So... I've been playing around with the idea of making a character and just creating multiple story lines based off this character, if that makes sense?
It would be based in the real world, where the Winter Soldier is a comic book character/movie character played by Sebastian Stan—but the character I'd be writing about would be similar. Kidnapped and turned into an asset for a foreign terrorist organization with inspiration based on Bucky Barnes. Like maybe the scientists were inspired by him and Steve's abilities?
I was thinking it would be a female (just bc I am female, but I could obvi try writing in a male perspective if someone wanted that!) and could be either from our current time, or in some stories could be from another time (with cryo-freeze). I was thinking about if this happened in real life, how it would be handled. They would probably get a conditional pardon like Bucky did, but they'd probably have fewer freedoms than he did. I would imagine they'd even have to serve in a specialized military unit or something until their pardon and whatnot was satisfied.
I have also made up a list of characters for the unit (hehe) and have been playing around with scenarios in which she could run into Sebastian or any of the other MCU cast, and how they'd possibly react. (Though I will be honest that I do feel a bit odd writing publicly about real-life people instead of fictional characters, but I'm anon for that reason, so yolo.)
I dunno. Would anyone read that? Would it be weird? Do y'all wanna see my character's list for the unit members that I've came up with?
Warnings: Based around the end of Winter Soldier, but he doesn't disappear to Bucharest, and Civil War events are already beginning.
Angsty Bucky, fresh from HYDRA, he's a nervous guy. Swearing, mild violence. Rumlow jokes.
Author's note: Hey... so I disappeared for a while... my bad guys
Part three
A beat. Everything clicks together.
________________________________________________
“Steve”
Your voice is so pained it’s almost unrecognizable.
“I just used it a few minutes ago, his anxiety was spiking… I used it to bring it down. They’re probably right on top of us now. Get here quick and-“ your eyes flicker to Bucky, all the color is drained from his face.
You see the guilt already turning in his mind.
“-and remember what you promised me last night.” you finish to Steve
Steve sounds just as unnerved as you feel.
"Goddamnit"
There's rustling on the other end of the connection, like he's moving around.
"I'm on my way. Just—lay low and try not to use your power again."
Steve's advice only partially registers, your mind already starting to race, spinning out of control as the realization sinks in.
You've been a puppet.
A pawn.
Just like Bucky.
All the times you've used your power were likely tracked.
Monitored.
Studied.
“Jamie..”
Bucky tenses underneath you at the sound of his nickname.
He turns to you, expression tight and unreadable.
After a beat, he gives you a slight nod.
You can almost hear the thoughts in his head.
If you'd been tracked every time you used your power... how close was Hydra now?
Not just minutes—there was no way to know how much of their conversation had been heard.
You put your hands on either side of his face.
“Listen to me, don’t start playing that internal blame game, okay?”
He flinches slightly at your touch, but doesn’t pull away.
His breath is uneven, eyes flickering with guilt and fear—emotions he rarely lets show.
“Jamie," you say firmly, thumbs brushing his cheekbones,
"this isn’t on you. None of this is your fault."
He tries to look away, jaw clenched tight—but you hold his face steady.
"Look at me. You didn't do this. HYDRA did.
And I used my power—I made that choice. Not you."
Your words seem to calm him a little, a muscle in his jaw unclenching slightly.
He still looks like it’s still tearing him apart inside, but he meets your gaze.
"But I put you in danger. Again." he says hoarsely, eyes dark with guilt.
"Bullshit," you breathe, voice firm.
"You didn't do anything. None of this is your fault. You're a victim in all this, too, Jamie. You hear me?"
At the use of his childhood nickname, his eyes soften slightly.
He nods faintly, voice still low.
"I hear you," he whispers, bringing a hand up to cover one of yours—the metal fingers gently gripping your wrist. For a moment, he's silent, eyes searching your face.
“No matter what happens next, we face it together. Just like we planned with the Accords”
His eyes flash with determination as your words catch his attention.
The corners of his mouth twitch, a small, brief smile.
His hand lifts to cover yours again, fingers curling around your hand.
His thumb gently traces your knuckles—a familiar, soothing motion.
"Just like we planned," he repeats, voice quiet but firm.
"Together. No matter what."
Your heart stutters at the intensity in his tone.
“I love you.”
His expression softens at the declaration, a soft look in his eyes that makes your heart ache. His voice is rough with emotion when he speaks.
"I love you," he whispers back, fingers tightening around yours.
"Always have. Always will." The words settle over you like a promise.
It's a simple declaration.
Simple, yet powerful.
Three small words that carry a lifetime of meaning.
And it's all in the way he looks at you.
“What did you make Steve promise you?” he asks suddenly.
You hesitate, biting your lip. Your eyes flick to his—soft, serious.
"To keep you safe... if I don’t come back."
His eyes darken, expression going tight.
"Don't talk like that," he whispers, voice hoarse.
"You're gonna come back. You promised."
“Just in case,” you say low.
Bucky falls silent, jaw tightening. The idea of you not coming back is too much.
He grips your hand tighter, bringing it to his chest—right above his heart.
"Please... don't go there," his voice is quiet, almost pleading.
"Just stay with me, doll. I can't lose you again."
“I promise.”
His eyes search yours, desperate, searching for any sign of uncertainty. When he finds none, he lets out a shaky exhale—his whole body sagging.
“Good," he whispers, voice cracking slightly. He pulls your hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, doll."
You were just about to respond when you stiffened, eyes flickering around the room, then to the front door.
“Do you hear that?”
Bucky's eyes flicker up, instantly on high alert. He's quiet, listening intently to the sounds around you. He knows he has better hearing than you do, but whatever you'd noticed was too subtle for him to catch.
"Hear what?" He whispers, still listening hard.
You get up from his lap, him following you as you walk towards the window to see if there’s anything going on outside to warrant a siren like this.
“It’s like a siren… it’s getting louder.” You look at him, “You really don’t hear that?”
His brow furrows slightly as he focuses on the faint sounds around him. After another moment of listening, he shakes his head. Your description just confuses him further—he can't seem to pick up on whatever it is you're hearing.
"A siren? Doll, I don't hear anything," he whispers back, looking at you in confusion.
Bucky's expression shifts instantly—tense, alert. He pulls you close without hesitation, shielding you with his body.
"Then it's not for me," he says quietly, voice low and serious.
"It's for you."
Your head suddenly felt like it was about to burst from the piercing noise growing closer.
“I know why..” you trail off, wincing. “God. It’s so loud.”
Bucky's eyes widen. He can't hear the sound, but the pain on your face says everything.
"Doll... what is it? What can you hear?" He whispers urgently. He hates that he can't help, that only you can hear this sound that's clearly hurting you.
“It’s—it’s like a high frequency…” you winced again. “I can only hear it cause of the power. Wanda and Vision said if I were put in a situation that appealed to the power, then something might happen… like when Wanda blows up something bc her emotions are running rampant…”
Bucky's expression turns concerned. He’s aware of Wanda's powers and the dangers of uncontrolled emotions. If HYDRA was tracking you through your power, and this noise was a way to activate it... he didn't like where this was headed.
“Is it getting louder?" He whispers, pulling you closer. "It's affecting you. I can tell."
You nod, “like it’s getting closer…”
You crouched on the ground, your hands over your ears.
His expression darkens, protective instinct taking over. He crouches alongside you, his hands on your arms. He feels so helpless—wishes like hell that he could take the pain away.
"Damnit..." he mutters, frustrated. "There's got to be something we can do."
He scans the living room, desperate for any way to help.
“I just gotta keep my shit together until help gets here,” you mumble, knowing Steve was on the way.
Bucky's jaw clenches, eyes flickering across your face. He hates seeing you in pain.
But he knows you're right—you have to hold out until Steve and the rest of the team arrive.
He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest—offering the only form of reassurance he can right now.
"You're gonna be fine. Focus on my voice." He whispers. "Just keep breathing, doll. You got this."
Bucky puts his hands over your hands, hoping for extra protection against the noise.
His large hands cover yours, adding a second layer of muffling to the noise. He's close beside you, a solid, comforting presence against the pain. He's watching you closely, gauging your reaction with every moment.
His voice is steady and firm as he speaks, ”You've got this, sweetheart. You're strong. You can fight this. Just breathe."
“Oh my God..” you groan, “It feels like it’s splitting my head open.”
His heart clenches tight at the sound of pain in your voice, helplessness surging inside his chest. He can feel you trembling as you press your hands tighter over your ears, trying desperately to block out the sound that's tearing through you.
"I know, doll, I know," he whispers urgently. "I'm right here, love. You just focus on me, okay? Ignore that goddamn sound. Breathe. Fight it."
You turn to sit sideways up against his chest, desperate for any comfort he can provide.
His arms circle around you, pulling you tight against him.
He holds you close, one hand cradling the back of your head.
He can feel the tension in your body, every tremble and shiver as the noise cuts through you.
He whispers soothing words, low and gentle, just trying to give you something to cling onto—a lifeline in the wave of pain.
"Shh, doll, shh... I've got you. Just keep focusing on my voice. Breathe with me." His voice is firm. "In and out. In and out. You can fight this."
You didn’t even know you were crying until Bucky started wiping the tears.
His heart clenches again, even tighter than before.
It kills him to see you in so much pain.
He gently wipes away the tears, continuing to try and soothe you.
"Shh, sweetheart... it's okay. It's okay," he whispers pleadingly, voice rough with emotion. He holds you tighter against him, feeling the tremors running through your body.
"You're doing so good. Just keep fighting, doll. You can do it. Hold on."
You were damn near rocking back and forth with the pain.
“You gotta go. You gotta get outta here,” you grit out, eyes squeezed shut.
His eyes widen at the statement, his hold on you instantly tightening. He knows what you're implying, and there's no way in HELL he's leaving you.
"Absolutely not," he growls. "I'm not leaving you here alone."
“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, please” you plead, your eyes still closed as tears stream out steadily.
His expression darkens; his voice is low and fierce.
"You could never hurt me, doll. Not ever."
He pulls you tighter against his chest, shielding you like a fortress.
"And I'm not leaving your side—no matter what."
You continue to rock back and forth, cry, and beg him to run before you accidentally send an energy surge up the block.
"Bucky... please... go..." you sob, voice breaking. "I don't wanna hurt you—please, baby, I can't—"
He presses his forehead to yours, eyes burning with determination.
"Then don't," he whispers fiercely.
"Fight it. Stay with me. I'm not leaving—so you fight for me, dammit. Fight for us.”
“It hurts so bad…” you whisper, crying, unsure if the words even formed—you can’t hear through the siren in your head.
His voice breaks, filled with pain and desperation.
He can't stand seeing you like this—broken, hurting—knowing he can't do anything to stop it.
"I know, doll... I know," he whispers against your hair, holding you tighter.
"Just keep breathing. Stay with me. You're not alone."
“Please make it stop, baby—please,” you beg, so far gone that you don’t really register what you're saying. All you know is that you’re hurting and he’s there.
His heart is breaking, torn apart by your pain.
All his training, all the strength and strength and muscle in the world—and he still feels powerless.
He wants to take it all away, but all he can do is hold on.
"Doll... I can't—I can't make it stop. I'd do anything to make it stop. But you have to keep fighting. You're not alone. I'm right here, doll. Stay with me." His voice is ragged, rough with emotion.
You felt a heat bubbling within, not the burning heat of a bomb, as you had thought. More like a shield.
Bucky can feel something change inside you. He feels your body tense, hears the way your breath starts to catch in your throat.
“Doll... what's happenin’? Talk to me," he whispers urgently, eyes wide as he feels the shift.
