MCU X Reader/ Bucky Barnes X Reader
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Chapter 2: Dancing Monkey
Y/N and Peggy were seated in the back of a sleek black Buick, Y/N's back straight as a ruler, purely subconsciously, as she looked out of the window, attempting to settle her nerves with familiarity. She talked a lot when she got nervous. Buck always made fun of her for it.
"I know this neighborhood. I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner." Y/N pointed out each landmark like it held a special place in her heart.
Peggy side-eyed her. "Did you have something against running away?"
Y/N thought on her answer. It was a question that had been asked of her more times than she cared to keep track of. In her mind, the answer was simple. "You start running, they'll never let you stop. You stand up, you push back. Get your point across, they can't say no forever, right? They have to listen."
Peggy's face softened in sympathy, but her tone remained the same. She didn't pity Y/N, she understood her. "Every door shut in your face?"
Y/N huffed, looking down at her hands, and then returning her gaze to the window, a shard of harsh reality spiking through her thoughts whilst she was already fighting the feeling of overwhelm that seemed to be encompassing the day, with a dry smile making a brief appearance. "Yep, that's about right."
Y/N stood, confused, beside Peggy. The Buick had dropped them off on the curb out front of a store she recognised- Brooklyn Antiques. Not only was it the wrong kind of building, in the wrong kind of place- Y/N had been expecting some kind of government facility, polished and modern- but it wasn't even a particularly impressive store. Small, dusty, it was worn down, small bits of the painted exterior chipping away so you could see the layers of colours that had preceded the black visible now. The door was more than a bit worse for wear- the years of scratches and scuffs combined to create a beaten-up effect- and knowing the neighbourhood, Y/N suspected it might've been more than an aesthetic choice. She'd been in a few times herself over the years, mostly selling things off that belonged to her parents. The staff had always been kind.
"What are we doing here?" Y/N couldn't help but ask, looking up at the woman beside her.
She didn't get an immediate answer- Peggy's expression was stern again, as usual. She bore a very collected, straightforward attitude most of the time, Y/N had noticed. Even behind closed doors, Peggy was reserved. Y/N tried, and she sometimes felt as if she was getting somewhere with befriending the Agent, but that feeling was usually eradicated as soon as it developed.
The tiny bell attached to the door rang tinnily as Peggy pushed it open, looking back over her shoulder at Y/N.
The interior state of the store could've been easily inferred from the outside- dusty, dim, settled. Most of the shelves were bare- it seemed as if it had been a while since this place had seen a customer.
An elderly woman walked through a curtain placed behind the register, a smile on her face- though her eyes were sharp, calculating. It was Ms Jenner- Y/N had once returned her purse from a thief nearby. After getting the shit beaten out of her, but, hey, she got the bag.
"Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I always carry an umbrella," Peggy responded politely, normally, in fact, but Y/N was momentarily confused. The words were simple, but as each one left Peggy's mouth, they landed with a weight they shouldn't bear.
Peggy guided Y/N behind the desk, taking her through the curtain, until they came to stand before a bookshelf.
The lady, Ms Jenner, reached a hand under the register, and a click resounded from the bookcase, and then- it opened up. A portion of the wall swung open, on previously invisible hinges, revealing a dimly-lit hospital hallway, filled with soldiers, dressed the same as Y/N. They walked directly through, until reaching a set of double doors s which were immediately opened on both sides for the two, before they could get anywhere near touching them.
This opened them up to a platform descending into a room bustling with people that- judging by their uniforms- were far too important to still be in this part of New York, and not out in the war, or in a lab somewhere.
They walked in, catching the eyes of every person in the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and not a word was spoken. They all just... stared.
They looked at Y/N as if she were someone about to win an Olympic event. With bated breath. As if everything had been leading up to this exact moment, and what she did next would change everything.
She looked to Peggy, who looked at her in mild concern, as if seeing the weight of a whole world's expectations dropping onto Y/N's shoulders.
She sighed, and turned, readjusting herself, descending the stairs with a presence, a purpose in every step. Y/N followed closely, and as all of the doctors, nurses and scientists went back to work, she took in her surroundings, feeling herself tense. It was more or less an operating theatre, with a little viewing box filled with stern spectators and everything. It was sterile. Filled with people in bright white coats with charts and vials and schooled expressions that gave nothing away, neither bad, nor good. Separate. She knew that this was what she was in for, really. She'd been mentally preparing herself. But nothing could fully free her from that familiar feeling of mild fear and apprehension. Y/N trusted Erskine. She trusted Peggy. But her body had effectively been conditioned to be in a state of hyper-vigilance in these situations. She focused on taking a few measured breaths, hoping to manually force her muscles into a relaxed state.
She and Peggy approached Erskine in the centre of the room, he calmly met them in the middle, giving a warm, but professional "good morning." as he shook Y/N's hand. His ever-present calm was exactly what she needed.
And then a camera shutter followed by a blinding flash dragged her right back into the moment.
Erskine frowned, and waved the photographer, presumably a journalist, away, saying "Please, not now." The man said nothing, calmly walking away to the observation deck.
