Steve X Bucky - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

My little treasure || Part I

Teaser

WORD COUNT: 1261

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR: Cass

Bucky was washing plates after dinner when He heard doorbell. He wiped his hands and walked to door. In open door Bucky saw young boy. It was Grant.

He literally was a mini version of Steve.

He was Just a short blue eyed boy with short blond hair, He was really skinny, just like Steve before serum. He was holding his strap from bag tight in his hands Bucky liked this boy, He wasn’t so bad but He really wasn’t happy to see him. “Morning Mr. Barnes… Is Andrea home? I want her to go on a walk with me.” Grant asked softly, trying to look over Bucky’s shoulder, looking for Andrea

Bucky raised an eyebrow Now He really didn’t liked it. “Yeah… Sure… She is in her room… I will call her. Come in and wait in living room.” Boy nodded and slowly went to living room. Grant knew Bucky very well, He was his father’s best friend but Bucky still was scary. Big guy with metal arm. Bucky walked to stairs “Andrea! Someone’s here to met with you.” He yelled and returned to kitchen.

Andrea slowly walked downstairs and blinked looking at Grant  “Grant!” She yelled happily and ran to him quickly. Grant smiled and hugged her tight “Hey, I heard you are sick… what happen? Are you okay… I’m worried now.”

Andrea smiled “Don’t everything is fine… I mean… Nightmares… they are back…. And… I’m scared.” She said sadly and nuzzled to him.

Grant sighed and hugged her really tight and stroked her back “Everything will be fine… Maybe we should go on a walk? It will be good for you.” He said and looked at her.

Andrea nodded softly and looked at him “Daddy?! Can I go on a walk?

Bucky looked out from kitchen and nodded looking at Andrea “Sure sweetheart.” He said and looked at Grant frowning. Andrea walked to Bucky and kissed his cheek “Thanks dad.” She said and then grabbed Grant’s hand and pulled him behind herself.

In park, Andrea sat on grass and sighed softly looking at the sky “You know… sometime… I wish I could be normal…” She said quietly and looked at Grant. He sat next to her “Andrea… you are normal.” Andrea smile and looked at her metal hand “Look at it… metal hand, who normal have hand like this? I’m a freak… I feel like… the worst one..” Grant blinked “Hey… and how I should feel? Look at me.” He smiled at her “I’m Sickly, skinny, weak and My father is Captain America! The guy that is as big as your dad, I look like my dad on his old photos… For me you are just unique, you aren’t weird, scary or anything… just unique.” He said and took her metal hand in his.

Andrea smiled and hugged to him “Thank you.” “You are welcome, now let’s go home, it’s getting late.” Grant said and got up, Andrea followed him slowly. During their way home They me group of girls that were always bullying Andrea.

“Hey There weirdo! Oooh! Look girls! one freak found another one. Is he your boyfriend Freak?!” Leader of group asked looking at Grant. Andrea quickly hide her hand and looked down scared “I asked you something freak!” Girl yelled at Andrea “Hey! Leve her alone!” Grant growled.

Girl smiled “Oooohh… look He is a hero now. Come on girls, let’s show him how it ends when you protect a freak with metal hand.” Girl said and She and her friends attacked. Andrea tried help him but girls without problem pushed her away.

After few minutes girls laughed “Let’s go girls… they got their lesson. Better don’t try tell anyone.” Leader of group said to Andrea and they all left.

Andrea quickly ran to Grant  “Oh my god Grant…” She said quietly and took his face in her hands “Oh my god… you look terrible… let’s go… We will help you in home.” Andrea helped Grant got up and took him home.

Bucky looked at them “What the Fu…. Heck happened to him?” He asked when Andrea helped Grant sat on couch “Just… just help him dad… please…” Andrea said and quickly went to find first aid kit. She brought it to her father.

Bucky sighed and started take care of every scratch. Bucky sighed sadly, it was like past. Well, it wasn’t Steve… but Grant looked just like his father especially now. After few Bucky looked at Grant “Okay…. I did as much as I could.” Bucky got up from couch and walked to Andrea.

“Thank you, Mr Barnes… but you really didn’t had to.” Grant said and slowly got up.

Bucky smiled and ruffled Andrea’s hair “Let’s take your hero home, I’m sure his dad and mom are worried.”

Grant sighed sadly and nodded slowly “You are right Sir.”