Your head is starting to spin, heat building inside you like nothing you've ever felt before.
It's not the pain or the panic.
This is something stronger, more powerful.
Bucky can sense the change in you, and he grips your hand even tighter—voice urgent.
"Doll, tell me what's going on..." he pleads.
You can barely speak, the heat inside you growing stronger with every passing second.
Your breath comes in short gasps as your body trembles—like something is about to erupt.
"I... I don't know," you manage to whisper. "But it's not pain anymore..."
It's power.
Bucky's grip tightens, his voice a low growl filled with both awe and concern.
"Then let it out, doll," he says, eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness.
“Don't fight it. I’ve got you. Just don’t hold back."
You take a deep breath, eyes locked on Bucky's now.
He's right—this power, this heat coursing through you... you need to let it out.
You close your eyes, focusing on the feelings swirling inside you.
The heat builds, rising like a storm inside your chest.
Bucky watches you intently, his grip firm but steady—anchoring you as the energy swirls higher, wilder.
"Let go," he whispers—low, sure. "I’m right here."
And you do,
You and Bucky are sitting in the living room floor, inside of a lapis force field.
Bucky stares around at the glowing golden dome surrounding you, eyes wide with awe. It hums faintly, the air crackling faintly with energy.
He turns to you, his expression a mixture of wonder and relief.
“Y/N… holy sh—what did you do?"
“I think.. it’s like a force field. So if they find us, they still can’t get to us”
Bucky looks around at the shimmering golden barrier, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite everything.
"Guess you just built us a damn fortress," he murmurs, voice rough with pride.
He leans in close, brushing your hair back from your face.
"Told you to let go. Knew you had it in you."
“I’m gonna have a headache for days, that siren was so loud.”
His smirk fades, expression shifting to one of concern. He studies you closely, seeing the tiredness in your eyes. He gently brushes his knuckles over your cheek—a tender touch of reassurance.
"You're exhausted." His voice is gentle, filled with worry.
He hates watching you suffer—hates feeling so damn helpless.
"But I'm proud of you. You're pretty damn extraordinary…”
You hum shyly, shaking off the sheepish set of your shoulders.
“Wonder if I’ll be able to do it again.”
He gives you a small, crooked smile—one tinged with admiration and adoration.
"Doll, if there's one thing I know, it's that you'll do whatever it takes. You're the strongest goddamn person I know."
He pulls you closer, arms encircling you protectively.
"Rest, sweetheart. Just for a bit. You must be wiped out after that."
You are, but you’re terrified that your protection would go out too.
His protection.
Bucky can see the fatigue in your eyes, mixed with a lingering fear that's impossible to ignore. His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against his chest—offering a solid, reassuring presence.
"Just close your eyes, doll," he whispers, voice soft. "I've got watch. We're safe in here, I promise."
Minutes pass with no materialization of HYDRA goons, and soon enough, you're relaxed enough to close your eyes for a moment.
Then, a loud crash.
The door is kicked in, and dust from the trucks outside wafts into the house. The glow of your shield makes it even harder to tell what's happening.
Bucky is instantly alert, eyes snapping open at the sound. His body goes taut, every muscle tense—ready for a fight. His hand finds yours, giving it a firm squeeze.
"Stay behind me," he whispers, voice barely audible.
He jostles you in his arms until you're on the ground, him crouched in front of you, positioning himself as a shield between you and the unknown danger.
The crashing sound echoes again, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. It sounds like someone—or something—is getting closer very fast. Bucky stays low, eyes scanning the golden shield that surrounds you. It still hums faintly, shimmering in the low light.
“Rumlow.” Your tone is deadly.
Bucky goes utterly still—then slowly, deliberately turns his head toward the source of the sound.
His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing into cold steel.
"Should’ve known."
The footsteps stop just outside the force field. A shadow looms against the golden glow—tall, broad, unmistakable even in silhouette.
Then he steps forward into view: Rumlow, face scarred and twisted from past burns, one hand gripping a rifle that hums with stolen HYDRA tech.
"Cute little light show,"* he sneers, voice gravelly and mocking.
"But it won’t save you this time."
Bucky shifts slightly—putting himself more fully between you and him—and grips your hand tight behind his back.
"Stay down," he murmurs without looking at you. More of a command than a suggestion.
"And don’t you dare let go of that shield."
But you're already peering around Bucky, eyes narrowing at Rumlow. The sharp retort leaves your lips before Bucky can even fully stand.
“Hey Rum, I got some moisturizer in the bathroom.. just saying.”
A flicker of unease crosses Rumlow's face, surprise flashing in his eyes at your retort. It clears just as fast, morphing into a smug smirk.
"Not a good time for smart remarks, princess."
“We’ll see, Kruger”
Rumlow's smirk falters at the sound of his name, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. He grits his teeth, clearly not amused by your defiance.
"Still as mouthy as ever, I see."
He takes a step closer, gaze flickering between the shimmering shield and Bucky's tense form—almost as if he's weighing his options.
“What can I say, it’s a gift.” you retort with a smug grin.
Rumlow just rolls his eyes, clearly not amused by your wit. His gaze hardens as he takes another step closer, eyes flickering over the force field. He seems to be studying it, judging its strength—looking for a weak point to exploit.
"You're in no position to be a smartass, sweetheart," he says gruffly. "I'm willing to bet you can't hold that shield much longer."
“You shoulda got one of these from Hydra, maybe it would'a saved your face.”
A beat of silence.
Rumlow's eye twitches. That one hit hard.
"You've got a real problem with that mouth of yours," he growls, voice low and dangerous, the scarred side of his face pulling into something ugly.
"I'll enjoy shutting it for good."
Bucky lets out a dark chuckle from in front of you—cold, mocking.
"Keep talking, asshole. Gives me more time to plan how I'm gonna rip that gun from your hands and shove it up your—"
"Bucky!" you whisper-shout—but there's laughter underneath it.
Rumlow snarls, "Enough!"
He raises his rifle and fires—directly at the shield.
The bullet ricochets off the shield & bounces off the walls. Rumlow looks like a cat at a laser show.
“Did your brain get fried too, idiot?” you quip dryly.
The look of confusion on Rumlow's face is almost comical. He obviously wasn't expecting the shield to be that strong.
He looks around wildly as the ricocheting sound echoes through the room. Then he whips his gaze to you, the realization slowly dawning on him.
"That's damn impressive,"* he mutters, eyes narrowing. "But it won't last forever."
You hear Steve’s bike, Sam’s thrusters.
“I don’t think you’ll have much of a window.” you say smugly.
Rumlow tenses, eyes darting toward the growing roar of engines. His jaw clenches.
"Cavalry's here," Bucky mutters, smugness bleeding into his voice.
He finally turns his head just slightly—gives you a quick, crooked smirk over his shoulder.
"Told ya he wouldn’t be far."
Outside, the sounds intensify—Steve’s motorcycle skidding to a stop, repulsors flaring as Sam circles the perimeter. A voice booms through the air:
"Drop the gun, Rumlow," Steve says with his signature, commanding tone.
Rumlow hesitates—just for a second—but it's enough.
Bucky turns back to you, gripping your hand tighter.
"They’re here now... let go when you're ready, doll."
Steve is slowly closing in on Rumlow, who looks more and more cornered by the minute. Sam circles above, keeping an eye on things from the air. Rumlow's eyes flicker between all of you, tension radiating off of him like heat.
"Doll," Bucky whispers again, watching you intently. "Let go."
After a beat, you do just that. The shield shudders and vanishes as the power fades.
The shift catches Rumlow's attention, his gaze flickering toward you for the first time. A slow, sly smile starts to spread across his face as realization washes over him. He takes another step closer, rifle still trained on you.
"So it WAS you," he sneers, voice sharp.
Bucky tenses beside you, his body shielding yours completely. He's practically radiating protectiveness.
Rumlow's gaze flicks back to Bucky, his smile twisting into a cruel smirk.
"Well, isn't this touching. Playing the knight now, are we, Barnes?"
Bucky says nothing, the only movement a slight clenching of his jaw. His eyes are locked on Rumlow like a hunter stalking pray. Every muscle is tense, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
Rumlow's amused at the lack of response, his smirk growing wider. He moves closer, taking his time.
"Never thought I'd see the great Winter Soldier turn bodyguard," he drawls. "Must be a pretty convincing piece of ass to make you so loyal."
Bucky doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. His voice, when it comes, is low—dangerous—like ice cracking underfoot. He rises slowly, standing to his full height—easily towering over Rumlow—like a predator preparing to strike.
"You don't get to talk about her."
In one fluid motion, he steps forward—putting himself fully between you and Rumlow—and raises his metal arm, the panels shifting with a quiet whir as it locks into combat mode.
"Last chance," Bucky growls.
"Drop the gun… or lose the hand."
For a moment, everything is frozen. Bucky and Rumlow locked in a deadly staredown, tension crackling in the air between them. Rumlow's finger is still on the trigger—but he doesn’t fire. He can see he's seriously outmatched.
"Damn. Look at you," he sneers, finally lowering the rifle but not putting it away. "Still loyal to a fault."
Bucky's eyes don't leave Rumlow for a second, his expression tense and guarded. He's ready to strike at the slightest sign of trouble.
"And you're still a rat, just like you were back then," he growls, voice dripping with contempt.
"Still fighting for whoever will pay the most, huh?"
"Yeah, and that's why I'm still alive," Rumlow smirks. "Can't say the same for you, Barnes. You're the one out of your time… and out of your league."
Bucky snorts, a sharp sound that's all derision. "Out of my league,"* he repeats, voice mocking.
"Funny, coming from the cockroach who needed HYDRA to give him a gun to make up for his lack of balls."
A muscle ticks in Rumlow's jaw, his eyes flashing with anger. He's clearly not used to being insulted like that—especially by someone whose face has been plastered everywhere as a war criminal.
"You know what?" He growls, taking a step forward. "I'm tired of all the talk. Why don't you put those pretty words of yours to the test?"
Bucky doesn't even blink. The metal plates of his left arm shift again, locking into place with a soft, deadly click.
"Been waiting," he says—quiet, cold.
The air turns electric. Then—
"Hey! Hands up!" Steve’s voice cuts through like thunder.
Both men turn to see Steve step forward, shield in hand, eyes blazing. Sam lands silently on Rumlow's flank.
Rumlow slowly raises his hands—but that smirk is still there.
"Just having a chat. Among old colleagues."
"With a loaded gun?" Sam scoffs. "Cute."
Rumlow's smirk widens. He's enjoying the fact that he's managed to rile everyone up.
"What can I say? It's a dangerous world. You never know when you might need a little firepower," he says casually, gesturing at the rifle.
"Well, you don't need it now," Steve says firmly. "Drop the gun. Now."
Rumlow hesitates. He's clearly weighing his options, trying to figure out if he can get the upper hand.
"I don't think so," he finally responds, voice almost nonchalant.
"Drop the damn gun," Sam snaps. "This isn't a debate."
You're not 100% sure what happens next, but Rumlow points the gun at Steve, you yelp & then Rumlow is trapped inside a force field with the ricocheting bullets.
Everyone else is watching the scene closely, eyes wide. Rumlow looks genuinely surprised at first, like he can't believe he's been trapped inside your makeshift shield. Then he just gets angry.
"You little—!" he growls, trying to force his way out. But the shield holds strong, resisting his every move.
The bullet lands in his thigh.
Rumlow lets out a sharp cry of pain, eyes darting down to see the wound on his leg.
"Son of a—" he wheezes, grabbing his leg.
Blood is already starting to seep through his fingers, staining the fabric of his pants. Rumlow looks genuinely pissed off now—but he's also clearly in pain, which makes him more dangerous.
