It definitely wasn't your first choice to sleep; it was made very clear by both your husband and your super soldier friend that if you didn't at least attempt to get a few hours of rest, they would both remain tight-lipped about any plans to find Bucky. They had promised to wait so that you could have at least two hours, but it was a joke that they would actually expect you to close your eyes for even one minute of that time. How could they possibly think that closing your eyes would be a good idea when you knew that there was a terrific chance that the next time you opened them you would see horrors that didn't belong to you?

But then, even despite your strong will against it, your eyes closed for just a moment; it was a flash of a second, just to rest your heavy lids. Or at least, that's how it felt.

It didn't take long for the screams to begin again, filling the recesses of your mind with a sound that eviscerated your heart and shredded your soul in knowing exactly what it meant. Bucky had sacrificed himself to free you, and with each passing minute, and with each cry that would go unanswered, your guilt became nearly unbearable. When you could feel him trying to connect, even in your sleep, you tried to push back just as he had asked you to, not only for him but because you couldn't stand to see what was happening.

It still would have been nice to have a choice in the matter.

You hadn't realized that the connection had been made, not until you woke up to Tony and Steve both desperately trying to break it. Even with the two of them supposedly ready, and even still in your sleep, your hands met theirs with strength that couldn't have been your own. When your eyes finally opened and you came back to the real moment, you found yourself in the hallway outside of your room, crouched in a corner with Steve standing over you defensively and Tony just behind him with a split lip and an eye already showing the haze of a bruise.

"(Y/N)?" Steve panted anxiously, his hands ready to catch you again. "(Y/N), talk to me. Tell me where you are. Do you know me?"

"S-steve," you answered, equally breathless in both action and an enveloping fear, "what the hell? What happened?"

"You connected, didn't you?" Tony answered for him, hurrying to your side now that he was sure that you were back to your own mind.

"I...I don't know...it would seem so," you nodded, but stopping to stand to meet him. You gently took his face in your hands, the guilt you had felt before seeming like nothing now. "Oh, honey, did I do that? I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm fine," he waved you away, but didn't step back, "don't worry about me. I'm worried about you enough for the both of us. Tell us what you saw."

You waited to close your eyes and released him, hesitant to allow the images back in, but knowing that you didn't have a choice. You were taking the risk of connecting again, and it was apparent that both men knew it too; you saw Steve stand a little taller, and the familiar sound of one of Tony's gauntlets approaching filled the hallway. "Are you gonna shoot me, Tony?"

"Of course not. But if he's connecting to you, and if there's any part of Barnes left, then maybe he'll keep better control thinking that I might."

"He knows you better than that."

"I'm not willing to risk how much he knows me, sweetheart. I'm not willing to risk you, either."

"Do I have to do this?" you asked Steve, almost meekly. It was uncharacteristic for you to sound so uncertain, and it wasn't lost on either of them.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N), but you know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice," he said. "We need to find him."

"I know," you agreed, taking a long, hesitant breath that shook your entire body. Tony reached out for your hand, but you refused him, wanting to keep any distance between you until you knew that he wasn't in danger being so close to you. The two most important men in your life were suffering, and you would do everything you could to keep from causing any more pain.

At least until your eyes were closed again.

~~~

"Who are you?"

"Why are you in my head?"

The Soldier sat in his new home, a cold, gray room with a hard cot for a bed and not a single window to allow in any light of day. It wouldn't matter if there were sun anyway, as day and night didn't matter; he could hide himself away and infiltrate anywhere and never be seen regardless on light shining in his direction, just as it had been before. When he was invisible to the world around him, he felt completely secure and always carrying the advantage over his prey.

This was different and foreign to him, feeling exposed and violated by the images and voices in his head that didn't belong to him. Sure, there were memories of another life that would occasionally flash through his mind, but they didn't feel as if he owned them, as if he were watching pieces of someone else's life. This was deeply unsettling and persistent, and no matter how many times they put his brain through the blender, an essence of you remained intact and always pushed to the forefront of his consciousness. It was troubling and made for a very ineffective Soldier. He had been back in this life for only a matter of hours now, and his handlers were struggling to maintain him.

"Answer me," he tried again. His eyes darted around the room, just as they had done each time he tried to speak to you, reassuring himself that they hadn't begun watching him yet. If he could keep calm and not give them reason to, he would have time to get rid of you without their interference. It would be preferable to get a few answers before shutting you up.

If he closed his eyes, the Soldier thought that he maybe saw a color that might be that of your hair, or possibly a glimmer of your eyes, but the images were disconnected and distant. "Do you know me? Do...d-do I know you?" He listened intently for an answer, but he didn't have time to focus, when a guard opened the door to his room; he stared blankly ahead as to not draw any unwanted attention that might get him strapped into that damn chair again.

"Soldier," the guard interrupted, "you have a mission."

~~~

Once Tony regained consciousness from the hit to the skull you left him with, he tried to will away the swimming dizziness that left him ready to heave his dinner all over his dress shoes, but even the slightest movement sent him riding a new wave of agony. He could barely open his eyes without pain, and he was fairly sure that you had given him a nasty concussion as your first post-wedding gift. He could hear Steve on the floor next to him, groaning as he rolled over and pushed himself up to stand on shaking legs.

