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Eternal

Fandom: The Avengers/MCU

Relationship: Loki/Fem!Reader

Words: 3,778

Summary: Loki tried to live in denial, but he knew it was a reality he would have to face. You would one day die. Loki responds by doing the thing he does whenever he is unhappy with his situation. He schemes. 

~*~*~*~*~

Loki knew objectively that you would one day die.

However, knowing it…and knowing it were two entirely different things.

Loki ran his fingers through your hair and noticed something different about a few of the strands. They were lighter than they had been. They were almost white.

“Love, did you color some of your hair?” he asked, as he gently wrapped a white strand around his finger.

“No, why?”

“It’s white.” he looked down at you with a face of confusion.

You laughed at that, “That’s just something that happens because of stress or age.”

Loki stared down at your head. He had been content to live in denial until that white hair shattered that option for him. He knew that your job was stressful, and that this probably meant nothing. You couldn’t be that old. Not yet. He barely had any time with you.  

But he couldn’t get that word out of his head.

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IM RECOMMENDING A HP/MCU CROSSOVER BC I LOVED IT SO MUCH

The Avengers' team briefing on the impending arrival of their newest member, Spider-Man, goes awry and leads to Doctor Strange bringing up serious concerns to Sam about Bucky's stability.

[ In which this series has a deeper plot arc than just cat sitting and falling in love, oops. ]

Part 3 of when you've nothing to remember, you've nothing to lose featuring Peter as Bucky's cat sitter. For @winterspider-bingo SFW Round 1: Avengers Compound

Avengers Reassemble Ch 1

*SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME & AVENGERS:ENDGAME

“This is a terrible idea,” Peter Parker gulped, looking outside of his aunt’s car.

It was a peaceful evening in Queens as the teen watched his classmates dart into the building of Midtown High School. With the student’s senior year ending tomorrow and graduation in a week, the staff decided to hold a farewell party.

The problem was that the school begged Peter not only to attend, but to also give a grand speech to everybody there. Peter still remembered the class presentations, the charity balls and the court trials, and he remembers screwing up every one of them. But he wasn’t the type to say no to teachers, so here he was.

“Well, no turning back now, kiddo,” Aunt May grinned, “Come on. I overheard you rehearsing it in the bathroom for the past week. It sounds great!”

Peter blushed, tugging at his tie, “It really doesn’t.”

May sighed, placing a hand on the kid’s face. This boy’s been through so much. He’s lost his parents, Uncle Ben, Mr. Stark. He’s lost any chance of a normal life, but he still kept fighting. Even after his secret came out to the world, he still hasn’t given up.

“Hey, Peter, you deserve this,” May smiled, “A break from supervillains and world-ending disasters can’t hurt, right?”

Peter chuckled, “Guess not.”

“You’ve got this, kid,” May pecked a kiss on his cheek.

The boy opened the car door and began to walk towards the building. Students greeted him on the way in. A lot of them brought him into group selfies and asked for autographs. All Peter could do was put on a fake smile and put on a facade.

Peter began to mutter to himself, “Okay, Pete, you can do this. You’ve taken on Thanos, Vulture, asshole reporters. It’s just a simple graduation speech. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Once Peter reached the doors of the gymnasium, he groaned, “Oh, I am so screwed...Alright. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man.”

He pushed open the door to hear the sound of blaring music and bright neon lights. The gymnasium of Midtown High was buzzing with energy as the class of 2025 was partying it up. He recognized everyone there, including a few members from his decathlon team.

The young boy walked towards the podium, chest out and back straight. People began to clap for him as felt his classmates patting him on the back and congratulating him. What was only a few feet away from him felt like an eternity away.

Once Peter finally got there, he began to fumble with the microphone. Loud noises screeched from it as he tried to set it up. The audience cringed, but at least he got their attention, right?

He laughed nervously before clearing his throat, “Hello, class of 2025! How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The response he received was applause. He heard people cheering out his name, cheering for Spider-Man. It wasn’t easy after his identity was revealed, but with time, he was able to regain at least a little of the people’s good will.

He giggled a little, “Well, I know we’ve all got things to do and, uh, places to be, so I’m keeping it short. Kind of like me, heh!”

The lack of laughter caused Peter to begin to worry. He pulled out a stack of notecards and began to read them out loud.

“Now, I want you to go out there-Wait, no. That’s the, uh, last part. Must’ve mixed it up,” the boy stammered, “Let me just resort them.”

As he tried shuffling them back in the right order, he accidentally dropped the pile, causing the cards to fly away. Peter cursed at himself as he tried desperately to get them back together. The awkward silence caused him to start shaking as he nervously stuttered apologies to the audience.

Before Peter’s anxiety could completely engulf him, he finally noticed a certain someone in the crowd. His girlfriend, the amazing Michelle Jones.

The usually somewhat dour woman looked beautiful that night (hell, she looked beautiful every night) as she gave him a reassuring smile and a knowing look. MJ knew he was Spider-Man even before the incident with Europe and she’s been helping him with his job ever since.

One look from her reignited the boy’s confidence in himself as he dropped his cards, got back up, and leaned towards the microphone. He could do this.

“Now, I know we’ve been through a lot,” he started, “Europe, the Battle of New York...The Snap.”

He noticed the uneasy glances some of the students gave to one another as the memories of these events flooded back. They were raised in a world of iron men and god, where their city could be destroyed at any moment. Hell, they lost five years of their lives to a maniacal alien overlord.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I know. It can be overwhelming, the world we live in. We thought we would never make it out alive. We thought we were doomed. But we made it. We persevered, we worked our asses off, and we got to where we are now. Well, as it weird as it may sound, that’s honestly no different from adulthood. We think that this is the end of our lives, that we won’t have any future, but...if we can survive Thanos, I think we can survive college!”

Laughter erupted through the audience, reassuring the child that everything was going well.

He smiled, tears of joy starting to well up, “I am so grateful, not only for having been your classmate, but also for being...your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Thank you, Midtown High!”

The sound of clapping and cheering almost deafened Peter, as everyone was chanting his name. As he stepped down from the podium, he waved to everyone, almost like a president would wave to his citizens.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!,” he grinned, “I’ll be here all week! Well, not literally, but...you know what I mean.”

Peter walked across the room to finally embrace one of the people he cared about the most. MJ buried her neck into the boy’s shoulder as Peter stood on his toes to reach her.

Peter sighed, “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

“Well, it was better than that bio presentation from last month,” MJ pointed out.

“You ever gonna let me forget that?,” he asked.

“Not in a million years, Web-Head,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “Better than being the Menace of Queens, right?”

“Oh, I’d rather not think about Jameson right now,” Peter groaned.

“Yo, Pete!,” cried a voice from behind Peter. He turned to see his best friend, Ned Leeds, standing behind him, wearing his fedora and everything.

“Ned, holy crap, man!,” he hugged his friend, “I heard about you getting the Osborn Scholarship, congrats!”

“Thanks, Peter!,” Ned beamed, “Looks like you’re not the only one working for a billionaire!”

“Ey, last time I checked, Stark Industries is still on top,” Peter bragged. He was happy that even after the passing of Mr. Stark, his wife, Mrs. Potts, still wanted Peter to work for her at Stark Industries. It was only as an intern, but it was still nice to be working for the company he idolized for years.

“Whatever, man,” Ned scoffed, “By the end of this year, Oscorp’s gonna be the best of the best all thanks to yours truly.”

“Well, I’m sure your plans for a fully-functioning Lego Death Star will thoroughly impress your boss,” Peter commented.

“Don’t give Oscorp any ideas,” MJ snickered, “Knowing them, that’s totally something that overly-patriotic, corporate douchebag would build.”

As Ned and MJ went about their usual back-and-forth on Oscorp’s beliefs and policies, Peter could only watch and smile. This was what he loved about this school. This was what he was going to miss.

…

After a few years, the night ended and everybody began to head out. Ned headed out with Betty a half-hour before the party was over, leaving MJ and Peter on their own. 

Everybody was heading over to Flash Thompson’s house to keep the party going. MJ wasn’t the type to party, but she did like skulking in the back to creep out the party-goers. Peter usually liked to watch, but he was just dying to go out and fight crime.

The two walked out, hand-in-hand, as Peter begin to fiddle with his web-shooter on his left arm.

MJ couldn’t help but notice the gadget on the boy’s wrist, “You are just itching to get out of here, aren’t you.”

Peter gulped, quickly tugging his sleeve down to hide the object, “Oh, I, uh, I’m sorry, MJ, this speech’s just got me thinking.”

After a moment of silence, the taller girl scoffed, “Well, you gonna share with the class?”

Peter shook his head, “It’s just that...it’s starting to hit me. I’m now the only superhero still working in New York. I mean everyone else is either retired or...gone. It’s just me.”

The somber look on the boy’s face prompted the young woman placed an arm on his shoulder, “Hey, loser, you might be the only one in this city running around in spandex, but you sure as hell aren’t alone.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Peter said as he embraced the girl he cared about.

“Don’t stay out too late,” the girl commanded to him.

“I make no promises,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He only walked a few steps before rushing back, giving MJ a kiss on the cheek. The sight of her blushing got him to snicker as he hopped over the gates of his school and started swinging away.

MJ slowly lifted a hand to her face, “Oh, that nerd.”

…

The boy sat on the roof of a building in downtown Queens. Crime in the city was lax tonight, so Peter didn’t even have anyone to fight. He took of his mask and sighed, looking over the place that raised him.

Peter couldn’t help but feel alone now. He hasn’t had contact with any of the Avengers in about two years, not since Mr. Stark’s funeral. He knew that there were other heroes out there, but he hasn’t heard about them in news in a while.

Dr. Banner and Mr. Barton retired, Thor’s in space, Captain Rogers is in hiding, and Agent Romanoff and Mr. Stark are...gone. No one’s guarding the planet now.

The world needed protectors. Was Peter going to be the only one to step up for that role?

He sighed, “How did Mr. Stark do this?”

“You know, usually a guy getting out of high school would be out partying.”

Peter quickly turned around to see a man in a giant grey suit floating behind him. The guy was so large that even when his slow landing created a loud thud. The helmet popped off of his face to reveal a familiar face.

“Sup, Pete. Been a while,” greeted James Rhodes, the War Machine.

Peter met the soldier briefly during Tony’s funeral. He was nice, helped comfort him during the process.

The boy stuttered, “Rhodey, hey! I mean, Mr. Rhodey! I mean, Mr. Rhodes! Or is it Colonel Rhodes?”

The older man raised his hands up, “Whoa! Slow your roll there, kid. Rhodey’s fine. What are you doing up here?”

“Uh, just patrolling the neighborhood, keeping the city safe, the usual.”

“I saw you walk out of your school,” the colonel said, “You know, when Tony got of high school, the end of the year party he held at his place was something out of a dream. It was the type of thing older Tony would regret.”

“Yeah, figured,” the kid nodded, remembering the stories of Tony from before he became a superhero.

“Not that big of a party guy, huh?”, Rhodey noticed the shy look on the boy’s face.

“Pfft, before tonight, the last real party I had ended with me almost getting killed my homecoming date,” Peter laughed before regaining his composure, “Yeah, I...Parties have never really been that great for me. With everything that’s happened...I’m really not in the mood, you know?”

Rhodey nodded. He was more the type who would get dragged to parties instead of going on his free will, “I can get that. Sorry, I couldn’t help you with that whole Europe thing.”

“It’s cool. I know you’ve been busy,” Peter nodded sympathetically, “So, what brings you to Queens?”

The man in the armored suit began to shuffle awkwardly, “Well this is gonna sound crazy, but…I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Avengers Reassemble Ch 2

The king fondled with the silver ring on his finger, almost as though it would drop anytime soon. It looked as though T’Challa’s entire focus was solely on the trinket on his hand.

“Are you going to keep on fondling that ring all day,” his sister, Princess Shuri, joked. She walked towards him, a hologram of what looked like a finished building in her hand.

The two were standing before a construction site in Oakland where a few buildings were being built. The sound of drills and jackhammers filled the air, as well as what sounded almost like lasers. Construction workers, both American and Wakandan, ran back and forth, discussing plans and designs.

T’Challa rolled his eyes, “Oh, hush now. How goes construction?”

“Everything is going according to plan,” the teenager nodded, “The Outreach Centre should be finished by next month.”

“That is good,” the king nodded, “So many in this nation need our help as soon as possible.”

This area was once a symbol of Wakanda’s failures and mistakes. Where T’Challa’s father not only killed his own brother, but abandoned his own nephew. A nephew who almost caused the downfall of Wakanda itself.

Now, this place was going to be a symbol of Wakanda’s generosity and successes. A bridge between Wakanda and the rest of the world, where the technology and practices of T’Challa’s people could save lives.

However, to some people, it wasn’t enough.

Shuri’s smile slowly dropped as she looked around, “T’Challa, I know we are doing good work here, but do you not feel like we could do more?”

T’Challa sighed, having grown tired of this conversation, “Shuri, we have discussed this. We have been gone for five years. We need to concentrate on rebuilding our own nation and our ties to the rest of the world.”

While the Snap affected the lives of many, it hit T’Challa hard. The entire royal family was turned to dust, leaving the nation without a Black Panther to protect them or rule. The heart-shaped herbs were only to be consumed by those of royal blood, so no one could take the title. The Council and the Dora Milaje were the only ones keeping order.

Unfortunately, once the royal family returned, it’s been a difficult process returning to the original status quo. Even worse as outside of Okoye’s work with the Avengers, the nation has been keeping out of the issues the rest of the world was dealing with. It was as if they were backtracking to before Killmonger’s rule.

Shuri groaned, “I know the Council has been keeping you busy, but is there not a more proactive role we could take? Maybe while wearing a certain Panther uniform?”

“The role of the Black Panther is not only to fight off evil, but to bring hope and aid to those in need,” T’Challa shook his head, “I must not only-.”

“ ‘Break bones, but also build bridges’,” Shuri finished his sentence, a small smile crossing her face, “That was the only way Baba could get you to memorize your duties.”

T’Challa grinned, remembering his father’s words. He already had a lot of responsibilities to handle before Thanos’s attack. Now, that amount has doubled.

“I still feel like there is more we could be doing,” Shuri argued, “Like in New York. Fighting for a righteous cause, to protect people like we promised.”

“I understand,” T’Challa nodded, “But this is where our focus should be.”

The two stood in silence, their gaze on the construction, until an odd sound rippled through the air. Something that sounded like fires sparking.

“Wait, do you hear something,” the teenager asked.

They turned to see an amber-colored ring start to form behind them. Sparks flew from it as it looked like a figure was coming through.

T’Challa tilted his head, “Is that-?”

From the portal came a man wearing a long red cloak and a blue uniform, a golden necklace around his throat. It was the Master of the Mystic Arts himself, Doctor Stephen Strange.

“King T’Challa,” the sorcerer spoke in a deep voice, “I believe we have business to discuss.”

Shuri chuckled, “Well, if it isn’t the doctor with the cheekbones!”

“For Bast’s sake…,” T’Challa cursed, “What brings you to Oakland, Doctor Strange?”

“I need you to come with me,” Strange asked, “I have a proposal for you.”

The king turned to his sister, who laughed, “Like that movie Baba hated. Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, eh?”

T’Challa looked to the sky, asking for death, before walking towards the portal, “Just stay here.”

The king walked through the portal and found himself inside what looked like a large mansion. Like the ones his parents took him to when they made diplomatic trips to Europe.

“Where are we?,” T’Challa asked.

“Bleecker Street. New York,” answered Strange, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” the king nodded.

“Alright,” Strange turned to look at the collar of his cloak, “Cloak?”

Suddenly, the cloak fell off of the doctor’s shoulders and flew off to another room, bringing back a teacup with a spoon in it.

T’Challa warily took the cup into his hands, his eyes focused on the floating piece of clothing, “By the goddess…”

He only looked down when he felt the cup heat up. He looked down to see it slowly fill with hot tea, “Incredible...How are you doing this?”

“I’m not creating the tea out of thin air,” Strange explained, “Right now, that’s coming from the kettle of some college kid from London. Sugar?”

“Yes please,” the king nodded. Two cubes of sugar surfaced out of the cup, dissolving in the drink, “Impressive. Now, what is it that you wished to discuss?”

“It’s a simple invitation really,” Doctor Strange cleared his throat, “I have been sent to offer you a position amongst Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

T’Challa almost spat out his tea before gulping. He slowly began to realize what this was about, “You want me as an Avenger?”

Strange chuckled a little, “As odd as it is to say, yes, I’m here to bring you into the Avengers Initiative.”

The king began to eye the wizard carefully to make sure he wasn’t joking. He always respected the Avengers even before he actually met them, but he would’ve never thought in a million years that they would wish to have him as a member.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the team has returned,” T’Challa said.

“Not all of the original members have, but a few have come to me for help in choosing members,” Stephen explained.

“I assumed a man such as yourself would prefer to stick to your own corner of the universe,” T’Challa said, “Focusing only on the more...paranormal.”

“The people of Kamar-Taj have been protecting the Earth for centuries,” Strange described, “However, we always needed aid from more...earthly heroes.”

“Such as the Avengers.”

“Yes,” Stephen nodded, “That’s why I and a few others have joined to bring back the team. I believe a man of your prestige, power, and heroism would be a great addition.”

T’Challa was genuinely amazed to receive this offer and maybe in a different time, he would have immediately accepted the position. However, this was definitely the wrong time.

“I understand your concerns. If Thanos has taught us anything, it’s that the world needs protectors,” the ruler agreed, “However, I have my own dilemmas at the moment. I have my nation, my people,...”

“Your recent engagement?,” the sorcerer finished the statement, before quickly adding, “Congratulations, by the way.”

T’Challa nodded in thanks. A year after he returned to the world of the living, T’Challa decided to propose to his beloved Nakia. The woman inspired him to go out into the world in the first place and there was no one that he would’ve rather dedicated his life to.

“I don’t know if I have the time to act as a crime-fighter,” T’Challa frowned, looking away.

Stephen sighed and nodded, understanding the man’s concerns. As Sorcerer Supreme, he already had a large array of responsibilities. However, he knew that he needed to join this team if we wanted to make sure this reality was 100% safe.

“Sir, I know this is a lot to deal with and I’m sorry,” Strange apologized, “But the world...It needs heroes. Especially now that we’ve lost…”

“Now that we have lost Stark,” T’Challa ended the sentence, nodding somberly. 

He learned of how Strange told Stark about the one of fourteen-million outcomes where they would be successful and how in the end, Tony had to die to accomplish it.

Strange looked down at the floor, his face covered with guilt, “I may not have killed him myself, but I set the dominos up...I took an oath as a doctor not to do harm to others and I failed.”

T’Challa shook his head, “Stark made the choice of his own free will. Blaming yourself will get you nowhere. Believe me. I know.”

The king couldn’t help but think back to his crusade against the Winter Soldier, where his guilt for letting his father die overtook his senses. He knew the power of regret and grief and he knew that that wasn’t something he should face alone.

“I shall consider your invitation,” T’Challa sighed, “However, I cannot promise that I will accept it, Doctor.”

A smile finally came onto Doctor Strange’s face, “Thank you, T’Challa. Just contact me when you’ve made a decision.”

The doctor began to spin his arm in a circle, which opened up another amber portal behind T’Challa. Through it, he could see the construction in Oakland right there.

“I shall be in touch,” T’Challa nodded before walking through it.

Once the portal closed, Strange began to straighten his back and levitate, “Now, off to San Francisco.”

After a few seconds, his astral form surfaced from his body and vanished from the mansion, reappearing in a lab to greet two figures.

The doctor’s spirit looked down at the two, “Mr. Lang, Ms. Van Dyne, we need to talk.”

Scott’s eyes widened as his jaw almost dropped to the floor, “Oookay. Yeah, this is happening.”

Hope threw her arms up in frustration, “Oh, what the hell now?”

Avengers Reassemble Ch 3

Sakaar wasn’t a very forgiving place, as Brunnhilde’s ship was being tailed by a fleet of the planet’s deadliest pilots. What was supposed to be a diplomatic mission to find allies in the cosmos for New Asgard turned into a chase for vengeance.

“SHIT! CAN ANYONE READ ME?!,” Valkyrie shouted out to the communications device on her ship, “THIS IS BRUNNHILDE OF NEW ASGARD CALLING FOR AID!”

A few shots from behind her almost took off her ship’s right wing. The Asgardian dipped down to get out of her enemies’ s scope. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.

“I REPEAT! THIS IS BRUNNHILDE OF NEW ASGARD CALLING FOR HELP!,” the ruler called out, “I’VE GOT A SHIT TON OF MERCENARIES ON MY ARSE AND I’D RATHER NOT DIE TODAY!”

Valkyrie began to mutter to herself, “Become new ruler, he said. It would be an easy job, he said. You can trust me, I’m the mighty, all-knowing Thor, HE SAID!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ODIN, WHERE IS THAT WOMAN?!”

She could’ve just stayed here working for the Grandmaster or she could’ve been having fun somewhere on Alfheim, but nooo! She had to say yes to helping out Dumb and Dumber kill their evil sister! Now, she’s running a damn nation, everyone was either begging for her help or trying to kill her, and she had to stay sober for this mission for FOUR DAYS!

A beeping alarm came from the warrior’s dashboard, “Warning! Massive energy signature detected!”

“Oh, what in the Hel now?!,” Valkyrie groaned.

Out of nowhere, a blazing light caught her attention. It was like looking into the sun. The sound of explosions rattled the ruler’s ears as she tried to get a look at what was going on.

“Your highness,'' came a voice from the dashboard, “Need a hand?”

Valkyrie looked up to see a blonde woman in red and blue looking down at her, burning like a supernova. Captain Carol Danvers gave the Asgardian a smile, as she hovered before her ship.

“Well, if it isn’t the Kree Captain,” Brunnhilde noted, “Would it hurt for you to pick up the damn pager once in a while?”

“Aw, don’t tell me you came all the way to Sakaar for little ol’ me,” Carol jokingly mused.

“We’ve got some stuff to talk about,” Valkyrie told her knight in glowing armor, “You know a place where we can chat?”

…

“You are my type of guy,” Brunnhilde gleamed as she downed another bottle. 

The bar the two were at was filled with criminals, but they were the type not to draw attention to themselves by starting some type of fight with the two heroes. As the valkyrie chugged down the drink, Carol watched her carefully, starting to grow impatient.

“I’m guessing you didn’t cross galaxies just to get wasted,” Carol commented.

“Trust me, they do not sell this brand back on Earth, I’ll tell you that,” Brunn smirked, “No, I need your help. The whole of Earth does.”

“What’s going on?,” Danvers asked.

“That team of yours wants you back,” Valkyrie answered, “Those Avengers of yours.”

Carol scoffed. She remembered working with that group during the aftermath of the Snap. They weren’t exactly the best company, but she had respect for them. Plus, it was a whole team named after her! At least she knew Fury had taste.

“I thought they disbanded after Thanos.”

“They’re coming back together,” Valkyrie explained, “New group and all. Apparently, our names are on the roster.”

“Hm. And what makes them think that I would join them?,” the captain asked quizzically.

“From what I can tell, the Skrulls are doing much better now,” Valkyrie pointed out, “And a good number of the planets you were sent to help are doing far better now. Even this hellhole.”

“Yeah, the people running this place sure have it out for you,” Carol responded.

“Yep,” Valkyrie took another swig, “So, you in or out?”

Carol thought it over. She missed Earth. She really did. She missed the Louisiana nights. She missed messing around with Fury. She missed her family. But she couldn’t go back now.

After the Blip, she finally got them back. Her Maria, her Monica. But they were different. Staying with the Skrulls all these years caused the captain to forget about the shackles of time and age. While she remained as young as when she first got her abilities, time moved on for them. Maria may have forgiven her for the years she missed, but Monica was a bit more...hesitant.

Plus, this was a team! Last team she was on ended up betraying her. No, there was too much baggage.

