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buckbarnesjames

Jan 1, 2022

breadqueen95

Reflections - Chapter 5: Collision

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

WC: 7.2k

Chapter Summary: Firebug meets the team. Bucky has a moment to shine. Steve starts to have doubts.

Content warnings: Discussions around long-term captivity, PTSD, depression, anxiety, flashbacks

a/n: thank you all beyond words for your patience!! I'm now back in retail, and as many of you can probably guess, the holidays are the craziest time of the year. Now that we've mostly gotten past our exposition portion and the holidays, I'm hoping it's easier to push out updates. Love you guys!

***

“Was this your plan?” You force out as you hurriedly get your back to the wall of the house, “Get me relaxed, get me talking, then ambush me? Are you for fucking real?”

Vaguely, you register the worn wood of the cabin pressing against your back. Your instincts are absolutely screaming at you to get low to the ground, to run, anything to get away from them. Your logical mind, however, urges you to stand your ground. Just as you concluded before, outrunning them probably isn’t possible, especially with some of them having flight capabilities. All you can do is press harder against the wood, try to keep every single one in your sights.

Even with the fire dancing along your fingers, you can’t hide the tremors wracking them as you hold your hands defensively in front of you. It only gets worse as the previously hidden Avengers reveal themselves, melting from the hidden shadows of the trees and into the open. There’s more of them than you thought there would be, and the sheer number of potential opponents is daunting. They linger by the tree line, holding a defensive position as they watch every move you make.

“Our plan was never to ambush you,” Natasha says in a gentle voice, pulling your attention back to her, “I told you they were hanging around. You might think it’s stupid, but we really did think it would help to—”

“I didn’t think you meant they’d be watching us from the fucking trees,” you exclaim, voice rising in pitch from panic. The fire flares with your volume and tone, and despite wanting to be ready to fight, you try to will yourself into a steadier place. Showing a lack of control would do you no favors now.

Movement pulls your eyes from Natasha back to the group of men, and you jump when you see they’ve moved closer to the house. There’s no way you can hide your shaking now; the flames nearly vibrate from it.

As Natasha and Wanda utter some useless nonsense in soothing voices, you tune them out and try to count. How many altogether? Looks like…seven? No, there’s another one lingering near the back, so eight. That’s without accounting for any others who might still be hidden.

Eight. Eight enhanced individuals. Eight of the most skilled and powerful people on the planet.

You maybe, maybe could have gotten away if it were just Wanda and Natasha. Despite your gravitas about the situation, two is definitely a bit more manageable than eight.

As the new additions continue to come closer from the trees, moving faster now with your eyes on them, you continue to tune out your initial visitors to try and figure out who’s present. Keeping tabs on the Avengers had to be good for something, right?

Right in the front there, shoulder to shoulder, are Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. Rogers has his shield slightly up, and his eyes are constantly bouncing between you and the women just in front of you. Stark has his mask down, but those intimidating yellow lights he has for eyes are trained directly on you. Along for the ride is Sam Wilson, wings stowed for now, but looking ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Another man is decked out in a red, white, and blue version of the Iron Man suit. God, what was his name? Fuck your defunct brain. You can’t even begin to process the red humanoid floating over the ground. He’s rarely done press for the Avengers, but you’ve seen him in pictures. Then there, trailing in the back…who is that? Digging through your brain, you try to place him, but—

Fingers snap close to your face, and you jump as you tear your attention from the advancing heroes back to Wanda and Natasha. The flames spark again, and you take several heaving breaths, trying to keep that last bit of control you still have over them. There’s a burning sensation beginning to spread just under the skin of your hands, trickling back along your arms. It gets worse the harder you fight the flames, but…Jesus, you really have no other option. You have to fight it.

“You need to put your hands down,” Wanda murmurs to you, wide green eyes imploring, “we know you don’t mean it, you never do, but this looks a certain way to them.”

“Oh yeah?” You grind out, “You really expect me to just…trust you?”

“Yes,” Wanda says simply, “you have too.”

You can’t even control the dark chuckle that bubbles from your mouth. If you don’t laugh, you’ll scream. You’ll cry. You’ll absolutely lose it.

That can’t happen.