Bucky took both kids to car and took them to Steve home.

It was small white house, Steve was sitting on porch, waiting at his son to return home because it was getting late.

Woman walked to him and rubbed his shoulder. It was his wife. Beautiful, blue eyed young woman with short blond hair “He is with Andrea… I’m sure Bucky will bring him home.” She said softly to Steve

“Martha… I don’t care. You good know what I think about her… Maybe Bucky isn’t Winter soldier anymore… but She can be. We don’t know what they…” Steve stopped talk when he heard Bucky’s car.

He quickly got up form chair and went to. He froze when he saw Grant “What the hell Barnes! What you little monster did to him?!” He yelled. Bucky frowned and looked at Steve, hiding Andrea behind himself.

“Dad… Don’t. She did nothing.” Grant said.

“I don’t care… I good know you gonna protect your ‘Friend’. Go home now, Martha… take care of him.” He growled and looked at his wife.

Grant quickly went to his mother “Mom… it’s not her fault… The girls… I was protecting her.” Grant said. Woman nodded “I’m sure you were… let’s go home…” She said and took boy inside.

“I hope you are proud of your girl Barnes.” Steve said frowning

“She did nothing…” Bucky muttered looking at Steve.

“Oh really… look at Grand… You saw what happened? Maybe she is lying to you and Grant protect… this… little child of Hydra.” Steve said pointing toward girl.

Bucky frowned and grabbed Steve’s hand “Don’t you dare…. Call her that.” Bucky growled.

“Or what…. She gonna hurt me with this little metal hand?” Then Steve could feel how cold metal hit him right into stomach. Steve fell onto his knees holding his stomach tight.

“Not her metal hand… but my, Rogers.” Bucky said “You think you are better? You changed a lot… and not in good meaning.” Man picked up girl and sighed “I know that She didn’t did anything bad… She is my girls.” Bucky smiled and looked at Steve over his shoulder “If for you she is still a child of Hydra… than I’m still The Winter Soldier for you. Till the end of the line…” Bucky laughed “I think our line ends here, pal.”

Bucky sat girl on her seat in car and then took driver seat and drove away.

Steve growled when he got up “Fucker…” He muttered and went back inside.

After few minutes Andrea looked at Bucky form the back seat

“Dad…” She asked quietly.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bucky asked and looked at his daughter in the mirror.

“Who Am I…?” Andrea looked at him in the mirror.

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.

My little treasure || Part III

Teaser || Part I || Part II

WORD COUNT: 2930

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR: Cass

It was only two days after whole Andrea’s accident. She stayed in S.H.I.E.L.D.

Andrea was looking at white wall still lying in her bed. Suddenly she heard a voice .

“Hey… How do you feel?” It was grant. He solely sat on Andrea’s bed when she sat up.

“Good… but I still feel bad… because of this what happened two days ago.” She said sadly.

Grant smiled softly and stroked her hair. “It’s okay, nothing too bad happened. Everything is fine now.”

Andrea sighed heavily and quickly broked down. She started cry. “No! It’s not! I’m a monster! Machine… next Hydra’s experiment!”

Grant looked at her. “Hey hey hey… Shhh…” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay now. Andrea… please calm down.” Grant said and pulled her onto his laps.

“But… l.. look… What I did… I hurt my dad… I wanted hurt you… Why… Why you tried to stop me… I could kill you..”

Grant stroked her cheek and sighed. “Because you are important to me. I wasn’t scared… I will always try to protect you… I could die for you.” He told her.

Andrea looked at him in shock. “G-Grant… what are you saying..”

“All I’m saying is…” He said slowly and kissed her. Andrea blinked but didn’t pull away, she kissed him back.

“I just love you.” He finished after braking the kiss “I will never let anything bad happen to you.” He said and Andrea only nodded. Grant laughed softly and kissed her again.

After few minutes they both jumped surprised when they heard angry voice. “Am I interrupting in something?!” It was Steve and this time he was really pissed.

Grant looked at Steve. Andrea also looked at him, he was really scared. “Dad…. I  just… I mean we…” Grant looked at Andrea.

“I can see what you two are doing! I told you, she is Hydra’s experiment. She showed what she is capable to. She is a dangerous creature!” Steve growled in a low voice of his.

Grant let Andre sit on bed and he got up. “No! She is not! I love her! And I don’t care anymore what you think about her. Because I LOVE HER!”

