind, fooling him.
In his head, all of the words he heard once in a nightmare are torturing him. Over and over and over again. He has to do it. It would be funny to say no. But that's the problem.
He always did everything he was asked.
—Fairy, I think it's time I go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, right?—Bucky doesn't answer. The words in his mind are all fighting each other, making impossible for him to talk. But he's not resisting, not anymore. And when he sees the little face of Abigail, he knows he's going to see her again. After finding out everything a gaze can hide, how can you not return to it? —Goodbye, fairy.
And the Winter Soldier, due to that feeling slowly creeping down his throat, decides to put the pillow over the little girl's face, before he pulls the trigger.
That thing that's climbing, all over him, has finally left him rigid. He's still sitting in the bed.
He doesn't look at her. He can't and doesn't want to do it. The mission has been accomplished. Today, he won't get beaten up. Nor will he be left with no food to eat. Today, nobody will put a gun against his temple. And the bullet in his forehead hasn't arrived yet. As he observes his reflection in the window, as he observes his pale blue stare, his long black hair and that thing that emanates from his eyes and wets his cheeks he feels that he has finally seen himself. He has finally met the person, the human, the being that wakes up every morning and doesn't think he is lucky for feeling the air filling his lungs. And while seeing the tired dark shadow of somebody who dreamed a lot but doesn't know what. He feels like the first man in the world that has realized that nothing, nothing, nothing has meaning.
And it's contradictory. He should feel good because today he's still breathing. He should.
The sounds of the night can't be heard. There's just this. The words that made him do it. The feeling that was devouring his throat so he could fulfill what he was asked to. It's all vanished. No, he can't find any of those things in himself. Maybe he should go back before Hydra uses the hard way to make him go back. Maybe he should.
When he looks at the window, he sees just one still star in the sky.
And finally, more silence.
