Chapter Text
Sarajevo, Late 2014, 4 days gone.
Sarajevo was a beautiful city. You had been sent there on a mission a few years back. It had been surprisingly quiet at the time, a wonderful city that had been reborn after many horrors in its past. The air felt different, disguised you in its haze, enough that for a single moment it had let you forget it all.
The blood. The scars. The times you were tortured. The ones you tortured. The pristine cobble streets and distinct architecture held up the façade, did their best to erase the bloodstains and bodies that the war had left behind. It was the perfect place to forget. The perfect place to play the part of a regular person, ignorant and oblivious to the monster that lurked below the surface.
You pulled your overcoat a little tighter to your tired body. Looking around for glaring eyes, you found none, but were wary of those that lingered down each dark side street. The sky had begun turning dark quicker as the winter months set in. The streetlights danced in the air, trying to illuminate the bitterly cold wind as it ripped through, rattling their hangings.
Dry white air shivered past your lips as you focused in on the shadows that had begun shrouding you closer and closer. It was only been a matter of time. You had been stupid to think they would simply let you go. Not even this city reborn could take such a past away.
Quickly, you brushed into the first bar you saw, hoping your sudden movements had been missed by the shadows that had been closing in. Shrugging off your jacket, you surveyed the room. Back door? Check. Enough people, but not too many? Check.
The air smelled of cigarettes and exhaled alcohol. The lights were dimmed, the lingering smoke provided a malnourished haze you were desperate to sink beneath, hoping for any cover away from unwanted eyes.
You tried to inconspicuously slip onto a stool near the back of the bar, your coat tied around your waist, you didn’t touch your gloves. A spring poked through a torn seam in the seat, poking uncomfortably to your thigh.
“What for you miss,” The bartender asked in perfect Serbian. The sudden words made you jump. Your eyes tore toward the door. Praying no other patrons had slipped in outside your watch. You looked forward, keeping your eyes on the worn wood of the bar top; not daring to meet anyone’s eyes.
You spoke quietly. “Rakija, Molim”
The man left without another word; you hoped to go get you the drink. Your eyes were forced toward the door as the bell above the door frame jingled. Ding! You watched the old silver fall silent and still before daring a look at what the noise had followed.
Two men sauntered in, both with dark coats, with foreign faces. One met your gaze. It froze you to your seat, but you regained enough control to whip your head back around to escape his eyes.
Shit.
You rubbed your gloved hands together, the skin underneath beginning to itch. The raised and hardened skin just below the back of your neck radiated with heat. Your stomach knotted. Breaths quickened and became more labored like you were a boat taking on water. The emblem seared into your body beginning to burn as you remembered.
The kills, the blood. Some of it yours, most not.
The harsh reprimands when you misbehaved. The others that you had seen die. The ones you had been forced to kill.
Eventually you had leaned. Eventually they had stolen your mind, at least enough so that you no longer had to be in a cell. Out of your cage but still alone. And for years, you complied.
A loud noise shocked you back into the dingy Serbian bar. A few drops of amber liquid ran down the glass that had been placed in front of you. You watched it run itself into the wooden top of the bar, pooling at the bottom.
You heard the two men shout a greeting to the bartender before slipping into stools a few down the bar from you. Your fingers tightened around the glass, almost painfully so. You thought about breaking it. Making a scene so that someone, anyone would help you.
But that wasn’t an option. It would never be one. You couldn’t get help without being found out. No doubt those looking for you were monitoring public police channels.
The men ordered their drinks, laughed at some jokes as you remained still, simply staring at your untouched glass in your hand. You bit down on your lip, tasting blood. Finally, you brought the rim of the glass to your mouth, washing the metallic taste down with a quick spike of alcoholic burn.
“What’s with the glove’s miss? You newcomer not use to the weather here in Sarajevo?”
The blood in your veins ran ice cold. The knife tucked against your outer thigh dug into the skin there, itching for your hand, aching to strike. Your mind told you to keep your cool. Your heart ignored the notion and hammered at about a million beats a minute. Only 4 days gone, and you felt out of the game. Surely you should be able to hold your own.
