Title: Come Back Author: RuckyStarnes Words: 1,871 Characters: Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Morgana Le Fay Pairing: WinterWidow Tags & Warnings: Hydra Brainwashing, Nightmare Loop, Cardiac Arrest Withholding Medical Treatment, Dark Magic Mind Control & Manipulation, Near-Death Experience, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Dash of Hope, Hallucination, Nightmare Sequence Rating: Mature Prompt: Day Twelve - Cardiac Arrest Written for @whumptober Summary: Natasha has to choose: anchor him with her hands, or gamble everything on cutting the sorceress down before itâs too late. Type: Oneshot A/N:
The cathedral stank of what only could be described as death; black marble gleamed beneath the fractured ribs of the ceiling, streaked gold in places where candlelight caught the veins of age. Natashaâs boots echoed as she moved, her fingers flexing their grip on her gun. Sheâd fought in churches before, but this one just felt wrong. She knew a trap when she saw oneâwhat she didnât know was that Bucky was already snared.
He was frozen three paces ahead of her, his flexing black metal arm glinted in the candlelight, and his breathing was that of someone that had a knife driven beneath their ribs.
âBucky?â she whispered.
Sheâd seen seizures, flashbacks, panic. But thisâthis was different. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide.
The air rippled and thatâs when she saw her: Morgana Le Fay, half-shadow, half-gold, standing at the altar like a priestess of ruin. The crown of her hood glowed faintly, every line of her face smug with cruel amusement.
âYour soldier is a fragile thing,â Morgana purred, voice carrying like silk over stone. âSo many fractures in his mind. Hydra left me such exquisite doors to open.â
Natasha raised her weapon in one smooth motion, but Bucky made a sound that stopped her cold. A strangled, animal-link cryâripped from his throat as he staggered forward, clutching his chest.
His knees hit the marble.
She was at his side in seconds, her gun discarded, hands bracing his shoulders. His flesh hand scrabbled against the floor, searching for something that wasnât there, while his body shook.
âStay with me, Barnes,â she hissed, pressing her palm flat to his sternum. His heart thundered beneath it, too fast, erratic. Then it skippedâonce, twice.
Natashaâs stomach dropped.
Heâs going into cardiac arrest.
She swallowed the panic like poison. âBucky. Look at me.â
But his eyes werenât seeing her. They were locked on some nightmare only he could see, pupils darting as if tracking ghosts. Sweat slicked his temples. His lips moved with soundless words that scraped from memory.
Soldat. Asset. Comply.
Morganaâs voice slithered around them. âDo you hear them, little spider? The voices of his masters? Heâll never escape them. Hydra carved their commandments into his heart. I only had to whisper, and it broke.â
Natasha ignored her. She dug her nails into Buckyâs shoulder hard enough to leave marks. âYouâre not there,â she snapped. âYouâre here. With me.â
His back arched violently, a choked gasp leaving him as his pulse stuttered against her hand.
Natasha lowered her forehead to his temple, her braid brushing his jaw, her breath steady though her veins screamed with adrenaline. âYouâve lived through worse,â she whispered fiercely, as if her will alone could keep his heart beating. âYou are not theirs anymore. You are mine. You hear me? Mine.â
For a heartbeat, his tremors slowedâthen Morgana lifted her hand, golden-black threads curling like smoke from her fingers, and his body convulsed again.
She pressed her fist against his chest, as though she could fight death with force. âDonât you dare, Barnes,â she growled. âDonât you leave me in this goddamn place.â
And still, his breath stuttered, his heart skipped. In his eyes, Pierceâs reflection stared back, Hydraâs specter alive and smiling.
Every step he took bounced back from the black marble walls. His metal hand flexed, the weight of the place pressing into him. Natasha was just behind him, protecting his six like she always had.
One step after the other until he took one that turned his world upside down. His lungs constricted as a familiar ice, cold feeling began to sink into his chest, making him sink to his knees.
And thenâ
The Chair.
Straps snapped tight around his wrists, the metal cutting deep into his right. He sucked in a breath but no oxygen filled his lungs as the hum of electricity charged the room. A faceless handler leaned over him, Russian syllables slicing like knives.
Pain flooded his veins, hot-white, until his vision shookâ
Pierceâs Office.
âpolished wood beneath his boots. A glass of bourbon in Pierceâs hand, swirling lazy circles like time itself didnât matter.
âYouâre a weapon, Soldat,â Pierce stated, âand weapons obey.â
The window loomed, and in itâŚNatasha. Bound. Kneeling. A rifle heavy in his hands, scope trained on her heart. He screamedâ
The Mission.
âsnow in his mouth, gunfire cracking in his ears. The rifle recoiled against his shoulder.
The target turned, shield flashing red, white, blue. That face, his eyes. Wide. Broken. The sound of the bullet hitting flesh. Steve crumpling into the snow. Buckyâs heart lurched.
He dropped the rifleâ
Natashaâs Death.
âand found her again. Rope bit into her arms, her braid falling across her shoulder. Her half-smile was calm.
He reached for her, flesh hand trembling. But his fingers turned to steel, reshaped into a blade.
âNoââ
The blade swept. Her throat opened spilling a red river. Blood spattered hot across his chest.
Pierceâs voice echoed: âYou killed her. You always will.â
He choked on the copper taste, staggered backâ
The Chair.
Cold again. He couldnât breathe, couldnât move. The cycle restarted, static screaming in his skull.
The Snow.
Steve falling. Again.
The Office.