“Did neither of you pick up on the clear and ever-present trust issues? Or the complete absence of control over this?”

“We know this is hard. It’s unimaginable. But if a fight starts, if your power flares and hurts someone on our team, you won’t like the outcome.” Natasha responds.

Of course you won’t. Because you don’t want to lose control again; it’s the last thing you want. Not only is burning this mountainside physically painful for you, but the idea of hurting one of them with your fire? Arguably the best defense Earth has? The one team to fight against your captors and win?

You turn your eyes to the stuttering flames in your trembling hands and try to will it away. When that doesn’t work, you clench your fingers into the tightest fists you can, trying to physically suffocate the fire. Even still, they burn on. They even flicker along the backs of your hands, so even if you could snuff them out, that’s one spot your fingers can’t reach.

Ever so slowly, the burning sensation gets sharper and travels farther under your skin. It’s near your shoulders now. It feels like your very insides are being assaulted by it.

“Hey, kiddo.”

A deep and annoyingly familiar voice pulls your gaze up once again, and you look right into the face of Iron Man himself. He and the others are standing right in front of your porch. When you see how close they’ve come, you instinctively try to lurch away from them. Your body only hits wood, and a thunk sounds with the force of your attempt to put more distance between yourself and them.

“Let’s put down the tiny weapons of mass destruction, yeah?”

One of his own deadly hands is trained on you, energy gathered in his palm and on standby should he choose to use it against you.

“You first” you retort, frustrated when you hear that the shaking has traveled to your voice as well now.

“Mine aren’t ‘tiny’ per say,” he shoots back quickly, “so it doesn’t really apply.”

You don’t respond right away, just send a small smirk his way despite the quakes wracking your body and the growing discomfort inside your skin. Just let the infamous Tony Stark sit for a second, make him doubt himself.

“If they’re not ‘tiny’, then what’s with the small army? Scared your big guns can’t take me on?”

“I’d be stupid not to. Gotta hold the bigger stick, honey. You understand.”

You hold his gaze for another moment, willing ice into your eyes despite the heat of your skin and the scream lodged in your throat. Stark is known for being unflappable, but it’s clear you at least make him a little nervous. You need to capitalize on that while you think.

Right when he shifts just slightly, you tilt your head and say, “Then it seems neither of us is going to get what we want.”

“Then let’s make a deal. You put yours down, so do we. Then we’re square.”

You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t want to cause any damage. You don’t want to set fire to every blade of dry grass in the vicinity, knowing that until the monsoon season comes, the tiniest spark could spell disaster for thousands of acres of land.

You look at your hands again, willing the fire away again, because you need time to talk. To think. When that doesn’t work, which should surprise absolutely no one, you begin to slowly lower your arms. Maybe it just needs some sort of physical trigger?

But, to your absolute panic and astonishment, the fire only seems to burn hotter and bigger the lower your hands get. The tops of the flames stay right where they started, only growing in length to stay connected with your hands. That’s to say nothing of the sharp sensation that’s arced over your shoulders, now spreading down your back. Frustrated tears spring into your eyes, and you try desperately to blink them away.

Everything about this situation makes you feel weak. Out of control. Pathetic.

Unhinged. You feel unhinged more than anything.

“We told you to put the fire out,” a harsher voice speaks, and you look up to see Captain Rogers glaring at you, “we don’t wanna have to use force, but we will. Make no mistake.”

“Back off, Rogers,” Natasha murmurs harshly, pulling your attention back to her in confusion. She’s…she’s backing you up. Against her own team?

“She’s pointing bombs at us and you’re telling meto calm down?” Rogers quietly questions. You look back toward the men, and even though he’s talking to Natasha, those famous blue eyes of his are still glued to you.

“Eyes on me, kid,” Stark calls to you, much gentler than either Natasha or Rogers.

It surprises you. ‘Gentle’ is, perhaps, the last word you’d think to use when it comes to Tony Stark. Though your hands have had to stay up and facing them, you’re able to focus on Stark once again, who shocks you once again when he meets your eyes without the mask this time.

“We just want to help you. I get that it’s hard to believe, I do. But—”

“It’s not just hard. It’s impossible,” you say without even thinking about it, “how the fuck am I supposed to believe that I have a choice in this?”