The lessons and footnotes bubbled to the forefront of your mind. It had been carved into your bones. Both you and they knew, only one of you would be making it out of this city alive.
Tucking your hand to your side, your eyes didn’t give the man what he wanted.
One finger on the knife.
“Is it really a stranger’s place to ask?” you responded coolly. You reached forward with the other to reclaim the glass of liquid gold in front of you.
Three fingers on the knife.
“Well, since you aren’t from around here, perhaps your rudeness could be forgiven.” You didn’t flinch. Only edging the blade further from under your skirt.
From the corner of your eye, you could see the other man remaining passive on the far stool. Silently sipping his drink. Waiting. His friend continued.
“Where are you from?” The first man asked pointedly, as if he didn’t already know the answer. All three of you knew that it was no coincidence you had all chosen to sit in the same bar.
“I don’t tend to give personal information out to strange men.”
“Well, you see,” His tone was darker, the man leaned out of the seat, over the vacant stool that provided your only solace. “I don’t think the assessment of ‘stranger’ is quite appropriate darling.”
Click
Your ears knew that sound better than your own voice. For the first time, you turned your head to the right, getting a good look at the second man. And the gun he had pulled under the bar.
“My dear,” The first man continued on. “We have a mutual friend who is very worried about you. Perhaps you could be a good girl and let us take you back to him.”
You swallowed hard, staring down at the revolver in the silent man’s grip. You estimated the bullet would hit you in the abdomen, giving you maybe 30 seconds before substantial bleeding incapacitated you. If you were lucky. But you had never had much of that in the first place
“He is just grief-stricken, thinking that anything could have happened to you.” Your throat was thick as you tried to control your breathing. “I would hate to be the bearer of grave news” the man spoke in an apologetically sarcastic tone. His lips quirked up as his sadistic premonition had an obvious effect on you.
Your grip on the blade slipped as your palms began to sweat. Your brained wound around and around seeking any possible solution to the gun waiting for its fresh meat.
“Take the gloves off sweetheart” Your eyes snapped up to the second man’s face. His voice was raspy and grainy, like grinding rocks between your teeth. His large coat covering his body but not the ghastly scar that ran down the right side of his face, the jagged cut skin angry and discolored.
Ignoring the request, you raised your hand as if to surrender, before flicking your fingers and beckoning the bartender back over. You only broke eye contact with Scarface once he had arrived.
“I’d like to buy a round of shots for me and my friends here.” You spoke with a poison sweet smile, you were on automatic, slipping back into exactly the role you had hoped to escape. Perhaps it was just not possible. Perhaps you should just leave with them now.
No! The single sane brain cell shouted. You would be killed if you went back. He simply didn’t like loose threads.
The bartender glanced between the three of you, momentarily questioning if there was any remotely possible way you actually knew the two men to your right. The smile you forced seemed to carry enough sway as after a moment he reached under his side of the bar to pull out three shot glasses.
All three poured and slid in front of each of you. Scarface and his talkative friend glared at you questioningly. “Well, if I’m going back, I thought we should have one more drink before we leave this wonderful city.” You spoke, the sting in your bones threatening to break the carefully pieced together mask on your face.
You eyed Scarface, carefully watching him twist his body to reach his unoccupied hand up toward the jigger in front of him. His firing hand shifted slightly to the left.
Without hesitation, you reached across to the first man, finally fully raising the small blade. You slashed at his elbow, cutting deep and hard enough to severe at least a few ligaments. Scarface, drink halfway down his throat garbled in surprise, trying his best to re-correct his aim.
But you were already gone. Pulling your coat on as you dashed out the back entrance, you greeted the cool air with a gasp. The sun had fully set, shrouding the narrow back alley in near darkness, shadows blending with the low light, your feet moved quickly. Twenty feet away… Thirty…. forty.