Sam whistles as he lands with a soft thud nearby.
"Looks like someone needs a little anger management," he says, his voice full of sarcasm. "Someone should really send him on a vacation."*
"I vote Siberia," you say casually. "I hear it's chilly this time of year."
Rumlow's expression twists into a sneer at the suggestion. He can clearly tell they're not taking him seriously, and it's making him angrier.
"Funny," he hisses through clenched teeth. "Real funny."
"Yeah, we try," Sam retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Rumlow scoffs, clearly growing more irritated with every passing moment. He's trying to keep his cool, but the pain from his leg wound is clearly getting worse.
"And here I thought this was a rescue," he mutters sarcastically, gritting his teeth. "Turns out I'm just the entertainment for the evening."
Bucky snorts at the comment, his expression hard as steel. His eyes never leave Rumlow.
"Entertainment implies we're enjoying ourselves. Personally, I think you're just a pain in the ass."
Rumlow's jaw tightens, clearly unamused. His gaze flicks between Bucky and the others, sizing up his chances. Blood is still seeping from his leg wound, and he's starting to lose some of his cocky demeanor.
"You really think you're better than me?" he spits at Bucky. "You were a weapon just like I am."
Bucky doesn't flinch. He just stares back—cold, unwavering.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "But I remember who I'm fighting for now."
Rumlow glares, clearly seething. He knows he's lost this round—but he's not going down without a fight.
"You're just a broken man clinging to redemption," he growls. "And she?" He nods toward you. "She's just your excuse."
Bucky's just about to respond, probably with something sharp and lethal—when you cut in.
"Maybe that's your problem, Rum—you think people need an excuse to be good. Guess that's why you'll never have one."
For a moment, Rumlow just stands there—fuming. But then a cold realization hits him, and he lets out a snarl.
Rumlow slams a fist against the shield. It resists, not even shuddering at the impact.
"You think this is over? You think you've won?!", he snaps, voice sharp and bitter.
"Oh, it's over, alright," Steve cuts in, voice low. "You're not going anywhere except a cell."
Rumlow glares at Steve, the look in his eyes almost unhinged. He looks like a desperate animal backed into a corner—and that makes him dangerous.
"You're not gonna put me in a cage," he snarls, hands clenching into fists.
“You belong in the trash with all the other half-chewed tootsie rolls,” you quip.
Rumlow's gaze snaps to you. His expression is livid, almost feral.
"Watch your tone, sweetheart," he sneers. "You're not calling the shots here."
“Mmm that’s my bubble, soooo I’m calling more than you.”
He narrows his eyes at you, lip curling in annoyance—like he can't quite decide if you're bold or just stupid.
"Don't get too comfortable, princess," he growls. "Once I get out of here, you're first on my list."
“May need to move Clinique to my spot. You could use the moisturizer.”
Rumlow looks momentarily thrown off by your response, his smirk faltering just slightly.
"What?" he snaps, clearly not expecting you to come back with a quip.
“Ugh bless your heart.”
Rumlow just stares at you, clearly not used to being talked to like he's some confused old uncle at a family reunion. His eye twitches.
You, Bucky, and Sam all take turns dissing Rumlow and giggling at each other's jokes for 30 minutes before the cops finally show up—Steve trying not to laugh like a disapproving mother the whole time.
Just before they arrive, Sam steps forward to the edge of the shield to secure Rumlow, so you can all leave before the cops arrive—knowing Bucky is still technically wanted.
"You're not safe," he spits. "None of you are."
Bucky just smirks over his shoulder as Steve claps a hand on your back.
"Yeah yeah," Bucky mutters. "Keep talking. Gives me more time to enjoy this."
And for the first time since it all started… you laugh. Really laugh.
The shield drops.
You're safe.
It's over.
Bucky glances back at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the sound of your laugh. It's a rare thing, a beautiful sound—and it sends a wave of warmth through him.
He turns fully, eyes raking over you, taking in the sight of you standing there—uninjured and unharmed. Relief washed over him in a rush, like a weight being lifted from his chest.
God, he's missed that laugh.
“Ugh I’d fight Rumlow everyday just to have that little shit fest at the end,” you say with a contented sigh.
Bucky snorts, shaking his head. His metal hand reaches for yours—fingers lacing through, warm and sure.
"Nah," he murmurs, voice low and rough at the edges.
"You deserve better than that prick ruining your day."
He thumbs over your knuckles, gaze softening.
"But... I won’t lie. Hearing you laugh after all that?"
A pause. A rare, quiet smile.
"Worth every damn second."
You hum. “Sorry you didn’t get to break something of his.”
Bucky shrugs, giving your hand a squeeze.*
"Meh, he's not worth my energy," he mutters. "Besides..."
A smirk twists the corner of his mouth.
"Pretty sure you hurt him a hell of a lot more by making fun of him."
“I was on a roll wasn’t I?”
Bucky chuckles—low and warm, the kind that rumbles in his chest like distant thunder. He looks at you, eyes glinting with something soft and proud.
"Doll," he says, thumb brushing your cheek, "you were ruthless. Never seen a man so torn down by skincare talk."
He leans in slightly.
"And I fought Nazis."
You hum, nodding, remembering the Germans.
“I bet Hitler got a lot of it too, remember that weird little 'stache?”
Bucky laughs—low, rough snort.
"God, that little mustache looked like something a cat coughed up," he mutters, voice tinged with amusement. "He deserved every bit of crap he got."
His expression sobers slightly. He brushes a knuckle over your cheek, gaze intense.
"But you," he says quietly, voice full of something almost like awe. "You were... incredible."
“I am… exhausted.” You sigh.
Bucky’s expression shifts instantly—concern replacing amusement. He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your body sags like it's finally remembering how tired it is.
"Come on, doll," he murmurs, sliding an arm around you to steady you. "Let's get you outta here."
Steve gives a small nod as they approach. "Got room at my apartment. You two can crash tonight—we’ll move to the safe house tomorrow."**
"Sounds good," Bucky says quietly.
He turns his head slightly, voice dropping just for you—soft, rough with care:
"Just lean on me. I’ve got you... all the way home."
Warnings: Based around the end of Winter Soldier, but he doesn't disappear to Bucharest, and Civil War events are already beginning. Angsty Bucky, fresh from HYDRA, he's a nervous guy. Angry Bucky, not directed at the reader. Swearing.
Author's note: Sorry about the wait for this one; my seasonal depression is trying to get ahold of me.
Part two
“Well.. I kinda had another idea. Depending on how you feel about it,” you say, a hint of glee seeping into your features.
You’re looking at Bucky; his opinion is the only one that truly matters
Bucky raises an eyebrow, curious but wary.
He knows that look in your eyes—you've already got an idea and you're not going to back down, at least til he hears you out.
"Alright, sweetheart. Let's hear it."
________________________________________________
“Last night I was telling Steve that I was concerned about HYDRA coming for one or both of us and possibly using our trigger words..”
Both Steve and Bucky tense at that, the air thick with tension. Bucky's jaw sets tightly at the mention of trigger words.
“In the compound, while you guys are gone on missions,” you gesture to Steve
“I get to talk to a lot of different people. Two of those people are Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri from Wakanda. I’ve actually gotten really close with them since Tony gave me the job… and I just kept it to myself… for a situation like this.”
They both look unsure what you could possibly be implying.
“I told T’Challa about what we went through at HYDRA, at one of those stupid UN meetings four or five months ago.”
Bucky looks like he’s questioning your life’s choices, so you confess.
“He may have caught me on a server… looking up HYDRA information to find you…”
Steve and Bucky are in utter shock.
“But once I kinda explained everything, he was very… understanding.”
Steve is staring at you, clearly not having expected that.
Bucky's eyes have narrowed, processing all this.
“…so you're saying T'Challa has known about us and HYDRA all this time?" he asks, voice low and gruff.
“Yes.. for the last four or five months..” you explained.
“But I had to be honest, he’d been watching me, and I don’t know if you know this,” you say as you turn to Steve.
“but he’s the Black Panther! He literally has cat-like reflexes,” you say excitedly.
They are both so confused about where you’re going with this, they almost shrug at this information.
You roll your eyes and continue, “Anyways, he said he understood the kind of pain I was going through.”
You look at Bucky then, “He told me that if there ever came a time that I could get you back and we needed a safe place to land.. we could come to Wakanda.”
“And Shuri is developing me a little something to.. essentially fry the trigger words off my brain so that when I found you, I could go get you and not be a liability.”
Steve is staring at you in disbelief, trying to process all of this. But Bucky... Bucky is watching you with an awed expression, something like admiration in his eyes.
His voice is quiet but firm. "...Why didn't you say anything earlier?"
“Because you’ve been home for 3 days?” You say it like it’s obvious.
“How was I gonna get you on a plane to Wakanda without people seeing you? I just hadn’t had time to contact Shuri or T’Challa.. and I didn’t wanna put you through something like that as soon as you got home. It’s not gonna be a painless process.”
That makes sense, and even he has to admit that.
Bucky just stares at you for a moment, something like stunned admiration in his eyes as he processes everything you just told him. He lets out a small huff of disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head.
"...Damn, Y/N. You're full of surprises."
Blush creeps up your neck. You just smile at him, eyes full of love.
You’d do anything for him, that was becoming more and more clear to him now.
You’d been making plans since you’d woken up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Steve, I just didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position, like the one I’m about to ask..”
Steve’s head snaps up at that.
“I need you to go see what the deal with Tony is. I have a bad feeling. Like an “I need to get him outta the country feeling, you say, nodding towards Bucky.
Steve is watching you closely, his brows furrowing at the seriousness in your voice.
What you're asking has obviously got you worried—and that makes him nervous, too.
He's not liking the sound of this, but he knows you well enough to know that you're not going to let up until he agrees.
"...Alright. I'll go see what Tony wants. Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
You just smile and shake your head.
“How can we?” You ask fondly.
“You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky finishes with a small grin.
A grin tugs at the corner of Steve's mouth, despite everything. The same familiar banter still there, like it never left.
He shoves Bucky lightly in the arm. "Shut up, jerk."
Bucky just smirks in reply, clearly enjoying teasing Steve just like before.
"You love me and you know it."
"Yeah, yeah... don't push it," Steve mutters, rolling his eyes — but there's a warmth in his voice that says otherwise.
He looks back at you both, expression softening.
"I'll call when I know something. Don't start World War III without me."
You both just smile as Steve leaves the room.
It felt like the good old days, when things made sense. Before people had magic powers and your lives were stolen by a syringe.
You and Bucky spend a little extra time with Becca before going home to pack your go-bags and start contacting Shuri for a passage to Wakanda.
She informs you of the Accords and says that after the signing in Vienna, she’ll be able to get you in the air.
That puts a knot in both your stomachs-that there's a document regulating superpowered individuals being drafted with the signing of the Accords.
But you push those concerns from your minds for now, knowing the best thing is to get a hold of T'Challa and make a plan. You have to trust that Steve's on your side and can handle whatever Tony's throwing at him.
But knowing you, you're still going to worry. Bucky can see that in your eyes.
"You okay, doll?" he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you give him a smile, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.
He can see right through your fake smile, the tightness around your eyes.
Even after all the years apart, he still knew you too well.
His voice is low and gentle, his metal fingers gently tilting your chin up.
"Doll... talk to me."
You aren’t sure if now’s the time to tell him more stressful things or if you should wait. He’s carrying himself well so far, but if he faltered under the weight you’d put on him, you’d never forgive yourself.
“I just.. have a really bad feeling. Like an intuition thing..”