“And you are my son, MY son! And as long as I’m alive you will do what I say.” Steve grabbed Grant’s arm and pulled him out of the room. “I don’t care what you think about her. She is walking monster!” Steve growled at Grant.

He suddenly saw Bucky. “And you! Keep this thing away from my son!” Steve yelled at Bucky and left hospital with Grant.

Bucky blinked confused and watched as blond man left the building. “Um… it’s nice… to see you two too..” He said slowly and went to Andrea’s room.

Girl was hiding under her blanket, Bucky looked at this really worried. He sat on bed and rubbed her back.

“Go away Grant… your dad hate me…” She whimpered.

Bucky smiled “I’m not sure if my name is Grant.”

Andrea sat up and looked at Bucky from under blanket, “DAD!” She whimpered happily and hugged to him tight.

“Calm down, or you will break more of my ribs.” He giggled and hugged her back tight, “I missed you, little one.”

“How do you feel… w-what I did to you..” Andrea asked and looked at him.

Bucky only smiled at her “For me more important is how you feel but… I only have few ribs broken. I don’t know how many… I didn’t listen. I was more worried about my daughter.”

Andrea sighed and looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to dad… I don’t know… I was so angry, scared. This rage, it ripped me from the inside. I wasn’t controlling myself. I’m sorry.”

Bucky looked at her and put his hand on her cheek. “Sweetheart… please, shhh. It’s okay, I understand, I good know this feeling.” He told her.

Andrea nodded and hugged to him tight. Bucky spend few hours with her before he had to go back.

Martha knocked to Andreas door. “Knock knock. How’s my favorite patient?” She asked and slowly sat on Andrea's bed .“I hope you feel better, Andrea. Just I wanna you to know that Bucky will be able to take you home soon, I hope you are happy.” She smiled.

Girl only smiled sadly and nodded “Yes… I wanna go home, to dad.” She said quietly.

“Andrea… something’s wrong? I can see that you are quiet… and I’m sure that this time it’s not because the thing that happened two days ago.” Martha sighed and got up from bed. She walked to girl. “Come on tell me..”

Andrea looked at her. Andrea felt bad because of everything. Because of thing that happened, because of Bucky and Steve and because of Grant. She told everything to Martha.

Martha giggled. “Finally my son had shown some balls…” She muttered to herself and sighed. “You know what… I think you shouldn’t think about this. Everything will be fine. Things like this won’t happen again, Bucky is quickly returning to health and Steve… He is himself, but don’t worry. I won’t let him separate you with Grant. Now… It’s getting late, you should try to sleep a bit, okay?”

Andrea smiled and nodded, now she felt much better “Thank you..” She said.

Martha nodded. “No problem Kid… I will be back at morning to check upon you. Good night and see you tomorrow.”  

Andrea spent few days in hospital, after this time Bucky took her back home.

Girl happily flopped on her own bed in her own home, Andrea sat slowly on bed and looked at Bucky. “Dad… I… can we talk about me? I mean… about what I am?” She looked at Bucky with her big puppy’s eyes.