Your ears picked up a commotion behind you. Against your better judgment, your eyes had a mind of their own, head swiveling back to assess the furor. At the same time, your feet pivoted to duck down another narrow alleyway between buildings.
You had never seen it coming. The sky now in front of you, a pain reverberating throughout the right side of your torso.
A groan escaped your lips, your ears heard the wall you hit mutter a quiet Damnit.
Eyes refocusing on said wall, it turned out to be a man. He stood over you, not in a menacing way, rather taking a curious assessment of your crumpled body.
“shit” you exhaled, trying to pull yourself off the dirt ground. Your mind was screaming at you to run, that the two men from the bar were obviously hot on your heels. That slash would not have deterred them for long.
“Sorry” the wall mumbled again, this time, your eyes pulled your gaze toward the words, a slight blur around the edges. Not a wall, but rather another person clouded your view.
You dizzily looked at his features. Dark hair. Intense eyes. Small patches of stubble. Your muscles tensed automatically. Taking him in, the temperature dropped immensely, ice returning to your veins. Fingering around, you clasped onto the cool metal blade that had flown out of your grasp on impact. You gritted your teeth, mind clearing enough to establish the situation.
To anyone else, he was no more than a face. To people like you, it was recognizable anywhere. The stinging pain lingered through your body, and you immediately knew you hadn’t run into a wall.
The Winter Soldier. The stories that had been told of him were legendary, used to scare the children into behaving. Countless kills. No remorse.
You forced the small grin on your face down before it had a chance to show on your face. This was it. Here’s an opportunity you tell yourself. His capture for your freedom. Was it crazy? Only if it didn’t work.
You eyed his limbs, the ache in your right side told you his left was the infamous weapon. The literal steel fist of Hydra. Your gaze found its way back to his, a puzzled look on his face remained as his eyes locked with yours. The intensity of his stare penetrated deep to your soul; your mind prickled with fear. The hairs stood up on the back of your neck, his look forcing you to remain on the ground. Now you could see why most of his victims didn’t put up much of a fight.
Although, you weren’t ‘most people’
But you hesitated. There was something else, something telling you no. A certain sadness that the darkness and intensity were trying so hard to keep contained. Like a rabid animal, it shook there, behind his irises, fighting to escape, waiting to break free of its bondage. You flashbacked to the cell, the drugs, the beatings. You could see it reflected back at you behind his pupils.
But who’s past was it?
Pounding feet and dangerous yells closed in before you had a chance to make either decision. Breaking your stare, you whipped your head around to see Scarface and the man you had slashed running down the alley toward you. A haphazard gunshot rang out, burying itself in the dirt just wide of your right arm.
Just as quickly as you had fallen you were being hauled up; you could almost feel the cool metal through the thin fabric of your shirt. The ache remained through your body as you stumbled up.
Without a second to think, Scarface was on you. Your breath hitched as his first punch landed against the tender flesh on your ribs. A pained groan escaped your lips, but the next second you readjusted, blocking and throwing punches of your own. Sighs of struggles between the other assailant and the Winter Soldier could be heard from beyond your scope of view. It served as an unwanted distraction, coupled with the bruise forming on your side, Scarface took the opportunity.
Your back was being pressed into the ground once more, a sharp blade you recognized as your own slide painfully against the exposed skin on your neck. You hissed in exhaustion, trying to move but finding it impossible against the grip of your opponent.
“Got yourself a friend, eh?” The man’s breath flamed at your face, hot droplets from his lips dropped onto your face. “I was starting to think you weren’t worth all the trouble.” You gave an exasperated breath as your airway was compressed, making your breaths shallower. “But your metal-armed friend over there will double, no, might just triple what Black Sky is willing to shell over for you, if the Winter Solider could be added to their arsenal.”
“The who?” The second assailant voiced in the middle of a body spar with said man. Grave mistake.
The Solider took full advantage of the misstep, fully disarming and sending the man to the ground without pause. One heel was now pressing firmly into the man’s neck, the other keeping his bloody arm pinned into the dirt.