Carol shook her head, “Look, I’m flattered and everything, but I’m more of a solo act. Your welcome for the save, by the way.”

“Of course,” Valkyrie smirked, “As is the Kree way, right? Not to work with those lower than you?”

The captain’s fists clenched, “I’m not a Kree.”

“Yet you still wear the uniform of one of their soldiers,” Valkyrie scoffed, “Look, I’m not good with emotions or sympathy or any of those made up words Bruce told me about, but I’m going to take a stab at it. The metaphorical stab, not the literal one.”

“Oh boy,” Carol exhaled, ready for some awful advice.

“I’ve tried running away from my responsibilities before. Tried to get away from the place I called home. Wasted my time drinking and working for whoever paid. Believe me, I would guzzle liquor until I blacked out,” Brunnhilde reminisced, “Then I realized that running didn’t solve anything. I had to go back, I had to fix things back home. I think what I’m getting at here is that you can’t run forever.”

Carol listened closely, sympathizing with the woman sitting next to her, “What’s your game in all of this?”

Brunnhilde bitterly let out a laugh, “...I’ve seen too many people die on my watch.”

She took another swig of her bottle and hopped off of her seat, “Well, once you decide to get off your arse and help out, you know where to find me.”

Carol watched the warrior walk out and began to think it over. How was she going to live her life?

Friendly Criminal Spider-Man AU Part One!

Weak

Pairing : More of a platonic Miguel O' Hara X Reader

Genre : Angst

Summary : Miguel hates feeling weak, something that you understand more than anyone else.

Request/story idea by: @quimerathetraveler

Wordcount: 0.9 k

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

( A/N: I’m trying different personalities to see whatever works with his character best, lemme know what ya’ll think. )

Miguel's eyes dart all over the area. 

He's injured, badly. A deep gash is crossed over his ribs, and not even the spray supplied by his suit for emergencies is doing him much good.

On top of that, he's exhausted, years of taking care of the multiverse having caught up to him.

" Boss, we got hi- Oh, no." The voice of one of the spider woman who he's come to help speaks as she notices his injury.

He's hunched over, holding his side whilst taking rough deep breaths. He feels vulnerable, hates having everyone' eyes on him.

" Boss, we should get you help!-" MJ calls, taking her mask off.

" No. I'm fine. Bring the anomaly to HQ, I'll get there myself."

MJ is visibly distraught by his words, but does what he says, not wanting to face whatever negative reaction he could bring up in his pain.

As she disappears, he doubles over, nearly forgetting that Jessica and you are at the scene as well.

Jessica sighs deeply before reacting.

" Miguel, maybe we should help. I doubt you'd be able to get back by yourself-"

He glares from the corner of his eye at her.

" I can do it, just g-"

" No you can't. "

Now his eyes shift to you.

Admittedly, he doesn't know you really well, even though your powers are the only ones that are similar to his. You have talons, venomous teeth and superhuman hearing and sight as well. He's barely ever spoken to you before though.

" I-"

" Don't argue with me. I'll jab you in your wound if you're going to be a baby about it. " You scoff, your eyes showing disinterest as you move to help him.

He glares at you, but it doesn't seem to deter you in the slightest.

He's not necessarily surprised to. You've been through a lot in your own universe, the horrors you had to face giving you a pass without doubt into the spider team. You're physically not one of the strongest, but you're fearless, making you one of the stronger ones of the team anyway. It would take a lot more than his glare to shake you.

He can't help but feel puzzled and surprised as you lift his arm over your shoulder. You sync both of your watches, and soon enough you're tearing a gateway with your claws back into universe 2099.

Everyone is surprised when the both of you step into HQ, Jessica having gone back on her own.

Miguel hates the feeling he gets when everyone shares worried glances, them never having seen their boss so vulnerable before.

You must've noticed.

" What? Did none of you ever seen someone injured?" You call out roughly.

Most of the spiders turn their heads. All except Hobie, who gives Miguel a blank look as he so often does before nodding at you.

Hobie and you get along well, the only difference being that Hobie creates a lot of trouble and has quite a big mouth, whilst you refrain in the back. The calm before the storm.

Eventually, you carry him to the infirmary, and help him sit down on one of the beds.

" Will you be okay or do you need me to call a medic?" You ask, creating distance between the two of you again as you step back, leaning against a wall.

" I'll be fine." He says gruffly.

You nod, but don't move away.

He glances at you again, ignoring the sudden spinning in his head.

" What? You can go." He pushes.

" I'm waiting for you to pass out. I'll call a medic after." You tell him nonchalantly, crossing your arms over one another.

He sighs, knowing you're right. He needs help. He can't do it by himself this time. 

He doesn't want any more people to see him like this though.

" Can you.... help me?" He asks, looking away with an embarrassing pink dust on his cheeks.

Your eyes widen, surprise evident before they harden again, and you nod.

" I've never done this on someone else other than myself though."

You don't say anything else as you wordlessly get to work.

He tends to forget that you've been alone for a very long time before you joined the team.

You stitch up his wounds carefully, and honestly quite messy. He still rather has this than having more people see him like this.

When you're done, you run a careful finger over the stitches to make sure they're secure before stepping away.

" This is the best I can do. Good luck with it." You tell him, going back to your stoic demeanor.

You turn to leave, not expecting a reply, when he grasps your wrist with his right hand.

You tense in response, not being used to physical contact. Upon noticing it, he lets go.

" Thank you.."

You glance at him, your eyes not betraying your emotions this time as you nod.

" Yeah... Don't get used to it."

an angel at the bus stop [ 2/8 ]

pairing—steve rogers x barista!reader

summary—the origin of the yellow umbrella and the lost notebook that get's returned

warnings—this is all just pure fluff, dorky Steve and the he has lots of anxiety, Steve's a dumbass, this guy was and is definitely accident prone

a/n | I think I have a kink for meet-cute scenarios (╥﹏╥)

I don't like using y/n so I used the name Sunny for introductions

this is so cheesy (ノಠ益ಠ)ノi h8 myself

dude Tumblr did something weird and the words went to different places so i hope nothing's wrong since I fixed it now ⊙﹏⊙

❥ owner of a lonely heart

Steve's in bed wide eyed without a single ounce of sleepiness in his mind, maybe he just didn't want to sleep as he kept changing his positions on the bed that felt too soft. It felt like he’d sink any second, like laying on a bed made of marshmallows.

He secretly didn't want to sleep because if he did, he'd dream of all the things he missed.

He'd dream about the life he could have had before the serum, the war, and the sleeping for decades.

Most nights he'd have nightmares, specifically about Bucky, his best pal falling off the train a million times and every single time he's reminded how he couldn't save him.

Bucky would never want him to blame himself of course, but his thoughts can't help but drift to how he was finally a hero but he couldn't even save his best friend.

He'd also have the usual dream about the bar, surrounded by the Howling Commandos as he and Peggy finally have their dance.

He'd cling to the memories he had like it was yesterday because it was—for him all of it just happened recently, but decades had passed and he can never go back.

He had enough and decided to just sleep on the sofa as he watched the rain drizzle against his window on this lonely Sunday night. 

His thoughts drifting back to you, he was consumed by the memories of that afternoon that you gave him free dessert and how he feels like he knew you.

Then it clicked like a light bulb above his head dinged, he did know you! he met you, a week before meeting you at that small coffee shop. 

Just like the night he met you, it was raining. heavily 

flashback in Steve’s POV 

He met you after leaving the bus stop and that was the story of how a bright yellow umbrella currently rested at the side of his front door.

The rain poured violently as Steve walked away from the bus stop after being dropped off, he waited a couple minutes hoping the weather would get better but alas it unfortunately didn't.

As he realized he'd just have to walk home completely soaked, he groaned as he decided to use his brown leather jacket as a makeshift umbrella. How badly he wished he brought one as the rain continuously poured down on him. He was used to it though, he was a soldier and the war didn't pick a weather.

He didn't walk too fast, not taking the chances with the slippery road. He didn't worry much about getting sick because the serum had strengthened his immune system.

His day was honestly going badly. He still hasn't grasped the concept of electronics yet and he had just received the files about Peggy , the Howling Commandos.Oh! and his microwave broke–just great. He had to go out to eat which led him walking home soaked from head to toe. 

… and then he met you, probably the only good thing about his day

As he walked the side of the empty sidewalk lit by the lamp posts that stood a few feet away from each other, there you were, your figure blurred due to the rain drops that went in his eyes. 

He blinked the rain drops away to see you better, you were wearing a simple white dress that glowed against the dark street and as he observed you more he noticed the sunflowers around your dress. Your white dress and bright smile could've fooled Steve that you were an angel. 

What made you stand out though?

the obvious big bright yellow umbrella that is.

Weirdly the scene that played Infront of Steve seemed magical, majestic even. You probably didn't notice him as you walked right past him. The five seconds of briefly seeing you, he already wanted to see you again.

He saw your bright smile as your hair was slightly damp. You were smiling as you walked barefoot, probably towards the bus station he just came from. You were holding your heels in one hand as the other tightly clutched the umbrella.

Steve stood still for a couple seconds mesmerized by you. You were like the sun in the middle of all the rain, literally. You looked like the sun in Steve's eyes that night. He was snapped out of his thoughts as he hit the lamp post a bit hard, he clutched his nose groaning in pain, from the hard pole and his stupidity.

He suddenly felt the rain stop and as he glanced up, a yellow umbrella came to sight. He looked to his side, and there you were the girl that caught his eyes looking at him worried. He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw you were waving your hand in front of him.

Great, you just saw the mighty Captain America be the biggest idiot in the rain. 

“ DUDE YOU OKAY? didn't catch a concussion did you!!???! DO I CALL 911!? “ you exclaimed in panic as he remained silent, watching your movement as you quickly tried to grab something from your pocket

“ hey! im okay—im fine, thanks “ he said forcing a smile with a slightly reddish nose and a flushed face hoping to keep you calm

“ HEY! you can have my umbrella, I’m waiting at the bus stop and you seem like you need it “ you declared probably pitying him as you pat his shoulder

He was mentally facepalming himself for looking like a complete idiot in front of the beautiful dame in front of him.

“ you don't have to,truly im fine, miss “

“ it's fine you can have it and i hope your nose is fine “

before he could refuse you already ran away towards the direction of the soon arriving bus, using your hand to shield yourself. You momentarily seek protection from the rain at the bus stop he previously was at.

“ THANK YOU! “ Steve yelled from a distance and saw you turn around to smile at him with a small wave of a hand before you boarded the empty bus and left. He was gonna run after you and maybe strike a conversation, seeing as you stayed at the bus stop temporarily but quickly backing out because of fear that you'd think he was a creep.

He smiles at the memory of you and the umbrella you gave him. Maybe he had to thank his stupidity sometimes. If it weren't for the physical evidence of your umbrella in his apartment, he'd think you weren't real. You felt like a fragment of imagination , maybe caused by hitting his head on the lamp post that night. 

end of flashback

He didn't know what to think of the fact he met you again. He never thought out of all the people who worked in the shop he went for coffee, it would be you who’d make his coffee. He thought maybe it was fate, a brief chance of luck. 

All he could do was smile as he thought of how he'd act the third time he’ll meet you, maybe with less foolishness.

‘ they did say third times the charm ‘

‘ did she remember me? ‘

‘ Is that why she gave me cake? ‘

' the cake was good '

‘ DOES SHE THINK I'M AN IDIOT? ‘

' What coffee do I order next? ' 

Different thoughts and questions came to mind as he drifted to sleep with a smile, for the first time since he woke up—the sleep felt calm. It didn't have the feeling of fear that he wouldn't wake up again and it wasn't another nightmare about the past.

He dreamt of something funny this time, the monkey he once drew but instead of his uniform and shield, the monkey held a yellow umbrella and a banana as it unicycled over a sunny field.

Here you are now, working another day at the coffee shop on a boring Monday night. You were currently outside as you were painting the sign of the coffee express halfway. You muttered curse after curse angrily as you mentally pictured your boss for giving you this annoying task, you were an art major but you weren't a freaking carpenter.

He slept peacefully for the first time and maybe it was because of you.

There's also the current painting you needed to finish for another class you were taking which you hadn't done as you had a knack for procrastinating to the last second.

Though you were thankful since your boss allowed you to use the extra paint for your project, you were just annoyed at painting the large sign at two am. 

You attempted to reach for the higher parts of the sign board, that you momentarily forgot you were standing on a ten feet tall ladder. Your balance slipped as your shoes were no longer feeling the unstable ladder but quickly about to plummet on your death.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You never hit the ground though, you kept your eyes close not realizing a pair of thick arms cradled your form.

Were you dead? Was death like this? you didn't feel the fall as you quickly died? that's it? you died falling while painting a stupid sign?

You slowly adjust your vision to the bright light of the lamp post thinking it's the lights of heaven, not quickly seeing a pair of blue eyes filled with worry looking at you, you couldn't hear what he was saying distracted by the fact the guy you had a little crush on is in front of you.

Why the fuck would he be the one to greet you in the gates of heaven? Were you in a coma and are currently imagining him?

“ you're hot “ you voiced out without thinking instead of asking if you were still alive.

“ what? “ Steve asked confusedly still gravely worried 

“ Am I dead? “ you finally asked, just as you saw yourself through the reflection of the shop, you were in the arms of the cute guy as he stood there, easily holding you like a sack of potatoes.

“ you okay? “ 

“ yeah , I think my life just flashed before my eyes … “ you said monotonously still a bit out of it as you felt yourself slowly get steadied on the ground with your hands in instinct using his shoulders as support

“ nice muscles … “ you weren't even high but close death might have just given you no shame as you compliment Steve for the second time without a single thought in mind

“ thank you? … Are you okay? seriously? Can I call someone? hey, look at me “ Steve ignoring the compliment and staring worryingly as he saw you staring at the floor, he used his one hand to make you glance up at him, hoping you didn't have a concussion as remembered you not hitting the ground.

The action made you melt, feeling his warm big hand on your cheek and staring at his piercing blue eyes obviously worried about you, you blushed as you made him drop his hand or else you would have straight up kissed him there and there.

You fanned yourself quickly as you planned out what you were about to say without embarrassing yourself as you tried to control your blushing. 

“ thank you … uhh what’s your name? i feel like I should know the guy who saved my life just now “ 

“ Steve uhh Rogers “ he stated hesitantly, afraid you'd recognize his name from a museum.

“ Steve—oh my god! “ you shrieked with excitement

Hearing you say his name for the first time also made Steve want to make you say it a hundred times more. 

' there it is, you knew him ' he voice in his head readying himself for the

' your the Captain America! ' 

“ —you just saved my life, oh my god! Thank you!! Do you want cake? because we have lots of cake! “ he breathe a laugh at your nervous demeanor , thankful that you didn't know who he actually was 

He chuckled at your offering of cake for saving your life, he found everything you did fascinating and just absolutely adorable 

“ Sure , maybe just like the free sample you gave me last time? “

“ The cookies n’ cream special? of course, anything you like actually “ you remarked as you opened the glass door for him to enter 

“ Perfect timing, if you weren't there I'd probably be dead or with a broken spine, wait–what are you doing out here?It's like 2 am? doubt you were jogging based on your attire “ you said teasing as you looked at his outfit which is a simple black leather jacket and black pants with evident white paint along with his polished black shoes

“ oh my god, sorry for the paint Steve… god I'm such a clutz “  you said placing the whole plate of chilled cake on the table as Steve lifted his foot seeing there are paint stains on him only as far as his knee

“ don't worry about that, I can replace these—can't replace a life uhh your name? “ he chuckled nervously as he didn't know your name 

“ Sunny “ you replied 

“ even your name is pretty, Sunny “ uttered Steve rather quickly as the thought came to him, the comment making you both blush

“ And I was here on a walk? “ Steve stated with uncertainty since he only went here to see you, maybe order coffee on a small chance that he'd be able to talk to you 

“ oh thought you were here for this “ you said as you reached for the sketchbook that became a bit dusty under the counter, you raised the book in hand waving it slightly

You both sat conversing at one of the tables as you ate both a piece of the cake. The conversation going from his sketches to your empty canvas he spotted. You guys talked for an hour about art, him saving your life to small things like favorite color, food and to why Steve seemed old fashioned in which you guessed was that he's mormon. Steve agreed even if he didn't exactly know what that meant, better than you finding out he was basically a 97 year old breathing fossil.

“ oh! yeah, definitely passed by here to get that thing back “ Steve laughed, ditching the lame excuse he previously exclaimed.

Then it started raining, drizzle hitting the window panels of the shop added by a surge of lighting startling both of you. Steve got a feeling of deja vu except both of you fortunately aren't soaked from head to toe.

“ ugh , I don't have a ride home or an umbrella, I miss my umbrella “ you said remembering that you gave away your umbrella to some stranger a week ago.

The umbrella does not really hold an important meaning but you did have it for three years.

You had forgotten the memory of the guy you gave your umbrella to though, it wasn't like you were the kindest person on earth—you just saw a guy crash his face into a lamppost and felt bad, felt like the least you could do was give your umbrella to the poor idiot.

Though your statement made Steve choke on his second slice of cake

“ So what happened to your umbrella? “ Steve asked nervously, realizing you didn't recognize it was him you gave your umbrella to.

“ gave it to some idiot who hit his face on the street pole “ you said casually with a chuckle as you took another bite of the cake slice you had staring at the window being rained at

“ I–i was the guy you gave the yellow umbrella to “ he proclaimed carefully as he saw you quickly turn your head towards him

“ I never mentioned it was yellow … you were that idiot!? “ you said with an amused laugh as you saw Steve laugh as well with slightly reddened cheeks

“ harsh but yes , i'm the idiot “ said Steve embarrassingly as he covered his face 

“ for what it counts you're a very cute idiot “ you said making Steves face blush more 

“ So just to be sure you're not a stalker right … ? “ you said casually as if that would save you if Steve is actually a stalker but you knew he was too nice to be one

“ no-no of course note, that would never be my intention, i would n-never invade your privacy “ Steve stammered as he stood up from his seat 

You bursted out laughing seeing his panicked state 

‘ he looks too cute, definitely not a stalker–well if he is ,i am not complaining ‘ you thought 

“ I'm only teasing, don't worry Steve " you said making him take a deep breath while sitting back down 

“ Wanna recreate the first time we met? “ you teased as you gazed outside that had rain still continuously pouring after an hour and a half

“ I'm just gonna wrap up the cake so you can take it home “

The two's conversation continued , well more of just you teasing Steve about the rain incident. You enjoyed making Steve blush, the cutest parts were when his ears would turn red.

“ you don't have to give me the whole cake Sunny, I already had two slices “ said Steve sheepishly seeing you clean up and pack up the cake in a box 

“ oh , don't worry about that , you my dashing hero deserve more than one box of cake, i'd give you this coffee shop if i could for saving my life “ you stated as a fact, you were still a bit in shock that you could have died moments ago but Steve definitely made you feel better, having him as company.

The rain stopped a couple minutes later though, fortunately you and Steve wouldnt have to be soaked from head to toe again.

" just wait here, I need to get my bag from the storage room " you announced smiling already walking inside the average sized room that was beside the cashier

As you were packing up your belongings, Steve's having an internal turmoil about how it would be appropriate to ask for your number but it also could potentially end up as him screwing everything up

He heard it was more normal now to ask for a lady’s number but he didn't even know if he's your friend.

" fuck this " he said as he stood outside the door hearing faint sounds of you packing your things, a surge of confidense hitting him as he felt determined to get your number.

Even if he didn't have a smartphone, he'd just use a normal telephone that he could ask from Fury. 

As you open the door going inwards , you come very close face to face with Steve. The close proximity makes you both freeze and slightly redden. He lets out a small squeak of Hi while shyly rubbing his neck as he asks “ I know this is pretty forward but could I get your number? “ , he anxiously waits for your answer while fear grows inside him as the silence continues.

He finally exhales the air he didn’t know he's been keeping in as you cheerfully replied 

“ sure! “ with a wide grin you take a paper to write your number in

Steve waits outside as you arrange some things in the shop before actually closing. 

Steve smiles brightly as you gave him the paper that had your phone number, carefully tucking it in his pocket for safe keeping. 

He couldn't contain his excitement, whispering shout a ‘yes’ as he fist bumps the air having successfully got your number.

" bucky would be proud, rogers " he said patting his own shoulder with a ridiculous smile

" You got the girl’s number and a cake " he said smugly as he looked at you as you unplugged some sockets and glanced at the cake in hand inside a box wrapped with a fancy gold ribbon. 

“ ready to go madam? “

“ yes , superman “

“ like the guy with laser eyes? … and big muscles “ teased Steve remembering your comment making you blush as you punch his bicep 

“ you’re annoying “ you grumble while walking away fast but a smile couldn't help but escape your lips 

“ hey! wait for me “ shouted Steve from a distance 

“ eat my dust old man “ you joked as you ran a bit while Steve groans not being able to run as he's carrying a cake

The two continued chasing each other playfully through the empty wet streets, splashing some puddles along the way. Steve being the gentleman he is, walked you to your house and refused to walk away even if his apartment was in another direction. He didn't want to leave you until he had seen you walk inside your house with his own eyes ensuring your safety. The night ended with you kissing Steves cheek for walking you home 

“ night, my hero ~~ “ you said as Steve started walking away but still looking at you

“ goodnight sunshine ~~ “ he voiced from a distance making you giggle as you walked inside your house ending the night 

Steve turned away smiling in pure bliss, walking the empty street as the sunrise started to show.

3, 7 and 9 for Loki

It takes a lot to make Loki sick, so when he does he's an absolute bear and wants to be doted on. Plus, kisses make the ache/hurt feel better.

You Make It Better

Loki x reader

Words: 347

~~~~~

Based on:

3. Acts like a baby when they’re sick

7. Secretly loves nose/forehead kisses

9.Gets cranky when they’re tired

~~~~~

“Darliiiinnggg,” dragged a hoarse voice coming from your bedroom.

“I’m coming,” you say, putting the finishing touches on the hot tea.

Loki was sick, or something of the sort. You didn’t exactly know what it was and at first when you pointed out he was ill, he declined, claiming that he doesn’t get sick. But it was obvious; the tired eyes, the unusual unkempt look, his more irritable than usual tone, it was obvious that he wasn’t well.

After disagreeing with you for about an hour, you’ve somehow done it. You’ve convinced him to take a nap and the moment his body hit your bed, his attitude melted and he did a complete one-eighty.

His voice that was booming before was now soft with each word.

Currently finishing up, you slowly step into the bedroom with the cup in hand. Across the room, there Loki lay waiting for you.

“I made you Peppermint tea,” you said, holding it out.

He gently pushed your hand to the side, “I don’t need foolish tea,” he said. “Okay, what do you need then? Cold water? A warm towel? A cold towel?”

Despite being unwell, that didn’t stop a grin from spreading along on his face, without a word he tugged you downwards and you leaned lowering your head closer. Bringing both of his warm hands to your cheeks he continues to pull you. You expect him to stop sometime, but he pulls you until your lips are against his forehead. Then he leans back satisfied, “much better,” he says with a wink and you shake your head with a grin.

“Get some rest,” you say, turning around to leave the room. “Wait!” He shouts and you turn back, “I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

His arms extended out, “Your warmth.”

Although a little bit surprised, you can’t help but grin to yourself, who would’ve thought that the man who used to abhor romance would be laying in front of you begging for your cuddles.

You climbed into his arms making yourself the little spoon before you relaxed against him.

Ultraviolence

(Not my gif!)

A/N: ….let’s pretend that I didn’t take a giant hiatus and not write for months on end…. K? K.

Bonsoir every1 !!! I’m so happy to be back writing and super excited to publish my first fic !! I’m going to attempt to post 1 chapter a week but will see how that goes lol. Anyways, I hope u enjoy my newest baby, ‘Ultraviolence” !!

Premise: Your a psychiatrist for the Avengers focusing on PTSD and trauma rehabilitation. When Thor’s estranged brother gets sentenced to live on earth till Odin sees fit, you find yourself attempting to help Loki.