You were both sitting on the couch, and he was facing you. You had propped your elbows on your knees.
You had one more really important thing to tell him about HYDRA, but you were scared that he’d distance himself.
It was one thing to be an assassin, but having a power was something different.
He’d never been a judgmental man, and he loved you. You knew that.
You also know that your power is what’s fueling this feeling.
He studies you for a long moment, seeing the worry in your eyes.
It makes something in his chest ache, the thought of something threatening you.
He reaches over, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
His voice is low and steady, his gaze fixed on yours.
"You can tell me anything, doll. You know that, right?"
You look at him then, really look, deep in his eyes. Is he reading your mind? It could be now or never. Until he saw it.
He holds your gaze, the corners of his lips tilting with a small, encouraging smile.
He wants you to know that he's listening — that whatever you have to say is safe with him. He'd never judge you for the things that had been done to you, and certainly wouldn't hate you because of them.
"Doll," he says softly, "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
You don’t know what to say, so you just ask him.
“Have you seen these people with powers? Like, actual powers?”
He cocks an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. He thinks for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah... actually, I have."
His expression turns curious. "Why do you ask?"
“It’s just freaky, I guess…”
You wait, hoping he’ll give an opinion on the subject.
He shrugs slightly, voice low.
"Powers don't make 'em any more dangerous than a gun or a knife. It's what's in here—" he taps his chest "—that matters."
You smile, you can feel the elation reach your eyes, you huff out a sigh/laugh mixture.
He smiles back, the corner of his lips tilting with amusement.
He can see the relief on your face, like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.
The sight warms something deep in his chest.
He reaches over, wrapping his fingers around your hand.
"You worried I'd be scared, doll?" he asks softly.
It's almost teasing, but there's a gentleness in his eyes.
God. You’d missed him.
There was never a real need for words if you were too tired for them, and if you had a million, then he’d listen.
You were always on the same wavelength.
“Not scared. I don’t think you’re really scared of anything anymore.”
He's quiet for a moment, his thumb absentmindedly tracing your knuckles. The motion is soft and soothing, like a gentle reminder of his touch. Then he huffs out a laugh, his smile turning into a smirk.
He squeezes your hand gently.
"Damn right I'm not. I've been through hell, doll. There ain't much that scares me anymore."
You look at him then, a soft smile playing on your lips.
“Maybe one thing,” he admits
You look down at the coffee table, your smile slowly fading. A trace lingers behind.
“I feel like I got more scared,” it was almost a whisper.
He notices the shift in your demeanor, the way your gaze drops. His smile fades, replaced by a frown. Something in that whispered confession tugs at him, stirring concern in his chest.
He gently squeezes your hand, trying to capture your gaze.
"Hey... look at me."
You turn back to him slowly, but with no hesitation.
His gaze is soft and steady, searching your face. He can read you like a book, and he knows that there's something you're holding back. Something that's eating away at you.
His voice is low and gentle, tinged with a hint of worry.
"Talk to me, Y/N. What else is on your mind?"
You sigh, preparing to explain this power that you don’t fully understand.
“Whatever this thing I have is called.. it makes it easy for me to tap into energy of any kind. Like from people or from a power grid. But I’ve noticed that when someone on the team is feeling off, I’ll notice it. Even miles away. Like I’m attuned to certain people. I think that’s how I knew it was you coming to the house over and over. I think the reason I feel so negatively right now is ‘cause the team is divided. Certain energies are clashing with others.. if that makes sense..”
He listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face.
His expression is serious, but not frightened.
He's taking in your words, taking them seriously. That much is clear.
He takes a moment to mull over what you've said before responding.
"So... you're saying you can sense things? Emotions?"
“If I have some sort of relationship with them.. yes.”
He nods slowly, his brow slightly furrowed as he processes this information.
He's quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on your face. Then he nods again, more thoughtfully this time.
"And the team... their emotions are clashing?" he asks, trying to understand.
"That's why you're so worried right now?"
“That’s what it feels like.. but not clashing like someone ate someone’s lunch. It’s like.. war.”
That sparks his interest, his brow furrowing deeper.
He's still studying your expression closely, trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation.
"And you can feel it miles away?" he asks, still trying to wrap his mind around this concept.
“Just the people I’m closest to, I went on a few missions because I could track people based on their energy. Wanda also thinks I can maybe use it the same way she does.. in a physical way.“
His brow furrows even further as you mention Wanda, but he keeps his expression neutral. "Hm. Interesting."
He lets that sink in for a moment, processing that information.
"And... you think this feeling you've got, this war you sense... you think it's coming from someone on the team?"
“It feels like all of them. The combination of confusion, frustration, and anger. It feels like people are picking sides.”
His expression darkens as he listens to your words, his jaw tightening.
This is getting increasingly concerning. If what you're sensing is true, it means trouble for the team and for you.
He turns his gaze back to you, searching your face again.
"And there's no way to tell what exactly they're fighting about?"
“I don’t think so.. but Steve should call soon with news.”
Bucky leans back, arm resting along the couch behind you—close, protective. His voice drops low, rough with thought.
"Then we wait. But if it's as bad as you feel... we're not waiting long."
You curl into his side on the couch and wait.
You can feel the increased anxiety and adrenaline coming off him, and realize you forgot to show him the positive side of this power.
“Hey, I forgot to show you the good side of this.. whatever it is.”
His eyes flicker to your face as you curl into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders almost reflexively.
He can tell you're trying to distract him, and he appreciates the effort.
He gives you a faint smile.
"Yeah, doll? What's the good side?"
You lay back against his chest and put your palms out flat in front of you.
“Let me see your hands,” you say with a grin.
He gives you a curious look but complies, placing his hands—metal and flesh—in yours.
You close your eyes, focusing gently.
A soft hum fills the air as warmth spreads from your palms into his—soothing lapis-colored currents.
Not pain.
Not memory.
Just... connection.
It feels warm, familiar, safe. You feel his anxiety melting away.
He lets out a quiet, shaky exhale.
The feeling of your energy flowing into him is... soothing.
Calming.
The tension in his shoulders starts to ease, the weight seeming to lift away.
His metal fingers twitch slightly, as if wanting to hold tighter.
Your hands stop glowing, letting you know that he’s all right now.
The glow from your hands fades, leaving behind a lingering, comforting heat.
He lets out another deep breath, his eyes still closed as he soaks in the newfound peace you've given him.
His voice is low, barely more than a whisper.
“Y/N…”
He opens his eyes, looking down at your hands still clasped around his, then up into your face.
There's something like awe in his expression, a sort of reverent humility.
He looks down at you, searching your eyes, gaze flicking over your features like he's seeing you for the first time again. "I forgot what it felt like...."
His voice trails off, a mix of emotions passing over his face.
Relief, gratitude, but also something akin to pain.
His metal thumb gently strokes the inside of your wrist, almost like he's reassuring himself that this is real.
You're real, you're here, you're with him.
The weight he carried seems to lighten, his expression going soft.
"Thank you..." he murmurs, sincerity lacing every word.
“Anytime..” you say softly
A low rumble of a laugh escapes him.
He knows you'd do it again if he asked, and that thought warms him to the core.
He tugs you closer, pulling you more firmly against his chest until you're in his lap.
He burrows his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of you. God, he’d missed this.
Just like reading his mind, you whisper,
“I missed you. I thought.. I’d never get to have this again.”
He tightens his arm around your waist, almost like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
His voice is low, rough with emotion.
“Y/N...”
He swallows hard, unable to find the words to express what he's feeling.
So he squeezes you a little tighter instead, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder.
“Hm?” you say as you softly brush your head against his.
He takes a moment to collect himself, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.
The steady, quiet only filled by the old jazz on the radio you never turn off.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes.
His expression is serious, intense—but there's a vulnerability there, too.
"Can I... ask you something?” he asks quietly.
“Anything.”
He hesitates for a moment, searching your face.
There's a slight furrow to his brows, like he's not sure he should be asking this. But he needs to know.
He trusts you.
No matter what.
His voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
"If..." he clears his throat, starts again.
"If the roles were reversed... if you were the one brainwashed, tortured, experimented on for decades... would you—" he breaks off, taking a shaky breath.
"Would you still love me?"
“Yes,” you say without hesitation.
A moment later.
“Why?”
His heart skips a beat at the firmness in your voice, the absence of hesitation.
He wants to let himself believe you, desperately.
But there's a voice in his head that doubts, that questions, that whispers to him that he's not worthy of this—this love, this compassion, this understanding.
Even after everything he's done.
He swallows hard, trying to keep his tone even.
"Because... I still don't understand how you could still love me. Not after everything…"
You laughed quietly
“Well, that’s the beauty of it..”
You move a strand of hair from his face as you look up at him.
“You don’t have to understand how or why I love you. You just gotta accept it.”
He lets out a slow breath, something in his chest loosening at your words.
The weight he's carried for decades — the guilt, the shame, the fear of being unlovable — starts to crack under the warmth of your certainty.
His metal fingers brush your cheek, tender despite their coldness.
"You sound so sure.”
“I am sure. Loving you is the only sure thing in my life. Even when you stood there and said you didn’t know me.” you said quietly, lovingly.
He flinches, just slightly, at the memory — your words striking deeper than any blade ever could.
"But I was wrong..." he whispers, voice raw.
"I knew you. Even when my mind was gone... you were always there."
“I know. I knew you’d found your way back to me… on purpose… even if you didn’t know yet.”
His lips quirk into a small smile at your words.
It's reassuring to know that even when he was the Winter Soldier—a ruthless machine, a tool of Hydra, devoid of emotion and memory—he was still drawn to you.
"You're a damn saint, you know that?" he whispered.
You giggled as he pulled you in for a kiss, your foreheads resting together, your lips grazing.
You’d taken it slow in the past few days, afraid to overwhelm him.
He’d been doing everything in his power to hold back, wanting to make sure he didn’t put you in any kind of danger.
The tension breaks as Steve’s call comes through—sharp, real.
Bucky sighs against your lips, forehead still resting on yours.
"Saved by the cavalry," he mutters, voice rough with reluctance.
"Guess we should see what Rogers has to say."
You mumble a curse aimed at Steve as you answer.
"Steven, you’ve got the worst timing in history."
Bucky laughs quietly, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder before leaning back and pulling you with him.
"Put him on speaker, honey. Let’s hear what world-ending news he’s got."
Steve's voice comes through the connection, sounding nervous.
"Uh... hey, guys..."
Bucky cocks an eyebrow at the hesitant tone, and you can't help but mirror the expression.
"What's going on, Rogers?" he asks quietly, trying to bite back his anxiety.
"Well, it's kind of complicated..." he starts off, and you can already feel the concern growing in your chest.
Bucky's gaze flicks to yours, silently asking if you're having any gut feelings about this.
You just shake your head—nothing so far.
"Just spit it out, Steve,” Bucky says, a little less patient now.
"Right, yeah... okay, just... um..." Steve hesitates, unsure how to start.
Steve's hesitation does nothing to ease your nerves. You can almost feel his discomfort over the phone.
Steve sighs heavily, the sound crackling through the connection. It's a sound of dread.
You can't explain it—your chest tightens, your breath catching.
It's not just nerves.
It's like a warning bell going off deep in your gut, the same way it did when HYDRA took you.
Bucky feels it too—your sudden stillness, the way your fingers dig into his arm.
He tenses underneath you.
"What is it, Steve? Just say it," Bucky snaps impatiently, his arm tightening around you.
"Hydra's involved." Steve blurts, nervous as hell.
Your blood runs cold.
Bucky goes still under you, his eyes narrowing.