Scarface’s eyes widened at the action, pressing the blade further into your neck. You swore you felt a bead of blood trail downward. “Let him go!” he spit out harshly. “Or she loses her head!”
You recognized that he was talking about you. A tear slipped out from the corner of your eye. This is how you would die. You hadn’t even made it a whole week on the run.
The pathetic course of your life flashed behind your eyes, your time on the streets, to training and torture. Sleepless nights and unheard cries. Every face of every life you had killed. The deception, the sex, the drugs, all of it. A shadowed past washed away like tears in the rain. Forgotten by nobody, remembered by nobody.
Two shots rang out. The pressure on your neck subsided. Hot, thick liquid dropped onto the dirt next to your face. Opening your eyes, you saw a chunk missing out of Scarface’s orbital bone. His body became heavier, all its weight dropped onto you. It took most of your remaining energy to roll the body off, it lands next to you in a crumpled heap with a heavy thud.
You lifted your head to see the Winter Soldier holding a handgun, white smoke seeping out the muzzle. A small gasp escaped your lips, your throat finally able to function. His eyes looked even sadder as they bore into yours. You couldn’t look away, but surprise settled into your stomach, trying to process what had just transpired.
The subdued man took the chance he had been given, squirming out from the Winter Soldier’s grasp, scurrying down the dark alleyway clutching his wounded arm, escaping around the same corner that brought you into this mess. The air stilled around the two of you, both keeping your eyes on each other, the metal armed man still held his gun in your general direction.
About a minute passed before either of you moved. Him quickly concealing the weapon and standing up straight. You mustered enough energy to get up on your own feet, using your hands to brush the thin trail of blood away from the superficial puncture on your neck.
Without a word, the man turned, beginning to walk away. You scoffed at the motion, who does that? Saves your life only to walk away. Anger bubbled to the surface.
“What the fuck?” you stuttered out. “Why did you do that?” You panted, your quip was laced with anger, your emotions pouring out of you.
The man froze, clenching and unclenching his hands. The audible metal scraping confirming his identity once again. “You’re welcome” he muttered.
“I had it fully under control until you had to go and… get in the way!” It wasn’t exactly the best lie you had ever told, but if you hadn’t collided with him, the fight never would’ve had to happen.
His steps froze, he turned slightly back toward you. “it sure looked that way with a knife pressed up against your throat. So, I’ll say it once more – your welcome”
“Yeah, well before you go around congratulating yourself, one still got away, which means you're marked. And with that metal arm, you have, not to mention the reputation, no offense” You spit out at his attempt at arrogance. “Black Sky will waste no time coming after you.”
He took a few more steps toward you, that intimidating look once again gleaming in his eyes. This time you stood your ground. “I’ve already got enough people after me, what’s a few more. Besides, don’t act like you care. Don’t act like you weren’t going to try to take me in before they showed up.”
“You should try being a little nicer to me, I could still do it you know” You snap back.
“And I could still kill you”
The threat chilled your bones, glancing back at the dead body a few feet away, you knew he was telling the truth. The two of you were only a few feet away, the low light still affording you a full view of his face. Those blue eyes. Full of memories; anger and violence; but also, sadness and a lifetime of loneliness. You paused; your muscles released most of their tension, the fury dissipating from your mind.
For a moment, his strong gaze faltered. You saw the man under the shell of the soldier. Someone buried there, a past life begging to come out, pleading to be found again.
You barely thought about what you said next, as if it wasn’t even you saying it. “What about a truce.”
A bewildered look flashed across his feature, but you continued.
“You are obviously trying to stay off the grid, I know how Black Sky moves. You need me.” He scoffed, his icy stare giving none of his thoughts away. He took one more step closer, now towering over you, he dropped the intimidation game.
“And you? what’s in it for you?”
“Keep Hydra away. I obviously need some help with this whole ‘on the run thing’ if you haven’t noticed” Finally you awarded him a dismal amount of acknowledgment for not letting you die. “And…” You paused, taking another shaky breath. “It’s only ever been me, my whole life. At least I wouldn’t have to be alone” you confessed.