"Tony? Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah...never better," he mumbled, "you?"

"I feel like I'm a hundred years old."

"There's a reason for that. You are. What the hell is my excuse?"

Steve looked down at his friend and could feel the pain in his own head, watching Tony rocking himself gently while he held his head in his hands. The man looked absolutely miserable, not only from the physical pain that you had inflicted, but his emotions were an utter mess and he was at a loss as to what to do. That was more disconcerting to Steve than anything else he was seeing. "Tony, we need to get you to the infirmary. Here, let me carry you."

"Woah, what?"

"Tony, you can't walk," he argued, "and we need to make sure that (Y/N) didn't do any lasting damage. I don't think you realize just how hard she hit you. There's a dent in the wall."

"I'm gonna have to disagree. I'm feeling it pretty acutely, Cap."

Steve knelt down next to Tony, reaching out a tentative hand, "I won't tell anyone, okay? Does that help?"

"You'd think so, huh?" Stark took a breath and steeled his resolve, knowing that the shift in his movement was about to make everything so much worse. He still couldn't open his eyes, so he blindly reached out for his teammate, reflexively nearly pulling his hand back at the contact when they connected. "Okay, just take it slow. I could still yak at any minute."

"Noted."

"Ugh...why did I insist on steak at the reception? So heavy..."

"I'm sure you had no idea that your future wife would be knocking you out cold before the night was over."

"Not like this, anyway, no."

"Come on, man. What you two do on your own time is none of my business. Alright, here," Steve guided carefully, "I'll go slow, and you turn your head as far to the left as you can."

"To the left? W-why..." he asked, but the answer came soon enough and without much provocation within seconds of his position shifting into Steve's hold. Even the solid grip that would never dare drop him couldn't keep his stomach from disagreeing with just a few seconds of reprieve. "Oh...okay..." he struggled to catch his breath once the explosion subsided, "good call...Cap. Sorry about the shirt."

"It's alright," Steve answered with a grimace, "I'll just return your gift and buy a new one."

~~~

You had never been in this situation before; yes, you had been on missions where you were a target, obviously most recently with the kidnapping from your own wedding. You had been in danger before and took it willingly as a part of the job you had chosen for your life. But this...this was new and both exhilarating and chilling.

You had never been hunted before.

You could hear Bucky's footsteps well before you could see him. It was as if your minds were giving you both away on purpose, to force you together to look into each other's eyes again. His mind wanted him to recognize you on some level, he just didn't realize why yet, and you feared that he wouldn't realize before it was too late. You feared that the sight of your dead body at his feet would bring him back, and it nearly killed you just to envision it. All the Soldier knew of you right now was that you were an intruder into his thoughts, and he needed to make your voice stop.

Calming your breath was impossible, and you felt like you must have carried the volume of a thunderstorm. You had to be giving yourself away, but no matter how you tried, it was as if you were purposefully surrendering. As you tried to control it, your body shook under the pressure and the strain, leaving your senses dull; sounds became muffled and your sight wasn't nearly as sharp as you needed it to be. The chill in the air clouded your breath around you, only adding to the certainty that the Soldier would easily find you.

With your weapon held tightly to your chest, you took a single step out from the wall that had hidden you, peeking around a corner only to see nothing where you had been sure you would see him. With each missed sighting, your nerves raged harder, and you truly felt like his prey. You hadn't encountered him like this before, and you had no desire to ever be here again as long as you lived. He was taunting you. He was using your love for him to be your end.

"Who are you?"

"Buck," you whispered in shock, answering the confused voice that filled your mind, "you know me. I'm (Y/N)."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. You don't remember because Hydra has control of your mind. They've taken me away from you."

"You were never mine."

"I've always been yours."

You stopped and waited for his reply, but it didn't come as quickly as the others had. Maybe he didn't know what to say, or more likely, he couldn't understand and didn't want to face what had happened to him. You hoped it was the latter; it would mean that your Bucky was fighting to get out. It would come to a harsh and fast reality that it would be neither option as he came into your sights for the first time, standing to face you with his weapon drawn, and cold, emotionless eyes staring back at you from just above the mask that covered the rest of his identity. The words you had exchanged weren't meant for him to gain any insight; it was to draw you out to make you easier for him to find.

You raised your weapon in kind, taking another step away from the wall to hold your stance as steady as you could. "Buck, please...don't make me do this."

"Stop calling me that."

"That's your name," you argued, "your name is James Buchanan Barnes."

"I said, stop."

"Bucky-"

"STOP."

His finger curled around the trigger of his gun, but he didn't pull back just yet. It wasn't his pattern to take prisoners, and if you were truly his mission, then your death was a certainty to prove his success to those who had ordered him to act. The Soldier was an assassin, and he had eyes for nothing else. You were going to have to make a choice, whether you wanted to or not, because he wasn't allowed to have that luxury.

It was him or you.

The pain would be a quick end, or a lifetime of suffering.

The loss would be Tony's, or it would be Steve's.

The choice had to be made, and with the pull of a trigger it was; it was made by the one who had better aim.