Because people all over the world have kind faces. They can train their voices to be soft. Friendly. Even inviting. Behaviors and desires are all too easy to read on another person. If the Avengers know everything about you, which is safe to assume they do, of course it would be simple to predict what could make you trust them enough to go with them.

You know this better than anyone.

Because someone read you nine years ago.

And they took you.

It’s then you decide.

“I—”

“Two messengers implies a choice in this. Maybe. I was actually starting to lean toward going with Natasha and Wanda before your little soda can of a suit caught the sunlight--”

“Hey, take it easy on the suit—"

“—I actually asked them if they would leave me alone if I said no to your little proposition,” you keep talking over him, “fully intending to decide right then and there based on what they said. Answers from questions like that can usually say a lot about a person. At least, that’s what I thought.”

Your body isn’t shaking as much. You pull steadiness from your growing conviction and certainty that nothing about this is right. You were right to be suspicious.

“Natasha promised me that she and Wanda would leave. That you all would leave. I would never have to hear from you again, not if I didn’t want to.”

“That’s still true, I promise—”

Ignoring Natasha’s impassioned pleas, you continue, “But you know what, Stark? You actually did me a favor with that little gaffe of yours.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

Despite the very negative direction your conversation seems to be going, his face remains completely unbothered. Almost bored.

That does nothing more than piss you the fuck off.

So you stand up straight once again, refusing to let the house that has kept you safe take your weight any longer. Planting your feet into the wooden planks of the porch, you find that you’ve stopped shaking.

“Now I know that I never had that choice.”

Stark’s mask flies back down to cover his face. Natasha and Wanda drift backward to rejoin the bigger group. They know they didn’t convince you through words, now they plan to take you by force.

As if you were going to be taken again.

If they wanted to take you, they’d have to kill you first. You’d go down fighting before becoming a prisoner again.

Pressing your lips into a hard line, you raise your hands higher, ready to fight, and then—

“Hydra is coming for you.”

Another voice calls from the back of the group. Not as deep as Stark’s voice, or even Roger’s. It stops you in your tracks, makes the heat boiling up inside of you retreat for a moment. The flames get smaller, inside and out. But really…it’s the words that halt you.

Anger is hot, but dread…dread is ice cold.

With wide, terrified eyes, you slowly look over to the source of the voice. A man with cropped, dark brown hair has stepped forward. You can’t even focus on the details of his face, only his impossibly blue eyes as you try to comprehend what he’s just said.

A beat of silence passes, then two. You just stare at him, blinking every now and then, mouth agape with shock and fear. Your hands are still held high, still on fire, but the intensity of those flames isn’t what it was a few moments ago.

“What…what did you say?”

You feel as though you have to wrench the words from your mouth, and even still, they come out as a hoarse whisper. The strong tone you’d built up to has been completely destroyed with those words of his, the way he spoke your deepest fear out loud.

“Hydra is coming for you,” he says again.

You flinch as he finishes the last syllable, the flames on your fingers growing smaller by the second. Blinking rapidly, you take a few steps backward until your back is once again against the wall. You begin experiencing full body shakes, somehow even more violent than the ones before. The trembling makes holding your hands aloft even more difficult. Looking away from the man, you try to get your emotions under control before you spiral.

Because going with the Avengers is one thing.

Hydra forcing you back underground again…becoming their prisoner…their weapon…

You can’t.

White walls. Bright white light that never shuts off. Freezing, hard floors. Cold eyes watching you from the other side of the door. Piercing sounds that force you to clamp your hands over your ears as your head threatens to burst.

The man says your name, the once familiar sound being said so softly draws your attention again. Shaking your head, you try to ground yourself in the present moment. On him. He’s stepped a little closer to you than before, startling you. You lift your hands even higher and stretch them out toward him. The weak flames startle and terrify you. How could you ever hope to fight them like this?

As you try to focus on his figure, flashes pull at the edges of your vision. You shake your head again, a little more forcefully in an effort to keep the memories away.

Eyes shielded by a drugged induced haze loom above you, lacking any ounce of empathy or kindness.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Focus on me.”

You blink again in the much softer light of your home to find that the man has come closer to you. He looks at you, his eyes lacking the ice and emptiness of your captors, as he holsters his weapon and raises his gloved hands in the air.