Pairing: Loki x OC, (Nadezhda Novikov)

Warnings: none rlly for this chapter :)

(NOT PROOF READ)

Word count: 1.5k

Translations: none.

I do not give anyone permission to translate or

repost my work, please be respectful - if you

enjoyed please comment or reblog!!

Chapter 1 : The introduction

————————————————————————

"Mornin dez" Stark entered the compound's kitchen, immediately heading for the coffee pot as you drank out of your own cup.

"Good morning Anthony." You said irritatedly. Anthony always found a way to rub you the wrong way. No matter what is was, he always pissed you off. Maybe it was the whole big brother little sister relationship you two always had, or just both your sarcastic personalities bouncing off of each other.

"Dez !" Natasha, Your big sister, said running up to you with her wide, pearly, smile. You smiled giving her a big hug in return. One grumpy Yelena followed behind, snatching Anthony's fresh cup of coffee right out of his hand with a smile.

After escaping the red room, you dedicated your time to gaining your psychology degree and fighting crime with the fellow avengers. You had 'superpowers' yourself, probably the only reason you were an avenger in the first place. You acted as a team therapist, as well as specializing in trauma recovery. Today you began to help the dreaded assignment, or at least that's what everyone told you it would be like. You had never met Loki Laufeyson, but you were about to.

"You almost ready?" You snapped out of your trance, watching Fury walk through the door. Him, Anthony, Thor, and Bruce would be helping and supervising you throughout the project.

Loki had been commanded to stay on earth under the avengers custody until Odin, deemed it fit for him to return to his homeland. Thor visited daily, mostly coming back torqued after some argument they had.

"Mhm," you said, gulping the last bit of coffee you had left, grabbing your books, notepad, and pen.

As they all accompanied you down the eerily unoccupied hall; zero words were exchanged as you finally made it to the gods chambers.

Anthony pushed ahead of you all. After swiping a keycard, using his hand print, AND a retinal scan, the door let out a loud series of clicks. He quickly moved out of the way as Thor took lead, pushing the door open walking in unbothered. Anthony and fury followed, you being last in line. As you entered the room, Loki sat chained to an interrogation table. You sighed at the overprotective security. You had once been in his shoes, except instead of trying to take over a whole city you tried to assassinate the whole team.

This occurred right after you were freed from Dreykov's custody. You failed to believe your sisters were your sisters, and that the avengers had saved you. As you held your own sister cornered against the wall, she said your name. Not your number, not your code. She humanized you. For the first time in your life you heard your given name aloud.

"Does he really have to be chained to the table?" Your accent thick, shocking the man sitting across the table. Anthony rolled his eyes and laughed.

"While we're in here? Uh, yeah. When we leave do whatever floats your boat. Just remember I'm not cleaning up your bloody corpse." You rolled your eyes sitting at the seat already pulled out for you.

"Who's this?" Loki looked over at the three men. Anthony had already started to leave, done with the situation at hand.

"She's a—a friend, who wants to help you.." Thor stuttered out, clearly not good at coming up with something on the spot. Nick rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms impatiently.

Fury was hesitant to even entertain your idea of treating; or at least attempting to treat Laufeyson. He was a full case file waiting to be closed. Another relic in Shield's database.

"I've got it from here, I'll let you know when I want out." You laughed, ushering them along.

As the door clicked shut, you brought your hands out and allowed the magic to flow through your palms and to the cuffs.

"I'm letting you out. And remember these hands aren't just for unlocking cuffs." You smiled as he rolled his wrists, rubbing the faint lines they left with his opposite hand.

"So are you going to tell me what you are?" He snarked. You laughed under your breath, opening your note pad.

"I'm one of them, but I'm also a psychiatrist." You looked up from the yellow pages, staring right into his eyes. His face contorted through plenty emotions, before settling on one. Anger.

"I don't need a fucking psychiatrist." He spat through gritted teeth, anticipating you to be upset.

But you stayed content.

"No, but I'm sure I can help." You shrugged, continuing to remain eye contact. He rolled his eyes and stayed silent.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Your brows furrowed, keeping that contact as you clicked your pen.

"I have a feeling your going to ask them anyways." He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Mhm!" You hummed enthusiastically, purely to piss him off.

"So, I have your file here, at least what we were able to obtain from your brother-"

"Adoptive, brother." He cut you off.

"Adoptive, brother," you sighed. "Is there anything you'd like to share before we go through your history?" Quite monotonously said.

"I'll correct you as we go." He replied slouching back in his seat.

After about an hour of back and forth about what Thor had said and Lokis take on it, you finally had your notepad full. But, you hadn't got to current events just yet. You could feel his knee bouncing faster and faster as you neared the present.

"If you wish to stop at anytime please tell me. The only way I can truly help you is if your honest with me, and trust me." You hadn't even bothered bringing Odin up; despite the fact he's the source of it all.

He rolled his eyes and sat upright.

"I don't need your pity." He sneered once more.

"What makes you think it's pity?" You cocked your head, putting your pen down.

"It's all anyone offers. Pity or hatred. Nothing more, nothing less."

"It's empathy, Loki. And to be fair the hatred is well deserved, you came into these peoples planet, their home, and tried to take over." You took a pause. "But it can be forgiven."

"Do you truly think I'm stupid enough to fall for the fake ideology that 'all can be forgiven?' I am a god you dull Midgardian. I cannot, and WILL not be forgiven for my actions, and I could give two shits if they did." Your eyes widened a bit at the speech, but without fail you had a comeback.

"No, not everyone will forgive you. That is impossible. And something all of us have to cope with. We are not perfect, god or human. And we also have to accept that. I think that's something we should work on; as well as this feeling that you don't deserve forgiveness." You said rather calmly for just being called a dull Midgardian.

He said nothing in response, concluding your session. As you took a peep at your watch realizing it had been about an hour, you flipped you notepad shut, and raised you hand to put his back in cuffs.

"Someone will escort you to your room in a few minutes. I look forward to working with you, Loki." You smiled at him. He frowned, more confused than anything.

As you made your way around stark tower, you arrived at the conference room you were supposed to meet at after the appointment.

"Agent Novikov," Fury greeted you. Anthony gave a nod and Thor gave a smile. A moment of silence passed as you settled into your office chair at the table, cracking open your notes.

"So, how'd it go with reindeer games?" Stark finally broke the silence. His hands intertwined, resting on the glass table top.

You sighed, briefly looking at your notes.

"I have reason to believe he has significant trauma, mostly surrounding his upbringing and parentage. As well as a suicide attempt, that led to his run in with Chitauri. Possibly anger issues, more or likely stemming from childhood. Other than that I've seen worse cases; he's not a lost cause." Your brows furrowed as you glanced over your notes quickly again.

"So, what's your course of action?" Fury questioned.

"Therapy, socialization, possibly medication? Not quite sure about that though; I do think he should be socialized with the team, treated as if he's not a threat. That would be good for him."

"Woah woah there, slow your roll, he is a threat. And I'm not sure it's a good idea to have him outside of his cage until we're sure he's improving." Stark intervened. You nodded in agreement.

"Of course. But as soon as I'm sure he's improving, I'd like to further discuss socialization with the team." You agreed, standing up with your note pad and pen clutched to your chest.

Thor gave you a thanks on your way out, as you made it back to the common room where Natasha was waiting for the news.

Even Heaven Cries || Prologue

Word Count: 440

Warnings: none

Author: Rouge

He didn’t remember much.

He was certain of only one thing: he needed to find him. He had to find Bucky…

His injuries had healed, leaving little else but faint silvery scars where the bullets and metal hand had bitten into him. The serum’s boost to his immune system had saved him from an infection from the contaminated water, and mended the injuries quickly enough.

They could take everything he had. They could break everything he was. But still he would be rising from the ground, because he had a reason. Bucky….

 Steve stayed in his apartment in Washington only because firstly, he had to prepare everything. And secondly, he knew where does Steve live…

 He knew that search for his friend won’t be easy.

Bucky was an assassin and for sure he had his own ways to disappear when he only wanted to.

Sometimes Steve had an impression that someone was visiting his apartment during his absence. He wasn’t sure if that really happened, or if his own desperate hope was playing tricks on him. Steve could swore that sometimes he would return home to find something off; a paper on his desk moved a half-inch to the left, some drops of water by the sink, the blanket on the couch folded a bit differently than he remembered, and, most alarmingly, a single, minuscule drop of blood he’d found on the windowsill. He told himself it had to be Bucky, that he knew where he lived and could easily sneak in.

It sounded absurd even to him, but there was a tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up one day to find his friend at the door. A foolish hope, he knew it, but optimism was one thing that he never could quite shake. So he was leaving his window unlocked anyway, just in case he wasn’t as delusional as he feared.

 For most of the time, he just needed to be alone, to try and find Bucky on his own. He knew he was out there, somewhere, and he was determined to find him. 

Steve was, of course, esteeming the presence of Sam, who was trying to help him as much as he only could, but mostly Rogers preferred to work alone.

 He won't just conform, no matter how they shake his core.

He needed to fulfill his own vendetta. He had sworn to himself, that he will find everyone, who ever dared to put hands on Bucky.

They devastated his friend. His pal. His buddy. HIS BUCKY…

Victory was in his veins. He simply knew it.

And now revenge was about to begin.

The chronicles of the winter || Part XI

Part II  || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII|| Parta VIII || Part IX || Part X continuation of imagine 

Word Count: 6770

Warnings: strong language, blood and injuries

Author: Beast

"You're safe, you're safe…"

The words reached him gradually, spoken softly and warmly as his tentative grip on reality tightened. He felt awful, head swimming and senses dulled. He wanted nothing more than to give in to the lull of sleep, to let go of consciousness and fall back into the waiting darkness, but he knew that would leave him vulnerable. The awareness of his own body was painfully slow to return. He was lying on something soft, his shoulder ached with a pain like broken glass in his head, his mouth was far too dry and something was touching him.

For some odd reason, he wasn't as panicked as he thought he'd be. Concerned was a more accurate word; concerned about what was near him and who was speaking, but the voice was comforting and gentle, and his guard wasn't so quick to build up. It was familiar in some odd way that he couldn't quite put his finger on; it was nothing like the barking orders and fearful murmurs of the white-coated men who pulled him from the icy depths of cryostasis. He couldn't have been in cryo for that matter, he felt too warm for that, and waking from that death-sleep never happened on something soft; he always awoke strapped down on a metal table, alone.

Movement in front of him; someone was standing, walking away. He heard wooden floorboards creak softly underfoot. Not in the facility. That was assuring, but also alarming. Where the hell was he, if he wasn't back there? Memories came back in a fuzzy tangle of pain and confusion, not at all clear and providing no answers. All he could definitively pick out was running, running, running, and suffocating pain. It was too much of a jumbled mess to make sense of.

Testing his body was difficult. The pain was sharp enough to register through the programming, indicating that something was damaged severely. His thoughts were too sluggish for him to adequately catalog his own wounds in his mental checklist to relay to his handlers. Wait—the handlers are dead. That realization forced his eyes open, mind in desperate need of affirmation for that line of thought. The light, however dim it might have been, was oppressive and overpowering. He blinked several times before he could make out any semblance of detail. The walls were painted a warm, light color, with pictures and furniture scattered around the room. It was nothing like the sterile space he typically woke in. Everything about it was different, but not in an uncomfortable sort of way. He could see a pile of bloody clothes—mine?—off near the door, and was suddenly quite aware of how defenseless he felt.

"… Bucky?" the voice was so sudden it caused him to twitch, body suddenly tense and ready to spring when he caught sight of someone peeking in from a doorway across the room. His vision was still blurry but he thought he recognized him. When the person stepped closer he was sitting up in an instant—and instantly regretted it. The sharp movement caused a burst of warmth on his shoulder, choking down a yelp at the intense pain. He chanced looking away from the man, metal hand cautiously touching the back of his shoulder. The limb lacked tactile sensation, but he did determine there was something spongy and yielding there, and when he removed the hand, the fingers were covered in fresh blood. My shirt was removed and wounds tended to. Did the man do this?

The couch, he'd realized he was lying on one a few seconds prior, dipped slightly as the man sat down next to him, keeping enough space between them so he wasn't crowded. The fact that he had approached without him noticing was enough to alarm the asset into immediate guard. He pressed himself against the arm of the couch, back against it and wound as far away from the other as he could get it. He studied him intently, looking for any weapon or any item that was a danger. He was ready to defend himself at the slightest provocation.

"I brought you some juice, if you want something to drink." The man with the bright eyes spoke softly, offering him a clear plastic cup filled about halfway with the liquid, smiling at him with familiarity. It was brightly colored and somewhat unusual looking, but it smelled rather pleasant and his dry throat was suddenly at the forefront of his awareness. The confusion surrounding how he got here was still taking precedence in his mind, but the man, he remembered something about him. His voice was the one that had said he was safe. His hands were faintly stained with blood and his shirt was marred with it as well. He must be the one who treated me. He wasn't entirely sure why that thought was comforting, but it was.

Moments passed with no movement between the two, the assassin distrustful and rightfully wary. Kindness and compassion were both incredibly foreign concepts, locked out of him by layers and layers of ridged programming and conditioning. There had to be some reason this man was doing this. Was he being prepped for something?

He swallowed thickly, the dryness of his throat too much to ignore, and cautiously extended his metal hand out to take the offered cup. Eye contact was never broken, not giving the other the chance to do anything that could threaten him. The cup was fragile, thin plastic, and it took a little testing to make sure he wouldn't break it before he took it from him.

"Its orange juice," the man started, "I have milk or water if you'd rather have that?" was he asking for his preference? That was… he didn't really remember any time when anyone had asked what he'd wanted. He didn't respond and regarded the juice warily, but he eventually deemed it safe. It wasn't logical to go through all the effort of tending to his wounds just to poison him. Even with that thought in mind, his first sip was hesitant. It tasted overwhelmingly sweet, enough so that it almost made him gag, but he was so thirsty he probably would have taken just about anything.

Emily was standing on the corridor, listening to the conversation of two men. She sighed sadly, knowing that something was about to happen..

"Will you let me look at your shoulder?" the question was entirely unexpected, causing icy eyes to cut over to the other man, "It's bleeding again, and I'd like to get an actual bandage on it, if that's alright with you." He was asking his permission. The concept was almost intangible to his methodical mind. He had rarely been told what was happening to him, let alone given anything resembling a choice; when things needed to be done, things were done, and he had no say in them. He was interested in his wellbeing, so perhaps he was a new handler, to replace the ones that were dead.

"One round, sniper rifle, distance of several blocks." He repeated all the information he knew about the injury, "Bullet didn't exit, needs extraction." His voice was monotonous, not looking away from the man at his right. Several moments of silence passed before he watched the other man retrieve several items from the floor before sitting back down next to him, much closer this time. In response the soldier moved, sitting so that his back was to him so he could reach the wound easily. He was operating on programming and instinct, otherwise he never would have turned away from him.

"I'm going to take off the bandage now, let me know if it hurts and I'll stop." His voice was still that gentle tone that held a familiarity that he couldn't place. He didn't respond, just sipping the juice he had been given as he felt the other peel the blood-soaked fabric from the wound. To distract himself he tried to focus on the events that ended with him waking up in this place. He remembered something about the Strike team, about HYDRA, about desperately seeking out someone, about Robrax.

The asset tensed absentmindedly when he felt the other man dab at the wound with a cloth, wiping away the blood. He heard a hastily mumbled "sorry" from behind him before the work was continued, gentler than before. Minutes passed in silence, with the weapon sitting stilly and obediently as the taller man cleaned and dressed the wound. The disinfectant stung but he didn't show any discomfort, allowing him to clean the wound thoroughly as he let himself be lost in his own thoughts.

A hazy memory trickled into his mind of a cold and dimly-lit apartment, with himself and someone else sitting on a ratty old couch covered in moth-eaten blankets. The other person was scratching the stub of a charcoal pencil into a small sketchbook, bundled up in as many of those pathetic-looking blankets as he could and sitting as close to—me?—as was physically possible. He remembered feeling Steve, his name was Steve, shivering horribly even through all those blankets. It was winter, he'd just gotten over pneumonia, and he remembered how scared he'd been thinking he was going to lose him. But... why did he remember this? Were those memories actually his?

"… you still draw, don't you, Steve?" the soldier suddenly questioned, the degrading programming loosening its grip on his awareness now that he was fully awake. The other man, he remembered his name now. He was Steve Rogers. Captain Steve Rogers. He was the only face he could recall with any clarity, therefore he had to have held some significant importance to him at some time.

"I—" Steve faltered, finishing up wrapping gauze tape around his shoulder to hold the sterile packing in place, "Y-yeah I do, Buck. You… always liked watching me draw." His voice was tentative and hopeful, something the asset made immediate mental note of. He heard Steve putting away things behind him, and he took it as a sign that he was finished.

"… do you still keep a sketchbook?" the assassin wasn't sure why he was so interested, but the memory had been rather clear and he took it as an opportunity to possibly learn if it was real. He tilted his head to glance back over his shoulder, and saw Steve nod slightly. "Can I see it?" he wasn't used to asking questions, to voicing his own thoughts, and he felt a need to try it. Seeing the smile that broke across the other's face was oddly rewarding.

"Of course you can." Steve nearly fumbled over his own words, eyes alight with some emotion he couldn't place, "Here, Bucky." A shirt was held out to him when he turned to face him fully, "Your shirt was ruined, so you can use one of mine." Blue eyes regarded it somewhat warily, but he took it from him regardless. It was little more than a plain grey shirt, but it was appreciated. "I'll go and get you some more juice and my sketchbook. I'll be back in a moment." The empty cup was retrieved from his hand, the assassin not startling at the sudden movement, before the man left the room. Bucky. There was that name again. His name. He dimly recalled it—yes, it was his name.

The shirt was a little difficult to put on with his arm and shoulder injured, but it was managed. The horrific grinding and popping of his joint when he pulled it over his head confirmed that the injury had to be set. He added it into his mental list of injuries. The garment was a little big on his thinned frame, but it was clean and comfortable. It had a somewhat familiar scent to it as well that he couldn't quite recall. Even in as much pain as he was, he felt better than he had in a very long time. Not physically better; he felt absolutely awful physically, but maybe a little better mentally.

He had confirmation that his name was the same as the Sergeant memorialized in the museum, and that this other man was the same Steve that he could dimly remember. There was still an odd disconnect between himself and his past, between himself and the man known as Bucky, but this was a fragile thread that tied him back to it. There were a lot of blank, empty spaces where memories should be in his mind, and he doubted he'd ever get everything back, but this felt… right? Being here with Steve felt right. Yes, he was fairly certain this was the right thing to do.

Tired eyes caught sight of a few folded blankets on the floor near his feet. He might have just regained consciousness but he still felt absolutely exhausted and drained. One of the blankets was picked up, wrapped around him tightly to try and block the cold. It was one of those odd constants that never left; cold seemed to follow him like his own shadow, sinking teeth of ice into his flesh every waking moment. No matter what he tried he never could seem to warm himself up. He curled up tightly under the fabric, feeling a tentative safety for the first time in a long while. All the running and fear and paranoia was starting to melt, bit by bit, as he allowed his eyes to close willingly. By the time Steve returned, he had already dozed off, huddled against the arm of the couch with his back to the door; a small, fragile sign of trust. It was the first deep, peaceful sleep he could remember since he woke from stasis.

When he opened his eyes this time there was no light, the space dark and silent, the reason for just why he was awake unclear. Several moments passed before he realized he was staring into fabric; the back of a couch, he determined. Unease breathed at the back of his neck, but nothing seemed outwardly wrong around him. However, something still felt off. His memories were slow to catch up with his awareness, but he pieced together where he was soon enough. This time his return to consciousness didn't come with any overwhelming paranoia, just a faint acknowledgment of his surroundings; it was a first for the soldier.

He hadn't moved at all since falling asleep, the skill of remaining completely motionless honed into a fine art. It was an ability he'd possessed even before HYDRA's conditioning; he half recalled something about sniping. The downside was that he was now rather sore, and he was sure the injuries he'd sustained earlier in the night had only been compounded by his lack of movement. He'd slept on his right arm, which hadn't done his dislocated joint any favors. He would be sure to alert his new handler to the injury come morning.

There was a momentary lapse before he corrected his thought. Not handler, Steve. The man was an odd sort of mystery in his head. He wasn't a handler, wasn't a white-coated tech, wasn't anything he was familiar with. Steve was Steve. He was a strange exception in a world of ridged rules and protocols. Normally such an obvious outlier would make him nervous, but Steve's presence was comforting and nonthreatening and achingly familiar.

Movement was difficult; now that the adrenaline and shock had worn off he felt the full force of the pain. Every muscle seemed to ache, a deep-seeded burn that spread from his skin to the deepest parts of him. His prosthetic creaked and the servos whined pitifully, the weeks of abuse and ill-care wearing at it. Getting into a sitting position took much more effort than he expected, but now that he had a clear view of the entire room he felt a little safer. The tentative feeling of security let him will himself to take stock of his situation.

The room hadn't changed except for the light having been flipped off, but the darkness was of no hindrance. He could see rather well at night, but whether or not that was inherent or due to HYDRA tampering he wasn't sure. Despite the fact that this place exuded a sense of safety that he'd never experienced before, checking the perimeter and his surroundings was so ingrained in him that he felt a compulsion to do it.

As he moved to get up, he noticed there was a second blanket covering him. Or had been, before he sat up and caused it to tumble off of him in a heap. Absentmindedly he reached out to pick it up, wincing a bit at the metallic whine of his artificial joints and tendons. Several of the plates were jarred out of place, clanking together unnaturally and restricting his range of motion. Dried blood mired the reflective surface, coming not from himself but from nameless HYDRA agents. As soon as he had recovered enough to be effective, he had gone and destroyed every safe house he knew of, killing every HYDRA agent he came across. He was going to destroy HYDRA all on his own if it came to that; they were going to regret ever having created him. He'd see to it.

"Mm, Buck?" the sleepy hum of the Captain broke the silence, the soldier's eyes cutting over in that direction. He hadn't even noticed the other man had placed himself in a nearby chair, now-open eyes regarding him tiredly. Keeping an eye on me? Making sure I don't escape? The second thought made his brow furrow a bit. No, that's not right. He somehow just knew that wasn't why he had opted to rest out here instead of returning to the bedroom.

The asset didn't respond verbally, but gave him a brief nod before he carried through with picking up the blanket. The nervousness was once again settling into the pit of his stomach, the sort of feeling he expected prey felt before a predator sprung from the shadows. It was such an unfamiliar feeling, as he was usually the lurking predator in question. He could hear Steve stretching and moving to get up, so he decided to remain seated; he had a feeling the Captain would fuss if he tried to get up and walk with his wounds.

"Feeling any better?" the other's voice was far too bright for it being so early in the morning. The assassin just watched as he tapped at a phone, glancing to him after the screen lit up. He took a moment to check himself mentally before he responded. His metal fingers hesitantly relinquished their grip on the blanket, instead wrapping gingerly around his shoulder joint, where the Captain had dislocated it in their struggle.

"… arm hurts." He mumbled quietly, lacking the robotic, monotonous quality that had previously dominated his voice. He knew that the Captain had seen the deep bruising and discoloration around the joint, as the bullet wound was plastered in the middle of it, but he was well aware that there was likely little he could do for it. Even he wasn't sure if it was just a dislocation, or if there was a fracture as well. The frown that appeared on the other man's face at his words was enough to make the nervousness he was experiencing leap to the front of his mind.

"We'll get it looked at, don't worry." His voice was always so soothing, "But…" discomfort, possibly even fear crept into the other's tone suddenly, serving to heighten the soldier's apprehension. His gaze was at his phone again, tapping his finger against it nervously. "… we can't stay here, we need to get somewhere safe." The sense of urgency was contagious, it seemed. The hairs on the back of his neck were on-end again, and the assassin was on his feet in a few seconds.