Bucky smiled sadly and nodded, he sat next to her. “Just… remember, no matter what I always love you.” Andrea nodded “Sure… I love you too, dad.” Bucky smiled sadly. “So… it was fourteen years ago..” He began.

 ~~~~~~ fourteen years ago~~~~~~

 “Everyone's down?” Steve sighed heavily picking up his shield from floor.

“Well, no one shoots to us anymore, so I think yes, Cap.” Bucky looked around and smiled at his friend.

Steve nodded and put shield on his back. “So… Agents will go there and we will go to main lab.”  Steve ordered and few agents that were with them left them alone on the corridor “You okay, Buck?”

“I just…” He looked around again, Bucky felt really uncomfortable. “Just… bad memories.. but let’s go. We should check what those sick bustards were doing here.” Man muttered and started walking toward main lab.

Steve followed his friend.

Main lab was a huge room, filled with all kinds of weird things. Many books, boxes with documents. Photos of some creepy stuff.

Bucky looked at documents. “That makes sense…” Bucky muttered.

“What is it, Buck? What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Look at those photos, Steve… they were experimenting on people, kids… even unborn one…” Bucky put few pages of documents on table.

Steve looked at them. “Yes… Look… This woman… She got missing few weeks ago.” He picked up documents and started looking trough them. “13 years old girl… pregnant woman… Man from store… Mother and her newborn son… Everyone that ever reported missing from city below.  Just reading their treatment makes me sick…” Steve shook his head and shivered.

“I never really met with such a cruelty from Hydra… I mean I knew they can be cruel…” Bucky muttered, walking around in room, checking under tables and other place where they could find something.

“I think it’s more like new… branch of Hydra. All those adults that think they can make Hydra great again… Like we can see they left really quickly… or those few that we met were last one in here. I have no idea.” Steve shrugged “I will have to move all those stuff to S.H.I.E.L.D, and I will have to send letters to families… You know… When we were at war. I thought it is hard, but it's harder than I ever thought.” Steve said and looked at Bucky.

But Bucky wasn’t really listening to his friend, he found small room. It had working light and it was warm. There was small bed inside, some toys, small clothes were laying on floor and on a small chair. “What the hell…” Bucky muttered and walked inside. “Bucky…” Steve blinked and followed his friend slowly.

Bucky looked around, room was really small, but only now Bucky could see pink walls covered in childish drawing, whole place looked better than whole place. Bucky also saw table with long  tablecloth. He could hear some quiet sounds from there. He slowly walked to table, man got onto his knees and slowly moved tablecloth up.

There was sitting a small girl. With short dark brown hair, she had big green eyes, small pink lips and she was really skinny. Girl looked at Bucky scared and moved herself away from man.

“Hey hey… shhh… look, I’m not one of those man. They were coming to you? They were bad? You are scared of  those man?” Bucky asked quietly.

Girl whimpered and nodded three times.

Bucky smiled at her. “Hey, we are here to help you, little one. We will take you home, to your mommy and daddy. Come on now… look I have this special hand… It will protect you.” He said and pulled out his metal arm toward girl.

She looked at him but after a minute she moved closer to him.

“That’s it. You are a good and smart girl.” Bucky said softly and wrapped arm around girl. Bucky hugged girl and got up from floor. “You are safe now, no one gonna hurt you.”

Steve looked at him. “What the hell are you doing with this child?!” Steve frowned.

“Calm down Steve… She is just a child, she’s not gonna hurt us.” Bucky smiled.

“Look at her! We know nothing about her. She is Hydra’s experiment. We don’t know what sit in her.” He growled and took his shield in his hand “We can’t let her live.”

Bucky frowned. “Are you kidding me? She is just a child.” Bucky said hugging again scared girl to him. “I don’t let you kill her, she is so small.”

“She is Hydra experiment. You think why they keep her alive?” Steve said.

“Then why you never killed me, Steve? I was an experiment too. Good man changed into killing machine by HYDRA.” Bucky said and looked at girl. “Let me take care of her… I promise… I will do everything.”

Steve frowned. “Fine…” He put shield on his back. “But if anything ever happen because of this thing… it will be only your responsibility.”

Bucky nodded and looked at girl. “You see… I told you.” He smiled when girl looked at him and smiled back. Her smile was still caused by her fear but Bucky could feel that she was really happy because she was safe now.

Whole paper work in S.H.I.E.L.D took a lot of time. Bucky saw girl's documents but he didn’t like what Steve wrote there. He agreed at those words only because Steve promised she won’t ever see those documents.

Girl was sitting at big metal table in lab. Bucky stayed close, while Martha was examining her.

“She looks healthy, I mean. She isn’t sick… but there is one thing.. that made me worry.” She said and looked at Bucky.

“What is it?” He blinked, he started feel something weird inside. Since they found her, he got really attached to her. It was weird but nice feeling for him. It was something new, something that made him feel warm inside. He wanted this girl to be safe whole time. Was it because they shared similar life. Hydra's experiment, good person destroyed by sick people, loners found by good person. He had no idea… but he really liked this feeling.

“I mad X-rey. She has a metal hand…” Martha said.

Bucky looked at her and at girl. “Um… Sorry Martha.. but I don’t see it.” He said really confused.

“I also thought it but look..” She walked to girl. “Will you let me show Uncle Bucky the magic trick with your skin?” Martha asked, looking at girl.

Girl smiled at woman and at Bucky, she nodded and giggled quietly.