“Stay back,” you whisper, flinching at his movements, which makes him stop in his tracks.

“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs, talking as though he were speaking to a scared animal, “none of us will. But you need to come with us; we don’t know how long we have before they find you.”

Before they find you. Somehow you always knew they’d come. Doesn’t make it any easier.

And what if he’s lying? What if this is just another read on you?

“Why should I believe anything you say? How do I know you’re not just pulling something out of your ass to get me to cooperate?”

He looks disappointed that you’d think that, but…somehow not surprised. As though he knew exactly what you’d say before you said it. It doesn’t seem to shake him in the slightest.

“They’ve been tracking you, just like we have. We have no idea when they started, but it had to have been at least a couple of months after May 2014. That’s when you escaped, right?”

An image from that convenience store…the date on the newspaper…it flashes in your mind. You dip your head once in confirmation, remembering all too well the day you broke out despite your best efforts to forget.

“It would have taken them time to regroup, at least a few months, before they could use their resources. Even so, it took them less time than our team to get to almost the same place.”

“What do you mean?” You ask quietly, words coming before you could stop them, interrupting his concise explanation.

His face takes on an almost apologetic expression, empathy and remorse clear in his eyes, as if he knows what he says next is going to break you. You try to steel yourself, but deep down you know it’s in vain.

“Based on surveillance footage from the Denver Airport, we’ve identified two known Hydra operatives arriving yesterday. They were still staying in the city as of an hour ago.”

Denver. Denver is a mere four hours from here.

“Prove it.”

Because before you accept defeat, you have to know for certain. You have to be sure.

Natasha wordlessly pulls a smartphone from one of the pockets on her tactical suit. She taps a couple of times on it before walking a few steps closer. Bucky reaches back, still looking at you, and she hands it to him. Finally, he holds it out to you, angling it and zooming in so you can see.

The footage cycles through the same few seconds of the men walking through one of the terminals. Furrowing your brow, you try to place them in your mind. You can’t deny that they seem familiar; they elicit the same drop in your stomach you feel whenever something or someone associated with your captors pops into your head.

“If you swipe through, you’ll see close up images and a summary of the information we have on them,” Natasha adds, sensing that you need more to be convinced.

So the man swipes through, pausing for a moment on each image so you can absorb the information.

The close ups of their faces have a more visceral effect on you. It’s easier to see their eyes that way. All at once, it’s like you’re behind that impenetrable door again, thick glass obscuring all but the coldness in each expression that looks at you.

Flinching again, you scrunch your eyes tight at the surprise memory, as though you’re trying to recoil from the hurt they always brought. It’s enough for you, even without looking at the summarized information. As much as you wish it weren’t the case, your memories from the Prison are usually your clearest, no matter how hard you try to push them down.

Suddenly, the cold emptiness inside of you is all encompassing. The heat goes away in an instant. Your body grows numb to anything and everything around it. Your gaze drifts away from the man with the kind eyes, right to the horizon, eyes locking in to where the peaks meet open air. You try to stand up straighter, but your legs only fail you. Your knees hit the ground.

The fire in your hands goes out.

You should’ve known. You should’ve known your time under the sky was always numbered.

They spent countless resources and time making a weapon. You could never just walk away and never hear from them again, absolutely not.

“I know this is terrifying, but—”

“What are my options?”

“—but—huh?”

He was trying to calm you down again, likely not understanding you’ve gotten to the point of grim acceptance of the situation. Or at least pretending you have. Survival has been your goal for years; that doesn’t just go away.

“Lay it out for me,” you repeat, “what are my choices, here? Is it just the two? Go with you or wait for them?”

He didn’t beat around the bush before. That’s what you need now; someone telling it to you straight. You wish Natasha had just started with this information to begin with. It’s possible you didn’t give her much of a chance to get it out, but…god, if you’d known…

He pauses, looks at you for a moment, then asks, “What do you want?”

“You and I both know it’s not that simple.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he agrees. He comes closer to you, but unlike before, you don’t feel threatened by it this time. Even less so when you think about how the others made you feel when they got too close. In fact, unless you actively consider them, it feels like the others aren’t even there.

