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soulmarks - for natasha
May. 20th, 2024 07:38 pmSteve had called him "Bucky" but he has no attachment to the name. He's only been called soldat for years and years so having a name washes over him like water and doesn't leave anything permanent behind. He knows other people's names because it's important to do so - Steve, who claims that he knows him. Tony, who comes and does tests on his arm. Bruce, who makes him talk about his emotions. None of them have any impact other than Natasha, the one with the mark.
He doesn't remember her. He simply knows that the spider behind his ear matches the spider on her wrist. He knows that he shot her in their fight and he knows that he missed. He never misses. She was close enough for him to take a headshot or one in the chest but he chose her shoulder instead, non-fatal, and let her live. Injured, yes, but very much alive.
When he hears footsteps approaching the door he knows that it's her. They're light in such a way that it feels like she never wants to leave visible tracks, like she slips through doors and buildings and roles in a way that no one else can. She's the one he wants to talk to the most. The door is locked from the outside and while he thinks he could break out of this room, he doesn't. He behaves, for the most part, because he's been behaving the entire time he's been alive.
"I'm still in here," he says. He doesn't know if that's a comfort or not. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor instead of using the bed or the chair; neither of those things feel like his right now. "You can come in."
He doesn't remember her. He simply knows that the spider behind his ear matches the spider on her wrist. He knows that he shot her in their fight and he knows that he missed. He never misses. She was close enough for him to take a headshot or one in the chest but he chose her shoulder instead, non-fatal, and let her live. Injured, yes, but very much alive.
When he hears footsteps approaching the door he knows that it's her. They're light in such a way that it feels like she never wants to leave visible tracks, like she slips through doors and buildings and roles in a way that no one else can. She's the one he wants to talk to the most. The door is locked from the outside and while he thinks he could break out of this room, he doesn't. He behaves, for the most part, because he's been behaving the entire time he's been alive.
"I'm still in here," he says. He doesn't know if that's a comfort or not. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor instead of using the bed or the chair; neither of those things feel like his right now. "You can come in."
