On one of my days off i had to sleep in.
I had had a specifically bad night, some kind of mission, iron in my mouth, blood on my knuckles, smoke, screaming.
I woke up sweating and more exhausted than rested, panting.
He had woken me up, telling me to be quieter, the neighbors would hear us.
I complied slowly, i was shaking somewhat and he got up and dropped his coat over me, i thanked him in a small voice - in some language i knew but even now couldn’t pinpoint.
He shook his head and sat down at the couch on the floor and laid his head back
,,Bucky…’’ i said quietly and he turned his head after a second
,,what?’’ he whispered
,,you have your name…’’
,,you have one yourself.’’ he returned in russian, i closed my eyes and turned on the couch
,,a named thing is a tamed thing….’’ i whispered and turned my head to look at him
,,we’re not things.’’
,,we were. We still are.’’ he sighed deeply, i continued, adding how everything still is hardwired, he couldn’t refuse that since the scene in the kitchen a week before had been executed methodically in a way.
,,we’re not who they say we are.’’
,,we’re not who they say we were.’’ he added and sighed heavily again
,,Bucky…’’ the name tasted strange, like one of the candies i had gotten; bitter but yet sweet
,,Noel?’’ my ‘name’ even stranger I hummed my reply
,,what did you dream?’’