Pierce raising his glass. Again.
Natasha bleeding.
Her blood wouldnât wash off. It slicked across his hands, his chest, his mouth.
Each scene tore into the next, seamless, endless. He couldnât tell when one ended or if it ended at all. His heart hammered too fast, then too slow, pain knifing through his ribs.
Wake up. Wake up.
But there was no waking. Only the loop. Only the ghosts. Only Pierceâs voice whispering with every breath he couldnât catch:
âMission report. December 16, 1991.â
And Buckyâs heart seized as if trying to obey.
Buckyâs body jerked hard against the marble, back bowing until she thought his spine might snap. Natasha clamped her hand over his chest, feeling the frantic stutter of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
âBucky, look at me.â What she thought was a commanding tone was a warble of emotion. Natasha tightened her grip on his shoulder, shaking him once, hard. âYouâre not there.â
But Morganaâs laughter rippled through the cathedral, a low, silken sound. With a flick of her hand, golden-black smoke coiled around Buckyâs face. His eyes snapped wider, panicked, and Natasha saw the shift hit him like a blade to the gut.
Whatever he sawâit wasnât her.
âJames,â she tried again, lowering her voice, threading steel with softness. âItâs Natasha. Iâm right here.â
His body bucked, a hand shot out, metal fingers clamping around her wrist. His strength jolted through her bones, as if sheâd been snared by Hydraâs ghost herself. His lips curled, and for a terrible second, she saw pure hatred in his eyes.
Morganaâs voice slithered behind her. âTo him, youâre the handler now. The doctor with the needles. The one who straps him down and whispers the words that break him.â
Natasha didnât turn, she couldnât afford to. Buckyâs grip tightened, her pulse caught in the vice of his fingers.
âListen to me,â she snapped, twisting just enough to free her hand without letting go of him. âYouâre stronger than this. Youâve broken chains before. Break this one.â
Another convulsion wracked his chest. His heartbeat stuttered beneath her palm, then skipped, faltered.
Natashaâs throat burned. She pressed harder against his sternum, grounding him in every way she knew howâpressure, contact, presence. Her other hand cupped his jaw, forcing his head toward her.
âDamn it, James. Stay. Donât make me drag you back.â
Morganaâs magic thickened, smoke curling, whispering Hydra syllables in the corners of the room. Pierceâs voice, soft and cold: âMission report.â
And Natasha realizedâif she didnât act now, he wouldnât survive another cycle. She had two choices: fight Morgana and risk Buckyâs heart giving out. For the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff felt torn in half, begging.
Pierceâs voice bled from his lips instead: âYouâll never be free. Youâll always come back to us.â
His body bucked violently, and then⌠stillness: no breath, no heartbeat.
Natashaâs gut clenched. She pressed down harder, willing life into him, but her gaze flicked to Morgana â the sorceress still standing at the altar, arms raised like a conductor directing every fractured nightmare. Gold-black smoke poured from her fingers, threads burrowed deep into Buckyâs chest.
âYou canât save him,â Morgana sang, her voice curling sweet as poison. âHis heart belongs to them. All I did was open the door.â
Natashaâs training warred against instinct. She wanted to stay, to keep her hands on Buckyâs chest, her voice in his ear, but anchors didnât matter if the tide kept dragging him under.
âThen Iâll cut the strings,â she murmured to herself, her hands slowly sliding off Bucky, one gripped the gun at his thigh. She took a breath before turning towards Morganaâs voice, and fired. The bullet tore through the smoke, Morgana shifting aside with a smirk. The magic threads writhed tighter around Bucky, his body twitching once on the marble floor. Natasha emptied the rest of the clip, each shot a promise. She didnât need to hit Morgana, she just needed to break her concentration.
The sorceress faltered, shadows flickering. For a split second the threads loosened.
âCome back, James,â Natasha hissed, slamming her fist against his sternum, the impact brutal and desperate. âDonât you let them win. Not this time.â
His chest remained stubbornly still.
She holstered the empty pistol and drew the knife in her book, her eyes locked on Morgana. She had one chance: end the spell before his heart stopped for good.
Natasha made the gamble.
Morgana caught the blade between two fingers, shadows writhing around her hand, smirking
âToo late,â she purred. âHis heart already remembers who it belongs to.â
Behind Natasha, Buckyâs body arched once more, then sagged limp against the marble.
âJames!â She twisted, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands were shaking now as she pressed them down on his chest, pumping his blood before forcing breath past lips that had gone pale. âYouâre not theirs. Youâre not.â
Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper now. âItâs not real. Come back to me.â
Somewhere inside the smoke, Buckyâs mind twisted. Natashaâs voice reached himâbut when his eyes flickered open, it wasnât her face leaning over him. It was Pierceâs.
âYouâll never be free. Youâll always come back to us.â
The words speared through him like a command, tearing at the fragile beat trying to restart in his chest.
Natashaâs breath caught, rage and grief coiling into one raw sound. She pressed harder, ignoring the ache in her arms. âNo. Youâre not done. You fought your way out of every cage they ever built for youâdo it again, damn it. Do it again for me.â
She could feel the smoke tightening, Morganaâs spell dragging him deeper. Natasha bared her teeth, every line of her face sharp with fury. If she couldnât drag Bucky out by her hands, sheâd rip Morgana apart until there was nothing left to hold him.
She pulled another knife out from Buckyâs holster, arcing toward the source of the spell, her heart hammering the only mantra that mattered:
Not like this. Not him. Not today.