"Buck, are you sure you're alright to be up and.." the glare he directed at the Captain was much more threatening than he meant it to be, but he got his point across as the rest of the man's sentence withered in his throat. He wasn't fragile, he wasn't to be coddled; he was a weapon that was damaged and malfunctioning, not broken and useless. Weakness wasn't tolerated, his handlers had made sure to drive that into his programming.

"Give me a minute to get ready and get you a jacket, then we've gotta move out." Those were words the soldier remembered and associated with. Location compromised, moving to safety. It must be why he woke up; HYDRA must be closing in. It was enough to make his muscles stiffen with readiness, not wanting to be taken by surprise like last time. They wouldn't have that luxury. Not again.

 Emily also had packed some necessary stuff earlier. She was standing in the middle of the room, with a backpack hanging over her shoulder.

“Guys…” she whispered. “We don’t have much time.”

Waiting was not in the Winter Soldier's repertoire, and instead of remaining still he was up and moving. The pistol he had dropped earlier was retrieved, inspected and placed into his pocket. There wasn't a lot of ammunition left in it, but enough to be useful. He'd done more damage with much, much less. Now that he was up he decided to do that perimeter check he'd been planning on. Steve was doing something in his room, so he avoided that room and checked every other one. His pass through the kitchen produced the knife he'd left that first night, still sullied with the Captain's blood, and a worn sketchbook. There was a twinge of guilt in his stomach that passed quickly as he placed the blade back into the sheath at his ankle. The small book, likely the one Steve had been bringing to show him, was tucked into his pocket.

The dull, aching burn in his muscles was pushed out of his awareness; now that there was a clear threat to him all pain was ignored. It was how he had been conditioned, trained and taught; pain was a weakness and only useful for determining damage after a successful mission. He hated to admit that he was nervous, but he was. He had the beginnings of fragile trust in Steve, but this had the makings of a trap. Suddenly relocating after arriving? Departing hours before the sun rose, when no one would ever notice their passing? It was enough to set off warning bells in the soldier's mind.

"Buck," the Captain's hesitant voice broke his thoughts, eyes cutting over to where the other man was peeking in from the door, "Are you ready?" again with questions, again with asking him things. It was still a strange and unusual concept to the asset, used only to demands and orders. He responded only with a curt nod, taking a jacket that the other offered to him. It was somewhat big on him, but worn and soft and comfortable nonetheless. Nothing like the rigid combat gear HYDRA had outfitted him with. In a way he felt vulnerable, missing the reassuring weight and constriction of his body armor.

Steve had a small pack slung over his shoulder, the contents of which the soldier didn't know, and shield strapped to his arm. It was clear, however, that they were likely not coming back, not for a long time at least. There was no sentimental attachment to this place for him, he didn't have any sentimental attachments honestly, but he did know this place and knew it was safe in his mind, so leaving it didn't sit right in his mind. He did know, however, that staying would end in certain HYDRA custody or death.

Ushered out into the hall, the soldier only moved when prompted by his new handler. No, Steve. His senses were on alert, although still dulled and sluggish from the blood loss earlier. The sleep and bandaging had improved his awareness a bit, although even with his serum it would take a few more hours before he would be in a condition he was comfortable with. He just watched as Steve tapped at his phone, door pulled shut behind him. It was only after he read some text message for the fifth time that he suddenly froze.

"Shit." Now that got a reaction out of the soldier. He tensed up and stood perfectly still, the tone of Steve's voice setting off warnings and alarm bells that something was catastrophically wrong. His tone had been nothing but softness and warmth up until now; the swear sparked just the ghost of a sensation in his head, of cold wind and the smell of gunsmoke as he peered over a trench in some long forgotten battlefield.

"We need to move. Now." the words spilled out of the blond man suddenly, a hand grabbing his right arm without warning and tugging him down towards the stairs. Normally such an unexpected action would have warranted a swift punch to the jaw, but the startled tone in the other's voice alerted him that something was very, very wrong. He didn't resist, letting Steve lead him swiftly down the stairs and towards a back door, the other man mumbling the entire way about something about the text having been wrong. Muffled voices—HYDRA, Strike team—filtered through the walls from outside, formless shadows visible through the frosted glass of the front doors.

Subtly was thrown out the window as Steve kicked the back door open and bolted outside, the asset stumbling and fighting to keep up with the jolting motion. The man had yet to let go of his arm, guiding him through narrow alleyways and side streets in a path that seemed predetermined. He didn't know the plan, which was a source of anxiety in and of itself, but Steve clearly had something in mind, so for the first time he—trust was too strong a word—relied on the other's decisions to get them out of harm's way.

HYDRA agents were all over, dressed in varying uniforms of Strike and police and others he did not recognize. They shouted as they tried to corner them, seemingly appearing from nowhere from alleyways and cars and from behind objects. Steve did not engage them, instead pulling him along as he ducked and weaved dizzyingly between buildings and sleepy streets. He had a set destination in mind, the asset could tell, and even though the sight of HYDRA angered him into considering pulling away to fight, he knew it was too risky to separate himself from the Captain.

Unfortunately, HYDRA did that for him. There was a sudden, jarring shout from one of the alleys they were about to blow past, and before either could react the darkened space filled with blinding light and a concussive sound. Flashbang. Steve yelled something but the asset didn't hear, the grip on his arm lost as the other covered his ears. Even before the white left his vision, formless shapes surrounded them as agents appeared to spring from the very walls to box them in. Wordlessly, the assassin and the Avenger stood back to back, fitting into formation as easily as if it was something they did every day. The pistol was pulled from his pocket, knowing that even with little ammo it would be more effective at the moment than a knife. There was a brief flash of familiarity in his mind, but the situation around him drowned it out almost instantly.

"Drop your weapon and surrender the asset, Captain Rogers!" a husky voice barked out, a dozen barrels of a dozen guns aimed at them. He could feel Steve tense against his back, but so vastly outnumbered and outgunned any outburst now would likely end in one or both of them dead.

"… Steve." He wasn't sure just why he spoke, or why his voice was softened and hinted with an accent he only vaguely recalled, but he did. It was a sort of rash, sudden need to ground himself in the present, to remind himself that the man behind him was indeed the Steve he could so faintly remember. His statement, however, had an unintended consequence.

"The asset's compromised," that growling voice spoke again, "he'll need to be wiped and reconditioned if we're going to salvage this." That statement triggered an intense, shattering terror in the assassin the likes of which he could not recall. Broken memories of deafening electricity crackling madly, of being tied down and unresisting and passive, suddenly swam in his mind and broke through his calculating combat mindset. Without thought he pressed himself further against Steve's back, as if somehow he could hide from his own horrifying memories in the other's presence.

"Buck, it's alright," voice hushed and gentle, the Captain spoke only loud enough for him to hear, "You've got to work with me, we're going to work together to get out of this, just follow my lead." It wasn't worded as an order or command, and as such disoriented the soldier for a moment, but that fragile ideal of trust settled in to fill in the gaps and his only response was a slight nod that went unseen. They could do this. “Emily. I’m gonna take their attention, you need to run. If they will take us three, nothing will left.”

She nodded slightly and before the fight, she ran toward the nearest window. She stopped in front of it, taking a look back at her men. Steve was looking at her above his shoulder, he gave her a nod, so she followed his order and jumped out of the window, disappearing in the darkness of the night.

There was no warning for the HYDRA agents, shield thrown and colliding with several and incapacitating them while three expertly placed and near-simultaneous bullets downed three permanently. They moved in sync, still keeping each at their back even after separating and lunging at the ring of agents that surrounded them. The now-useless pistol had been abandoned in favor for a blade, which was used to swiftly and efficiently disable and kill two more agents before they could even fire off a round.

The resonant clang of the shield behind him let him subconsciously track the Captain's movements, even as he threw himself into the tangle of agents in front of him. He used the knowledge that he was wanted alive to his advantage, as he knew they wouldn't dare try to shoot him at such close range as it would likely irreparably damage him and they would lose their prized asset. It couldn't have worked better for him, as he was just as comfortable and deadly dispatching a target at close range as he was sniping.

An agent was slammed against the nearby wall, razored blade deftly sliding between neck vertebras to kill his target instantly. Without a moment's hesitation he was upon another, moving with all the predatory grace of a hunting cat, throat slit and body casually dropped as if it were little more than a discarded jacket. The remaining two agents in his field of view turned and bolted, and had he been on his prior missions of annihilating HYDRA installations around the city he would have pursued them relentlessly, but now he barely acknowledged their escape. Instead, he spun on his heel to where Steve was fighting, wasting no time engaging the remaining agents that swarmed him.

His blood-sullied blade dipped into the throat of a Strike member readying to shoot Steve's back, a gurgled wheeze of horrified shock the only noise that escaped before he was roughly shoved aside. Sticky crimson soaked deep into his jacket and clothes beneath but little regard was given to it; the horrors of his actions seemed as commonplace as any daily act to him after decades of repetition. Another HYDRA infantrymen lunged at Rogers with a stun baton, but the soldier intercepted him, slashing with a precise stroke that opened the man's torso as easily as a zipper. He fell noiselessly into a jumbled heap of blood and viscera at the Captain's feet, a non-threat.

Soon only a few hostiles remained, mostly stepping far back and firing as many rounds as they could at Captain Rogers. The asset refused to leave the man's side again, tucked up close near him in an effort to deter any more firing, and to his dim surprise it seemed to work. The agents backed away even farther, guns raised but triggers untouched, eyes locked on them. He took the brief lull in fire to glance at Steve for a moment, to assess his condition. He was on his feet, but blood had soaked his right leg from a bullet wound to the calf. A slash from a knife tore through his jacket and into his side, while red dribbled from his saturated sleeve from another entry wound. He was standing, for the moment, but the soldier knew that even with the serum the blood loss would catch him quickly.

Steve asked something, something about how he was holding up or the like, but the assassin didn't catch it. Instead his attention was elsewhere when his eyes caught a brief flash of light from the roof of a building two streets over. His heart fell into his stomach and his shout of warning was lost to the rifle crack when the realization hit. Of course, the bullet hit first, just not in the place HYDRA had wanted it.

The soldier had reacted instinctively, kicking the back of Steve's injured leg hard enough that he buckled. His sudden movement meant the bullet, aimed for a kill shot on the Avenger's heart, instead struck and slid off the slant of his shield and hit his collarbone. A second bullet, fired milliseconds after the first from a likely second sniper, caught him across his already-slashed ribs, blossoming open as if it were a grotesque flower. The strangled cry of shock and pain that left the man as he crumpled to the ground snapped something buried deep beneath HYDRA programming, and within a half-second he had grabbed Steve by his arm and pulled him into a small alcove between two buildings. He heard two more bullets strike the asphalt where they had been moments before, and knew that HYDRA was likely not going to take Steve alive.

All thoughts of the remaining HYDRA agents were abandoned at the sound of Steve's raspy breathing, the assassin leaning him against the building wall as to hopefully ease it some as he leaned down to his level. Even though the shield had absorbed most of the energy of the round, the wound was devastating. The bullet had shattered his collarbone, flesh torn and ripped and blood dripping freely. A dribble of the crimson stained the Captain's chin, breath labored and choking and heaved in and out. His lung's been punctured, probably collapsing. The second bullet had no doubt shattered his ribs, and the awful torn wound was jagged and blown apart by the unimpeded bullet's passing. It was a grim prognosis.

The sounds of the agents trying to regroup from the attack were hardly registered, hands pressed to the man's injury in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. A pained cough escaped him, reddened mouth slackened open as he tried again and again to fill his lungs full to no avail. "B… B-Buck…" he slurred wetly through the blood, half-lidded eyes beginning to glaze over as unconsciousness loomed, "… got t-to… get… a-away…" shock was setting in, body trembling under the assassin's hands, but he mustered the energy to nudge him with the shield in a halfhearted attempt to push him into running. He wanted him to leave him behind, to save himself from falling back into HYDRA's control. The very thought of it twisted the soldier's stomach in a knot and caused his breath to catch in his throat.

"S-Steve," his normally-controlled voice was shaky and small, fear filling every inch of him as trembling, blood-stained metallic fingers brushed golden hair away and cupped the Captain's cheek to hold his gaze on him, "You've gotta hold on," his eyes began to sting as an unfamiliar heat and blurriness began to build, "I-I'm not leaving you behind." Something had woken up deep in his mind, faint ghosts of memories of battles long past. Of fights in alleys where both refused to run away, never leaving the other's side. It was such a strong emotion that consumed him that he couldn't ever hope to fight it, and strangely enough, he possessed no will to resist it.

Footsteps and barked orders behind him drew him from his withdrawn, focused state. It was like a switch flicking in his head, the sharp focus of combat and programming setting in, and within the space of a breath he had taken the shield from Steve's faltering grasp and spun around, keeping himself between the agents and his injured partner. His vision was blurred and his eyes stung fiercely, an unfamiliar wetness trailing down a cheek, but he didn't move from his defensive stance, rooted to the spot with shield held solid in his metal prosthetic. The plates whirled and slid together with a groan of protest, ready to lash out with the vibranium disk at the slightest movement.

"Get away!" he snarled in a voice so loud it startled the men, "Get away from him!" he swung the shield at an agent that dared to approach, knocking him clean off his feet and sending him tumbling. The sharp, ripping pain as his own shoulder wound tore caused him to wince, but it was immediately stuffed down as he had much more important things to focus on. Seeing their own knocked away so easily, even while he was in such a state, caused the others to take heed and back away a few feet. Even though his joint protested, he retrieved and hid a blade in the palm of his injured arm, keeping it disguised behind the shield. If they got close again they would be in for a nasty surprise.

"This is… unexpected." The same agent who spoke earlier piped up, rifle trained on the pair with deadly intent, "Looks like the programming has decayed more than anticipated. General Lukin isn't going to be pleased." That name was familiar, and struck a fear like a dagger of ice into the soldier's heart. He pressed himself back, shield held higher in a desperate attempt to keep the agents at bay. Steve moved behind him, whimpering in pain, and a moment later the former Soviet felt his hand press reassuringly to his back in a wordless gesture of trust. It was enough to steel his nerves, to dispel his own fear just enough to focus on the agents who had chanced to venture further.

With an almost animalistic roar, he leapt at the nearest agent, jamming the sharp edge of the shield into his ribcage, crushing it like a flimsy can. He dropped into a tangle of limbs, and he used the moment of confusion to swing at another, feeling the agent's skull cave under the impact. The shield was brought down on the neck of another agent, while the knife in his right hand pierced the torso of one rushing at him. As he swiveled to lunge at the seeming-commander he froze mid-strike, eyes wide with terror, when he saw that another agent had a gun trained to the downed Captain's head.

"No!" the word clawed its way out of him, shield and blade falling from his hand in a show of submission, eyes wide with feral panic. "D-don't do it." He'd never demanded anything from anyone, not in all his active years, but he was now. He was scared, desperate and out of options, pleading like one of his victims to spare the other man's life. The commander's gravelly voice broke into a laugh behind him, but before he could round on him he felt a pinprick on the back of his neck, followed immediately by a burst of warmth that spider-webbed through his body. His knees buckled and vision swam, awareness growing fuzzy as he collapsed to the ground. He gasped out Steve's name, tried to push himself back up, but he couldn't even prevent his eyes from sliding shut a heartbeat later. His hearing muffled, but the last thing he was aware of was that growl of a voice ordering the surviving agents to take the both of them before everything drained away into nothingness.

A walking disasters

WORD COUNT:  1098

SUMMARY: Steve and Bucky talk about feelings and stuff while the Avengers have a water fight.

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR: Killer raccoon

"Won't your fella get jealous?" Bucky asked suddenly, whip sharp grin placed firmly on his face, looking so familiar Steve ached. It was scary how easy it was for Bucky to look like Bucky again, like the Winter Soldier, like the plane crash, like the 21st fucking century didn't happen. Steve should've liked it, he knew, but he didn't.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Tony gets jealous when strangers on the street propose. It doesn't bother him when I spar with Natasha or when I run with Sam. This, us, doesn't bother him at all."

"You've got a good thing going here don't you," Bucky huffed, eyes closed and head tipped back against the wall. Steve shifted grappling for any sort of comfortable position on the rock hard couch. Tony had warned him that all the furniture in this room was designed to make people look regal, not make them comfortable. It was the only room in the mansion left untouched from Tony's childhood.

"Yeah, I do" Steve looked at Bucky from where he was sitting side ways against the arm of the couch, "better with you here though."

"You know I'm never going to be just Bucky Barnes right?"

"I know you haven't been talking to your therapist."

"And who's bright fucking idea was that? A therapist? Really? You think after decades of being the most talented killer alive - and shut the fuck up Steve, I killed people, we both know I killed people - you really think I'd just be fucking dandy with spilling all my secrets to some idiot with a clipboard and orders to take me out when I get aggressive?"

"I know you won't ever just be Bucky again, I know you're Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, but you're still my friend. You're still my fucking family," Steve burst out suddenly. "Please tell me you know that."

It was deathly quiet in the room before Bucky spoke again, out of the corner of his mouth, like he was too tired to talk properly, "Nathasa's stronger than people give her credit for. So's Tony."

"People give her a lot of credit. And you know she hates it when you call her that," Steve said mildly, not commenting on the remark.

Bucky grinned his shark smile again. "No, she doesn't. And don't think I didn't notice you ignoring what I said about him."

Steve sighed, felt the air come up from his diaphragm, filling his lungs and his mouth. "I'm just glad you stopped calling him Stark. Why?"

"Why what…"

"Bucky," Steve ground out.

"They make living with blood on your ledger look easy," Bucky breathed out suddenly. Steve paused, stomach in his throat when Bucky turned to him again, suddenly vicious. "You won't tell them this, ya hear? Last thing I need is more fucking pity."

"Of course I won't tell. I'm surprised you're even talking to me right now. But we both know they would be the last people to pity you. They know what you're going through."

"You're saying you don't?" A challenge.

"I've killed people-"

"You've killed Nazis," Bucky said with a bark of a laugh. "Nazis don't count as people." Steve could at least agree with that.

"You know, I miss being the stubborn one in this friendship."

"I'm not talking to them. It's a different situation entirely."

"I thought you said they knew what it felt.."

"Never like this. Never like me. Fucking Tony didn't even know what was happening with his company, how does that compare to this?" He turned to Steve, desperate, "I trained Natasha, trained her to be a murderer. What does that say about me?"

"It says something about the Winter Soldier. It says that you were brainwashed."

"I killed his parents, did he tell you that? Blew up their car, slit his mother’s throat while she was screaming. Stabbed his father for good measure. And if you tell me that's okay, if you make excuses for me, I'll fucking deck you."

"I don't need to tell you that it was wrong. You think I don't know you're thinking of running away again? The guilt eats away at you. The Winter Soldier didn't know what guilt was because he was fucking brainwashed. You were tortured Bucky."

"I killed so many innocent people."

"You killed people. Innocent people and we both know you can't make up for that. There isn't anything you could possibly do. That's not how it works." Steve was so tired of this, tired of how complicated this was, tired of morality and honor and redemption. "You do good and you wait until there's enough good to not make the bad crawl under your skin like palladium," Steve quoted. Tony was strangely poetic at the 3 in the morning, all ruffled hair and tight breaths. "I just want you to be happy. Don't we deserve that? After all the second chances we've been given, don't we at least deserve that?"

Silence again. Steve stared out the window opposite him, Bucky's silhouette barely blocking the view. Everything here really was excessive, slightly more so than even by Tony's usual standards. He wondered idly how he could go about sketching the exact way the light snagged on the leaves of the topiaries in the garden outside.

"I'm not going back to that therapist." Steve waited him out, could taste the capitulation on his tongue. "But we could do this more often. Just. Talking."

"Yeah?"

"How many more times do you need me to say it?" Bucky grinned suddenly. "Age catching up to you, Rogers?"

"Screw off Bucky," Steve laughed, shoving him roughly. "I'm really, really happy that you want to talk to me," he couldn't resist adding.

Bucky made a face, "How does Tony stand all this earnestness?"

Steve smirked, "You really want to know?"

"Oh fuck no, never mind. Still can't believe how filthy you are now, Christ."

"The army does a number on scrawny virgins."

"It also does a number on beefed up super soldiers." Bucky shot him another look, that 'I know you' look that gave Steve dizzying hope.

Steve looked out the window again, at their teammates, their friends, running past, equipped to the teeth with various water shooting weapons. Bucky followed his line of sight and chuckled suddenly. "Tell me how I got roped into living with a bunch of 9 year olds."

"Hey! I'm at least 12," he said, moving to get up. "How bout we go and show them how it's really done?" he asked, smirking.

"As long as you and Tony keep your hands to yourself."

"No promises."

The chronicles of the winter || Part XII - The End

Part II  || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII|| Parta VIII || Part IX || Part X || Part XI  continuation of imagine

Word Count: 13559

Warnings: none 

Author: Beast

Habit and impulse were so easy to fall back on, thinking being a costly and dangerous liability. The Asset had learned that early on, it having been forced into his program, carved into his skin among the patchwork of scars so it became a part of him. This time, however, this time it was different. This time when he woke up on that familiar cold table, seeing white-coated techs hovering over him and his wounds like vultures, he didn't feel the programming trying to lull him into docility. Oh no, this time a latent instinct, old and raw and powerful, bubbled through the cracks in HYDRA's conditioning and screamed in his subconscious, spurring him to act.

Fight.

Find.

Protect.

A snarl worthy of a predator tore its way out of his throat as he shoved the nearest tech away, the force of it throwing him clear into the opposite wall. The rest of them scattered like insects, shouting in varied languages as he pulled himself into a sitting position, glaring at them from behind the mess of his hair. A half-dozen IVs were laced into his veins, a likely but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to keep him asleep. The stiffness along his shoulder told him they had likely closed the sniper's wound, and he quickly realized his dislocated joint had been pushed back into place and immobilized with thick medical tape. They'd replaced his blood-soaked shirt with a dark grey one, and as if to mock him, it bore the SHIELD logo embossed in shiny blue thread over his heart.

"где." The soldier demanded, forcing himself to his feet, the drip-lines tugged free of his arms. The HYDRA agents and techs skittered in panic, yowling like panicked animals in a hunter's trap. When he didn't get a response did he bark the word out again, this time in English. "Where." If he wasn't told, he wouldn't hesitate to tear the place to shreds to find out. Before any of the cowardly technicians could answer, however, several HYDRA agents in full combat gear poured into the room, armed to the teeth.

One moved too close, holding a syringe, and the assassin lunged without hesitation. His metal arm felt sluggish and heavy, having been in the middle of being repaired when he woke, but that didn't hinder his deadliness any as he swung with all the force he could muster at the man's jaw. A grim sort of smirk appeared on his features, feeling bone crack and give under his fist, the soldier dropping into a crumpled heap at his feet. He crushed the dropped syringe under his boot, the sound of the glass shattering morbidly satisfying.

Something was shouted in a language he couldn't catch, but he didn't give the soldiers the luxury of time to coordinate themselves. A scalpel, lifted from the near table that held the medical supplies, in his capable hands slit the throat of one of the agents before he even realized what had happened, the bleeding man roughly kicked away into another soldier. Another's throat was caught in his metal fingers when he went to prod him with a stunstick, the vertebra crunching loudly with a single squeeze. The body was casually tossed aside, a mere afterthought. Chaos erupted, which was exactly what the Asset had wanted, as he was able to easily dispatch agent after agent, until in the confusion he was able to slip out into the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him, bending the metal frame enough that the soldiers inside weren't getting out anytime soon.

Alarms began to blare, and he knew he didn't have much time. He needed to find where they were keeping Steve, needed to find out if he was alive, needed to get him out. The layout of the building was familiar, and he soon found himself tracing mental maps that he couldn't consciously remember. Identical doors in identical halls, yet somehow he knew the way, ending up in a neglected corner of whatever backwater HYDRA base this was. Detention level. He knew these rooms all too well. Broken memories of conditioning, of training and discipline flashed through his mind. It was enough to sour his stomach.