The world feels like it's tilting, the fear that's been building for weeks suddenly becoming real.
"How?" Bucky forces out through clenched teeth, one hand clenching into a fist.
"It's... complicated. There's no easy way to explain this." Steve says weakly.
His voice is grave, filled with an almost desperate helplessness.
The tone makes your chest tighten even more, anxiety coiling through your gut.
You glance at Bucky; his expression is stony, jaw clenching.
"Just spill it, Rogers,” he snaps, voice low.
You place a hand on his chest, an effort to ground him.
"Fine—okay, look. They used your files." Steve's voice drops, low and urgent.
"HYDRA—they didn't just erase you. They kept copies. Backups. And someone... someone accessed them recently."
Bucky goes completely still under you—the kind of still that follows a gunshot.
You hold your breath.
"Who?" he says quietly—too quiet.
"That's the thing, we don't know—" Steve starts
"Bullshit.” Bucky snarls, cutting Steve off, his grip on your waist tightening.
"Bullshit. They don't just 'not know.' Someone accessed those files, someone who had access to everything that HYDRA had. You think it was just somebody off the street? Bullshit."
"I know it sounds bad, but... there's no concrete evidence for anyone. It could be anyone."
"And that's supposed to reassure me, is it?” Bucky snaps, metal hand clenched into a fist.
"We both know that's a damn lie, because you've already got a goddamn shortlist in place, don't you, Steve? You wouldn't be so worried otherwise." Bucky snaps
"Buck, it's not... it's not definite yet. There are things you need to understand about—"
"Goddamn it, just spit the name out, Steve," Bucky cuts him off fiercely.
His eyes are hard and dangerous, his jaw clenched tight enough to snap.
“Tell us, Steve. Please,” you say, your gentle tone a drastic contrast to Bucky’s.
Steve hesitates for just a moment before he sighs, “Rumlow.”
A beat of silence passes as you and Bucky process.
“God, I should’ve killed his ass when I had the chance,” you say quietly
Bucky makes a noise of agreement, his expression hardening, jaw clenched tight.
"You and me both,” he says, his voice low
"Buck, we don't know for certain,” Steve says, urging Bucky to believe him. To wait.
"Don't give me the bullshit, Rogers. How much you wanna bet it's Rumlow who accessed those files?" Bucky snaps, metal arm clenching into a fist at his side.
"And why would he do that, Buck? Why would he want to access those files, knowing that you're out there and you're free?" Steve asks, voice calm yet firm.
"Why?” Bucky snarls, laughing humorlessly.
"Because the bastard's a coward. Because he hates me. He hated the fact that I got out, and he hates that I'm free, and now he wants to turn me back in. That's goddamn why."
You turn to Bucky, a hand on his jaw, your voice gentle, “Hey, we’re gonna be okay.”
Bucky meets your gaze, his expression still hard but softening slightly at the sound of your voice.
He reaches out, cupping your face with both hands—metal and flesh—as if making sure you're real.
"You don't know that," he says quietly, voice rough with emotion.
"Yes, I do," you whisper back, pressing your forehead to his.
"We've been through worse. We made it before. We'll make it again."
A muscle in Bucky's jaw twitches.
You can see the conflict on his face—the desire to believe, to hope, fighting with the ingrained habit of pessimism.
"Yeah," he whispers finally, fingers caressing your cheek gently.
"We did. And we will—together. Right, doll?"
“Right. Steve, we need somewhere else to crash until after this conference in Vienna. We can’t get to Wakanda ’til then.”
Steve's voice comes through the connection, a mixture of understanding and concern.
"I'll arrange something. There's a secure safehouse in London where you guys can stay until after the Accords have been sorted out. It's off the grid, off the map. No one will know you're there. Just lie low and keep your heads down until we get this figured out, alright?"
Bucky's gaze flicks to yours, silently asking if that works for you.
You just nod, one hand reaching up to rest over his on your cheek.
There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line.
Steve hesitates—longer than before.
You can hear him take a shaky breath and give Bucky a look.
"There's something else..." Steve says quietly
Bucky tenses, pulling you slightly closer.
You brace yourself.
"It's about your power," Steve says quietly.
"HYDRA didn't just study Bucky... they studied you too. And someone—"
Your breath catches.
"Someone’s been tracking you through it."
The statement echoes in your ears, your heart skipping a beat.
Bucky's eyes are locked on yours, his expression tight with concern.
"Tracking me..." you repeat weakly.
"Yes," Steve says—voice grim.
"HYDRA found out that you could sense people over large distances. So they tracked you, used your powers like a radar. They can't see you or anything—just a general location. They're like… damn it, they're like a satellite system.”
A wave of nausea washes over you.
You're suddenly glad that you're still sitting down, your body feeling weak and shaky.
Bucky's metal arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer—a protective, firm presence.
You lean into him, taking comfort from his warmth.
His voice is rough with anger, but still gentle with you as he addresses Steve.
"How long have they been tracking her?"
Steve's voice is low, almost reluctant to answer.
"We think... ever since you came home. They’ve been monitoring your energy output. Your ability to sense others? It emits a traceable signal when it activates."
Bucky’s jaw clenches so hard it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack.
His arm pulls you even tighter against him.
"So every time she used it in the last couple months… they saw it?"
"Yeah," Steve sighs, voice heavy with the gravity of the situation.
"We think so. At least, that's how it looks from the data we've gathered. She's basically been broadcasting her location to anyone who knows what they're looking for."
"Damn..." Bucky mutters, eyes going dark.
He glances down at you, jaw clenching.
"Are there... side effects to this?" he asks slowly.
"We don't know for sure," Steve says, and you can hear the strain in his voice.
"But given HYDRA's history—whatever they were doing to you both, it wasn't just observation. There could be... conditioning. Triggers embedded in your neural pathways that respond to certain stimuli. More than the verbal ones you’ve told me about.”
Bucky goes still beside you—the kind of still that’s worse than rage.
His voice is dangerously low. "Like what?"
Steve's voice drops, hesitant and wary. "Sounds. Sights.”
Bucky's jaw is clenched tight enough to snap.
You can feel the tension in him, the coiled anticipation of a predator ready to strike.
The hand on your hip tightens further.
"Like a weapon,” he whispers furiously.
"Exactly," Steve's voice is grim
"HYDRA's specialty. They've been doing this since World War II.”
You feel a chill roll down your spine.
A weapon.
That’s what HYDRA turned you and Bucky into—living weapons.
"But... there's more," Steve continues.
Bucky tenses again.
You can almost see the muscles in his jaw jump as he grinds his teeth.
"What is it?" He bites out.
"They didn't just build triggers... they built connections. Between you two."
Silence crashes over the room.
Bucky's eyes snap to yours, wide with realization.
"What do you mean—'connections'?" He demands, voice tight
"They used the emotional connection between you two as part of the trigger system. It activates a signal in her brain that can be tracked…” Steve pauses
“It may have been designed to trigger obedience under certain conditions,” he finishes
Bucky looks like he’s about to tear something apart with his bare hands.
"So they're using us," he growls, "Using our love as a goddamn weapon against us?
“That’s why they let you go. The last four days, I’ve been waiting for someone to come try to take you back..” you pause, meeting Bucky’s gaze.
Warnings: Based around the end of Winter Soldier, but he doesn't disappear to Bucharest, and Civil War events are already beginning. Angsty Bucky, fresh from HYDRA, he's a nervous guy. Just sappy fr. A little Steve x Natasha.
Author's note: I've been working on this for a while, so the first few parts may come quick. (That's what she said.)
Part one
The air shifted.
His playful demeanor vanished in an instant.
His jaw clenched, the fingers of his metal hand curling slightly around the edge of the couch cushion.
You give him a second before you continue.
“I understand if it’s too much, though. But I do mean to go by regardless.”
"...Rebecca?”
His voice was low, rough with something raw—fear, maybe.. or guilt.
He looked at you like you'd just handed him a bomb and told him to defuse it.
You felt horrible for not telling him sooner, but it was obvious that he’d needed these last few days first.
To process.
To remember.
“Yeah.." you pause
"She’s in good health right now, for her age."
You wait a beat for him to process your words.
"I just wanted to let you adjust... and I also didn’t wanna give her a heart attack, so I gave her a heads up, and she also said you needed to wait and come when you were ready.”
His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack.
He didn't know what was worse—the thought of not going and never seeing her again, or the thought of going and facing the past.
"...When do you wanna leave?" he gritted out, eyes still fixed on you like you held all the answers.
“We can go right now... if you’re up for it?”
He was quiet for a long moment, torn between the overwhelming fear and longing churning in his stomach. After a tense silence that felt like forever, he finally gave a slow nod.
"Alright. Let's go."
The ride to the nursing home was quiet.
“Hey.. you’re not mad, are you?”
He was lost in thought, staring out the window as the city passed by.
At your question, he turned to look at you. His expression was a mix of emotions.
Fear. Guilt. Worry.
But above all, he looked determined.
"Mad? Hell no,” he said quietly.
Then he reached over, fingers finding yours to lace them together tightly.
"Just... nervous as hell."
You smiled, relieved.
He took a deep, steadying breath, focusing on the feel of your hand in his as a grounding comfort.
The closer you got to the nursing home, the more his grip on your fingers tightened—not enough to be painful, but you could tell he was beginning to spiral into thoughts of the past.
“Y/N… what if she doesn't recognize me?" he murmured quietly, barely above a whisper.
“She will, she recognized me & Steve. You're her brother, she'd know you anywhere. Plus, you look relatively the same, baby.”
He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves.
You could see the fear in his eyes—fear of rejection, of not being forgiven. But he trusted you.
He squeezed your hand one last time before the car pulled up.
“Okay, we're here. We'll only do this if you’re ready.. I won’t lie to you, it is a little jarring."
"She’s got a million pictures in her room, and she’s gonna make you look at all of them," you laughed
"She’s got grandchildren, she’s even got great grandchildren.. she’s happy, Jamie.”
He let out a soft huff at that.
He could picture it so clearly, Rebecca showing off generations of photos and stories.
It made his chest ache.
"She always did like to talk,” he said fondly, a small smile on his lips.
Then his expression turned determined as he opened the car door and climbed out.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Let's face the music."
You were so happy, you hadn’t seen Rebecca since Bucky showed up, but you had called her.
This was a little dream of yours, you’d always hoped that if-when he came home, he’d get there before anything happened to her.
You walked into the nursing home, Bucky's metal fingers laced tightly with your flesh ones. He was tense—every step measured, every glance down the hall too sharp. But he didn’t let go.
And then you were there—standing outside her room, you paused and turned to face him.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
You gave him a small smile and his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m gonna go in real quick and make sure she’s decent.. and prepared. Okay?”
He nodded nervously.
“Don’t go anywhere,” you almost whisper, realizing this is the first time you’d let him out of your sight in three days.
“I’ll be right here,” he says, recognizing your worry.
You go in alone to find Rebecca, sitting in her wheelchair by the window with a hand-knit blanket over her lap and silver curls catching the sunlight. She turned at the sound of footsteps and smiled at you, “Well, there she is.”
Before you could even respond, she asked, “How is he?”
You beamed at her, “Right outside, nervous as hell. You ready?”
She just smiled back, no actual answer needed.
You nodded and walked back to her door, praying that Bucky was right where you left him.
You cracked the door to find him there, chewing on a nail, terrified.
“Come on, baby,” you whispered as you held out your hand.
He took your hand, his own shaking, and stepped inside.
"Bucky?"
Her voice trembled—old, but strong.
"James Buchanan Barnes?"
Bucky stopped dead in his tracks.
You smiled that “I told you so” smile.