It’s just you and him.

Familiar, somehow.

“So what’s it matter what I want?” You question as he kneels down to your level.

“It’s everything. That’s what you’ve fought for this whole time, yeah? The right to make your own choices?”

“If it’s between your team and…and them…it’s not much of a choice,” you choke out, the tears finally breaking past your lash line. You look away from him then, furiously brushing them away, embarrassed at showing that bit of weakness.

A beat of silence passes, then two.

“Nat,” he calls out, “how long could we give her?”

Your gaze shoots back to focus on him, shock momentarily crowding out the fear. He’s still focused on you even as he questions his teammate. Despite his intensity, you find you can’t look away.

“I’m not sure,” she answers quietly, coming forward a few paces as she looks between you and him, “we can try to plant a false trail, get them running in another direction. There’s just…there’s no guarantee they’ll follow it.”

He looks back at Natasha, the spell between you having broken for long enough for the meaning of their words to fully sink in.

You could…you could stay free?

“Enough time for her to get clear of Colorado? Erase any trace of her being here?”

“Maybe. We can try.”

He turns back to you, pulling you back into his gaze. A corner of his mouth pulls up in a sort of half smile.

“So, looks like you’ve got a choice to make.”

It seems impossible. A choice? After everything that’s just happened? A handful of very tense Avengers pointing their weapons at you?

But here he is. Looking at you so earnestly.

Trusting him seems stupid. It seems blind. You know what happens when you trust people; you end up a prisoner for five years.

…so why is he the one person you feel like you cantrust?

“Why?” The whispered question slips past your lips.

Sighing, he looks away for a second, then admits, “Because they had me too. They had me for seventy years.”

***

She stares back at him in shock as she processes his admission.

Despite Bucky’s growing discomfort as the silence stretches on, he finds he can’t look away from her. Her head tilts and her brows narrow slightly as she peers closer at his face, as if taking his features in for the first time. It seems as though panic had her so tightly that she didn’t truly see him before.

“Well, clearly you’re not 90 years old, so what’s the deal?” She asks, a sharp edge to her tone again.

“Being on ice for the better part of seven decades does wonders for your complexion,” he responds. Bucky fights to keep his face open and friendly, even while touching on the source of all his trauma.

He’d tried his best to stay out of the media since he became an Avenger, and it looks like he managed to do a good enough job so that she doesn’t immediately recognize him, even while keeping tabs on all of them.

Beyond her furrowed brow and clenched jaw, he sees a storm of questions brewing behind those eyes of hers. Probably a lot of the same questions he has for her since he learned she even existed. She probably won’t ask any now, not with the threat of Hydra so close to becoming a reality again. She needs to think, and she can’t do that if she’s trying to understand his experiences along with her own.

“Look, we both know Hydra is capable of way more than anyone ever thought possible. I can prove it to you another time, or you can do a little research on your own. Doesn’t change the fact that time is a luxury we don’t have,” he adds, trying to speed her along. They’d get a warning from Maria if the agents left Denver, even if they so much as walk down the street to get a burger. But if she decides to take her chances out there by herself, they’ll need every minute they can get to try and buy her time.

She arches a brow at him. He can see that she’s a little disgruntled at being rushed, but beyond that Bucky can see the ever-present fear that’s lingered on her features ever since he saw her for the first time. He recognizes it all too well, having seen it in his own reflection.

Bucky can also see the indecision, surprisingly enough. He thought she’d absolutely jump at the chance to stay on her own, especially with everything that just went to shit.

He wants her to come. That’s not a surprise to him, not in the slightest, but even he’s a little taken aback at the intensity of that want. It doesn’t take a genius to see just how badly she’s still hurting, even after all these years out on her own.

And for his own selfish reasons, there’s still so much he doesn’t understand about his time as the Soldier. If Bucky could finally talk to someone who truly appreciates what that was like, it might help. Maybe help both of them.

That, and…he can’t stand the idea of them hurting her again. If they could keep an eye on her, keep her behind the walls of Tony’s tech and superior security, it’d be so much easier to keep her safe.