Only one of the rooms had light filtering through the dingy door window, and he just knew that had to be where they were keeping Steve. The door was thick steel, reinforced and heavy and bolted with more locks than he cared to count. It could have been made of vibranium and it wouldn't have been enough to keep him out. The Asset tore through the locks he could, picking the others he couldn't, using every skill in his considerable arsenal but his patience only lasted so long. Normally he could wait for days, one of a sniper's greatest attributes, but this was Steve and he needed inside now.

The sound of metal rending and groaning filled the level, the soldier slamming his metallic fist into the door over and over, bending and deforming the surface bit by bit. The servos and artificial tendons in his arm screamed in protest but he scarcely cared, eventually making a dent deep enough he could get his fingers inside the stop. He braced himself and pulled with all his weight, the fatigued and aged metal shredding in his hand. That just fed his ambition, and soon enough he was tearing through the door with both hands, unfeeling to the shards that sliced through his flesh and bone hand, and to the hot slickness of blood as it poured from his palm.

Desperation was beginning to claw at his mind. He knew agents would find out where he was soon enough, and he couldn't let them take him away. Not before he knew if Steve was still alive. Standing back, the assassin kicked the door with every ounce of strength he had. The metal gave way with a great resounding shudder, the hinges failing and door swinging open violently. He was inside before the door even had the chance to hit the wall when it swung wide.

Relief isn't anywhere near strong enough a word to convey the emotion the soldier felt when he saw Steve, battered and broken and still as he was, breathing and alive. At his side in an instant, the assassin assessed the Captain's condition and wounds within moments. The man was unconscious, the worst of his wounds hidden under layers and layers of pink-tinged gauze. Smaller injuries had been ignored, his skin was pallor and in some distant part of his mind the soldier recognized this. Recognized a tiny kid with a rattling cough and pale skin who always scared him half to death with the fact that he might not make it through winter.

Medical supplies still covered the table to the side of the cot he was placed on, and without a second thought or any concern for being captured, the former Soviet started to pick through the contents. He wrapped a quick bandage around the cuts to his hand to stem the bleeding, not wanting to risk getting it on Steve when who knew what had been pumped into his system. Clean gauze was soaked in disinfectant, the excess wrung out before it was pressed to a shallow cut that burned an angry red across the Captain's cheek. The serum had already begun healing his body, the wound already mostly closed, but for some reason he found himself fussing over it regardless.

The soldier hadn't patched anyone up save himself for decades. He remembered, very dimly, bandaging someone with crimson hair that glowed like a dying fire, but the memory was so hazy and distorted that it might as well have been a dream. He was used to sewing himself up, to prying bullets out of his body and mending jagged pieces of flesh back together. As a result, delicateness was not something he was intimately familiar with, yet it seemed his body remembered better than his brain, as he cleaned the man's wounds with an unfamiliar tender gentleness.

A crackle of memory fizzled in his mind, of him sitting in a muddy, snow-filled trench, tearing a scarf free of his neck and brandishing it as if to threaten some other person. He dimly recalled blood, from a wound of some kind to the arm of someone dressed in blue, and angrily muttering something about not signing up to be a mother as he wrapped his scarf around the limb. He remembered laughter from people he didn't know, or couldn't remember, and being called a jerk. The memory faded as quickly as it appeared, and within a second of its passing it was all but forgotten in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

"Well, seems like the dosage of sedative we gave you was a bit off." A calm voice suddenly broke the silence, the assassin's muscles seizing up in remembered fear as familiarity crashed over him like a wave. He didn't move for a long moment, bloody fingers hovering over another cut to the Avenger's chin, as if his stillness could be taken as a sign of submission.

There was an amused hum from behind him, one that faded into a dark, twisted sort of laugh. "At attention, воин." The order was issued sternly, and the soldier found himself turning around to face the man, posture stiff with unease and the beginnings of fear. The man, he knew him, the name Aiden provided by the bits of memory that survived each successive wipe. A crooked grin spread across the General's face and it caused the Asset's stomach to churn.

"They warned me that you were far more… damaged than we would have liked." Black spoke with all the casualness as if they were merely speaking about the weather, "It would have been easier just to put you down, but since we have Captain America in addition to our Winter Soldier…" he trailed off, malevolent smile spreading further across his face as he approached with a proud air to his movements. Once he was close enough, the suited man regarded him with all the affection one might have for a fine weapon, eyes appraising but cold and calculating, seeking only value.

"Why, I think what's left of SHIELD would do just about anything to get their hands on him, and you as well. Oh, the secrets they think you have… they'd do anything to wring them out of you, воин, but I'm never going to let that happen, don't you worry." The acidic sweetness to his voice made the soldier's blood run as cold as the river that haunted his nightmares. It was a tone all too familiar, yet for what felt like lifetimes that tone had been the closest semblance to kindness he'd ever experienced, and he'd latched onto it desperately. Now it made him sick.

Aiden brushed past him, leaning over the cot to look at the Captain's wounds. One of his hands reached out, and the soldier let out a growl that faded into a whine at the glare he received. The man's hand remained raised with a hint of threatening intent, and the assassin felt his muscles tense in the expectation of a blow. His programming might have degraded greatly due to being so long out of cryostasis, but enough of the framework was intact for him to not attack the man or outwardly resist his commands. He could only watch as he withdrew his hand, walking back towards the shattered door, his back to him.

"I see you have some… attachment to the Captain." The General's tone held the slightest hint of bitterness, something he knew was very dangerous, "That will not be tolerated. However…" his voice went quiet, that knowing smirk once again firmly planted on his features as he spun on his heel to face the soldier, "If you cooperate and let us fix all that damage Captain Rogers and his SHIELD allies have done to your mind, we might let him live. If you don't have any more of those outbursts, we might even let you see him." It was a ruse, he knew it for sure, but he had no choice but to nod in silent agreement. Arguing would signal that HYDRA's control had faltered dangerously, and he couldn't risk Steve's safety. For the first time in his memory, he found himself putting the well-being of another before his own.

"Good, good. In that case I expect you to return to medical immediately and let the doctors finish up their work. We need you in working order as soon as possible. I expect an update on your condition in three hours." With that, Aiden Black left the room. The soldier's hearing could pick up on the sound of footsteps running down the hall to retrieve him, likely signaled by the General, and he only had a few seconds. He couldn't run, couldn't try to fight or escape, as that would get Steve killed and he couldn't bring himself to even consider that possibility.

He'd have to play this game, even fall back under HYDRA's command if it meant keeping the other man alive. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The soldiers crowded the room a half-second later, surrounding him and shepherding him out and away from the room, away from Steve. One of them fit the muzzle-mask over his face, and with its acquainted confines the soldier felt a foreign sense of revulsion budding in his chest. The familiarity of it all, and the horror that he found himself so easily slipping back into the mannerisms and routine, made the new fear that he might lose what little fragments of himself he'd managed to gain back seem very, very real.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The soft, rhythmic pattern of water drops pulled Steve out of the fog of unconsciousness, cutting through the static that seemed to fill his mind. He didn't feel any pain, not yet, but he felt heavy and weak and so very tired. Stagnant, stale air coated his throat, thick with a sharp, sanitized scent that settled on his tongue with a faintly bitter, familiar taste. The air itself felt dense, as if he was breathing through cotton shoved down his throat; if he hadn't known better, he would have thought he was having an asthma attack. There was a rattling, ghastly wheeze every handful of seconds in addition to the dripping that had woken him, and it took a long, sobering moment before he realized that he was hearing his own breathing.

Drip.

Drip.

His torso felt constricted, tight and immobile under what felt like a cocoon of gauze and medical tape. As uncomfortable as it was it assured him that his wounds had been tended to, but by whom the Captain had no idea. An experimental twitch of his fingers assured him that he wasn't paralyzed and could move, however difficult it may have been. Everything felt fuzzy, it was the only way to describe it, unable to feel or hear anything clearly. Everything was blurred into a mess of muffled noises and sweeping sensations, nothing distinct.

Drip.

A slight shift of his head told him just how stiff and sore his neck was. How long was I out? The thought struck him suddenly, followed immediately by the cold electricity of fear. Where am I? His eyes were forced open, but shut immediately due to the blinding light of the room. Steve groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, tilting his head trying to block out every bit of that painful brightness. The movement made him aware that his head was propped up slightly, a pillow tucked behind it. It reminded him of when he'd have respiratory infections in winter and Bucky would give him all the pillows to keep his head and shoulders lifted so he could breathe easier—

Bucky. Emily.

The panic that gripped him was all-consuming, shredding through the muddled fog in his mind like iron claws. "B-Buck… Em..." the words barely left his throat, voice hoarse and rasping and lungs suddenly alight with crackling fire at the effort. The words brought the taste of copper to his lips, blood he was sure, but he scarcely cared. "B… Bucky! Emily!" His eyes shot open again, ignoring the pain of the light and he looked frantically for any sign of the soldier. Everything came crashing back in a tangle of bloody memories—the fight, the sniper, Bucky collapsing in front of him, felled by the commander—and in horror he realized they had been captured. His own pain was ignored as he tried to push himself up, the room spinning as he did so, his own weakness now undeniably apparent.

A strong, cold hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the cot before he could even think of trying to search. Moments later a figure moved into his vision, leaning over him with a face obscured by a curtain of dark, unruly hair. He heard a hushed word of Russian, tone soft, reassuring in its sound although he didn't understand it. The Captain's vision was too blurry to see many details, but then again, he didn't need any details to recognize him.

A dozen words tried to spill out of him at once—you're alright, you're here, I was so scared for you, Buck, where's Em — but nothing left him save a wheezy exhale as he smiled in relief. He wanted to stand, to make sure Bucky was alright, to tend to any wounds he had, but he was all too aware that he couldn't do a damned thing in this state. Bucky was here and in the end that was the most important thing. Everything else could be confronted and dealt with later.

Without another thought Steve had raised his left arm, hesitantly brushing a few stray strands of hair out of the way before cupping his cheek. He wanted to make sure he was really there, that this wasn't some horrible HYDRA trick, that it wasn't the blood loss and whatever medicines he was full of making him see things. Bucky's skin was cold, rough against his fingers, but very much alive and very much real. He didn't even try to stop his smile from spreading a bit when he saw how the soldier leaned into the touch a bit instead of shying away or swatting at his hand.

"… about time you woke up." Bucky's voice was quiet and scratchy, just the barest hint of a Brooklyn accent shining through as he moved away, turning to look at what Steve guessed was the door. He let his hand fall back to his side, cringing a bit when he felt a tug at the crook of his arm. IV line; must have been what the dripping was. He tried to ask how long he'd been out but only managed to cough, tacky blood rattling in his aching lungs. The soldier glanced down to him at the sound, but quickly went back to his vigil.

"Three days" of course he'd have been able to know what he was trying to say, they'd been able to finish each other sentences in the past, "you were hurt bad, Steve, real bad. Still hurt bad, but I won't let them touch you." His voice trailed off, words carrying an edge as sharp as any blade, but also the barest hint of sadness. It was the most Bucky had spoken to him since he found him sleeping seemingly lifetimes ago, and in some distant part of the Captain his soul practically sung. He sounded more like Bucky, more like the cocky jerk he'd grown up with in Brooklyn than he ever had since he'd become the Winter Soldier. A second later just what he had said sunk in, and his optimism wavered.

"… w-who?" the Avenger just barely croaked it out, a sense of dread sitting heavy in his heart. He knew who had captured them, knew where they were, but maybe he could deny it all away. After all, Bucky was here with him, right? They would have separated them for sure...

"HYDRA." The name was spat out, deadly venom saturating his voice. Steve's blood ran cold in his veins, the room falling silent with only the constant drip drip of the isotonic IV bag keeping time between them with its ceaseless rhythm. That little bit of hope that he had been clinging to wavered, knowing just how bad a situation they were in, but it didn't go out. Emily and Sam were still out there, and he knew they wouldn't give up on him. They'd find them, somehow; Emily was clever and resourceful, she'd pick up the trail and find them, and Sam was loyal and wouldn't stop until he was found.

His lungs hurt too much to try and continue the conversation, and as his eyes adjusted he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The measly cot he was lying on was pushed against a stone wall that just seemed to exude a wet chill, meaning they were likely somewhere underground. Light buzzed blearily from a thin fluorescent fixture in the ceiling, a pitchy and irritating hum occasionally creeping over the drip drop of the IV. The walls were dingy and ill-kempt, but a glance to the door surprised him. Door was a loose term as it looked like it had been holding back a tiger, shattered glass and broken old steel littering the floor, but the door itself was made of new shiny metal. Judging from the debris, the damaged door he was currently looking at was a replacement and the first one made up the scraps on the floor. It took a few seconds before Steve realized it wasn't from Bucky attempting to break out, but from him breaking in.

That realization made his chest tighten, breath hitching slightly as he tried to breathe around the lump that built in his throat. His last hazy moments of consciousness in that alleyway, of Bucky crouched in front of him teary-eyed with gentling hands pressed to his wounds, he'd thought he had dreamed them. Thought that in his pained delirium he'd imagined hearing the soldier's meek voice saying "I'm not leaving you behind". Thought that maybe he'd mistaken seeing Bucky breaking through for those precious few minutes, and it looks like he just might have. He'd clearly torn his way out of wherever HYDRA had tried to lock him up, but instead of making an escape, he found him and broke in and stayed right by his side.

"Y-you… stayed with m-me…" Steve's voice was hardly above a raspy whisper, vision distorting as tears welled up. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or medicine or just a moment of vulnerability that brought them out, but he didn't make any attempts to hide them. Bucky protected me. He'd fought to keep HYDRA away from him instead of saving himself. Even if Buck didn't remember much of his past he had still fought to keep him safe like all those years ago. The Avenger breathed heavily, choking on his own words as he tried to say too many things at once. He knew this man wasn't the Bucky he knew so well from his past, but he was bits and pieces of him and he wasn't going to stop helping him even if the suave jerk he had spent his life with never really came back.

"Quit that" Bucky's voice was gruff, but the fingers that hesitantly ruffled his hair a moment later were gentle and familiar. "You're gonna tear that lung again if you keep talking. Get some more sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." It wasn't a command from the Winter Soldier, it was spoken too softly for that, instead it sounded more like back in their apartment in the old days, when Bucky would try to wrangle him to bed when he was sick and not cooperating. He couldn't count how many times Buck had just picked up all coughing hundred and ten pounds of him and put him to bed under every moth-eaten blanket they owned, no matter how much Steve protested. He never admitted it to him, but after his mom had died, Bucky's sometimes over-protective mollycoddling had meant the world to him. “Buck... Where's Emily?” suddenly Steve blinked, narrowing his eyebrows. “Where's she?”

Winter Soldier let out a quiet sigh, turning his eyesight away.

“Buck...” Steve felt like his heart stopped within second. “I have to know.” “She's probably dead” Bucky shrughed slightly, without a shadow of emotions on his face. “I haven't heard from her since many days.”

Bucky continued to run his fingers through Steve's hair, something he'd done countless times when the artist had been sick and confined to Buck's bed. The radiator in Steve's old room had always had piss-poor timing when it came to breaking, so whenever he had shown the slightest sign of illness Buck had surrendered his much-warmer room and they both slept curled up on that ratty old bed to try and keep warm. He wasn't sure if Bucky remembered any of that or if he was just acting on instinct or something else, but just like it had back then in their apartment, it put the Captain to sleep in only a few minutes.

With him lulled back into sleep so quickly, he hadn't had the time to notice that Bucky was dressed back into his combat gear, or see the troubled, guilty expression that he wore. Bucky hadn't wanted him to see either.

The passing of days no longer registered, the only timestamps he recalled being changes in the Captain's condition. Some days he was awake when he was bidden time to spend in the cell, most times he was unconscious or in a restorative sleep as the serum tried to patch his body back together. The tainted, imperfect serum that flowed in his own veins was doing much the same, skin and bones mending beneath his clothing. It burned with a throbbing sort of heat and sometimes hours passed as he passively observed the healing, watching his own flesh knitting back together until only scars remained.

His body was healthier, the Asset noticed dimly, his new handlers eager to get him back to working conditions as soon as possible. The constant IV drips, the strange injections, the foodstuffs he was prodded to eat, they'd all filled him out so he didn't look quite so emaciated. He halfheartedly guessed that the serum had busied itself rebuilding his muscles with the amble nutrients he was getting as much as it was healing his wounds.

With his shoulder healing up, the white-coated techs had taken to repairing the extensive damage to his prosthetic. It now moved fluidly, easily, the burn that gnashed its teeth into his artificial nerves now abated and calmed. The plates had been smoothed and repaired, the blood and grime cleaned away, although the red star he had tried to scratch off with his own fingernails and anything within reach those first few weeks remained marred and damaged. The techs didn't try to reapply it; now that he was no longer tied to the Red Room and the Soviets, they had no need to flaunt their emblem.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they'd try to deploy him, to test his programing, but he knew it was mostly due to their eagerness to try and patch the damage that had been caused by the exposing of SHIELD as HYDRA. Pierce was dead, but the saying still held true; cut off one head, two more will take its place. Aiden Black was not the new leader, but he had fallen in as his new handler, and that bit of his programming was still sound enough to prevent him from refusing orders from the man.

Today, however, he'd been granted time with the Captain after preforming well in training. He knew that Black wanted to wipe him, to rebuild the programming and perhaps even try the same with the healing Captain, but he knew that the man couldn't. This facility lacked the proper equipment to carry out that procedure safely, or to rewrite and build the programming back into his mind. It was likely why they were even letting him see the other man. It was a way to keep him under control, giving him time with him like a dog being trained and rewarded with scraps. He ought to have been offended but honestly he didn't care; any time with Steve was worth whatever hell they put him through.

His earlier thoughts were all pushed aside as soon as he entered the room they were keeping Steve in. The soldiers always left them alone, Black convinced in his control over the Asset, and he preferred it this way. He knew he was always under surveillance, but the illusion of peace he had with the Captain was enough. Despite his few hours of reprieve here he never allowed his guard to lower, never spoke out of turn or gave any indication that the programming had slipped. He couldn't allow that knowledge to fall into Black's hands. He could find some way to wipe him clean and order him to kill the man he'd fought so hard to defend. The thought alone made his breathing falter.

"… Bucky?" blinking, his focus was pulled back to the present, to the Captain laid out on the cot. The Asset straightened himself, shoved down all his disjointed thoughts, padded over to the bedside to look down at him. He might have the perfected serum but he had been wounded horrifically; he was still all but bedridden with the injuries he'd sustained. He was half convinced the only reason he survived at all was because the Captain was just too damn stubborn to die. Dim memories of back alley fights, bright blond hair matted with blood and halfhearted smiles mired by bruising and dirt flitted across his mind for a brief moment.

The Asset didn't reply with words, merely humming in response as he sat down in the empty chair next to the cot. Some distant part of him was glad to see that Steve was awake and aware, as the last few visits he'd been groggy and barely able to speak, mumbling in a drug and pain-induced haze about things the Soldier didn't remember. It was stressful, but he would rather spend his time here, questioned over things he didn't understand or know, than be primed and molded to fall back into HYDRA's command.

"… you're in gear." Steve's voice was quiet, but he could still hear the apprehension and resignation in his tone. It bothered the Asset greatly. Black had hinted at possibly sending him out on some sort of simple assignment so he'd dressed himself in his heavy Kevlar vest and armor, hiding his healing wounds and returning build. The less Steve knew about how long he'd been trapped here the better. The last thing he needed was him hatching some idiotic scheme to escape that would get him killed.

"… d'you get your orders?" the words came out of his mouth slurred and soft, his mind obviously still a bit hazed from whatever drugs they had to have pumped him full of to keep him manageable. It set the Soldier's teeth on edge, the thought of them doing something like that to Steve, but he couldn't protest or else run the risk of being separated fully. The statement did, however, fire some distant, disjointed memory. He could almost smell the musty air of some damp alleyway, blood in the mouth of his friend as he spoke and looked at him in a strange mix of admiration and sadness. It made his heart ache in a way he wasn't familiar with, even without any further context to bolster it.

"… yeah, Steve." His voice was still rough with disuse, awkward and stiff and lacking in the emotion Steve held when he talked. The last time he'd been here the other man had panicked, remembering their capture, tried to fight his way free of the web of IV line that held him. At least this way, with him lost in his own sleepy awareness, he was easy to convince all was well although every lie he told tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Be careful, Buck." Steve mumbled a bit when the Asset stood and began to pick at his wound wrappings, drawing his eyes from his work to meet his. They were hazy from pain and sleep, greyed and sick looking in a way that made the Soldier's stomach knot up. He swallowed thickly and focused on checking all of Steve's wounds, not trusting any of the HYDRA medics or their work. Most of his wounds had closed, the deepest pink with new-grown scar tissue and the lesser wounds already silvered and faded into his skin.

"I will." The response was automatic, not looking away from his task now. He was replacing the packing in Steve's side, where the sniper round had ripped his chest cavity open. Even the serum was having trouble with the wound, and if it hadn't been for that (and his damn fool stubbornness) he surely would have bled out right there in the street.

Steve made a noise halfway between a whimper and groan when he started to pull the bloodied, coagulated mess of packing out of the wound, obviously feeling it even through the fog of painkillers. He squirmed enough to make his task difficult, but at the same time it lifted his spirits somewhat. His strength was coming back, slowly, but it was a good sign. His body was starting to heal enough for his system to begin filtering the medicines in his body more efficiently; a hazy memory bubbled up of Steve complaining about Morita's morphine shot not taking the edge off a bullet wound he'd gotten in the calf. This had to be a good sign. It just had to be.

The wound still looked horrific, and he knew he couldn't chance an escape with Steve in this state. The ragged tear was having trouble healing over due to just how much tissue loss and damage he'd sustained, despite the serum flowing in his veins. Even with Steve still moving around he was able to place more sterile packing into the wound and wrap it tight with gauze and medical tape, after treating it with a potent antibacterial wash that he made sure to carry on his person at all times. That hadn't been fun. Steve had gasped hoarsely and it'd hurt him to hear, but it needed to be done. He still didn't trust these HYDRA doctors to treat the wounds correctly, even though he had little formal medical training himself. It didn't matter in his mind; his body and muscle memory knew Steve and how to treat him better than anyone else and like hell he was going to just sit passively by and let someone who didn't know the first thing about Steve Rogers try to patch his wounds.

With his work finished and Black no doubt waiting on him, the Soldier knew he had to cut his visit short. The man had mentioned something about a cleanup mission, to take care of some SHIELD holdouts that had grouped up near where he and Steve had been picked up. It would be a quick and clean mission. They'd likely pair him with the surviving members of the Strike unit to keep him under observation, but he could easily use their fear of him to make them keep their distance. He had a feeling these 'SHIELD holdouts' might be whoever Steve had alerted the night they were captured. If that was the case this mission was going to go very poorly.

"I'm leaving, don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." The Soldier mumbled a bit, not wanting to leave but knowing he couldn't stay. He gently smoothed down Steve's unruly hair with his right hand, always the right, something he felt like he'd done countless times a hundred lifetimes ago. When he was around the other man it felt like he went on autopilot, doing things he had no clear conscious memory of ever knowing how to do, yet with the ease and familiarity as if he'd been doing them all his life. He knew how to calm him down, how he liked his pillows just so, how he had an awful habit of kicking the blankets off in his sleep, things he had no business knowing yet he did.

"No promises, Buck." Steve breathed out heavily, eyes already half-lidded with drowsy exhaustion but with a crooked grin on his face. The Soldier felt a near overwhelming urge to roll his eyes and swat his shoulder but he held back, knowing he was still badly wounded and not wanting any sign of playfulness to be seen by the cameras. He merely brushed a few dirty blond strands of hair out of Steve's face instead, hiding the action by pretending to hold his palm there to check his temperature. It was a poor ruse, with his fingers lingering a moment too long, body too loose with the feeling of safety, but he didn't think it would be caught.