Bucky felt even more warm inside when he heard this quiet sound, he felt… good, he felt happy.

Martha nodded and slowly pulled off skin from girl’s hand “It’s some kind of… bionic skin, I think I will send it to Stark. He will know what to do with it.”

Bucky looked at hand “They… hide it… but why?” He walked to girl and took her small had into his hands.

Martha shrugged. “Maybe she had to be some secret weapon. We will never find out I think. But as far as I see she is fine. We didn’t find anything bad in her. She is just too skinny, but it will quickly go back to normal. You talked with Steve?”

Bucky nodded and sat on table, girl climbed on his laps by herself and put her hand on his arms. Then smiled at him. Bucky smiled softly “Yes I talked with him,  I want adopt her. Take her with me to home.” He said.

Martha blinked. “Are you sure? I mean we don’t know if she is 100% okay.”

Bucky nodded. “I was in similar situation too… Steve helped me. It’s time for me to help someone, we both are from Hydra's hands… Who else will be able to help her better than me.”

Martha smiled softly. “If you say so Bucky.” She nodded. “She is three years old but she doesn’t have a name.” She said and looked at Bucky.

“I thought about one… Andrea, I like this name. I think it will be perfect for her.” Man said and girl smiled at him.

Martha smiled. “Okay, fine. Better go home now. She needs rest, food, water and love.”

First few months with Andrea were hard. It took Bucky long time to figure out what girl like to eat and what she doesn’t like. What she likes to wear and what not.

Bucky was giving Andrea almost whole his time. When she was asleep he was preparing room for her. She was getting sick many times what meant that Bucky spent many nights with girl in his bed, making sure she is okay. It was hard, Bucky was making so many stuff at once that he slept when he could, while waiting at microwave to stop, when Andrea was with Martha at her research, during girl’s nap time.

But it all was worth it. After few months Andrea started talk, she started eat properly, she started smile more often, many night were peaceful for Bucky and for Andrea. Bucky lived moments that he thought will never come to him. Visits at playground, trips to cinema to see new move for children, walks to zoo. Bucky couldn’t be more happy than He was with his adopted daughter.

He was often leaving Andrea with Steve’s son and their babysitter. Steve wasn’t really happy because of this fact, but Martha was really good in calming down her stubborn husband.

When Andrea met Grant she was even more happy. Bucky had to learn her good manners, how to act around other people and explain girl that she isn’t weird but special.

Andrea looked at him. “Dad… m… maybe you aren’t my real dad, but I never knew my real parents… I love you… and… thank you for everything. All those sleepless night that you spend with me, all this time that you gave me trough my whole life.”

Bucky smiled and hugged her. “It was all worth it… Because now I have wonderful young lady… and she is my lovely daughter.”

“Dad… Can you do something for me?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Bucky sighed softly.

“Can… can you do something so Grant will come here. Steve really made sure he won’t visit me… and… I miss him.” She said sadly.

Bucky smiled and ruffled her hair. “I will try my best. Now try to relax you are finally home.

Next Andrea got up really late. When she walked to kitchen she saw Bucky, Martha and Grant.

Grant saw her and quickly walked to her. “I missed you!” He said and hugged her really tight.

Andrea giggled and nuzzled to him. “I missed you too… soo much!” She whimpered happily. Grant smiled and kissed her, after a long kiss he looked at her. “I missed you harder…” He muttered happily.

Andrea giggled happily and suddenly realized that Martha and Bucky were watching them whole time. Grant saw how her face became red and looked at Bucky and his mother.

Martha was watching them, smiling gently. Bucky was looking at them with big smiled on his face. “I am puking rainbows!” He yelled and laughed “So cute. Go upstairs… She missed you. Just you two have to be quiet there.”

“Daad!!” Andrea whimpered and her face became even more red. Bucky only giggled and shook his head. “Go go, I will talk with Martha and think what to do with our cap.”

Andrea nodded and took Grant up stairs.

Martha smirked. “They look cute together… I don’t understand why Steve hate her so much.”

Bucky nodded “I don’t understand since We found her…” He said softly.

Smartphone || drabble

Words: 1059

Warnings: none at all

SUMMARY:  Bucky and Steve and their first time with smartphone

Request by: Anonymous

Author: Cass and Beast.

It was a day like many else before. Bucky, sitting on the couch at the Avengers' Tower, was playing with a little object in his hands.

Steve walked to him and looked at lil object. "Is it Stark's phone, Bucky? I think he told you to not touch his stuff." Steve muttered and sat next to his friend.

"Yeaaah, I've heard all this before, pal" Bucky shrugged slightly, moving one of his metal fingers over the screen. "I like to make him mad. Besides. It's only a piece of metal and glass."

"A piece of metal and glass that is really important for him, just like for everyone in these days." Steve only shrugged. "I have no idea what interesting is in those smartphone or whatever... In our times we didn't have stuff like this." He muttered.

"Heh" Bucky rolled his eyes. "That dude can't spend even 5 minutes without this device. I'm curious what he would do if I would hide it somewhere..." Bucky giggled under his breath. "Our century was much different, Steve. Maybe harder, but better."

"One day he will kick you out of here. You are cruel for him. Father's day and Stark gets a cup from you.. With words "I love my dad" and you HAD to add "Sorry Tony" using permanent marker." Steve rolled his eyes and looked at his friend. "What are you doing there?" He said and slowly looked at phone.