This really was a huge deal. She knew it would be. But she was going to be in the news? She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Y/N supposed that if it made people feel safer, knowing what someone would do to protect them- it wasn't all that bad. But a part of her still felt... off about it.
Y/N looked over the table in the middle of the room. It was like something out of one of Bucky's science fiction magazines. Very sleek, lit from within with this glowing red light, it had some kind of green casing around the edges. In the middle was the blackboard that suggested its nature as a table, though it did also have some kind of headrest, so Y/N assumed she was supposed to lie on it. Maybe it was just the super high-tech version of an examination table, where they would administer the serum.
Erskine faced Y/N. "Are you ready?"
His tone was serious but not cold. He was ready for work, but still respected Y/N enough to address her with some level of human warmth.
He smiled slightly."Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat. You did choose comfortable undergarments?"
Y/N nodded. Underneath her standard-issue army uniform- she had made a point of wearing it that day, It felt important- Y/N was given a vest for modesty, apparently it would work for the procedure according to the nurse who kindly handed it to her. It was strangely cold to the touch.
She was given a privacy screen, and then efficiently removed her tie, her hat, and unbuttoned her too-big, ill-fitting shirt, folding it up neatly, and putting everything aside carefully.
Up on the observation deck, Colonel Phillips stood, surrounded by other officials, greeting Senator Brandt. "Senator Brandt, glad you could make it."
They shook hands, Brandt looking stern. He would not be easily won over. "Why exactly am I in Brooklyn?"
"We needed access to the city's power grid. Of course, if you'd given me the generators I requisitioned..."
Brandt cut off the Colonel's thinly-veiled complaint.
"A lot of people are asking for funds, Colonel..."
Brandt trailed off, and then introduced the man accompanying him, "Oh This is Clem uh..."
'Clem' reached out his hand, shaking the Colonel's firmly. "Fred Clemson, State Department. If this project of yours comes through, we'd like to see it used for something other than headlines."
Brandt stepped up to the glass which allowed the spectators to see into the would-be lab, peering intently down at the subject of the experiment.
"Jesus. Somebody get that girl a sandwich." Spoke Brandt, with a mixture of pity and concern.
"Comfortable?" Erskine asked as Y/N got settled onto the riveted metal table, lying back carefully. It would play havoc on her sinuses, but that could wait. With the metal paddles above her, she could see them just coming down and shocking her into action. The whole thing was reminiscent of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Or that magic trick where the magician puts his glamorous assistant into a box, and then threads it with a series of long swords, before opening the box and revealing her to be miraculously alive. From what she'd gathered, it actually didn't seem this was dissimilar.
"It's a little big," Y/N replied, smiling, looking over at Erskine, a little nervous, but coping admirably. He breathed a hum of a laugh, and she went on; "You save me any of that schnapps?"
He looked away mock-guiltily. "Not as much as I should have. Sorry. Next time."
The doctor turned his attention to Stark, who walked up, energy in his stride. "Mr Stark, how are your levels?"
He stood over Y/N, eyes wild with excitement as he looked at her, though he seemingly struggled to look her in the eye, mind a ways away.
"We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready...as we'll ever be." Stark seemed to remain sure of himself, yet dubious of the actual outcome.
"Agent Carter? Don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?" Erskine noticed Peggy still standing there, watching Y/N.
"Yes, of course. Sorry." The woman began to turn, but just before Peggy left, Y/N stopped her with a serious tone.
"Remember- anything goes wrong, not that I think it will, but if it does- contact the 107th. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Not my home address."
Peggy nodded. She respected Y/N's readiness for any possible outcome, and her ability to not let the fear of those outcomes control her.
As soon as the door to the observation deck closed behind Peggy, Erskine picked up a microphone as the other doctors, scientists and nurses split off to different corners of the room in order to hold their respective forts, a handful of them flocking to Y/N, setting everything up precisely like a well-oiled machine.
Dr Erskine flicked the microphone. "Do you hear me? Is this on?"
Once he was satisfied that his voice was being projected loudly enough for every individual to hear, he began introducing the experiment- it felt more and more like that magic act by the second. "Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace. We begin with a series of microinjections into the subject's major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then, to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays."
As he spoke, the paddles were indeed brought over Y/N's chest, as she'd suspected. A cylinder was brought over, and she heard the hiss of a refrigerated release.
Around Y/N, vials of an unfamiliar bright blue liquid were loaded into the bays installed within the chamber she rested in. The serum. The needles rested just inches away from Y/N, all equidistantly placed beside her torso and each of her limbs. She knew from experience that if she was too tense, it would be harder for the needles to penetrate her skin, so Y/N furthered her manual relaxation efforts, breathing in and out comfortably, but consciously.
Erskine put the microphone down, returning to Y/N's side as she was stuck in the arm with a needle.
She grimaced slightly, but was left surprised.
"Serum infusion beginning in five... four..."
More panels pressed against her biceps, and Erskine rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Y/N immediately felt the effects pulsing through her. The second the vials released, the serum began trickling in like the formation of a river, then a rapid, then a full-on ocean tide. It was a very strange sensation. Like her body was aware that it was being changed, but not trying to fight it, just confused. It felt like- too much. Like there was too much going on inside her all at once. It was overstimulating to the highest degree.