This mission had him nervous. It sat low in his stomach like a weight of molten lead, burning and heavy and disorienting. It felt familiar in some distant way; he remembered feeling it before, while sitting in the snow at the edge of some high cliff, the snow kept off him with a shield held above his head by the man he was leaning heavily against for warmth. The memory was pushed down as he closed the door behind him, lock clicking softly at his back before he allowed himself to be pushed by the decayed programming to report to the command center. The sooner he completed his assignment the sooner he could return to Steve's side, and that was the only thought that kept his body in motion.

"Have you heard anything back from Jarvis, Stark? We've got to narrow down our search parameters."

The past few weeks had been complete and utter hell. Without SHIELD, running a rescue mission for one Steven Grant Rogers and one possibly-hostile Winter Soldier had been, to put it mildly, completely fucking exhausting. But, this was hardly enough to make Emily Vandom crack. She'd done more with less resources and less time, and this time she had friends to help her. She poured herself another mug of coffee, glancing over to Stark tapping away at one of his fancy tablets and to Wilson and his makeshift workstation on the floor with his wingpack.

After last time when they got separated, Emily didn't know what to do and how to help Bucky and Steve, so she did the last thing that remained – she had to contact with Sam Wilson, who was (as she knew) a closest friend of Steve.

Sam, although she had known him not too long, had slotted himself into the ragtag group as easily as clockwork, as if he'd been crafted to be a part of their unit. For the first week he'd housed both herself and Barton, who'd come as soon as Emily had filled him in on the situation. It was reassuring having her partner in crime back at her side. Stark, for all his crassness and bluster, had dropped everything when she informed him of Steve's capture. As difficult as he was to work with some days, he really could be an invaluable ally as long as he kept himself occupied.

"Jarvis is going as fast as he can but there's a lot of data to go through," Tony's voice was heavy with lost sleep, as if the dark patches under his eyes and the hot coffee mug held tight in his hand weren't enough of a giveaway, "HYDRA's hiding themselves pretty well, or what's left of it anyway. They're probably disguising their shipments and covering their tracks more than usual. I doubt they'd take them out of the city yet, it'd draw too much attention, but, it is HYDRA so who knows."

Tony must have repeated that a hundred times in a hundred different ways, and she knew that the tension was getting to them all, but it didn't make her any less anxious. They'd moved into Steve's apartment and the empty next door apartment after contacting Sharon, who provided her keys to the locks which had yet to be changed. She was doing what she could to aid in the search, but with her new job in the FBI and Emily still in hot political water, she didn't want to add any fuel to that fire with her presence. If word got lose in the government that Captain America had been captured while housing the Winter Soldier, well, the repercussions were something none of them wanted to deal with.

"I'm going up to check the perimeter with Clint. Let me know if you find anything, and while Jarvis works maybe you could give Sam a hand." Sitting idle and waiting just wasn't in her nature. Sam was working on his damaged wingpack, which Tony had started to repair but had to drop to prep Jarvis for the scan of the city's information apparatus. They'd need Sam's help once the AI located whatever HYDRA hellhole Steve and the Winter Soldier had been taken to. Even though Steve seemed to trust him, there was still a wary part of her that couldn't dismiss the possibility that maybe the Winter Soldier had lead Steve into a trap, that he'd been a Trojan horse or some form of bait to lure him into HYDRA's clutches. It was a grim and farfetched possibility, but one that was all too real.

The cool air outside once she reached the roof was a welcome source of sobriety, washing away her muddled thoughts and letting her release her own tensions with a soft exhale. The last week had damn near run her ragged. To have something like this happen so soon after the fall of SHIELD, before she'd had a chance to really recover, was just not something she had ever expected to happen. She'd thought she would have had a bit more time before she'd have to pay her debt back to Steve for saving her life.

"Lower levels secure, how're things up here?" she sat down heavily near the archer, just in case he had his hearing aids turned down. He was perched on the corner of the building, goggled eyes on the building entrance and the surrounding streets. His bow was held in loose fingers, eyes never stopping their scan of the streets when he replied.

"Well, there's been an awful lot of owls around but no, haven't seen any HYDRA agents or anything unusual." Clint replied, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in several hours. Emily roughly shoved her half-empty coffee mug into his side, nudging him until he sighed loudly and took it with his free hand.

"You've been on watch for hours, take a few minutes." She knew he was as tense and eager to find the Captain, but with nothing to do but stand watch it had to be bothering him a good deal. "Stark has Jarvis checking shipping records and anything else we can think of to try and narrow down a few spots. We don't think they're out of the city. Sam's getting his wings ready and if we have some locales by the end of the night we can move out as early as the morning."

"Good." Clint mumbled through a mouthful of coffee, having nearly chugged the whole cup while Emily had been talking. "I've got Soviet cooties now but thanks for the coffee, 'Tasha." With an exasperated sigh Emily punched his side, which made him jump and the coffee mug to slip out of his hand and down to the street below with a muffled shattering of ceramic. "Aw, mug no."

Emily laughed, a true laugh, the kind that ended with her snorting into her sleeve. Maybe it was the tension of the night but it felt good to just laugh, and she heard Clint huff out a laugh as well. The last few days have weighed on her so much that it was nice to let off a little of the steam. She turned to make a witty comment but Clint frantically signed "quiet" at her, eyes locked down where the mug had fallen. She was up and looking over the ledge of the building in an instant, keeping low so she wouldn't be seen.

She heard him notch an arrow and draw, his breathing evening out the way it did when he aimed. She spotted in the street below within a few seconds; a shadow out of place, a brief flash of reflected light off of metal. Emily didn't hesitate to stop the archer, hand over his as he prepared to let the arrow fly, hissing out a breath between her teeth as she struggled to choose what to do. Downing him was likely the wisest option, but, if he was here, there was a chance Steve was too.

"Don't," she knew that Clint wouldn't, but speaking her thoughts couldn't hurt any, "This isn't right. If he was going to try and pick us off he would have while we were distracted. Something's going on." Clint kept his bow at half-pull, and she didn't blame him; she was cautious and untrusting herself, but as she watched the Winter Soldier looked right at them yet didn't duck behind cover. He just looked right at them.

"He could have agents all around the building we can't just sit here," he whispered harshly, pulling the bow to full-draw when the Soldier advanced until he was standing just a couple yards from the building. He was masked but lacked the goggles, dressed full in HYDRA gear with a rifle slung at his back, but hands empty.

"This isn't right, Clint." As if on cue, the Winter Soldier raised his hands, empty palms towards them. A show of submission. Emily bit her lip, not knowing what was going on in the man's head but knowing that this wasn't one of HYDRA's normal tactics. Either this was the man that had grown up with Steve or a twisted HYDRA trap, or something in-between. "… I'm going down there. Cover me."

"Emily you can't be..." she didn't give him the chance to try and talk her out of it, jumping onto the fire escape two floors down. It rattled so loud in the otherwise silent alleyway that she was sure HYDRA agents would be all over her, but seconds ticked by and there wasn't any movement, not even from the assassin in the street below. She was far from unarmed, with a pistol in her pockets, but she would never underestimate the Winter Soldier.

Being on the ground, mere feet away from the man that had shot her just a few months ago, is… tense, to say the least. Her shoulder aches. He looks different now in a way she can't really place; he's thinner than he was in her memories, eyes dark with lost sleep and weary in a way she never thought was possible from so menacing a man. He looked ragged and downtrodden and every bit as awful as Steve had described. Beneath the layers of caution and defensiveness, she admitted she felt a twinge of, pity was too strong a word but something like it, for her former mentor.

"What do you want, James." The words came out more bitter than she had intended, but then again maybe it was better to put up that façade. The man standing before her wasn't the same anymore, but hell, she changed also...

"Vitani." His voice was muffled under the muzzle-mask but that didn't diminish their effect. Vitani. Emily hadn't heard her old nickname in what felt like lifetimes. It told her that he remembered at least fragments of their past, much like her. "… I need your help." That definitely wasn't what she expected to hear him say next.

"My help?" Emily repeated the statement softly, "… Steve. How can I help?" she watched his eyes light up the dimmest bit. James slowly lowered his right hand, pulling something small and flat from his pocket. An arrow cut the tense air between them, embedding itself into the pavement a few inches from the man's foot; a clear, grim warning not to test his luck. It gave the Soldier pause before he completed his action, a small, scuffed moleskin sketchbook clutched in his hand.

"They have him." James's voice was rough and so tired, the book gently placed in her hands with his fingers lingering on her own for the briefest moment, "They think I'm on their leash still, Emily. Steve is hurt, I can't get him out on my own." His tone was almost pleading and it painfully twisted something up inside of her, "They sent me here to kill you all with the Strike team, you're not safe here any longer." Even without it being said, she knew that he had killed his own team to prevent them from hurting them.

"Where did they take him? Where are you based?" she got no clear answer, the Soldier merely tilting his head towards the thin sketchpad in her hands. When she opened the cover she realized there was a roughly drawn map, made of taken streets and turns that he must have taken to reach the building. It could lead them right to them.

"Emily, listen to me" his voice was suddenly soft, shot through with remorse, "they're trying to get me under control again. If they manage to, I need you to put me down. Steve won't be able to, and you're the only person I can trust to do it right. They might not even need to do it, I might try and hurt him if I'm not in my right mind. Please, I need you to promise." Without even seeing his reaction she knew her façade fell for the briefest of moments, blindsided by the request. She'd expected him to be hostile, to be defiant at the least, but not this.

She couldn't form the words but nodded, setting her jaw and straightening her back. The look of relief that filled his eyes was almost as heartbreaking as the whole damn situation. He started to turn but she stopped him, slipping a small object into his palm, curling his calloused fingers around it with her own hands. It was her necklace she used to wear everyday, in a shape of swan with outstretched wings. Seconds ticked by before he broke eye contact with her, looking down to his hand that she still held and then to the arrow by his boot.

"… thank you, моя любовь." She almost missed it, that softly mumbled bit of Russian that solidified in her mind that this was really James talking, and not the Winter Soldier.  She never thought she would ever hear that from him again. Emily gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she backed away, the Soldier doing the same, storing the thin metal object she had given him into one of his pockets.

"Be careful, James." Emily spoke softly, "… дорогой.." She watched him stiffen at the word, scanning her eyes for a long moment before he turned his head, breath exhaled loudly through the mask. She allowed her gaze to return to the roof, where Clint was still perched watchfully, another arrow at the ready. When she turned back to the Winter Soldier he was gone, just like the ghost he was. Her grip on the sketchbook tightened as resolve settled in. As it stood, HYDRA was holding two men from her, and they would soon come to regret that action.

His mind had always been too loud. Too loud, too busy, too full of things he had no context for. He could see them in bright flashes of vivid experience; the smell of a Brooklyn alley after a midnight rain, the feel of a stray cat's fur under his palm as it arched into his touch, the sound of a train's wheels far too close, he could remember small bits in crisp clarity but the whole picture was broken. He held the shattered pieces of a great mosaic with no blueprint, no frame of reference; the grand work it once was lost, leaving him with only a hundred million broken fragments and no way to tell how they fit together.

At least, it had been that way for the decades under HYDRA's command. He'd been out of cryo so long, his mind let go to mend without the wipes and supplied with small threads to stitch the patchwork of memories together, that now he was slowly piecing that mosaic of his former life back together. His memories were less flashes of disjointed fragments and now short contingencies; instead of just an isolated sound of pencils scratching at paper he now had a tentative picture of a skinny boy hunched dutifully over a thin sketchpad as he drew, or how a Russian lullaby now reminded him of a dozen young faces in a dim military compound.

With the tentative return of his memories came the emotions attached to them. He remembered the fluttery lightness in his stomach when he laughed loud and long around a campfire with Steve and soldiers just on this edge of familiarity, or how the fear had felt like tendrils of ice snaking up his spine when he heard a door slam shut over the rattling of train wheels. He remembered what fondness felt like, how it had bloomed with a fragile warmth behind his ribs for the first time in decades when he heard the first few unsure English words leave Emily's mouth, how she'd smiled like the sun after she held her first conversation in it with him. He remembered how it felt to have the emotions, but what he lacked entirely was how it felt to receive them, to give them freely and openly.

The strings that HYDRA had cut and mangled were slowly reconnecting, threading through the holes in the decaying programming and forming stronger bonds with each day. He hid it, he hid it deep and he hid it well. If Black knew he would be isolated, probably even forcibly wiped with what little equipment the base had even if it had a high chance of killing him. He knew how Black operated, his worth was only measured by his effectiveness in the field, and he knew as soon as that was permanently diminished he was obsolete. Just another loose end to be cleaned up, a broken machine to be discarded, a toothless wolf to be tied down and shot.

A week had passed since his meeting with Emily, since he'd given her every bit of information he could to help them find Steve. He could feel the programming responding to his HYDRA handlers, feel himself falling easier and easier into old ways and habits, found it harder to recall the broken shards of his memories. It scared him, it honestly scared him. What if tomorrow he woke up and all of the progress he had made was undone? What if tomorrow he looked at Steve and didn't see him, and saw only a target or mission or body to be disposed of? If he lost Steve, if he lost him and Emily, then he knew there'd be no saving him from HYDRA; they were the only ones who stood even the slightest chance of picking up his shattered pieces. This act of putting faith and trust in others was so foreign to him it was almost terrifying but he knew he couldn't do this on his own.

The soft sound of exhaled breath brought him back to reality, eyes cutting down to where Steve was resting his head on his thigh. The wound to his right side had healed enough for him to move around somewhat, although his definition of moving was rather singular. Steve had rolled onto his left side, using the Soldier's lap as a pillow, the thin white blanket he was wrapped in streaked with rust red from the most recent change of bandages. The Asset had deemed him well enough to chance providing him with a shirt, bright SHIELD logo across the chest of it, the sight of which made him feel sick. Steve was curled up somewhat, back mostly to the Asset, trying to shrink into himself but twisting himself up in the blanket and his own limbs in the process. Wide open to attack. The thought stung in his mind, eyes narrowing a fraction behind the thick protective goggles, and was dispelled quickly. Steve Rogers was not a target, threat or mark to him, but his programming deemed otherwise.

Even with the serum Steve's wounds were taking too long to heal for the Asset to be comfortable. The horrific gunshot to his side had only just closed up, a stark red swath of raw muscle stretched taunt over mending bones. The wound to his collarbone had healed much quicker, now a silvery patch of scarred skin that was fading with every passing day. His breathing had evened out to a wheezy constant, no longer sputtering and fluid-filled. It was a small comfort to the Asset.

The HYDRA doctors kept him sedated heavily most days now, preventing him from attempting to fight back or flee. The Asset knew the drugs well enough, as they had been used on him in the past when he woke up from cryo. It had kept him docile and pliant and it made him sick to see Steve reduced to the same state. He was burning through the dosage much quicker than he ever had, sometimes snapping to awareness with a feral sort of desperation to escape. Black made an awful point to make him be the one to administer the syrette, make him stand and watch as Steve collapsed and wheezed and tried to fight the drug, always to fail. Black couldn't wipe him, but he was trying his damnedest to break him through other means.

He'd been given less and less time with the Captain, forced into training exercise after training exercise, with little rest in between. The goggles hid how cloudy from exhaustion his eyes had gotten, how dark the patches under them had become, rendering him less and less able to fight back against orders. He wanted to gnash his teeth and lash out at every turn but he didn't have near the strength to keep doing so. He was so tired. He was never going to stop fighting but the programming was much stronger in his depleted state, the feeling of it guiding his movements almost second nature after decades under its control.

Stress sat heavy on the Soldier's shoulders, weighing him down and filling him with dread. His right hand was gently carding through Steve's hair, curling through golden strands that had grown during their captivity. He had orders from Black himself, an ultimate test for his programming, and he could feel it straining in his mind, the cogs and gears of HYDRA's control creaking and screeching in protest against his unwillingness to comply. He'd known this order was coming since his capture, known since they let Steve recover, known since they let him visit him as a reward.

The possibility of it had eaten at his mind since his first agreement to comply with Black's wishes, but now that the command had been given the reality of it all had crashed down on him. It was punishment, he knew it, punishment for not killing Emily and the small group she had gathered, for killing his own team to protect them. Black wanted him to know that he wasn't to make decisions and couldn't think for himself, and Black's sick sense of humor had been summed up in his simple order. He wanted balance; since he couldn't kill Emily and her group, he had to take another's life.

He held a knife in his metal hand.

"Kill the Captain, Soldier."

Even hours later the words still rang in his ears, a roar that threatened to drown out his own thoughts. He couldn't reject a direct command from a handler such as Black, yet he'd managed to hold out this long, kept his blade from marring the unblemished skin of the blond's neck. He could feel the press of it bearing down on his mind, burning behind his temples and tugging at his limbs, but he fought it. He gritted his teeth under the muzzle-mask and hissed out his breath, trying to will himself to throw the knife away from them but his arm wouldn't respond. He couldn't disarm himself but he found he could keep himself from moving to attack; he was at a grim stalemate with the programming.

"Slit his throat, Soldier. I want you to watch him die."

A strangled sort of noise choked in the Asset's throat, swallowed down thickly as he struggled to keep from showing his distress outwardly. He didn't even realize his hands were shaking until Steve made a confused sound, tilting his head to look up at him with one medicine-fogged eye in silent question. It just made the Soldier's hands tremble more. He'd done everything he could to try and protect the few people he knew with certainty and it was being warped into Steve's own death; everything he'd done was going to kill the man he'd tried so hard to protect.

"… Bucky?"

The Asset's whole body shuddered at the other's voice, shaking so much he could hardly sit. He pulled his hand away and watched the other's face, thankful for the first time in decades for the mask that covered his expression. Steve couldn't see the pained look on his face, see how panicked and wild his eyes were through the goggles. Black's agents had locked him in here and he could see the shadows of them through the small square window on the door; he knew that they would keep him in here until he completed his mission. He'd lasted this long, he just had to keep telling himself he just had to hang on a little longer.

He had to look away. He couldn't look at Steve without the programming screaming to lunge, to hold him down and slash the blade across his open throat. The inner mechanisms of his metal arm whirled and purred, plates calibrating and lying flat and repeating, unfeeling fingers tight around the handle of the knife that he could hear cracks forming on the resin grip. He felt like some sort of predator, a monster; Steve had done nothing but try to protect and aid him and when he needed him to return the favor here he was, holding the knife that would kill him.

Muffled voices from the HYDRA agents outside, combined with their restlessly shifting shadows through the window, set off alarms in the Asset's mind. Something was going on. It was likely Black coming to inspect his progress and the thought of it was enough to worsen his shaking. He was being pulled in a dozen different directions; Black's words tugged at him to attack, his own mind screamed at him to get Steve out of this hellhole and protect him, while the programming whispered encouragements to complete his mission and be rewarded with the quiet sleep of cryo.

The weight in his lap vanished and he didn't dare look to see; he could hear Steve straining to sit up, breath wheezing out of his still-healing lungs from the effort. The programming lurched at the opportunity like a starving animal presented with a meal, teeth bared and desperate for blood. It'd be so easy to just turn and plunge the knife into his back; the blade was long enough to reach his heart through his ribs if he aimed right, he'd bleed out if it didn't outright kill him..

"Buck."

His grip on the knife tightened, servos in his arm whirring into readiness. If he completed his mission Black would put him in cryo, would stop all the noise of the broken memories in his head and let him rest; he was so tired, he'd run and fought for so long that even the horrors of his captivity seemed like a sweet relief from the pain of remembering. The fragments of his memories had always just been background noise before, but now with time and healing they were loud, intrusive, overwhelming and smothering. He couldn't handle it on his own.

"Buck, something's going on, we need to get out of here..."

He was so far lost in his own mind, moving without knowing, drowning inside his own thoughts and broken memories. There was only so long one could fight before it all collapsed, until one gives in under the pressure. With his memories a jumbled heap, struggling to stitch together, the pain of it all was overpowering. He felt trapped inside a cage like a wild animal, desperate to get out and escape from all the noise.

The soft touch of warm fingers on his right arm triggered an immediate response, twisting and clamping his hand onto a still-healing shoulder, knife edge pressed to soft skin. He was instantly still, muscles wound tight like a spring, blade biting into his throat just enough to draw a single trickle of blood. Steve, this is Steve, stop. He was horrified, wanting nothing more than to bolt out the door before he could do something to hurt him more, but he couldn't move. He could only watch as Steve swallowed, eyes staring into his featureless goggles, confused and frightened but, God, still so bright.

"Bucky, put it down… please…"

A sound that could have been a whimper escaped him, stomach turning in disgusted horror at himself. Yet he still couldn't move the weapon away. He couldn't just ignore his mission but he could try and fight it, try to delay it, give Steve enough time to try and get away but unless he got a new command he had to complete it. It was the worst part of the programming.

"You don't have to listen to them anymore, Bucky.."

Steve sounded more lucid than he had in weeks, even with his eyes still fogged from medication and pain. He knew Steve, he'd made the connection between him and the boy with the sparrow-thin bones and bloodied knuckles from his memories, but seventy years of forced obedience and programming and control were impossible to just shrug off. Steve must have sensed it, but then again even the broken fragments of his memories told him that he had always been able to read him like a book.

He didn't show an ounce of fear as he slowly raised his hand, hovering it over his metal wrist, never breaking eye contact. He reasoned he wanted him to make sure he saw what he was doing. He remained tense and stiff, ready to slash the blade the inch it'd take to kill the man, but he waited. Steve seemed to take it as permission, lightly laying his hand over his own metal one, trying to gently push it away from his throat. He resisted at first, artificial muscles clicking and flexing before he slowly relaxed, letting his arm be guided away and down.

"You're okay, Bucky," he started, keeping his voice low and even, not even blinking at the impossibly loud sound of the knife clattering to the floor as it slipped from the Asset's grip, "you're my friend, you don't have to make it on your own."

Thank you Buck, but I can make it on my own.

The thing is, you don't have to.

Something about those string of words sparked something, a bright image flashing in his mind. He remembered Steve, so much smaller with red-ringed eyes. He remembered his hand gripping his shoulder tightly; he realized dimly that he was doing much the same now, a twisted sort of parody of a gesture that no doubt had once been based in comfort. Steve lifted his free hand, the other still cradling the metal wrist that a moment ago had been poised to slit his throat, reaching slowly towards his face. The memory was so vivid he didn't even react until he felt his goggles being gently tugged away, dropping discarded into his lap.

The Asset tried to suck in a breath through the muzzle mask but his lungs hitched as his whole body began to shake, arms dropping into his lap, limp. He had no idea what was happening. The programming had faltered, leaving him unable to complete the mission; the conflict between his programming and the memories was just too much. Panic filled every bit of him, heart hammering against his ribs and stomach threatening to retch. He'd never felt like this in any of the memories he had and it terrified him. He couldn't get enough air and he felt entirely out of control of his own body, his breathing loud and ragged and desperate under the mask.

He felt Steve's hand on his left shoulder, thumb just barely tracing the ragged seam where metal met flesh, his eyes focused on his own as he spoke although he didn't hear a word he said. Normally he flinched or reacted violently to contact but he didn't this time, merely shrinking into himself in an attempt to hide from the storm that was his mind. It was oddly assuring, the feeling of his firm grip on his shoulder, although it didn't immediately register that he was touching his left arm. He couldn't touch him with his left arm, he couldn't, he couldn't. He was dimly aware of a loud noise outside the room, an electric sort of noise that sent the panic coiling in his belly shooting straight up his spine. He needed to get away. Electricity meant pain, meant the wipe that would steal Emily and Steve and his fragile memories away again.

His legs felt boneless when he tried to jump up but he didn't make it any farther than that, Steve's grip on his shoulder turning strong as steel, pulling him back down. The Asset dimly heard him yelling at him; he heard Bucky and he heard its okay but everything in between was lost in the blur that was the panic swirling in his mind. The electric noise was right outside, it was too close. Too close.

"S-Steve, I..."

The door was blown off its hinges with a bolt of blue, slamming into the wall, and all thoughts screeched to a halt and screamed attack.