"Oh, c'mon Stevie!" Bucky poked Steve's leg. "I just wanna see his reaction" brunette got up and looked around. "Maybe here..." he approached the bookshelf and when he tried to put phone behind books, he accidentally unlocked the screen. "Fuck!"

"Hey, hey!" with flash hand he carefully moved his finger along the screen. "The fuck is that, Steve? I've never seen something like that before.."

"It's just a phone Bucky. I saw how Tony uses it, he just moves his fingers and touches it and the phone do whatever he wants."

"Lemma try this" Bucky, without a blink, started to click each of the icons on the screen. "Oh.. How many numbers... Mom.. Mostly to women. Precious informations" Bucky chuckled darkly.

Steve gently smacked Bucky in the back of his head. "Remember that those numbers can be also important for him." He said. "Maybe try to touch the other... lil picture on this phone." Steve said, he couldn't help said he became a bit curious.

Bucky looked at his pal. "Really, man?" he rolled his eyes annoyed. But he followed Steve's advice and he touched another icon. "Shit, man, I've just started recording... Wait!" Bucky raised his hand with the phone in it. "Hi, Tony! Don't worry, your phone is a good hands!" Bucky waved to the camera.

"Just don't kick him out Tony, please. Turn it off back. Now" Steve muttered. "Gimme that." Steve took the phone and returned to the couch. "What else can be here..?" Man said and looked at his friend.

Bucky eagerly followed his friend and jumped on the couch. "Hey, I wanna see too!"

"Stark is gonna kill us pal." Steve smiled softly and opened phone's gallery. "Oh... look at that, photos... and there is our video... shell we look at all photos?"

"Are ya kidding me, Steve?!" Bucky blinked. "Sure! We have to!" Bucky wrapped his metal arm around Steve's shoulders to see phone better.

Steve laughed shortly. "Sooo..." He started look trough photos. "So... there is Pepper... Rhodey in hospital... This new kid, Parker, and of course... photos with many different women... Now you Buck." Steve said and gave phone back to his friend.

"Pepper would be soooo mad" Bucky pretended to be sad. "Well.. Wait.. I recognize that funny thing looking like a bird." Bucky clicked the icon and entered Stark's twitter.

"You aren't good in pretending." Steve shook his head and moved closer to Bucky. "What is it, pal?"

"Once I saw how Stark was.. How he said.. Was updating his status on.. Twitter thing... Or something like that.."

Steve only shook his head. "I think I'm too old for this, Buck."

"Me too... But.." Bucky managed to use the keyboard.

STEVE & BUCKY WERE THERE. XOXO

After writing he presses on the "post it" button. "Done."

Steve laughed. "Soo! What now? Maybe he has some music here? I'm wonder what is he listening to."

Bucky tried to click another icon, but somehow he clasped the device in his metal hand and he crushed it. "Fuck me."

Steve blinked. "Yea! I told you." He frowned. "What now?"

"PAAAARKEEEEERRR!" Bucky yelled loudly.

"Really, Buck. What he's gonna do? He is just a kid." Steve muttered looking at his friend.

"PARKER, move your lazy ass here!!!" Bucky yelled again.

"What WHAT! What?! Aliens? Thanos? or something else what is very evil?!" Peter jumped into room really surprised and confused.

"Catch it, kid!!" Bucky threw crushed phone at Parker's direction.

“Woohoo! Wait! This is Mr. Stark's phone… What have you done?" He asked. Steve shrugged. "His fault." He pointed at Bucky.

"Traitor" Bucky poked Steve's shoulder. "I accidentally broked this. But.. Now you are holding this.. So.. None of my fault" he giggled.

"Um..." Peter looked at Bucky even more confused.

Steve sighed deeply. "Bucky, he is just a kid. You can't treat him like this." Man slowly got up and walked to Peter, he took the phone from him. "Go to your room. I will take care of this.”

Peter slowly nodded and quickly left the room.

~Few hours later~

"My phone... Where did I left it?” Tony muttered to himself, looking into every place where he could possibly left his phone. Kitchen -no. Bathroom - no. living room - no. Bedroom - no. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, do you know where my phone is?! If not, can you locate it for me?" He muttered deeply annoyed. "I can't do that Mr. Stark, but I want to inform you that Steve Rogers left something in your office.” Tony rolled his eyes and quickly went to his office. He saw something on his desk, he also saw small note. Tony walked closer and saw that this 'something’ was his phone. Crushed. He looked at the note. "Hey, Tony... Your phone had small accident... Bucky is sorry. - Steve" Tony could felt how anger was growing inside him.

"BARNES! I TOLD YOU SOMETHING ABOUT TOUCHING MY STUFF!"

We are running, we are running

But you're a killer

and I'm your best friend

Think it's unfair, your situation

You say I'm changing

Sorry I didn't know I had to stay the same

Can we talk about this later?

Stucky Protecting each other

- because I'm with you till the end of the line -

So basically they

moved from

being bullied

To

becoming the bullies

!

Lol .

Edit: sorry, i love tony but I'm so proud of ma boys i can't help it xx

~ He saves him before himself

~ But he won't leave without him

~ So he bends the steel and jumps over fire for him

The heart wonders;

Do they compete who dies for the other first?

~ You're my motive to live

You're my reason to survive

You're my guardian angel 💙 ~

Stucky.

Even my smile chose to leave me and went with you. Bring it back. Bring you back.

Kill me now!

THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE ERA

The love I have for 40s stuckyyyyyy😔💔💔💔

~ I knew you in another life, you had that same look in your eyes.

Helpppp

This song should be stucky official song foreverrr

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

🔻

Can't stop crying. This song just hit the damn wounds 💔💔💔

Steve (gotta save my DPD, OLD, OCD, and echopraxia first) Rogers

HOW BEAUTIFUL 😍

Just the way we like it

[Therapist: So tell me steve, what do you think your problems are?

