Chapter Text
The first thing Zemo felt when woke up was the weight and warmth of a body, lying beside him on the silk sheets of his bed. He felt relaxed.
This wasn’t right.
He didn’t dare to open his eyes; he couldn’t bear it. He felt like he felt years ago. Eigth years ago.
“Are you awake, драга ?”
It was like a memory, like a dream. But Zemo never dreamed. That’s why it all felt wrong.
“This is not real,” he murmured.
“What?” the weight beside him flinched, getting closer. A warm hand pressed against his bare shoulder. “Are you alright, Helmut? Nightmares again?”
It was torture, keeping his eyes closed, but he knew better than to open them. The sole reason he was capable of restraint right now, the only thing keeping his head clear was because he hadn’t seen her.
“You’re dead. You’re not here, this is not real,” he whispered, more to himself than to the hallucination in the form of his wife.
“Helmut, you are scaring me, what happened?”
Her hand traveled from his shoulder to his biceps and kept going, in a gentle caress, until it found its way on his own hand. They used to do that every morning. Sweet and loving kisses to wake up, lazy and cozy cuddles, non-sexual tender touches. Every morning, from the first time they awoke together to the last one before her passing.
That was how he knew this wasn’t real. The touch felt surreal, foreign. It felt like it was: a touch on a surface that hadn’t been touched for ages. 8 years.
The pain came back full force and he screamed.
“Fuck, Wanda, he’s waking up” That was Sam, alive Sam, and Helmut felt like his sanity was returned with the pain.
“He’s rejecting it, Sam, I’m trying!” That voice sounded familiar. He could tell that he knew her, but not like Sam. They had met, where did they met ? When did they met, who was…
Suddenly the pain went away, and Zemo jolted awake, sitting in his bed, breathing hard like he had been holding his breath for centuries. Warm arms wrapped around his waist and a body pressed against his back.
“Helmut, it’s alright, I’m here” she said in a shaky breath, and Zemo shivered.
Panic rushed over him, and he began to wrestle his way out of the hug, possessed by an urge to run from this fantasy.
“This is not real, you are not real,” he kept repeating while getting up and away from the bed and from the woman still on it, his back still turned. He couldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t.
“I am Helmut Zemo, Baron of a destroyed country” he said to himself. He put his hands against the wall and pressed his hot forehead against it, hopeful that the cold would wake him up. “I am a colonel. I am a father. I am a widower,” he yelled. “Whatever is happening is not real and I am not going through all of that again.”
The pain came back, as sudden as the first time, and Zemo convulsed under it.
“No, no, keep him from moving, keep him from moving!!!” Sam again, and Zemo shuddered with confusion.
He was lying down, why was he lying down? He got up, he remembered getting up…
A cold hand, with no warmth whatsoever, cupped his chin in an upside-down manner, the palm pressed against his cheeks and the fingers brushing against his chin.
“James…” Zemo cried, weakly. The pain was so intense, speaking was too much effort. He tried opening his eyes, but the light was so intense, he could barely see a thing. James was looking down at him, he knew it was him, but his face was darkened by shadows, he couldn’t even distinguish the color of his eyes.
“You need to let go, Zemo. Let her put you to sleep,” James urged, his voice almost trembling, and a sense of dread washed over Zemo.
What was happening for James to be this stressed out? Weakly, he moved his own hand and placed it on James’ vibranium one.
“Wanda, come on!” Sam again.
“I can’t…” the same voice from before, and it only now dawned on Zemo that she had a slight Sokovian accent. “He keeps rejecting it, if…”
“Change the bloody vision then! Find something!” James screamed, shifting his face to look at someone. Now that he moved, his face was lit and Zemo could see them.
Those beautiful blue eyes.
A flash of pain jostled his body and Zemo screamed and shacked.
“Make him stop moving, fucking dammit!”
“Zemo, fuck, come on,” a second hand cupped his other cheek in the same manner the vibranium one already did, and James’ face came closer. “You need to sleep, let it fucking go.”
“Ja… James” he moaned, and suddenly the pain went away, and Zemo felt like he was falling through red clouds, surrounded by red smoke, and then he woke up.
The first thing Zemo felt when woke up was the weight and warmth of a body, lying beside him on the cheap cotton sheets of his bed. He felt relaxed.
This wasn’t right.
He didn’t dare to open his eyes; he couldn’t bear it. He felt like he felt years ago. Eight years ago.
“Are you awake, Doll?”