He didn't even look at you—his eyes were locked on his sister, wide with disbelief.
His breath came slow and unsteady, like he was afraid this would disappear if he moved too fast.
Then Rebecca started to cry.
And just like that—Bucky dropped to his knee in front of her, still holding your hand with one hand and reaching out with the other, gently touching her face.
"Becca…" his voice broke.
"God… I'm so sorry."
He’s sorry he hasn’t aged, that he missed her whole life.
It broke your heart.
He stayed on his knees, tears silently tracking down his face—something the Winter Soldier would never allow, but James Barnes? He was crumbling.
"I should've been here," he whispered, voice raw.
"Your birthdays... your kids... I should've been there, Becca."
Rebecca cupped his face and smiled through her tears.
"You're here now. That's all that matters."
You had promised Rebecca that you would try your best to bring him home for her. It felt so good to see a promise fulfilled.
Tears pricked in your eyes as you watched the two siblings reunite after all these years.
Rebecca was smiling softly, stroking Bucky's hair like he was a child.
He was holding onto her like a lifeline, soaking in every detail of her wrinkled face. They could have stayed there all day, lost in the years they’d missed.
But then, Rebecca's eyes drifted up to you, standing quietly by the door. She smiled warmly.
“Y/N” she said softly, patting the armrest of the wheelchair.
You did as she asked and came to rest against her armrest, beaming at her.
Rebecca reached up to gently brush your hair, a motherly affection in her eyes. She smiled warmly.
“Thank you.. for keeping this promise.”
You simply nodded, a silent but strong bond between you two.
She took in both of you.
"Look at you two… all grown up. You haven't changed a bit, have you?"
She teased lightly.
Her gaze drifted to Bucky, still kneeling at her feet.
"Just as handsome as ever—and just as dumb with women."
You laughed at her banter, and so did Bucky. It was the most whole you’d felt in years.
Bucky let out a low, rumbling laugh—real and warm. You’d never seen him so soft, so unguarded.
"Still sharp as ever, huh?" he murmured fondly.
Rebecca squeezed your hand where it rested on the armrest.
“Don’t you dare let him disappear again."
“You don’t have to worry about that, I won’t,” you said sincerely.
Bucky reached up, his metal fingers brushing over your hand where it rested on Rebecca’s armrest.
His eyes—still a little wet, still raw with everything he’d been through—locked onto yours.
"Neither will I." his voice was quiet, but steel beneath it.
"Not ever again."
Rebecca wanted to show Bucky all her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Rebecca lit up like a firecracker, already reaching for the photo album on her lap.
"Alright, Bucky Barnes—prepare yourself. You've got decades to catch up on," she said with a grin, flipping open the worn album.
One by one, she showed him: first photos of her children as babies—then their kids... then great-grandkids.
A sea of smiling faces in school pictures and birthday parties filled the pages.
Bucky listened quietly at first, but soon his fingers were tracing each face with wonder—the Barnes bloodline alive and thriving. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.
"...We’re still here?"
“Of course we are. And we always will be." Rebecca assured him softly.
She reached over and closed the album, setting it aside.
"You may be a hundred years old, but you're still my big brother James.”
Bucky's voice caught somewhere in his throat.
He'd spent the last seven decades being called "The Winter Soldier." "James" felt foreign.
But hearing it on his sister's lips... it felt like coming home.
You and Rebecca had become close again since you’d thawed out, but you were thrilled to sit on the sidelines for hours and watch her with Bucky.
Hours ticked by like minutes, filled with stories and memories that stretched back nearly a century.
Bucky's heart ached from laughing and crying and smiling more than he had in years—decades, really. He'd forgotten what it felt like.
Finally, as the sun started dipping below the horizon, the sky growing golden, Rebecca patted Bucky's knee.
"Stay with me tonight," Rebecca said softly. "We have years to catch up on."
Her voice was firm but gentle, and you could see the hope in her eyes—she didn’t want to let go of him so soon.
Bucky hesitated, looking at you. His expression asked the question before he did.
You nodded, a loving smile painted across your face.
If you had to let him out of your sight, Becca was one of the extreme few you trusted.
Bucky looked at your face, the gentle smile and affectionate eyes full of trust, and knew his answer.
Turning to his sister, he gave a slow nod.
"Alright, Becca. I'll stay."
Becca's face lit up, her eyes sparkling.
She wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
You got up to say your goodbyes & go home, but Becca wasn’t letting go of you either.. then she told you to invite Steve.
You looked to Bucky for an answer.
Bucky looked almost as surprised as you.
He hesitated, but finally, he gave a slight nod.
Becca wanted all three of you there tonight, so you called Steve.. and just like in 1943 - he came running.
Bucky’s family was his family, too.
He’d also forgiven Bucky for the battle, just like you’d told him.
The three of you sat up with Becca late into the night.
The nursing home made special exceptions for you three super soldiers, clinging to the last of the people you knew from your time.
Hours passed in a blur of stories and laughter.
Steve's eyes were bright as he spoke about his adventures, telling hilarious tales from his adventures that made you all grin and cry with silent laughter.
It was a night none of you would forget.
Finally, at a time when even the night shift nurses were sound asleep, Becca stifled a yawn and leaned back in her wheelchair.
"I hate to sound like a tired old woman, but I ought to get some sleep.."
You and Bucky got Becca to bed; she was soon asleep.
Steve had decided to stay too, and the nursing home had given two cots so she could wake up with you all tomorrow. This gave him and Bucky time to talk.
He and Bucky had told you to take the recliner by the corner of the window. You'd slept there before, spending the night frequently with Becca when you first found her, and again anytime she'd been sick.
You’d gotten a phone call from Natasha, so you’d stepped out to take it. Bucky was sound asleep when you came back.
The sight made your heart squeeze, you kissed his cheek, put his arm back on the cot & covered him up.
You turned around to find Steve sitting up on his cot, watching.
He had so many questions: how long had Bucky been back, and how did you get him to recognize you?
Steve was leaning against the wall, his chin resting on his hand.
He was watching the way you kissed his cheek, the tender gesture that made his heart swell.
He could see the love all over your face.
When you turned to look at him, he sat up a bit more—almost shy.
"How long has Bucky been back?" he asked quietly, voice soft so he didn't wake anyone.
“Today was day three... I’m sorry I didn’t call you. He was upset with himself about what happened before on the helicarrier..” you say softly.
Steve nodded, understanding filling his eyes.
He knew all too well the guilt and the weight Bucky carried.
"He'll be okay,” he murmured, his voice gruff.
"You're taking good care of him."
You looked back over your shoulder at him, your heart swelled at the sight.
You couldn’t believe he’d been gone so long, couldn’t believe you’d survived without him.
“I hope so..”
You turned back to Steve, who was wearing a confused expression.
Steve watched as you looked back to Bucky, a fond expression softening your face.
He could see the love radiating off of you, like a beacon that could lead Bucky home.
He knew what that felt like, loving someone so deeply.
He let out a quiet sigh.
"You love him,” he said bluntly, not a question, just a statement.
Without hesitation, you whispered, “More than air.. I don’t know how I lived without him.. or how I got this lucky..”
Steve nodded slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
He remembered the days of waiting for you both during the war—how Bucky would get quiet whenever your name came up.
How you'd stare at old photos during downtime when you came back from HYDRA.
"You weren't the only one who waited, doll,” he said gently
"He carried your name through hell."
You smiled then, before whispering, “You were right, you know.. he didn’t remember me, but as soon as I pulled out the photos and stuff Becca saved.. he knew."
You paused, taking a shaky breath.
"He doesn’t remember me from HYDRA, he said he can’t remember me after the train.”
Steve listened, nodding slowly.
His eyes flicked to Bucky's sleeping form—peaceful for the first time in decades.
"Then that's where we start," he said quietly.
"The man he was before the fall... and the one he gets to be now."
“I’m scared they’re gonna come looking for him, Steve. What do I do then?”
Steve's expression darkened at that, his jaw clenching. He knew the danger all too well.
“We do what we've always done, doll. We fight,” he said fiercely.
“But what if they use his trigger words.. what if they still have mine?”
Steve’s face hardened, protective and resolute.
"Then we burn every last one of them to the ground before they lay a hand on either of you."
“Steve.. I need you to promise me something."
You look into Steve's eyes. When he meets your gaze, he sees the seriousness in it, the protective promise he knows you're about to ask.
"If something happens, if they get us both.
I need you to prioritize him.”
His heart lurched at that, not liking where this was going.
But Steve knew your mind was as stubborn as steel, and there would be no arguing with you.
He let out a huff through his nose, nodding reluctantly.
"Okay, sweetheart... I promise."
“Thank you, Stevie.”
Steve nodded firmly, his expression softening.
Despite his reservations about your request, he couldn't hide the love he had for you and Bucky.
"Just make sure you stay safe, doll," he murmured.
“I’ll have enough trouble wrangling this stubborn fool. I don't need you both in my hair."
“I’ll do my best,” you were sincere.
You felt better having a safeguard in place.
You’d lived all these years in isolation or freedom, while Bucky was one of HYDRA’s instruments.
He deserved a chance to be put first.
You settled into the recliner, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
The room was quiet—just the soft hum of the night and Bucky’s steady breathing.
Steve watched you both, a silent guardian in the dim light.
And for the first time in decades...
The Barnes family slept under one roof again.
The next morning, you woke up to find Steve and Bucky talking by the window in the room.
Becca had been taken down to breakfast and would be back soon.
Steve was just waiting for her return to bid his goodbyes.
You slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes.
Bucky's voice was gravelly as he and Steve talked, low and quiet like they didn't want to wake you.
You could hear the exhaustion in their voices, the weariness of a lifetime of fighting.
But there was something else there, too.
Hope.
You looked over to see them enthralled in conversation. They both felt your gaze and turned at the same time.
Both Steve and Bucky turned to see you sitting up, your hair disheveled.
They smiled warmly at the sight of you, their conversation temporarily forgotten.
"Morning, sugar.” Bucky drawled, a lazy smirk on his face.
“Morning, guys, what are y’all doing?”
Steve chuckled at the sight of your disheveled appearance, shaking his head with affection.
"Just talking, doll. You look like a mess."
“Well, we can’t all be ‘America’s ass,’” you say sarcastically, getting up from the cot
“I’m going for coffee,” you groaned
Bucky chuckled at your retort, crossing his arms and leaning against the windowsill.
"Damn straight you can't, sweetheart."
Steve just rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face as he watched you stretch.
"Get me a coffee too, would ya?"
“Already on it,” you say in a faint laugh as you stretch
Bucky watched as you got ready, his eyes following you across the room.
Something about seeing you here in the early hours of the morning, comfortable and sleepy, made his heart swell with affection.
Steve noticed the way Bucky's gaze never left you, and he couldn't help but tease.
"Watch out, Buck. You might start drooling."
Bucky shot Steve a scowl, trying to maintain his composure.
"Shut up, punk."
Steve just smirked, leaning casually against the wall and crossing his arms.
"You know I'm right."
They forget you also have super soldier hearing.
Without turning around, you say-
“Quit talking about me, boys.”
You turn then to make eye contact with them both, a playful-disgusted look on your face
“I’m getting World War II flashbacks.”
Bucky let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head as Steve flushed slightly.
"Damn, forgot about that," Steve muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Still not used to you hearing everything."
“Ooohh, I hear many things.. I also heard about you and Sharon.”
Steve's face flushed beet red as Bucky let out a low, rumbling laugh.
He could already tell where this was going.
"Okay, now hold on.." Steve tried to protest, holding up his hands.
“What’s with you and that family, Stevie?” you say in sarcastic innocence.