Next session; *steve brings bucky with him*]

Nick Makes a speech

Y/m/n = you middle name

The next day was better . . . and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew better what to expect of the day. Carol came to sit by me inEnglish, and walked me with me to my next class, with Chess Club Sharon glaring at her all the way there; that was kind of flattering. People didn't stare at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Carol, Sharon, Maria, Clint, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I might be treading on water, instead of growing in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the rain beating the house. It was worse because Ms. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit two of my teammates in the head with one bad volley. And it was worse because Natasha Romanoff wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was trying not to think about lunch, not wanting to remember those hate-filled stares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined out what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. Maybe if she hadn't been so abnormally beautiful.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Maria—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and totally failing—I saw that her the rest of her adoptive siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.

Carol intercepted us and steered us to her table. Maria seemed thrilled at the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting for Natasha's arrival. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.

She didn't come, and I got more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Carol, who was starting to seem weirdly, I don't know, territorial about me, walked by my side to class. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Natasha Romanoff wasn't here, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Carol followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang, then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by boy with braces and something close to a bowl cut.

I didn't want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure she was into me, which was a strange feeling. Back at home, nobody noticed me. I wondered if I wanted her to like me. She was sort of pretty and everything, but her attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? I really hoped it wasn't because of the time I'd spent staring at Natasha Romanoff yesterday, but I was kind of afraid that was it. Which was about the stupidest thing possible, really. If I based my reaction to someone's looks off a face like Natasha's, I was doomed. That was fantasy, not reality.

I was glad that I had the desk to myself, that Natasha wasn't here. I told myself that again and again. Still, I couldn't get rid of this annoying feeling that I was the reason she was gone. It was ridiculous, and egotistical again, to think that I could affect anyone that much. It was impossible. But I couldn't stop worrying about it.

When the school day was finally done, and the red in my face was fading away from the latest volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and heavy sweater. I rushed from the locker room, before Carol could follow me out. I hurried out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.

It was no secret that Nick couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, I'd requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.

I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the the rest of Natasha's siblings walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too mesmerised by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage bags sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn't really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn't imagine any door their beauty wouldn't open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren't anything like anyone else. I saw one of the guys—Tony it must be—had his hand casually on the hip off a blonde girl with a slight fringe framing her forehead. Though he seemed pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that that she wasn't hot—she was super, mega hot—but not . . . approachable. The blonde girl caught me looking, and the way her eyes narrowed made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn't go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

The Thriftway was not far from school, a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the rood to remind me where I was. When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganising the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Nick's system was kind of haphazard. I hoped nick wouldn't mind, that he wasn't OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organisation, I worked on the prep for dinner.

I kind of have a sixth sense about my mum. I realised, as I was sticking the marinade-covered steak into the fridge, that I hadn't let her know I'd made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.

I ran upstairs two at a time and fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box. The first was from yesterday, while I was still en route.

"Y/n," My mum wrote.

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Bruce says hi. Mum.

I sighed, and went to the next. It was sent six hours after the first.

Y/n, Why haven't  you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mum.

The last was from this morning.

Y/n Y/M/N Fury, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Nick.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but mum was known for jumping the gun.

Mum, Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything crazy. Y/n

I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie.

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.

your shirt is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Nick bought me a truck, can you believe it? it's awesome. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good. You know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. Y/n.