“Tell you what, kid,” Tony speaks up, making them both jump with the suddenness of it, “take the night. Sleep on it.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the man, pleasantly surprised at the leeway he was willing to give her. Somehow understanding that this wasn’t easy for her, especially asking her to make such a big decision so soon. Despite not being sure how they could make this work, she needs this.

Steve’s shocked too, and Bucky can tell there’s a big dose of agitation growing right along with it.

“The night? Tony, you can’t be serious—”

“Nat and Wanda can stay with you, or we can just hang out in these trees over here like the creeps you know we are. Maybe both, like that fun little taco shell commercial. That little girl had a point. Either way, you won’t be unprotected.”

“We don’t have the time—”

Steve’s protests are cut off again as Wanda says, “Sure we do. We can make the time for her to do this. Besides, I’m sure she might have more questions. For us and for herself.”

Bucky turns back to find her expression morphing into surprise and confusion once again, eyes going wide with the hurricane force of feeling all those emotions at once. He hurts for her, understanding intimately how hard it is to believe people can be capable of doing kind things to help. Her eyes dart to meet his, and he can see the unspoken question swimming in them. He nods, just barely, but that seems to be enough for her. She nods back to him, gaze softening a little, just as Tony begins speaking again.

“Did you want to be left alone or would you feel better if someone stayed with you?”

Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she looks down at the wooden planks of the front porch. Her fingers, while thankfully not on fire anymore, dig into her palms as she tries to figure out what she wants.

It’s likely, now that Bucky thinks about it, everything about this situation is new for her. She probably hasn’t had this much social interaction at once, at least with people who know her background and real name, in a long time. Let alone the fact she’s being asked to make a lot of decisions at once, plus the looming threat of Hydra.

That’s a lot. Goddamn, is that a lot.

He’s about to say something, volunteer, when Natasha and Wanda slightly step forward again. She looks up at their movements, but her expression doesn’t hold the same aggression it did just a few minutes ago. Their efforts to make this happen for her didn’t go unnoticed.

“Got a couch we can crash on? Maybe a rug or something?” Nat asks, slightly smiling at her.

“We don’t have to stay with you, and you can always change your mind while we’re there,” Wanda adds quietly, “but…we can tell you about life at the compound. Maybe tell you how we ended up here, your options.”

Bucky feels a pleasant warmth fill his chest as he takes in how kind they’re being. With how everything just went, with how scary they saw her get, her sheer amount of power…they didn’t have to. They could’ve called it. Steve wanted to call it.

“I…um…”

Bucky turns around as she tries to get her words together. Her nails are still digging into her palm, and he has the very un-Bucky like urge to reach toward her and unfurl those tiny fingers of hers.

He’s a little taken aback by that. He hasn’t willingly initiated physical contact with a stranger since…god, it would have to be the 40s.

This is different. New. She’s different.

“I don’t sleep well,” she admits, still avoiding eye contact, “or very quietly.”

“Sounds familiar,” he says before he can stop himself, laughing dryly.

“Me too,” Nat adds with a smile in her direction.

“Kid, every single person on this team has had a nightmare once or twice. We’re screamers, and not in the fun way—"

“—Jesus fuck Tony—”

“—so you’ll fit right in. If you decide to come, that is.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Then,” she looks at Wanda and Nat, “I definitely have a couch. Or a rug. Or blankets, if you decide you like warmth.”

Tony claps his hands, ready to set everything in motion. Bucky is absolutely thrilled when he notices that Firebug’s jump is a little smaller this time around with the loud noise. He’ll have to talk to Tony about keeping that to a minimum, at least until she feels more comfortable.

If she chooses to come with them.

He hopes she does. More than anything.

“Alrighty. Now that that’s finally decided, ladies, go grab your shit from my jet. If I have to bunk with these bitches, I need all the room I can get. I’m a stretcher.”

As he continues to issue orders, Bucky stands up. She looks over to him with his movement, and, on a whim, he extends his hand to her to help her to her feet. Though she looks surprised by the gesture, she reaches up and slides her small hand into his.

Small. Dry. Warm. Those three words shout in his mind as he easily pulls her up. Even when they’re both on their feet again, her eyes stay locked on his, even as everyone starts moving around them. She could’ve pulled her hand away by now, but she hasn’t. Bucky doesn’t want her to.

“You never told me your name,” she finally says.