Steve flinched violently when the door exploded to his right, shards of hot metal bouncing off his side. The air was full of the acrid stench of charred metal and sharp electricity, a scent he knew like the back of his hand. Stark. Thank God, Emily had gotten help and somehow found them. They just might get out of this mess after all. He had his visor flipped open and grinned when he saw him, motioning to the two of them broadly. He didn't have enough time to warn him about Bucky, to warn him about the sound the repulsors made, to warn him about anything.

"Tony, turn off your Repulsors!" he shouted but by the time the words left his lips Bucky had already sprung, producing a knife from somewhere on his person and lunging at Tony like a bird of prey, blade like a talon aiming straight for the suit's Arc Reactor. Tony didn't even have enough time to flip down his visor before Bucky barreled into him, sending them both to the floor. Steve tried to jump up to pry Bucky off but the drugs were still in his system, making his limbs feel a hundred pounds heavier and the room spin with any sudden movement. It felt like when his blood sugar used to dip before the serum.

The screech of metal against metal was nearly ear-splitting, the knife glancing off an armored gauntlet when Tony threw his arms up to deflect the strike. Bucky jammed the blade into one of the seams, Tony actually letting out a yelp before he jerked his arm back, the knife catching and snapping from the torque. The useless hilt was discarded, fingers curling into a fist and slamming into the Arc Reactor, cracking the protective covering. Steve's heart skipped and he screamed at Bucky to stop but he watched as he raised his fist again, aiming to break the Reactor which would trap Tony in the powerless suit.

A brilliant flash of blue filled the room and Bucky was thrown off, the sleeve of his uniform disintegrating and exposing the metal underneath. The Repulsor blast had been drastically dialed back, only enough power behind it to knock him away, but it still nearly blew him into the far wall. He landed on his feet like some sort of cat and skidded back, tattered sleeve smoking and the plating of his arm mired with superficial electricity burns. His breathing was far too fast and he was still shaking, hardly able to stand on his own two feet.

"Bucky, calm down!" Steve pulled himself free of the IV drips, using the wall to steady himself as he moved closer to Tony; he was hedging his bets on the fact that Bucky hopefully wouldn't attack with him so close to his target. "Tony is a friend, he's not going to hurt you!" he could only watch helplessly as Bucky tensed himself up again, coiling in on himself like a snake about to strike. "Bucky, don't! I promise he's not going to hurt you!" he placed himself between the two, holding his hands up submissively. Tony quickly did the same, powering down his Repulsors completely.

Bucky remained crouched and ready to lunge, another much larger blade in his right hand. His eyes darted between Steve and behind him to Tony as if he was trying to judge his distance; it made Steve's stomach drop. He edged forward slowly, closing the distance hesitantly even though he heard Tony's concerned hiss of Steve be careful behind him.

"Buck, its okay, I promise. Its fine, Tony's not going to hurt you or me." he assured, reaching out and slowly taking hold of his hand with the knife. Bucky didn't let go, keeping his eyes locked on Tony over Steve's shoulder as if daring him to try and take another step closer even though he was now shaking so badly he could barely keep his stance. His eyes were still unfocused and wild, nothing like they were the last few times he'd visited him in his cell.

"Cap, I think he's having a panic attack" Tony said suddenly, visor flipping up, "try and get him calmed down so we can get you both out of here. Emily is coming down the hallway, I'm going to make sure our path out is clear but we need to leave before more HYDRA agents show up." Steve nodded back at him before turning his attention back to Bucky, hand still on the hilt of the knife to try and keep him from lunging around him at Tony.

"Buck, Bucky, I need you to look at me" Steve spoke sternly, Bucky's gaze snapping back to him in an instant, "please try and calm down. You're breathing too hard, just, try and focus on slowing it down." He'd talked Tony through his panic attacks in the last few months when something triggered them but Tony had never had a penchant to try and kill him during them.

The knife came loose from his grip a moment later, Steve quickly tossing it out of reach onto the abandoned cot. Bucky was shuddering so much he looked like he was about to shake apart, breath heaving in and out. He wanted to get the mask off of him but he didn't think it was a good idea with him still so flighty. He could easily end up hurting him or himself.

"James, теперь ты в безопасности."

He felt Bucky jolt to look over at the remains of the door where Emily was now standing silently, the shield strapped to one arm. Steve would have spun around himself but he didn't dare make any sudden moves with Bucky in his state, knowing he was teetering on the edge of attacking him or attacking anyone who so much as came within three feet of him with a weapon.

"E-Emily." Bucky's voice was painfully weak, hardly audible over his breathing. Steve heard her walk over, she deliberately making enough noise so not to startle him, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm gently. It seemed to ease his shaking a bit, having two grounding points, but they didn't have the time to get him completely calmed down. They still had to get out of this nightmarish place and get to safety.

"You're going to be fine." She reassured him soothingly, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it before, "we're going to take you and Steve somewhere safe." Bucky seemed to calm a bit at her words, tentatively nodding in agreement as his tremors subsided. He still looked pale and nervous but he didn't seem to be on the verge of passing out anymore. "Steve, Stark has the hallway clear but we need to go now. More agents are inbound and we don't have the head of the base pinned down. Do you think he's good for extraction?" Steve turned to look at the Soldier at her words, and he mirrored the action.

"Do you think you can make it out of the building, Buck? We need to go." Steve asked and was relieved when he saw the slight nod he got in response.

"Good. Clint and Bruce are outside in a Quinjet. Let's get you both home." Emily whispered with a little smile in the corner of her lips.

FOUR YEARS LATER

 “Mommy!? Mommy, mommy, mommy!!!” a squeaky voice has spreaded its echo around a cottage.

Little girl ran through upper floor, heading towards stairs leading at the ground floor. She ran into the living room, looking around, but there was no one, so she ran further. Girl spotted the black chow-chow, who was laying at the dog bedding near the main door.

“Hey! Xena! Have you seen Ma?” girl, laughing loudly, went to the dog and pet dog's head playfully. The animal only barked lazly, so girl shook her head and decided to ran to the garden.

But at the door a pair of strong hands had caught her and she had been picked up. She was laughing and squeaking. “Uncle! Put me down, put me down!!!” she giggled, looking up into pair of familiar, huge blue eyes. Steve smirked and made an offended face. “Nah, I don't think so, I like to have you close, besides, now I hope I'll have better deal with your mother if it comes to a dessert!” Captain tickled little belly of the girl, causing a bunch of giggles and squeaks. “Uncle! Unfair!” little girl nuzzled to his neck. “Well, I'll help ya with a dessert if you'll help me to look for my Ma! I can't find her.” Steve laughed briefly and gave a slight nod, then stepped outside t the garden, holding girl in his arms.

Emily was sitting at the wide swing with Bucky, they were catching sunrays of the late summer, cuddling and talking. When little girl noticed her parents, she squeaked once again, tugging Steve's sleve. “Mommy! Daddy!” she yelled loudly and as soon as her little feet touched the ground, she ran towards them, jumping at Bucky's lap. “Mommy! I was looking for you everywhere!!! I draw something for you!!” little girl held a dawing in her hand and she passed it over to Emily. Redhead woman took a piece of the paper in her hand and whistled shortly. “James, look, I bet our girl's gonna be an artist in the future!” she giggled. Bucky took the drawing in his metal palm and took a look on that, letting Steve to watch it also. “I bet she'll” Bucky took girl into his arms and hugged her tight, smiling proudly. “My beautiful Marika.” “I'm sorry to interrupt, but what's with that dessert you had promissed me?” Steve poked Emily's shoulder and woman rolled her eyes. “Captain is hungry as always. I told James before, they should've been calling you Captain Hunger instead of America” Emily summed up, smiling sweetly.

All four talked for a while, then headed back to the house. They were living in peace, filling their lives with love and hope. Hope for better world.

Whatever they had missed, they possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

                                                      The End

Believer || Part I

Words: 1910

Warnings: none at all

SUMMARY: MCU Crossover With Tomb Raider 2013

Request by: Anonymous

Author: Rouge

“Come here, boys! We have fresh meat over here!”

The man had appeared out of the foliage with barely a rustle of his announcement. His clothing was weather worn and threadbare, a suggestion of a harsh life. He could see stains of questionable and queasy origins spattered here and there, dark like ink but not with the same texture, not at all. His hair was dark and greasy, his scratchy beard thick. The leer in his eyes and the crooked smirk weren’t welcoming either. He had a gun. Bucky recognized it simply because he had grown accustomed to their sight over the many years.

He was alarmed when he began to pick out more bodies emerging into sight from the darkness of the forest, some up high on overhanging precipices; several were in trees, and the rest on the ground, flanking the first man. Some had rifles. Others, pistols. He even noticed, oddly enough, some were armed with bows and arrows.

All were aimed at him.

“If this is your welcoming committee, then I shudder to think about the reception of guests you fail to successfully entertain. This is rather poor in taste, if you ask me.”

The first man, the leader of the ragtag bunch, scowled and spat out a curse at him. It took Bucky a moment to realize he had spoken Russian, the dialect heavy as the syllables growled over one another. It took him another to realize what the man had said.

“Fucking smart ass. I’ve shot men for less insult.”

He jerked the gun in his hand, pointing a vague direction for Bucky to move. Bucky didn’t. Instead, he addressed the man in his apparent native tongue. “Where are you taking me?”

The Russian was unimpressed at being addressed in his mother tongue, even if he did give pause.

“Move!”

The weapon’s hammer was cocked back for emphasis, a loud and unsettling click that cleaved the very air with its sound. He startled when one of the men suddenly pitched forward with barely a grunt and hiss of air issuing from his mouth. He fell forward, his weapon—a rifle—clattering to the forest floor with a loud clatter, tangling in the undergrowth. An arrow protruded from the Bucky man’s backside.

The Russian barked at his men, stirring them into action and they scrambled into organized chaos. The Russian turned on him, the barrel of the gun reestablished on him. He hissed away, stalking forward to close the gap between him and Bucky.

“She’s come for you, boy,” he growled, a dark light sparking in his eyes. “I’ll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face.”

The gut punch had the taller man doubling over, wheezing heavily at the strike. Bucky wasn’t aiming to kill or maim the man, simply disarm him and relocate. The Russian’s grip on his gun hadn’t broken, but he was too busy catching his breath to notice. He never got the chance to, either.

Another arrow whizzed out from the dark and struck the Russian’s neck, punching through from back to front, an arrowhead sprouting out of his throat. The gun fell from abruptly limp fingers, and then the Russian followed suite with a strangled gurgle. Bucky stumbled back, in horror and shock. The light in the Russian’s eyes went out and he wheezed his last breath, blood bubbling from the oozing wound as he collapsed on his face.

The forest fell silent and it was in that moment he realized all the men that had appeared from nowhere were dead.

All of them.

An unsettling silence had Bucky over the forest, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker, longer, reaching for him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and stood at attention while an icy shudder snaked its way down his spine.

His metal arm reached his vest's pocket and pulled out a handy knife. The dark blade was gleaming in what little light the moon above provided. The familiar weight of a tactic vest settled around his shoulders, providing a comforting sense of security and protection as it did.

He felt eyes on him, but how many and from where, he wasn’t too sure. He just knew that whoever killed the men, they were still here. Bucky didn’t have long to wait. He whirled at the first sign of movement, but he stopped short of himself in surprise at what he faced.

It was a slip of a young woman, much smaller than he was. She was dressed sensibly enough to move fast and not allow herself to be caught up by snagged clothing. It was all form fitting without being too tight on her, she had grey tight cargo pants, a striped shirt which probably was white in the past, pair of a hiking boots. There was a bulk to her build and Bucky saw why. The silhouette of knives strapped at her sides, a rifle on a sling over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows belted at her hip, and a bow held casually in one hand, a pistol in the other. She cleared the area with the pistol, watching for any unwanted movement before holstering it at her back when she deemed it safe.

She had beautiful, big brown eyes and smooth skin. Bucky noticed a little bruise at her cheek. Her little nose was adding kind of a charm to her figure. She slowly rised her brow, glaring at him.

The woman ventured closer, her posture still tense but it had relaxed greatly in comparison to the few steps she had taken when she arrived. She was showing she wasn’t an enemy by holstering her weapons, but she would still ready at the drop of a hat to jump into action if things went south. He could sense all of that just by the way she held herself.

She slowly reached to sling the bow on a holster on her back, leaving her hands open and free. Her eyes never left him.

“These men would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened. The Solarii aren’t known for their kindness and mercy. Negotiating with them is impossible when they’ve been trained to kill without hesitation. Especially if it looks like you’re going to fight back.” She started in way of greeting. The woman tilted her head to the side. “Surprised they delayed so long in shooting you. Good thing they did. Gave me time to get here.”

He was still tongue-tied at the suddenness of the events that had transcended within the span of a few sparse minutes.

She turned, motioning for him to follow.

He trailed after her with uncertainty in his steps. “Wait... wait! Where am I? Who are these Solarii? And what’s your name?”

The woman craned her head to peer over her shoulder at him. Her gaze was steady and even, unfaltering as she studied him. They passed through the undergrowth for several minutes in silence before she answered him.

“You’re on an island called Yamatai. It’s in the Dragon’s Triangle, west of Japan. The Solarii are…shipwreck survivors. They’re a band of murderers that have laid claim to the island, killing or recruiting any men who wash up on shore. They burn any women they come across.”

A sour taste coated the back of his throat and his stomach turned uneasily at that. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, and he wondered if he was alone.

I think I am, but…no. Please don’t let the others be here.Steve. Sam. Natasha.

“Have…have there been any others…?” He couldn’t finish. The woman seemed to take that as a cue.

“Like you? No. You’re the only one I’ve come across, dressed as you are.”

There was little relief in her answer. It only meant he was the first, and that the others might very well be here.

The woman unclipped something from her belt and waggled the item. It was an oval-shaped device, black and ringed with perhaps a white or yellow stripe. A thin tube stuck out from its top.

“The Solarii get riled up when others are spotted on the island. No doubt they’ve already gotten on the horn and started bleating like the mindless sheep they are to others on their radios about you.” She continued as they began climbing up a small incline. The trees were thinning, and there was a path up ahead, and it looked like there was an old bridge they could cross. “You’re the only one right now. If there were others, I would have heard about them on this.”

He didn’t feel very reassured, even with that statement. A thought occurred to him.

“You never told me your name.”

They came across the bridge. It might have once been painted a pleasing, imperial crimson red, but time had taken its toll on it. Still, it was intact and spanned over the length of a small pond. The night critters had begun their hushed chorus and he had barely noticed until then.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But then, what do I call you? My name’s James Barnes, but more often I'm called Bucky.”

When she walked, she was quiet. She moved with the purpose to be as quiet as possible. He sought to do the same, in case they ran into any more of those Solarii men. He didn’t fancy having another dozen guns pointed at his person, thank you very much.

“Lara. Lara Croft.”

He stopped halfway across the bridge, startled.

“There’s a way off?”

She paused at the end of the bridge and turned a little to view him more properly. “Yes. There’s a boat. I’ll have to fix it, but I need to take care of a few things first.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. I mean..” She hesitated. “Not by now at least.  have a safe place where you can stay” she offered, shrugging slightly.

She eyed him a little more critically, her mouth pulling into a shrewd, thin line. “Trained fighter or not, I’m not risking a stray bullet hitting you in the head.” Lara crossed her arms at her chest, rolling her eyes. “Besides.” She took a look at his metal hand. “It shoulkd be useful to defend yourself. But you were just standing there, like a child lost in the mist” a sad smile crawled at her rosy lips as she was speaking.

Lara gave a small nod and turned, motioning him to keep following.

“I can help” he pressed insistently. “Please. At least lemme help with something. You saved me.”

“No, you can’t by now.” She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone, it grated on his nerves. He started after her, silence be damned if it meant catching up.

“And how do you know? You don’t know me, or what I can or can’t do. I can do quite a lot. I killed a lot of people..” Bucky growled loudly, streatching his metal fingers.

She glanced at him as he dropped back, his steps faltering until he stopped. “If you could kill, then you would have done so back there. Those men would have been dead before I met up with you. That’s how I know you can’t do what I need to be done by now to get us out of here. It’s kill or be killed on this island. But for now,” she looked around, sighng, “let's get to the hideout. It's gonna rain.”

His Ego || Stephen Strange x Reader.

Summary: You are taking care of Strange shortly after his accident  

Warnings: None.

Words: 1327

Request by: Anonymous

Authors: Cass & Toro

You loved your job. Helping others was your longtime passion, you couldn't imagine yourself anywhere else but in a hospital, unfortunately, last few weeks were a horror to you.

Stephen Strange has ended up in the hospital due to his car accident. After that he went through five doctors and several nurses, and all of them told the one thing: 'I am not going back to him.'

Stephen Strange wasn't the easiest person to deal with. He was an arrogant long before that accident but then it was even worst - a mix of his arrogance and anger.

Soon there was no more doctors that wanted to even enter Strange's room and someone in his condition couldn't just stay alone.

You gathered all of your courage and decided to go there by yourself.

You entered room slowly. "Stephen?"

He raised his brow with a deep sigh leaving his mouth. "What now? Another dose of pills that will miraculously heal me? Nor maybe you've come here to see the best neurosurgeon in the world who is not even able to hold a stupid mug in his hands, huh?!" Strange was raising his voice with each word he was speaking out loudly.

You sighed deeply and shook your head gently. "I came here to see the patient, no matter who he is. I am not here to judge you and you good know this."

You already had to fight the urge to hit him. You had to listen to his screams and now they were directed straight at you, it was really over the line.

Strange turned his head to the window, not saying a word. He started to pretend he was alone in the room.

You let out another sigh and your hands dropped to your sides. "Please, Stephen. Cooperate with us. You know we all want what's the best for you," you said moving closer to his bed. "Come on, show me your hands," you requested as you sat on the edge of his bed.

Former doctor struggled, trying his best to roll on his right side. "Fuck off," he only hissed. "I don't need your help. I don't need anyone to feel sorry about me. I'll be fine by my own. If they wouldn't have done that to me, it wouldn't be that bad right now. They fucked my entire life."

"Stephen... I don't do this because I feel sorry for you. I do because this is my job and I am kinda the only one standing by your side since you effectively scared others away."

You watched him for a moment, thinking what more you could add.

"I want to remind you that if not other doctors, you would have lost your hands for real. You good know that you still have a chance, you just need to give yourself time to heal."

"Time to heal, huh?!" Stephen turned his head to face you. "Do you hear your own words?! They've destroyed all the nerves that left! They could have done it other way, inserting a simple fucking stents in my hands! That would truly help! And now they're sending someone like you," he threw you a disdainful glance. "Pathetic."

You shook your head and got up. "You are the pathetic one right now, Strange. Look at yourself, you are the one on this bed. You are the one that was reckless enough to use your fucking phone while driving! Kids in kindergarten know that you should never do this!" You growled. "You should at last be grateful that we saved your ass, and that for now we waste our time to deal with such a stubborn asshole like you. I am leaving now but I will be back later," you simply informed him and then left.

Strange only shrugged his arms slightly and rested his head on the pillow.

He closed his eyes and let the thoughts drift away.

He was almost falling asleep but a sudden thought crawled into back of his head.

You were absolutely right. If he wouldn't be that stupid to check upon his phone while driving, he wouldn't be where he was then.

However, he still was too proud to admit that it was him who was mistaken.

You returned to your office and decided to do a bit of your work before dinner time.

You had to somehow relieve your stress and anger after visiting Stephen. Even if you knew it won't be easy, you set yourself a goal to change his behavior.

During the dinner time you decided to order something in the cafeteria and take it to Stephen.

When he heard someone entering his room, he theatrically rolled his eyes. "I don't want whatever you have there. I am not interested. At all. Leave me alone."

"Yes, yes. But you know what? I don't care, just like you," you said and smiled at him holding a tray. "It's dinner time so I decided to jump to the cafeteria and get you something warm because even you need to eat," you put the tray on his bedside table.

"And how do you imagine this, huh?" He snorted. "How can I eat with those?" man pointed at his bandaged palms. "I think I have to consider your intelligence level, darling," Strange growled.

You took a deep breath, you could feel anger slowly building up again but you only bit inside of your cheek, trying to control yourself. "I always can take bandages off and help you with eating. It's not really a problem," you shrugged, putting hands into pockets of your coat.

"To you it may not be a problem but to me it's a fucking shame but sure, of course, who would even care what fucking Strange feels," man summed up angrily. "Do what the hell you want, I have it deep in my asshole."

"Stephen. I meant unwrapping your hands. I never said that I don't care. Sure I do," you rubbed bridge of your nose. "I understand you are ashamed of your condition but you can't act like this. Please. If you want I can even feed you."

Stephen shrugged slightly. But this time he didn't protest. He let you unwrap his palms, he also let you take a spoon and feed him.

You smiled at him as soon as you finished.

You got up and went to wash your hands. "You see! It wasn't that hard, Stephen. Now please, be a good boy and show me your hands."

He did without complaining. "And? What are you gonna do with them? Are you gonna heal me? No one can, that's the truth," he clenched teeth.

"I am a doctor here and I need to check on them to see how wounds are healing, if you like it or not," you responded, taking a seat on the edge of bed.

You gently took one of his palms into yours and studied it carefully, later you repeated this with other hand.

"They are healing, it looks very nicely, I must say. Would you like me to bandage them back?" You asked looking at him, still holding his hand.

"Do whatever you have to," Strange sighed out loudly. "Besides, I thought you're an ordinary student nor nurse, how funny," his voice sounded more wryly than he attended, so he grinned, cocking his brow.

You lurk around to get new bandages for him and quickly came back to wrap his palms. "Well, because of your lovely attitude no one wants to come here, so I need to be everyone to you," you explained, carefully wrapping his hands. "I hope you will feel more comfortable for now but you know what, Stephen?"

He tilted his head slightly. "No. Tell me."

"I think you still have beautiful hands," you stated and smiled at him, then raised on your feet. "If you will need anything, just ring for the nurse. I will be in my office. And remember, it's gonna be better."

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a little about me <3

hello, i’m captnvbarnes and i am a mcu fanfic writer. i have been a writer for nearly 5 years now, going under another alias (vvcaptainstark/oofjustanothermcufan) before retiring a few years ago. i am out of that retirement, and felt compelled to write again.

i use she/her pronouns.

i write fluff, angst, dark!, smut, one shots and series.

i will write as often as i can, and i appreciate anyone taking the time to read this. i missed this community, and looking forward to publishing more fics.

➼ 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹’𝑺 𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑫 (17+) 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒆

theme — a marvel zombie au!

pairings — bucky barnes x fem!reader, steve rogers x fem!reader

warnings — marriage troubles, slight fluff, training, slight angst

summary — the outbreak had happened as quick as the first bite. one, then two, then 1/3 of the population became 2/3’s. before any of the avengers could comprehend this threat, it overcame them with new york’s rising population becoming undead. bucky is your protector, not by choice but by chance he was there just in time to save you. you two flew the compound, leaving the life you knew. leaving your husband to rot. as you two grapple what this new world has become, everything became too much. the world depended on you guys to save them, but how could you save anyone now? and when the blood runs and the nights become colder, who will save you?

➽────────────────────❥

Unbeknownst to the entire compound, the United States Eastern coast has became initially exposed to its impending demise.

The spread began in the north of Maine,  at 2:13 am, September 27th.

—

Sun dripped into your windows as the birds chirped and sang their songs. You could feel the rising warmth kiss your skin, your eyes crinkle before widening at the blaring noise of your alarm.

6 am.

"Steeeeve..." You grumble out, tossing your covers over your eyes and tossing the other way.

The alarm's blaring noise answered you instead.

"STEEEEVE!" You yell out again, wavering your hand blindly to swat at the annoying piece of scrap on your bedside table.

The alarm's annoyance continued.

"Ugh.." You submit, tossing your cover over and cutting the box's voice short before it could continue its belligerence.

You sit up, yawning and stretching your arms outward. You blink and let your eyes adjust to the sun's colors, greeting you unwarranted.