I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Y/n?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I'd come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Mum was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered. Nick looked relieved. He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffled appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Y/n."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

"So, how did you like school? Make any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with this girl named Maria. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this girl, Carol, who's friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Carol Danvers. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living odd all the backpackers who come through here."

We ate in silence for a minute.

"Do you know the Avengers?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Dr. Vostokoff's family? Sure. She's a great woman."

"They—the kids—are a little . . . different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

I was surprised to see Nick's facet red, the way it does when he's angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Vostokoff is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have her—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend . . . just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

I was the longest speech I'd ever heard Nick make. He must fell strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seem nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Nick said, laughing. "It's a good thing she's happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

There are six on the table

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognise, if not name, almost all the kids in the school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball in my direction. I stayed out of their way.

Natasha Romanoff didn't come back to school.

Everyday, I watched, pretending I wasn't looking, until the rest of the Avengers entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it entered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Carol was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was totally comfortable entering by Biology class, no longer worried that Natasha would show. For all I knew, she'd dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Nick worked most of the time. I wrote my mum more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn't a problem for Nick. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn't even bother to get a card—there wasn't anything interesting I hadn't read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas milage the truck got . . .and winced at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, Carol took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Carol said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Carol laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Sharon, who was walking away, her back towards us—in the wrong direction for her next class. Carol had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.

She just nodded, her eyes on Sharon's back.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Maria after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use as a shield. Maria thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Carol caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. Her and Maria were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were six people at the table.

Maria pulled on my arm.

"Hey? Y/n? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Y/n?" Carol asked Maria.

"Nothing," I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Maria asked.

"Actually, I feel little sick," I said.

She shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.

I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice Carol asked, with a concerned tone that seemed little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn't like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.

I decided to allow myself one glance at the Avenger's table. Just to read the mood.

I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.

They were laughing. Natasha, James, Yelena, and Tony all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Steve and Pepper were leaning away as Tony ruffled his dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Natasha, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down again't her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.

"What are you staring at, Y/n?" Maria asked.

At that precise moment, Natasha's eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I turned my head completely toward Maria, shifting my shoulders in his direction and making my hair cover my face. Maria leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of her personal space.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn't look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I'd seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Natasha Romanoff is staring at you," Maria said, looking over my shoulder.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No." Maria looked confused, then she suddenly smiled. "What did you do, ask her out?"

"No! I've never even talked to her. I just . . . don't think she likes me very much," I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Maria, but I could feel goose bumps on my neck, like I could feel her eyes on me.

"The Avengers don't like anybody . . . well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I insisted.

She snickered, but finally looked away.

Carol interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Maria agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Carol left little doubt that she would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Natasha didn't look like she was planning yo murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Carol as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.