Bucky’s taken aback. Really? This whole time? He never said?

“Well shit, sorry about that,” he says with a breathy laugh.

“You know mine already, only fair if you tell me yours,” she adds. Bucky’s still extremely aware of her hand still enclosed in his.

“Bucky. My name’s Bucky.”

***

Steve lingers near the porch, watching the girl as she exchanges a few words with Tony. She’s gotten a little friendlier since their first interaction, but something about her sets Steve on edge.

She’s jittery.

Scared.

Combative.

Unpredictable.

Steve doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it in the slightest.

He and a few others have been waiting by the house while Wanda and Natasha gather their things for this impromptu “sleepover” they’re doing. Nothing like sending two of his teammates in a bomb’s cabin to spend the night, that’s for sure.

Let alone the fact that he’s in love with one of them.

Steve heaves out a harsh breath, pacing in the shadows of the cabin as they wait. He knows the girl can see him, maybe even feel his restless energy as he moves. Her eyes flit over to him every now and then, and he can feel her tension rise when they do, but he can’t help it.

He doesn’t trust her.

It’s not her fault she is the way she is. Logically, he knows that. He’s spent more time pouring over the files and her history than almost anyone else on the team. It makes even more sense now that he’s met her. Even so, he couldn’t contain his reactive aggression to her fear. No matter how hard he tried.

Tony had kept him back with the cabin group rather than go with Nat and Wanda. Steve grated against that, but he has to admit, it was probably good if he cooled down a bit before talking to Nat.

Because he had to at least tell her about his reservations, right?

“All this time, and you still can’t learn to pay attention to your surroundings,” Nat’s voice sounded from behind him, jolting him from his hurried thoughts and frantic movements.

Rather than scare him, her tone only serves to soothe him, pulling a small grin from him as he turns to see her leaning against a tree. Her red hair glows in the dying light of the sun as she grins at him. Looking around, Steve sees that Wanda has already gone ahead, going toward the cabin with Bucky and some of the others a little ways away.

“The biggest threat is over there,” he quips, angling his head toward where the girl and Tony were still talking.

“Nah, she’s fine,” Natasha murmurs as she strolls over to stand next to him, close enough that her arm brushes his. The heat of it sears Steve through his suit, and it’s all he can do not to lean into it.

“Is she, though?” He asks, unable to tear his mind away from what he perceives as a damn big threat.

“I think so. Don’t you trust me?”

Nat turns her sharp green eyes on him. He can feel them piercing the side of his face, but he doesn’t look toward her, not yet. Just keeps his eyes on the girl.

“Of course I do. It’s her I don’t trust,” Steve admits with a sigh.

Natasha releases her own sigh, and he can feel the exasperation in it. At him.

“C’mon, Steve—”

“You’re really telling me I don’t have reason to feel nervous about this? After the encounter we all just had with her? After she almost started tossing fireballs at our heads?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Nat retorts, tossing her braid over her shoulder, “we’ve been looking at her case for years now. After everything she’s been through, this kind of outcome was more than expected. She’s not going to trust us right away, you know. It was never going to be easy. We’re lucky she’s even considering it.”

“I know that, but—”

“Do you, Steve? Do you really? Because you certainly didn’t give her any reason to trust us, not with your ‘I’m Captain America’ voice trying to cut her into submission.”

“That’s not fair, Natasha—”

“Oh don’t you Natasha me,” she shoots back, and he can’t help but turn and face her now, “this is the best result we could’ve hoped for, especially with how badly everything went. You can’t expect her to just come with us, not without resistance. Not with everything she’s gone through.”

“We’re not Hydra! C’mon, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“Maybe from where you’re standing. We’re strangers to her. We found her based on her power, and that’s the only reason we’re here in the first place. Her history tells her we’re a threat.”

Steve’s silent for a minute, clenching his jaw as he looks at her, trying desperately to find the words to explain. He’s not so cold as to completely disregard her experiences and her trauma; he knows her reaction was fair. He had known going in that he should expect some sort of hostility. Doesn’t change the fact that he can’t turn off his fierce protectiveness over his team, over Natasha, in the face of someone as dangerous as her.