You turn and find your husband's spot... empty. It's neatly folded as-well. You scan the room, looking for a trace to as where any sign of Steve could've placed. Nothing in sight.

You get up, tidying your bed to twin with Steve's side. You slide into your slippers and grab your morning robe that hanged on a door rack of your closest which you draggingly coated yourself into. You noticed Steve's was still there. You round the bed, noting Steve's slippers were placed beside a wall, not in front of the bed as he set them before he slept.

He must've started the day without you already.

You roll your eyes. You get he likes a fresh start to the day, but you love the mornings you awake with him together especially.

Figuring the previous, you grab your clothes for the day and bathing supplies. Can't trust leaving your soaps in the community showers after Captain Marvel took a visit and was curious to what each Earth product was the best for her hair. Although she is currently off planet, it became a better idea to keep things in each other's room after using.

You walk down the halls, yawning and stretching. You pass Wanda just before she re-enters her room, already completed with her shower. "Morning Y/N!" you hear her greet, and you say the same to her in kind, a little more tired, before following with another yawn. "Morning Wanda."

You soon enter the community showers, the woman's and men divided but placed across each other. You hear some men inside, and know everyone is now starting their day if they haven't already.

"Morning sunshine." You look and see Natasha, wearing her morning robe and dampening her hair with a towel before wrapping it on her head. "Morning Natty" you say, giving her a half ass smile. "What time did you go to bed?" She chuckles. "Late. Maybe around 2?" You reply, approaching one of the covered showers and turning the nozzle to warm it up.

You hear Nat playfully pout. "Why so late babe?" You feel for the water, checking its temp. "Steve kept tossing and turning." You say.

Causality of being married to a former man in the army. No biggie, you're used to it and it's not the worst thing in the world.

"Ah, yeah that happens. Barnes did it a lot when we were together for a bit. But then again so did I some nights.." She trails off. Her and Barnes had dated a few years ago, but parted for differences and that they were better as friends. No hard feelings. Nat then met Bruce and since then they've been stable for about 3 years.

You felt the water become the right temp, nodding to Nat's words but signaling her that you needed to waken the fuck up and let the water rush over you. You entered the shower, closing the curtain and began undressing leaving everything on a bench inside the area. Stark made sure to have it be spacious and with storage. Though you're convinced it was Pepper's touch.

"Have you seen Steve? He wasn't with me when I awoke." You asked, setting your ring alongside your clothes, looking at it for a brief second as it sat. "Yeah, he went on a run with Wilson earlier, like... an hour ago?" She estimated, slightly muffled sounding as she began brushing her teeth.

You nodded, beginning your routine and lathering yourself in this new body wash that Stark sponsored and they wouldn't stop sending him merchandise. At least it smelled nice and lathered all bubbly.

You heard from the outside of your shower the sink run, clothes rustle, a zip of jeans and soon blow drying.

You thought on how Steve, as of late, would begin his mornings without you. Actually... for the past few months. It felt special when you guys woke up together, greeting each other with morning kisses and snuggling for a little bit too long before risking being late on morning training and breakfast. Not to mention, you two have been going on separate missions as well. There's been a slowly increasing distance, but nothing you would dare be vocal on as you diminished it to 'just nothing too serious to worry on'.

"Hey babe, I'm done with myself. I'll be in the kitchen with the others, Steve and Sam should be back from their run soon." You hear Nat yell. "Thanks Nat, will do!" You respond, snapping out of your thoughts and slowly beginning to wrap up.

You turned the nozzle, grabbing your towel and drying yourself. There was a light layer of steam, the sun brightening the rooms more now.

You dressed yourself in your casual attire, adorning your ring last. You fiddled with it, twisting it with your right index and thumb.

Surely, Steve wasn't slipping from you, right?

Or... you weren't from him?

No, you wouldn't. You love Steve. He's your husband. Till death do you part.

You brushed your teeth and washed your face, cleansing it and patting it dry with your hand towel. You did your makeup after, then finally brushing out your hair before pulling it back, leaving some strands to frame your face.

You grab the remainder of your belongings and open the to door leave. As you do so, you hear the men's bathroom door open opposite of you.

It's Buck. His hair is damp and some parts wet. He wears a Henley that's clings onto his body a bit too well. You try to not take note of how well it highlights his muscles throughly.

"Oh, hey Y/N, morning." He greets, monotonously but still positive somewhat. "Morning Buck" You say, looking over his face. He recently shaved so he looks more cleaned up.

You two walk out of the bathroom area together towards the bedding suites. "You didn't join Steve for his run today?" You ask. Usually Steve and Buck do everything together. "Nah, just didn't.. feel up to it. Plus I had a mess to clean up." He says, gesturing to his jaw. You chuckle slightly to it, it was kinda getting out of control. "It looked somewhat fine before, but I get it." You say. He notices you trail off, looking more ahead downward. "You ok?" He asks, stopping to a halt and facing you. "Yeah, I'm good Buck. Just.." you trail off.

You stop and think to yourself. You don't want to bother your husband's best friend with marriage issues. Doesn't feel the most appropriate. Plus, you never like to talk down about Steve or any sort of negative way, especially when it could just be nothing.

"Just kind of hungry. I went to bed late too so I'm extra tired." You salvage, giving him a reassuring smile which he copies. You two continue your walk. "Well we got raiding drills later, so better be on your a-game for that soldier." He chuckles, before nodding towards his door which you two came upon. It’s the door next to you and Steve's room. Of course they were paired to be set up right next to each other's quarters. "Ha, so totally looking forward to that." You sarcastically say, him slightly chuckling before you two both enter your respected rooms.

You drop off your dirty clothes into the laundry shoot, setting down your bathing supplies and unplugging your phone from your charger.

1 message from 'Hubby', 5:45 am.

[Hey, out on a run with Sam. Be back around 7.]

You clear the notification off your screen and check the time. 6:53 am. He should be back soon.

You put your phone into your pocket, heading towards the door before closing it shut and heading towards the kitchen.

You hear the commotion before you see it, heading down the stairs and the smell of bacon instantly hitting you. Yum.

"So he said, 'you fucker!'" you hear Clint say, mimicking a foreign accent. "And I said, 'but I barely know her!'" he laughs at his own dad joke, you not initially hearing the first part of the joke but you know it was corny as any of his other jokes. And so does everyone, as you hear some disappointed groans follow from it. 

You see Bruce frying eggs and bacon, Nat preparing toast and jam for herself, Tony nursing a cup of coffee lowly talking to Bruce beside him, Clint rambling about his jokes sitting at the head of the table, and Wanda delved into her Sokovian poetry book on the couch. 

Tony's the first to notice you. "Hey sleeping beauty, thanks for joining us for comedy hour, don't expect much though, it's a bit outdated." He whips, Clint sending him an offended shocked look. "Hey my jokes are funny!" He retorts. "Sure pal, and I'm a blessed virgin nun." Tony quips back, some low laughter from the other teammates following. Everyone greets you with a morning as well as you make yourself more settled into the room.

You fix yourself your favorite mug, nudging Tony to the side with a small hip bump and grabbing the coffee pot nearby. He scoffs jokingly and makes his way towards a head chair at the opposite end of Clint.

"Morning Y/N, how do you like your eggs?" You hear Bruce warmly ask. He's always so sweet. He took up cooking, and it's calmed him a lot. "Scrambled today, and some bacon if you don't mind." You smile at him, he smiles back and nods his head. You stir your cream and sugar together.

As you clink the spoon on your mug, you hear the compound doors open followed by rumbling laughter. Steve and Sam are back from their run.

You feel as though you're supposed to be more warmly about your husband returning, but find yourself being only pleasantly happy. Why weren't you as ecstatic like before? Is it because you realized the distance?

"Hey guys, welcome back, how was the 10k mile run?" Tony jokes, Steve rolls his eyes but chuckles. He wipes his forehead. He doesn't look to you yet.

Why didn't he look at you first?

"Was quite the warm up, Sam barely caught up with me." Steve said, gesturing to Sam who was clearly delighted to be back from the morning cardio. He had a sheen of sweat over his face. "You cheated you old man.." he heaved, hands on both his knees to stabilize his breathing.

At the same time, Bucky made his way down the steps. You looked and caught his eye first. He smiled at you, and you returned the gesture and hoisted up your cup as an hello.

Steve finally took notice of you and smiled. "Hey honey, morning." He greeted, making his way to you before kissing you quickly. Luckily with his super soldier capabilities, he doesn't sweat. At least not after a run he'd consider easy work. You smiled into the kiss, lightly ghosting your fingers over his jaw. "Morning handsome."

Bucky watches the display of affection. It's cute. He's happy for his best friend. He found himself a very good beautiful woman. Steve's deserved this life, especially after everything. You're Steve's girl, and Bucky will always protect you on the field as a courtesy to his best friend.

"Eggs are done!" Bruce calls. "I get first dibs, mine!" Tony says, pushing past everyone to secure his plate first.

—

11:43 am.

Morning training is a brutal start of the day. It goes over swiftly, standard drills and procedures. Tony made a holographic simulation, that way it's easier to track each member's stats and determine their strong and weak points as well as pushing past the boundaries of what is physically possible. Which is somewhat good, because technically none of you guys should be possible, yet here you are. It prepares all of you guys for how to handle future opponents you've yet to encounter. For the chance of impossibility..

You sparred with Steve only a handful of times, but often spar against other people to not let the marriage influence any pulled punches. Today, your sparring partners were Clint and Bucky.

Clint was defense based. He had trained with S.H.I.E.L.D longer than you did when it was still active. He knocks you down only a few times, but more so you over come him. He's proud of you regardless, as he was one of the people who recommended you for the spot on the team. He wasn't that much older than you, but you remember him from the academy days when he was a fresh graduate and you were a shining young prodigy.

Bucky was offense based. You were vigilante with your defense, coming in strong with offense, but Bucky always had the upper hand due to longer experience than most people in the room.

"You need to aim high but strike low. Throw them off, take them by surprise. Always use the element of surprise to your advantage." He advised, you two in a walking rotating circle. You went for a fake out punch with your right hand, him raising his hands instantly before you swipe your left foot under him and watch him fall. "Like that? Feels like a cheap shot." You retort, you both chuckle but you help him up. "Cheap, but works at times. I let you do that by the way. Be more aggressive this time." He chuckles, and you two continue the routine.

Steve watches as you train with his best friend. He watches your every move. When the others don't train you, Steve tries to personally train you himself on what he knows. But different builds require different tactics. He hasn't trained you in a while, he realizes.

He then takes note. He hasn't really set aside a whole lot of time with you. He feels a slight disconnect, but he blames it for his soldier core. And he's sure you understand, right?

"Capper, you gonna stop drooling over your lady or focus back?" Nat quips. Steve shyly smiles. "Can't resist looking at her." He plays off his thoughts, and continues his training with Nat.

—

1:12 pm.

Lunch gets delayed till then, mostly everyone having cut training quits before then to eat while you focused more and trained a bit longer. Your thoughts run back to you and Steve as you attack a punching bag. You recall endless mornings waking up alone, how your soothing doesn't help him slept as well as it did, how he no longer looked for you first any time he entered a room. How he—

"Doll, we don't need Stark asking both of us for a new punching bag out of our paychecks." Steve's voice breaks your focus and you stop. You hold the bag to a halt and wipe the sweat off your forehead with your boxing glove. You turn and see Steve, hands on hips and a smug smirk plastered on his handsome face. The face that once upon a time charmed America and your heart.

You sigh, giving your best smile to him. Maybe you are just overthinking everything. You guys are Avengers, of course you guys can be caught up in this kind of line of work.

"I'm sure he wouldn't notice the dent in his wallet." You say, taking off your gloves as Steve approaches you. He kisses you lightly again, quick and brisk. You became accustomed to the chaste kisses. Though you missed the ones filled with passion and ones that felt like he was kissing you for air. "No, he definitely wouldn't but he'd notice out of spite for us." He retorts, rising a small chuckle from you.

He holds your frame and you place your now bare hands onto his broad chest. You take notice he's in his uniform. You weren't notified there was a mission today? Usually Steve lets you know weeks in advance.

"Why are you in uniform?" You question him, giving him a puzzled tense look. He reads your expression and drops his shoulders. "Emergency mission. Fury informed us that there has been this kind of outbreak in Central America. It's taken over governments in a day." He explains. You become more confused. "Why weren't we aware of this? Governments, like plural?" You ask, kinda huffing but surprised by the lack of knowledge of this. "Because hun.." a look of worry paints his face. Rarely he's this concerned over a mission. "It happened just two days ago. In just a couple days, multiple countries fell." He explains, and the worry on his face then dresses your own. "But-" "With the Sokovia Accords, international issues have been restricted. Until now. But they're being limited with it as an ultimatum." He reads your mind and answers the question you were about to ask. It explains a bit, yet nothing at all. Sure you heard some minor things on international plagues, but there has been so many new diseases in the last decade that you didn't think much of this one.

"Wait... what do you mean by limited?" You ask, and as if on cue, Nat, Wanda, and Tony stand themselves at the entrance of the training room.

The gears slowly start to form in your head. "They only want a few of us to go check it out. Fury was told that only me, The Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, and Ironman were requested by the UN." Steve says, and you feel your heart sink.

"No no Steve, I'm coming with you-" "Darling you can't.." Steve's heart breaks hearing your plea. "Steve no!" You scream at him, holding onto his uniform before he grapples his hold on you a bit tighter to shake you out of it. "Y/N!" You feel teary eyed. You felt wrong to have doubt his love and question the distance between you two. Although it was warranted and fair, it seemed so little now.

Something like this sounds dangerous. And you wouldn't be there to have his back?

"Please look... it'll only be a few days mission, a week tops. The UN don't want us there, so I'm sure they're gonna want us back as soon as possible." He reassured, though it did little to calm you. "I'm sure this is just an inside terrorist organization. They probably orchestrated this to all happen at once." He continues. You blink back your tears, trying to hear him out and make reason of it all.

Bucky, who was a few rooms down, had heard the commotion and came forward to it. He saw his fellow team members at the door, heading towards Nat for an explanation which she shortly gave to him. After, he looked to you and Steve, watching the scene unfold with everyone else.

"I'll be back soon doll. That's a promise." Steve says with a smile and caresses your cheek softly. You try to melt into his touch, but there's a million things going on in your head at the moment. You can't find comfort, there isn't enough comfort for what you're trying to process. But maybe he is right. Maybe it is just a situation where it's another power hungry turf war, and maybe you were just overthinking everything from earlier. All these maybes.

He lifts your chin with his fingers, looking for a knowing comfort in your eyes. That look where you know and believe in him. Your eyes dart before meeting his. He sees uncertainty. He doesn't know what to think of it, and just tries to reason to himself that you're worried for him as a wife and concerned.

You numbly nod, a soft "Okay" leaving your lips.

"Hate to break up this lover's bid farewell moment, but Cap were on a time schedule." Tony chirps, Nat instantly jabbing him in his stomach for his nonchalance. "Ow Nat." "Read. The. Room." she grits through her teeth, as Tony soothes his stomach slightly.

You two look to the group at the entrance, nodding before turning to each other again. "I love you Y/N. I'll be back. Promise." Steve says, holding up your hand and kissing it. You feel the heaviness in your heart and in your words, unsure and unaware for what will follow after this. "I love you too Steve." You return, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He hugs you tight and returns the kiss, savoring it and giving more passion into it than he has of late. He's certain it wouldn't be his last, as surely, he'd return in a few days.

He parts from the kiss first, caressing your cheek again with his hand and kissing your forehead before leaving and heading towards the entrance with everyone else.

He approaches Bucky, who with the newfound information, understands his need to go but still is worried for his best friend. "If anything happens here Buck..." Steve starts off, placing one hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Protect her, no matter the cost. No matter what you do, look after her." He says, entrusting Bucky to look after you. Bucky looks at you, who has Nat now comforting you. Bucky looks back at Steve, nodding his head. "I'll protect her. No matter what." Bucky promised. Steve believes it, if not, knows it. He thinks it won't come to that, but as a safety measure, he has to know you're taken care of. You are the most precious thing in the world to him. Whatever it means that you're safe and good, that's what matters to him. He knows you'll be good in Bucky's care.

The two best friends hug, and Nat rejoins the group and they begin their trek towards their locker rooms to prepare.

They leave in the Quinjet at 2:25 pm.

—

9:38pm.

It had been a couple hours since Steve had left. Communication had cut off about an hour into their departure, the signal not reaching far enough. If needed, you could contact him through the emergency line, but there was no reason to extort through those extremes.

You resorted yourself to you and Steve's bedroom, looking through old pictures of you two and little keepsakes you guys kept for years, nursing a glass of wine; this being your 4th full glass. There was a heavy pang in your chest for how you felt earlier. And as unjustified you felt for having felt that, you couldn't shake it off. You look at the pictures of your wedding day and the reception. His smile is so wide and bright, his eyes so filled with adoration. You wonder when was the last time he full on genuinely did that with 100% of him.

Placing your wine on your bedside table, you wrap up this box and begin to place it back on the top of your closet shelf where it was, when then, you notice something you never saw before. There's a metal glint in the far back of it. You saw it for a brief second, but knew it was there. You're tipsy, maybe a little bit more than you want to admit, but certainly not that drunk yet.

On slightly wavering feet, you grab a stool from your vanity. You place it in front of the closet, standing in it and nearly falling before stabilizing yourself. You're eye to eye with the top shelf, and realize you never actually saw what it looked like up here, only Steve did. And there was never a need to, it was for old memories and scrapbooks, but you two haven't looked at those in ages.

You extend your hand, wobbling slightly but still finding an unsure balance. You grab what you were looking for, and take it out.

Your heart sinks to your chest as you recognize what it was.

A compass.

You don't need to open it to know who was in it. A rush of emotions overcome you.

He had told he threw it out the first week you guys began your relationship, which was over 4 years ago now. And to make matters worse..

There wasn't a spec of dust on it compared to everything else up there.

*Knock. Knock.*

The sudden noise throws you off and you lose balance and fall off the stool, a big thud ringing through the room. "Y/N?! You ok??" You hear Bucky call out from behind the door, but it's ignored as you groan from the pain of the harsh landing.

"I'm coming in." You hear Buck say. You tried to protest, not wanting him to see you in this state, but the door begins to open already. Dammit, you forgot to unlock it when you entered; probably too overwhelmed with everything to notice.

Bucky enters and notices you on the floor and instantly rushes to you, noticing the stool, open closet, and nearby wine and puts it together in his head. "Doll what are you doing to yourself?" he asks softly, hoisting you up and sitting you down.  You try to fight it though, but the moment you stand back up the sharp pain in your back shoots through you. You collapse again, this time accidentally knocking over the wine causing it to land on your sheets and onto the floor. "Hey hey! Take it easy, you probably landed on that stool when you fell." Bucky says, sitting you back down, this time you relent. "Now, tell me what happened?" He asks more soothingly, holding onto your back and hand. You hiccup, and sniff. "I wass looking through our photos and was sad..." you jumble together. "He looked sooo happy here James." You say. Bucky is slightly taken back by the use of his first name, but he doesn't express it. You never call him James.

You smiled at the picture but frowned after. "Buuut he don't seem that happy anymore with mee.." you mutter, starting to get weepy eyed. Bucky frowns, it aches him to see you sad. "Well I'm sure he does Y/N, it's just been a stressful time." Bucky suggests, but genuinely, he has no clue why Steve has been distant. He noticed it slightly, but didn't bother to much to look into it as it wasn't his business to get into. "Oh yeah...?" You trail off, blindly looking with one hand for what you dropped. "Then whasss thiss?" You say, holding up the compass to Buck.

Bucky instantly is taken back. He frowns immediately at the sight. He knows that compass, hell anyone in America knows that compass. It's Peggy's compass.

He thought Steve had gotten rid of that long ago.

"When I found it, no dust. Not a spec! Poof, nothing, nada" you ramble, dropping the compass in his hand and feeling the alcohol warm your cheeks.

Bucky, still in shock, feels a big disappointment in his best friend. He shouldn't still have this. He's upset at Steve, not more so of personal, but he's upset for you. Steve should've gotten rid of that a long time ago, and if what you say is true, why doesn't it have any dust on it whatsoever?

Bucky, getting out of his own head, looks over to you who has your knees tucked and your arms holding them close to your chest. His heart melts, and he's hurt by it. Anyone but you should be this sad.

"Doll, look I can't tell you why he has it still. I thought he didn't have it either. But..." Bucky contemplated his next words. Steve is his best friend, and although Steve is wrong for this and Bucky will bring this up next time he saw him, you're still Steve's wife. And Bucky would never want to bad mouth Steve to his wife.

"...but, I know he does love you." Bucky reassured. You didn't lift your head up, and Bucky wanted you to know what he said was true. He lifted your head with his metal hand, cupping your cheek softly to meet his gaze. Meeting your teary eyes, he felt a pang in his heart. A feeling he couldn't describe, but as quick as it came, as quick as it was gone.

"He loves you Y/N. And he wouldn't trade you for the world." He said, and though he tried his most genuine and sincerest, it didn't seem to ease you completely. He sighed, giving you an unsure look before glancing around the place. Your bed was soaked with wine, and the glass that had fallen off and broke on the floor, luckily not near both of you.

You definitely can't stay here in your drunken state.

Usually he'd call in Natasha for this kind of help, but she was out and as well as the next best option, Wanda.

"Buckkk..." He glanced back down at you and kneeled down. "Yes doll?" He answered, watching you grovel and lean into him. It took him off guard, but he didn't want to push you off. "I'm tired. I don't want to be awakey right now. I juss don't wanna think bout this" you slurred. He nodded his head. Thinking of what he could do, but remembering that Steve told him to make sure you're protected.

He thought of an idea, and thought it would work, at least for right now.

"Hey doll, would you be ok sleeping in my room for tonight?" He asked carefully. It was better than the couch downstairs. There was no guest rooms at the compound up for availability, and Wanda's and Nat's room were left locked after their departure. He figured he could sleep on the floor like how he used to. That way he's there keeping an eye on you.

You numbly nod, and try to stand but still on wobbly knees. Bucky catches you, and wraps one of your hands around his shoulder and tucks his hand around your back. He helps carry you to his room which is luckily right next door. He holds the door open for both of you, turning on the light and closing the door after. He picks you up fully, you hiccuping but slowly letting the fatigue subdue you. He lists his covers and places you on the center of the mattress, taking off your shoes carefully and setting them against the bed.  He places the sheet over you, and you snuggle yourself in.

He sighs as he worries for you. He never saw you like this before. But he's content he's keeping his promise to Steve, who he is still upset for about the compass. Steve had lied to everyone about it. And Bucky always treated Steve with honesty.

Bucky quietly grabbed his clothes from his drawer for his nightly shower. As he opened the door, he heard you softly call out. "Thanksss Buckk." He gave a small smile and turned to you. Your eyes were closed and you were half turned away from him. "Of course doll. Sleep well, I'll be back soon." He said, you humming softly as a response before snuggling yourself more into the bed.

It smelled like wood musk and eucalyptus. A very strong masculine smell. But it was warm, and may it be you being drunk, it felt like the softest mattress in the world.

Bucky closed the door and made his way to the showers. He was alone in the big room, undressing himself inside one of the showers, taking everything off but his dog tags and folding everything neatly. He turned on the shower, letting the cold water wash over him. He felt worried for you, and already worried for Steve despite the small aggression lingering.

Bucky never heard of no terrorist group that could take over entire governments in a singular day. It just... wasn't possible. He would've known about it. It struck him as wrong... but it was late and he didn't want to think on it longer than needed, wanting to get back to you and make sure you were ok.

He wraps up and dries himself, eventually dressing in grey sweats and a black beater.

He comes back to his room and settles himself down on the floor with a spare blanket and pillow. 

He eventually falls asleep around 11:17 pm.

—

New York's first contact happens at 3:36 am, September 28th.

END OF CHAPTER.

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