Bucky almost spits out his coffee.
Steve shot Bucky a glare before turning back to you, clearly embarrassed.
"I—It's.. not what you think."
“Of course I’ve seen you with Nat.” I smile.
Steve visibly squirmed on the windowsill.
Bucky was thoroughly enjoying the way this conversation was going, leaning back against the windowsill with a smirk on his face.
“Imma go get that coffee now, Cap,” you say with a smirk as you sarcastically salute him on your way to the door.
Steve huffed, trying to regain some dignity as you sauntered out of the room.
Bucky was practically wheezing, laughing at the whole exchange.
"Jesus, honey. You're ruthless," he manages to rasp out between chuckles.
You shoot him a wink and a smile as you round the corner.
Bucky just grins back, still shaking with quiet laughter as he turns to Steve.
"She's got you figured out, pal."
Steve just glares at that, arms crossed and face still flushed.
"Shut up, Buck,” he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it.
Just playful annoyance.
Bucky just snickers, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Oh come on, you know she’s right."
Steve just rolls his eyes, not even trying to deny it.
"Yeah, alright. She's got me figured out. Happy now?"
Bucky just grins, clearly not done teasing Steve just yet.
"Oh, ecstatic. But that's not the interesting part."
Steve looks over at him, curiosity piqued despite himself.
"Oh yeah? What's the interesting part, then?"
Bucky leans back against the windowsill, still wearing that sly smirk.
"How you still haven't worked up the courage to ask Natasha out."
Steve scowls at that, face reddening again.
"Oh, don't start. It's more complicated than that."
Bucky shakes his head, not buying that excuse for a second.
"Oh, because she's totally out of your league, right?"
Steve just groans, running a hand over his face.
"Buck, shut up."
Bucky just laughs, thoroughly enjoying tormenting Steve at this point.
"Admit it, punk. You're scared."
Steve shoots him a glare, his jaw clenching with irritation.
"I'm not scared, I'm just—cautious."
Bucky snorts at that, rolling his eyes.
"Cautious? You're standing still."
Steve doesn't answer—just stares out the window, jaw tight with everything he won't say… Bucky knows he's getting to him.
"You know... she might get tired of waiting one day." Bucky's voice was quiet but firm.
Steve turns sharply then, eyes flashing with something raw—frustration, fear, maybe even guilt.
"And what if I mess it up?" he snaps.
Bucky pushes off the window and turns toward him, voice low but unyielding.
"Then you love her anyway. Like I did. Like I do."
His gaze flicks to the door where you disappeared, then back to Steve.
"And hope like hell she loves you back."
Steve stares at Bucky, seeing the quiet strength in his brother’s eyes—the kind forged in fire and regret.
He swallows hard.
Steve just stares at him for a moment, something like realization and determination filling his eyes.
He nods once, shoulders straightening.
"Alright."
Bucky smirks, crossing his arms.
You come back to the room with three coffees, seeing them sitting in silence, Bucky looking smug.
“Well, did I miss anything?”
Steve and Bucky look back at you, both trying to compose themselves.
Bucky snorts, taking his coffee from you.
"Nope, just some friendly banter."
Steve gives Bucky a warning glance, then looks up at you with a smile.
"Everything alright, Y/N?”
“Yeah.. why?” you ask, unconvincingly.
Steve and Bucky exchange another look, as if silently arguing. Finally, Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes.
Steve's smile turns a little sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. "No reason, just… you were gone a while. Coffee was right out at the nurses’ station.”
“Oh, uh, Nat did call. Apparently, there’s something Tony wants to talk to us all about... they wanted me to come too… but I told him I was busy at the moment.”
Your tone was joking, but there was something barely hidden underneath that only Bucky seemed to notice. You were worried.
Steve and Bucky both raise eyebrows at that, looking slightly concerned. Bucky was the one to speak first.
"Did they say what it was about?" he asked, sipping his coffee.
You tapped your fingers on your coffee cup nervously. Bucky catches it.
“Uh-they weren’t specific, but she said Tony was being especially neurotic…” you try to joke, getting more nervous.
Steve lets out a low huff, shaking his head slightly.
"Sounds like Stark. Always up to something."
Bucky snorts at that, taking a sip of coffee.
"Probably just another one of his grand ideas that goes haywire."
He doesn’t buy your cover-up, but he doesn’t wanna push you. Not here, in front of Steve, it could wait until you got home.
“They also know that Bucky’s here… and he was cordially invited,” you blurt.
That gets a reaction out of both Steve and Bucky, their eyes snapping up to look at you.
Steve is the one who speaks first, voice low and guarded.
"How do they know that?"
“I’d love to know.. but I have a sickening feeling about the answer,” you reply.
Steve and Bucky exchange a look, both seeing the same thought in each other's eyes—this couldn't be good.
Bucky is the one to voice it, setting down his coffee cup.
"You think they've been keeping tabs on us.”
“Well.. yeah," you say, like it's obvious.
"We’re all enhanced. I’m enhanced by the enemy. So maybe they’ve got the house bugged or something? That’s the only way I could think they’d know about you. You’ve been there with me the whole time.”
Bucky's eyes go cold, his jaw tightens.
"Then we tear it apart 'til we find what they planted."
“Well.. I kinda had another idea. Depending on how you feel about it,” you say, a hint of glee seeping into your features.
You’re looking at Bucky; his opinion is the only one that truly matters
Bucky raises an eyebrow, curious but wary.
He knows that look in your eyes—you've already got an idea and you're not going to back down, at least til he hears you out.
Warnings: None really for this part (Part 1 of ??), just some angsty Bucky, fresh from HYDRA. Based around the end of Winter Soldier, but he doesn't disappear to Bucharest, and Civil War events are already beginning.
Author's note: Haven't written a fic in almost 2 years! I know I only really share SPN material, but I'm in my MCU era right now. It's honestly great gym inspiration.
P.S. Does anyone else see the intense parallel from Bucky to Dean? Just wondering...
You’d felt him there for a couple of months.
Every time you returned from the compound to your small Brooklyn brownstone, a feeling like someone had just left, a familiar energy left behind.
As you quietly open your front door… and there stands the Soldier.
Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, then your shoulders relax.
“Hey Bucky,” you say softly, a small smile tugging on your lips.
Bucky stands, silent as he stares back at you. He seems completely calm, and you know that he’s expecting you to be surprised and panic.
Instead, you welcome him with a smile. He watches you carefully as you close your front door and set down your keys.
You let out a small laugh.
“I figured it was just you..”
You recognize the minor, subtle signs of surprise crossing his features. The Soldier was not used to being known that easily, and the fact that you had caught him was unsettling.
He continues to watch you carefully, as if trying to read you.
"Then why are you not screaming?" He asks, gruffly
You shrug
“Because it’s you.. you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not scared of you.”
He takes this in, watching you carefully as a silence stretches between you. For a moment, you think you see his eyes soften, the stoic stance he took falters just a little - but it fades back into the mask of indifference.
"You should be." He gruffs, keeping his voice cold and flat. But there's something in his eyes…
A look of confusion flashes over your face
“You don’t recognize me.. do you?”
Bucky stands straighter when you say this, his eyes roaming over you as he tries to place you. Something looks familiar about you, but he can't place the feeling…
"…Should I?" He mumbles, still watching you just as closely.
You can’t hide your disappointment
“It’s okay, they tried to make me forget you, too.”
He paused at this; it was subtle, but his jaw clenched.
"You… know me?" he asks
A hint of something unfamiliar in his voice. It almost sounds like… hope?
“Yeah.. it’s kinda a long story. I thought maybe that’s why you were here.”
He stays there for a moment, standing completely still, his mind racing. This girl knew him. Why couldn’t he place her? Was she dangerous? Did Hydra do this to her, too?
Finally, he speaks, his voice still cautious.
"Explain."
“Geez..” It's a loaded question, or rather a demand.
“Well, I worked with Peggy, so I met Steve.. and then you. We had a relationship for a short time before you fell off the train..”
You paused to make sure he was absorbing okay. He seemed immersed in the story, his blue eyes misting over.
“I was from Brooklyn, too. After Steve went into the ice and the war was over, I went home. Your little sister Rebecca found me through your letters, and we ended up with an apartment together.” You smiled fondly at the memory. “I guess I was still hanging onto you, even though I knew you were gone.”
You looked at the ground, then paused for a second to get your bearings.
“I don’t know if HYDRA meant to grab me or her, but they got me. You recognized me at first, back at HYDRA’s lab. They used me to make you comply between wipes, they gave me the same serum, they froze me every time they froze you.. most of the time.”
He seemed to be processing; you hoped he was remembering.
“One day you didn’t remember me.. I thought it was just a fluke. They froze me and left me at that facility. SHIELD found me and unfroze me after they got Steve.”
You steel your voice against the emotions; you needed him to hear this.
Bucky listened in disbelief as you recounted your story. Every detail, every word, was like a puzzle piece sliding into place. He remembered it all now - the time with you before the war.
How he had been so sure he would marry you when he got back.
Then he remembered the pain he felt when he couldn’t remember you, the confusion of what you were to him…
He took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His gaze searched your face, as though he was trying to memorize your features.
"How can I believe you?" The question came out desperate.
Hope surged through you. But how could you prove it to him? If you didn’t, then he’d probably be gone again, forever.
“I think I may have some documents & stuff in my office over here.”
You walked towards the second bedroom, which was your office. Bucky was right on your heels. As you rifled through the drawer, you talked to him and he watched attentively. He seemed more excited instead of on edge.
“When I came out of cryofreeze, I found Rebecca. She was in a nursing home, but she held onto all our stuff.. I went and visited her every day for a long time.”
You realized you probably shouldn’t upset him by talking about her. You handed him a photo album filled with photos of the two of you, your love letters, and his sister, who had grown up with babies of her own.
He gently took the album from you, looking down at it in silence. He opened it on the first page and froze. A photo of you in the 40s, smiling that smile he had been dreaming of for the better part of a century, and he felt his throat tighten painfully. He kept turning the pages, seeing all the photos of you, the memories of your time together flooding back to him.
He couldn't stop himself.
“Y/N..”
“Jamie..”
Hearing the old nickname was like something had struck him in the chest.
He closed the album, setting it softly aside before he stepped forward. His fingers reached out, brushing against your cheek as if he was scared you would disappear. He needed to feel you. He needed this to be real.
"Is it really you..?" He asked in disbelief, voice soft, vulnerable.
You told yourself not to get emotional. Don’t overwhelm him.
“It’s me, baby..” You say as you lean into his touch.
The way you leaned into his touch, so familiar, so effortless… he felt all his walls crumbling. He cupped your face gently in his hands.
“Damn it…" he mumbled, running his thumb over your bottom lip. He was fighting to stay stoic, to not let you see how deeply he was affected by this.
Carefully, you covered his hands with yours.
“I tried to find you, I’m so sorry,” You whispered
His breath hitched in his chest at this, his heart clenching at the pain in your voice. All the years you had spent searching for him.. and he was right here, blind to you.
"Don't… don't apologise, sweet girl. It's not your fault,” he said softly, the old Brooklyn accent that you remembered seeping through.
You didn’t say anything, just sat in his touch.. praying it would never end.
He watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you after all these years. You were so beautiful. His fingers gently traced across your jawline, down your neck, pausing over your collarbone.
"You're here.." he repeated, voice low and thick with emotion. He was almost saying it to reassure himself, to ensure you were real.
You nodded
“I always hoped you’d come home, so I just stayed and.. prayed”
His breath caught at that—home. You called this place home.. and you waited. For him.