“I don’t want you in there with her,” he finally grounds out, and Nat’s eyes go hard as flint. It was the wrong thing to say, and he instantly knows it.

“What? Think I can’t handle myself, Rogers? Hate to break it to you, but this is my job. We didn’t track her for four years, go through all of this to help her, just to give her an ultimatum and then fight her if she chooses something different. Just like you said; We’re not Hydra.”

“You don’t have to sleep at her house, for fuck’s sake,” he says, feeling defensive at her comparison to his decades long adversary.

“If it helps make this decision easier for her, then I’ll absolutely do it. Happily. She’s bound to have questions, not to mention more than a few reservations. I’m not about to send Wanda in by herself, and we both know Firebug wouldn’t be comfortable with any of you taking my place.”

“Her name is Y/n. She’s a stranger, just like we are to her.”

Natasha tips her head back as she lets out a huff. Steve can see her roll her eyes as she lets out a humorless chuckle, getting ready to walk away angry for the night.

“Fine, have it your way. Y/n needs us to give her a chance. I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to use tonight to figure your shit out. I’m not about to let you intimidate her away from the possibility of a better life.”

She rolls her shoulders back. Just as she’s about to step out from the shelter of the trees, Steve can’t stop himself as he reaches for her delicate hand. He holds it softly, allowing her every opportunity to keep going if she doesn’t want to do this right now. She’ll always have a choice with him; no amount of fighting is going to change that.

Steve’s slightly shocked as her hand remains resting in his. She stayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers simply. No excuses, nothing. Just his apology.

Silence fills the air for a minute. Then two. All the while, crickets begin chirping around them in the growing shadows. The girl is looking around, probably growing suspicious the longer he and Natasha remain absent.

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, turning back around to face him, her face far softer than it had been moments ago. She laces their fingers together.

“I just…so much could happen. I just don’t know if this is the right move anymore. There are so many ways this could go wrong, and we’re—I’m—not even there to help if she loses control, or if Hydra shows up unexpected—”

“Steve,” Nat interrupts with the gentle curve of her lips, her other hand reaching up to brush through his hair, “you’ve gotta trust Y/n on this. She’s trusting us, it’s the least we can do in return.”

“I don’t know her, there’s no way—”

“Trust Wanda, then. Trust me.”

She doesn’t push him to respond, just continues to affectionately run her fingers through his hair in a way that makes him want to melt. Steve thinks, and really thinks. He actively avoids looking at Natasha, because one look at the woman he loves, and he’s gone. He needs to make sure he’s making a decision he can live with.

“We can’t let Hydra get her,” Natasha finally whispers, and it’s then Steve looks into her imploring features, “if they catch her again, she’ll be a prisoner for the rest of her life. They’ll use her until she breaks. And she will break, Steve.”

The word ‘break’ catches him off guard, though it really shouldn’t. He’s all too familiar with what long-term captivity and torture does to a person. It happened to his best friend.

Steve looks over Natasha’s head toward Bucky, who’s a little ways off to the side as Wanda, Tony, and Y/n chat idly as they wait. It’s impossible to miss the way he’s watching her, like she means something to him, though he just met her. It’s also hard not to notice the way her body is angled toward Bucky, like he…

Like he makes her feel safe.

Like Natasha makes Steve feel.

It’s that realization that makes him slump his shoulders in defeat, bringing Nat’s hand up to his mouth for a brief kiss to her knuckles. A rare show of just how much he cares about her.

“You be careful, you hear me?” Steve mumbles as he pulls her to him in a tight embrace.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll call you in a few hours and read you a bedtime story,” she laughs into his chest.

Steve rolls his eyes, but kisses the top of her head anyway. It’s been nearly four years since he realized just how bad he had it for Natasha, just a little after they started tracking Y/n. He hasn’t said anything since then, and neither had she.

Doesn’t change the fact that he can’t lose her.

He looks over to Y/n again, trying to reconcile her youthful features with the unrestrained and untested power she holds in her small hands. It’d be harder to do if he hadn’t seen just how far she was willing to go to stay in her own version of freedom, who she was willing to hurt to keep it.

It’s in that moment that Steve resolves to stop at nothing to take her down if she so much at hints at being a threat to his family. To Bucky. To Natasha.

Not a chance.

***

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