Chapter Text
He wakes up drenched in sweat but for the first time in a few months it’s not from nightmares. No that would a comfort at this point. Nightmares mean he still regrets what he did, nightmares mean he’s not the Winter Solider.
But he never has nightmares on the few occasions he’s fallen asleep next to Helmut. He shakes himself to full wakefulness, the way not all the bodily fluids around them have dried up tells him he only nodded off for a second. Helmut- Zemo Zemo his name is Zemo, turns to him and watches passively as Bucky extracts himself from the tangle of limbs and blankets and begins sorting his clothes out of the pile on the floor.
“If you rip another one of my shirts they swear they’re going to stop giving me new ones.” Zemo lays on his side turned towards Bucky, blanket draped over him in a way that his almost none of surprisingly toned body is hidden from sight. The playfulness of his voice hides something dark behind it. Sam in all his infinite wisdom and training as a trauma councilor would probably be able to put more delicate words to it but even from where he stood he could see Zemo had a death wish. It’s this strange cat and mouse game where he’s never quite sure if Zemo is trying to bait him into fucking or killing him.
“Wouldn’t that be a shame.” Bucky threw a smirk over his shoulder to watch Zemo squirm. He knew just how to toe the line, how to imply a threat without making it explicit. How to remind Zemo of who really held all the power here. It’s sickly satisfying to watch the man’s composure slip for just a second as he considers if Bucky really would rip away one of his very last strands of dignity.
“That’s all I’ll be needing from you tonight, soldat.”
Bucky manages not to flinch at the word instead turning to Zemo with another smile to show him the low blow hadn’t landed. Fear crosses the other mans face and it thrills Bucky just as much as it sickens him. He stocks over, still only half dressed. Zemo sits up letting the blankets fall form him a reveal the full extent of all the bruises and scrapes Bucky had left on his body. Bucky crowds him up against the wall the bunk dipping slightly as he puts his full weight on it. His metal hand finding the spot where his initials are carved into him with ease. The other man expect violence from him, he can see Zemo truing it over in his head partially aching for another bruise.
Instead Bucky leans in and presses a soft kiss to Helmut’s lips. He cups the startled man’s head drawing him in deeper. They don’t do this often, every kiss they’ve shares has been one of desperate passion, one that bites as much as it pleases. Bucky smoothes a loose strand of Zemo’s hair back and the man melts into it. With his eyes closed he can almost pretend they’re in his own bed and for a second he lets himself picture it. Sunlight streaming through the windows as he presses Helmut down for a tender kiss before they both have to wake up and face the world.
Bucky withdraws trying to burn the image of Zemo’s genuine smile from his mind. He finds what he hopes is his shirt and slips in to it headed for the door.
“You don’t get to do that.” Zemo’s voice rings out raw and full of rage. The naked man tried to rush him, to pin him against the wall but Bucky’s training is too quick and Zemo finds himself slammed to the ground with Bucky on top of him all the breath knocked out of his lungs.
“You don’t get to kiss me goodby like I’m your lover.” Zemo spits out, he doesn’t struggle but for the first time his voice and face are full of genuine anger and hurt.
“I can do what ever I want to you.” Bucky savagely digs his knee into the soft flesh of Zemo’s stomach, the man whines beneath him staring at him with eyes full of fear. But it’s a different kind of fear, a fear that makes Bucky withdrew just as quick as he’d pined him. Usually Zemo’s fear is accompanied by lust, or sometimes that blank looks that tells him Zemo is almost hoping this time Bucky will go too far and he won’t wake up at all.
This is fear laced with resentment, fear laced with hurt.
Fear like the kinds on of the faces of those who met the Winter Solider.
Fear like in Steve’s eyes when Bucky threw the first punch at him after 66 years apart.
Fear like he saw in Yori’s son as he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger without a second thought.
Maybe I won’t come back this time. The words bubble up, savage and cruel and just what would hurt Zemo the most. But he can’t bring himself to kick the man when he’s down. Instead the strides up to the door of the cell pulling the little remote from his pocket to open it.
Zemo’s laugh stills him but he does’t turn to look at the man.
“The Winter Solider was only ever cruel when someone ordered him to be.”
The words cut like a knife, the truth splitting him open like a vivisection and if he does’t get out of here fast he’ll be left with Zemo smiling triumphantly and him holding his own guts. It’s the truth, it’s the horrible truth that only this man who should be rights be his worst enemy knows. The Wakandan’s had brought his mind back, brought Bucky Barnes back into the world, but the man he’d grown to be had sharper edges. This new Barnes delighted in the look of despair on the faces of those he’d put in power when he comes back to tare it all down. This new Barnes used snark and sarcasm to mask the very real inclination to hurt and maim anyone who got in his way. It wasn’t residual winter solider training, it was something new something dark growing in him and he didn’t know if these nights with Zemo feed the animal or kept it at bay.
“Maybe I won’t come back this time.” The words slip from his mouth as easy as it once was to pull a trigger.