The Winter Soldier had no home. Only missions, blood, silence.
But you… you made it real.
"Prayers don’t bring back the dead, Y/N,” he whispered, voice cracking—but his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently forward until your forehead rested against his.
"But somehow… here you are."
“Jamie..”
He closed his eyes at the sound of his name from your lips. You said it so softly, so tenderly. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it—but you were here, you were real. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest. You felt so small, so fragile, so… his.
"Shhh," he mumbled, his face buried in your neck.
"I'm so damn sorry, precious girl. I'm so sorry I forgot you."
“It’s not your fault, they tried to do it to me too..”
Your words made him pause, remembering what you told him about your experience with Hydra. His arms tightened around you—protectively, possessively. He knew firsthand the pain of Hydra's brainwashing.
"They won't touch you again,” he growled, his voice filled with a cold determination. His hands moved across your body, a silent reassurance to both of you that he would never let harm come to you again.
“I know, baby.” You knew they could never touch either of you now. Your hands came up to cup his face.
He was still seething at the idea of you being hurt, but your touch was grounding. He took a deep breath, looking into your eyes, and let it out in a long sigh. Even after everything, he still found comfort in you.
He pulled you impossibly closer, burying his face in your neck again, soaking in the scent of you, committing it to memory.
“Have you gotten to see Steve yet?”
He pulled back slightly at the mention of Steve, his expression tightening with something between guilt and tension.
"Not yet." His voice dropped, rougher now.
"Didn’t know how to face him… after everything I did. After what I almost did to him."
He looked down, his metal fingers curling slightly at the memory of their fight on the helicarrier—of nearly ending his oldest friend’s life.
"Didn’t even know if I should."
You gave him a faint smile.
“You know Steve loves you more than anyone in this world; he forgave you the moment it happened.”
His gaze locked with yours, and he let out a bitter laugh at that.
"Yeah, he would. He’s stubborn like that.”
There was a hint of affection in his voice, hidden under layers of guilt and bitterness.
"Forgiveness… I don't deserve it, Y/N. Not after everything I've done."
“I was there, Jamie. That wasn’t you. You can’t carry the Winter Soldier’s debts. You deserve better than that.”
He studied your face; the genuine care in your eyes almost made his heart ache. He was so used to seeing disgust, or fear, or hatred when people looked at him.
"You make it sound so damn easy, honey.”
His hand moved to your hair, gently running his fingers through the locks.
"What if I'm just a monster, huh?"
“They made me do things too.. if you’re a monster, then so am I.”
He let out a scoff at that, a humorless smile on his face.
"Sweetheart, you're not a damn monster and you know it. You don't have blood on your hands like I do. That ain't you."
His fingers moved down to cup your face, thumb gently tracing your cheekbone.
You closed your eyes, whispering..
“I’m glad you don’t remember..”
His thumb stilled on your cheek, his eyes darkening with a sudden weight.
He knows what you're implying—what they made you do while he was lost.
The thought of it makes his jaw clench, the metal fingers at your back curling slightly.
"I wish I could remember everything about you," he murmurs, voice low and rough, "but nothing. Not one damn thing after the fall."
He leans in, forehead resting against yours—close.
"And that... kills me."
“I’m glad all you remember is me before, when I was good and naive.. but it would make it easier for you if you knew how similar our paths were.”
He pulled back slightly, studying your face with stormy eyes.
"You were never naive, doll. And you're not just 'good'."
His voice lowered, rough with conviction.
"You survived. Like me."
He brushed his thumb over your lip again.
"And that makes all the difference."
You gave him a tired smile, then asked cautiously.
“Are you staying..”
He looked around your apartment—the soft light, the photos of you and Rebecca, of him, on the shelf, the old record player in the corner. It felt like a life. A real one.
Then his eyes came back to you.
"Only if you want me to."
His voice was quiet, almost hesitant—a man who hadn’t dared hope in decades.
"But I ain’t leavin’ again. Not unless you throw me out."
“Of course I want you to”
His expression softened at your answer, relief filling him. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. They were rough and calloused, a far cry from the smooth hands you remembered.
"Then I'm staying, doll."
He brought your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
“Good. Never leave me again.”
You said with a smile
He looked into your eyes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand to his lips a moment longer.
"Never," he vowed, voice low and steady—like steel wrapped in velvet.
"You're stuck with me now, sweetheart."
And for the first time in a century, Bucky Barnes smiled. Small. Real. Yours.
You took that in, then a question clouded your mind.
“Hey.. if you didn’t remember me, why were you coming here?”
He paused at that, looking over you as if trying to decide something.
Finally, his expression took a darker turn, his eyes a little guarded.
"I wasn't just coming here for you," he said slowly, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.
"I was sent on a mission."
“By who?” Your heart was racing.
He noticed the change in your voice, the way your heart rate had quickened. But he didn't flinch. He needed you to know the truth.
"Hydra."
His voice was cold, almost as if all the warmth had left him with that one word.
He kept his gaze steady, studying your face for your reaction.
Your anxiety spiked.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
He could see the anxiety in your eyes, could feel it in your hand in his.
His expression softened at the concern in your voice, but he was still the soldier, still the weapon Hydra made of him.
"I'll survive. I always do, sweetheart."
He gently pulled you closer, his metal arm looping around your waist. His touch was soft, a contradiction to the steel in his voice.
"Don't worry about me."
“I always do”
A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his lips at that. He knew you were stubborn, knew you'd always worry about him.
"Stubborn woman, that's what you are." He muttered, but there was no bite to it.
His thumb gently traced the underside of your chin, tilting your face up to his.
"I can take care of myself, you know."
“Ah, but then what do you have me for?” you tease
A real, low chuckle rumbled in his chest—warm, dark, and utterly disarmed. He leaned down until his forehead touched yours.
"To drive me crazy?" he murmured, voice thick with affection.
"To keep me from losing what little's left of my mind?"
I’m a mad fuckin’ freak for sex pollen fics atp i dont care who its about or if i’m in the actual fandom i’m just here for the damn pollen i love it idk how to describe it like YEAH CARNAL DESIRE ANIMALISTIC WANT AND HOT CHARACTERS BEING PATHETIC OVER HOW HORNY THEY ARE
“cas invented free will” this and “cas was the first to defy chuck” that uhm actually dean accidentally invented free will bc he took one look at the billion year old building sized wheel of flaming winged eyes wrapped up in a grumpy tench coat and “yeah what the hell i’ll flirt with that”
the way they play dean thinking adam is a trap as him being paranoid and pessimistic and then he’s literally right. like. again. s4 is a season about dean being right over and over again and no one listening to him because he doesn’t have physical evidence. dean winchester you are the cassandra haunting this narrative and babygirl i am all ears
It's definitely not purposeful on writers' part, but I like to think of this as Dean starting to see over that 4th wall of God's writing.
Dean is shown to be very pop culture savvy. He reads Vonnegut, he watches old westerns, cheesy horror movies, game of thrones, greys anatomy, etc. He knows the general structure of a story, of the tropes and twists and turns.
He doesn't truly believe his life is being orchestrated by a higher being yet, but he definitely starts to find the pattern of suffering. There is no chance, within the narrative of their life, that Sam and Dean would just find a secret sibling and it not blow up in their face somehow.
hi. i’m obsessed with the idea that dean’s pop culture knowledge is what clues him in to the fact that he himself is in a story. thank you and i love you
Warnings: Based around the end of season 9, Sick reader, Dean's self pity, angst, fluff
Author's Note: Holy shit balls so I've never posted a fanfic before! I have written many in my brain for my own self-indulgence but I've never written any out much less posted anything other than sharing other's works. So with that I'll say sorry in advance if it sucks, all feedback is appreciated! I don't own any rights to Supernatural, so lets get started!! :D
It had been weeks since you felt like yourself, & it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Your headaches had become almost constant with short spells of relief in between & you felt like you had a weight inside your chest, making it hard to breathe & pulling your chest to the ground. Your other symptoms included fatigue (& the dark circles that came with it) irritability, general weakness & wheezing, especially when you slept. Things were only getting worse, which meant that the boys constant fussing over you was getting worse too.
Sam was logical; when you first started showing symptoms he suggested fluids & rest, he treated it like a cold, which is what you thought it was. Now that it was apparently more, he was hitting the medical books in the Men of Letters laboratory.
Dean, however, had treated it like the Spanish Flu from the beginning &, now that it had turned out to be more serious, he was almost insufferable.
One thing had really peaked Dean’s interest though: Why wasn’t anyone else catching this? Dean had been right under you from the moment he noticed a change & before that he was constantly around you as well. The question only heightened his anxiety & so did Sam’s silence when Dean brought it to his attention.
“I don’t know man. Something’s not sittin’ right with me. Y/N never gets sick, ever.”
His voice was extra gritty, lined with worry. It carried down the hall to you & Dean’s shared room where you laid, trying to fall asleep, & listened as your heart broke for him. You knew it was serious & it was probably too late for anything short of angelic. With Cas still MIA, things were starting to look bleak, but you still didn’t want to let in on just how bad you felt.
“I know” Sam sounded tired “We’ll find something Dean.”
You heard Dean coming down the hall, dragging his feet as he walked. The guilt crept in, you could tell they were exhausted. You held your breath until you saw him in the doorway & gave him a faint smile, trying your hardest not to seem as weak as you felt.
“D” your voice was barely a whisper, but he was close enough to hear as he sat beside you on the bed, brushing your hair back. You closed your eyes & hummed, taking in the feel of his rough but gentle hand as he rested it on your cheek & the smell of whiskey as his warm breath fanned over your face.
“We’re trying to find something sweetheart” He had that look, the one for when hope was dwindling down & he was preparing himself for the worst but trying to put on a face for you.
“I know.. I heard” You move over to make room for him & he lays down before you even have to ask, wrapping an arm around you & pulling you into his chest.
“Are you okay?” He scoffs at that & you look up at him. Why are you asking if he’s okay when you so clearly are not? You see the battle in his eyes as he contemplates his answer.
“I wish it was me.” You take a deep breath & a moment to appreciate that he told you the truth, & to realize what that means to Dean Winchester. What you mean to him, & your heart breaks a little more. You wanted to tell him just how bad you felt, to lean on him the way you knew you could, but he was already feeling defeated & the last thing you wanted to do was confirm his fears.
“I know.. but then I’d be wishing it were me.” You give him a knowing look, you know he’d rather take the illness & whatever consequences than sit there & watch you deal with it.
“Let's be honest though, I handle these things better than you” You shoot him a playful smile that he tries to return.
“You shouldn’t have to handle them at all Y/N. You don’t deserve this.”
“But you think you do.” It wasn't a question & he refused to meet your eyes, staring a hole in the door.
“I think we both deserve for Cas to show his ass & fix this.” Dean’s tone was harsh, probably more than he meant to be. His everyday frustrations were elevated by the Mark, but you’d learned to let it go, you knew he was doing his best.
“Maybe, but he has other people to look after now.” He looks at you then, wondering how you can be so understanding while being so miserable. You read him like a book.
“I know, I’m a saint.” you grin, the biggest you’ve had the energy for in days, & he returns it, genuinely this time. He holds your gaze for a moment before you look away, shy for no reason in particular, other than the green eyes staring back at you.
“You really are” you look back at him then, a questioning brow raised “You deal with my crap constantly, you take care of me & Sam. You’ve stuck by us even when everyone else left. You’ve been tortured for us, you’ve died for us.”
“Well, it was more for you, but yes” you laughed. “I love Sam, but some of those demons really do have a gift” He winced at the memory.
“I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get you better” He looked deep into your eyes, making sure you understood the seriousness of his promise.