The man rolled back on his feet like your words hit him in the chest. You thought his eyes may have softened. Or it had been a trick of the darkness, but maybe, just maybe it had been something else. An understanding. He nodded curtly. You exhaled at the action, swallowing hard.
“Okay” you didn’t know where to go with this transaction next. “What, uh—” You stumbled over your words. “What can I call you?” Winter Soldier didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
He eyed you darkly, trust obviously still not on the table. You decided to extend a, abet, shaky hand first. “I’m (y/n)” you spoke quietly, fearful of lurking ears.
“You can call me,” he paused, taking a moment to think about it, he closed his eyes, pondering what he was about to say. The gears in his mind turned slowly, painfully. You observed his silent struggle, wondering for a moment if he really didn’t know. He opened his eyes to meet yours.
“You can call me James.”
Avengers Compound, 2018, 23 days after the snap
James Barnes
The name flashed into the air, a blue-hued picture from a few years ago accompanied it. His eyes stared back, cold, and immobile.
You stood in front of the image, tears leaving a path down your face, dripping off your chin down onto your shirt. His hair was shorter, like when you had first met. James. You raise your hand up, as if to reach out and touch the hologram, but it disappears replaced with another face. And then another. And another.
Voices registered in the background, but you were still staring into the space where his eyes had left you waiting. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you wrapped your arms around your stomach to keep yourself from keeling over, closing your eyes, trying to wake up from…. Whatever this was.
“… it looks like he did, he did exactly what he said he was going to do. Thanos wiped out 50% of all living creatures.” Natasha’s voice penetrated your bubble. Her somber tone the only thing besides the hum of the surrounding machines.
You stepped back from the hologram, settling yourself against a wall, fearing without it, you may end up on the floor. You didn’t touch the tears that continued to fall down your face. It had been twenty-three days, what had changed? He was still gone. They were all still gone.
“Where is he now? Where?” Tony questioned bitterly. It was your first time really seeing the man up close without the suit. The past few weeks had ravaged his body, skin tapered to his bones, no clear muscle to suspend them.
“We don’t know” Steve answered back quickly. “He just opened a portal and walked through” The tension in the room heightened with each sentence. The missing bodies not enough to keep past scars from being ripped open. Tony shifted in his chair, the wheels audibly squeaking, reminding everyone of the hell he had barely escaped, only to find himself deeper in another. He scoffed at the super soldier’s response but pivoted his gaze to the god sitting idly in the darkest corner of the room.
The raccoon provided a response to the question that fell deaf on your ears. Your mind thinking back to the moment it happened. The air had gotten still, the world growing quiet, a haunting silence that you hadn’t fully understood until you saw the first Wakandan guard fall to the ground in a pile of dust. With nothing you could do, you watched in horror as more people disappeared, your mind finally tugging you out of the trance. Immediately you turned around and sprinted toward the forest.
Gun strapped on; He had gone to help Steve.
The shattering of glass pulled you back into the room, the visuals of Wakanda receding back into your mind. Tony raised his voice, haphazardly standing up before painfully ripping the IV out of his arm. You winced at the noise. The last few years had given you an escape from all the loud. Given you peace.
“… That what we needed was a suit of armor around the world. Remember that?” Tony’s breaths became labored. You remained frozen to the wall, staying quiet. You had simply been dragged back here from Wakanda, barely knowing most of these people.
“I said we’d lose. And guess what Cap? We lost” Tony’s words were dripping with resentment, most of which you didn’t understand. The final phrase of “you weren’t there” was shrouded in a dark malice. Words meant to cut deep.
“We’re the ‘Avengers’” Tony began to ramble, his words less calculated and more like brutal punches, just trying to land the hardest blow. Rhodey took it upon himself to buffer, trying to calm the ailing man down.
“They're great by the way,” You noticed Tony’s finger flick between another woman in the room and you. “We need them. They’re new blood.”
The slight attention given in your direction felt like drowning. As if to give you more of a burden than you already carried. It made the tears fall faster. The rest of the words Tony directed at Steve were gargled and sloppy, his body losing its limited energy fast. You jumped as he collapsed to the ground, fearful of the inevitable dust particles that would flake off.
They never did. The others rushed around the indisposed man, now splayed torturously out on the dark wood flooring. You turned away, his pain and loss reverberating within you. Another sob clawed up your throat, raw and irritated from the days and weeks before. You couldn’t take it anymore.
Your feet quickly carried you to the bedroom that had been provided for you after your arrival from Wakanda. Rushing to the bathroom, you collapsed on the floor and emptied the already limited contents of your stomach into the toilet. It hadn't been the first time that had happened since he'd gone. Tears were now in full outpour, resuming their paths on your cheeks. You leaned on your arms, head down, short shallow breaths cut through the silence. Your head pounded; your mind raced, unable to stop.
The white sheets glowed under the soft Wakandan sunrise that poured through the small porthole window. It created an almost ethereal hue. You think that perhaps you had made it to heaven. Reaching forth, your finger traced the lines of his face. Bucky’s eyes remained closed, but his smile told you he was awake. The soft fabric clung to your naked bodies, each mound and dip clothed beautifully in the golden light.
Your finger brushed his nose, trailing down to his lips, they quirked up at the contact. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush to him. Skimming up your body, his fingers weaved their way into your hair, tugging you down to place a delicate kiss on your forehead.
Hidden away, shared breaths anchored you in your own perfect little world, only for the two of you to experience. It was you who closed the gap this time, intertwining your lips with his, a sigh of contentment vibrated through his chest.
After a moment, you both pulled away, he tucked you into his bare chest, his chin on the crown of your head. You closed your eyes and breathed him in, wishing to freeze yourselves in this small moment forever.
“Are you nervous?” you mumbled against his skin.
Bucky hummed, mulling over your question. “More nervous than anything to see people again,”
“You aren’t worried about the fight?”
“We have probably faced worse” He whispered, sleep still clinging to his words. There were still a few hours before the arrival of the avengers. His new arm sat on the table across the room. A looming reminder of what to come.
Slowly, you raised your head, tilting up to meet Bucky’s eyes, still glazed over from their time in dreamland. “Haven’t we fought enough?” You asked him quietly. “Haven’t you fought enough?” The concern in your words didn’t go unnoticed by the man underneath you. Nothing ever did anymore.
He sighed heavily. “Sweetheart...” The nickname made your lips quirk up; it had begun as a tease but now held nothing but endearment. “As much as I would like to stay here, in this bed with you…” he nuzzled his lips into the side of your neck, the hairs of his beard tickling a grin out of you as he placed delicate kisses along the curvature. “for the rest of our lives…” your hands wound behind his neck, his long hair brushing against your skin.
Bucky lifted his head to look once more into your eyes. “…Our friends need us”
“Friends?” you questioned jokingly.
He smiled down at you. So loving.
“Everything will be alright” He whispered. Your hand found its way onto his cheek, thumb tracing the outside corner of his lips tenderly.
“I promise”
The fluorescent lights burned your eyes. The salt from your tears had dried out your skin, ashy and irritated. Your breaths labored but slowed down enough for you to gather enough strength and pull yourself up.
Your haggard appearance stared back at you in the bathroom mirror. Your face looked caved in, hair tangled, cheeks tearstained. Ice crept around your heart, making your chest ache once more.
Perhaps it had always been Bucky. The simple fact that you had shared the same world was enough. Even when you both had been tortured. When you had been a sharp stick for those who held you captive. No, you had never felt loneliness like this.
The cold ice that wrapped around your heart hardened as the memory of Bucky’s picture staring blankly back at you came to mind. Unmoving. No light in his eyes to tease you, no small quirk of his lips as he locked eyes with you from across a room.
There would be no more of those moments. They had all runout. You tried to stop the shaking that overtook your hands, produced from the sobs that you were trying to hold back from racking through your bones.
No, you had never felt this alone.