And then it really began.
Suddenly, the chamber transformed, the doors closing around Y/N's body as a pseudo-helmet was lowered, that red light encasing her too, obscuring her vision until she was left with nothing but it and diffused light through the greenish glass viewport in front of her whilst the axis of what had once been more-or-less an uncomfortable table was flipped, and Y/N was suspended horizontally.
She could hear metallic clicking and whirring sounds.
There was a knocking followed by;
Though muffled, Erskine's voice made it through relatively unscathed. It was a small reprieve from the rush of the moment.
Y/N gathered all her strength. She could do this.
"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"
After a moment, she heard Erskine again, further away, not breaking her bubble of encased stimulation anymore.
Y/N felt a tingling sensation begin to develop all over her body, coming from the inside out.
Stark turned a dial on his gigantic switchboard, and then turned a wheel slowly.
"That's ten percent. Twenty percent. Thirty. That's forty percent."
Y/N could feel the electricity now- or at least, she assumed it was electricity. It shot through her in a never ending pulse, getting stronger by the second. Whatever it was- Vita-Rays- the serum reacted to it like a wildfire reacted to trees.
"Vital signs are normal."
It was reassuring to hear, even if it didn't feel like it. The lights inside the chamber were so bright now that she couldn't keep her eyes open. Even closed, she was sure she'd be blinded.
"That's fifty percent. Sixty. Seventy."
Y/N must've started screaming at some point. She hadn't noticed because the rushing sound in her ears drowned everything else out, but judging by Erskine's reaction, she must've been making a racket.
He banged on the shell of the chamber.
Y/N could just about hear someone shouting;
Before Erskine was calling her name again, though that might've been her own brain going into survival mode, despite her sheer force of will saying otherwise.
That was clearer now, outside, and definitely Peggy.
Erskine's voice got louder now;
"Kill the reactor, Mr Stark! Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!"
She felt like she was being torn apart and rebuilt from the soul to the skin, yet Y/N's immediate reaction came without thought;
"No! Don't! I can do this!"
She shouted as loud as she could muster. They couldn't stop this now. She wouldn't stop this now.
"Eighty. Ninety. That's a hundred percent."
Sparks started flying all over the place, the lights flickered, and blew. They had, in fact, dimmed the lights in more than half of Brooklyn.
Eventually, the blinding light faded into pitch black, and everything went quiet. Y/N revelled in it for a moment. And then she felt the cool air outside of the chamber hit her skin as it hissed open. She breathed heavily, panting almost, keeping her eyes closed.
She heard the gentle voice of Dr Erskine.
She nodded weakly, lolling her head in his direction.
"The son of a bitch did it."
The spectators all flooded down the stairs into the main area, 'Clem' followed slowly behind.
Erskine and Stark caught Y/N before she could fall from the contraption, easing the woman to her feet
She muttered, eyes still closed.
"Yeah, yeah- I think we did it."
Erskine looked at Stark, who was wide-eyed, looking at the woman before him.
The shock subsided and she was left with a feeling of pins and needles, before each part of her slowly woke up. She felt completely different. She opened her eyes.
Y/N's body shone with sweat- she was initially surprised by how much further from the floor her eyes were. Damn, her feet were pretty far away.
She could feel how much more space she took up. She could see the mountain of muscle that had risen from her once skin-and-bone body.
Y/N knew the look of a doctor who had been stumped. Or one who had been surprised. Or excited, or nervous- this was not that. This was... awe. Everyone crowded her, looking at her in complete and utter amazement. She towered over most of them now, so she could see each and every single smiling face.
Peggy ran up to her, holding a glass of apple juice.
Y/N panted and looked down at the apple juice.
"You said it was your favourite. Thought it might help bring you down."
Peggy smiled, holding it up.
Y/N smiled, gratefully taking a sip. She liked apples. They were the only thing that ever settled her stomach on bad days. She and Peggy had obviously spoken a lot while sharing quarters, but Y/N had half-thought that the Agent didn't particularly care for what she had to say, or fancy engaging in anything akin to friendship. But Peggy had clearly listened to her, despite not sharing much of herself. Maybe she was just more reserved than Y/N, and it didn't mean that the woman didn't care.
Phillips stood at the front, beside Brandt.
"How do you like Brooklyn now, Senator?"
"I can think of some folks in Berlin who are about to get very nervous. Congratulations, Doctor."
He approached Erskine and shook his hand.
Dr Erskine looked out into the crowd, proud of his accomplishment- and then he caught sight of a man standing a few feet from the huddle. He didn't seem to be in a rush to get any closer. Something was off, but by the time Erskine realised, it was too late.
It all happened in a flash. An explosion rocked the place, and the glass to the observation deck blew out into the main lab floor, where everyone stood. Immediately, chaos erupted. People were blown back by the force of the blast, and as the last pieces of glass rained down, Fred Clemson slithered over to the refrigerated case at the side of the floor, and pocketed a vial of the super soldier serum just as Erskine recovered, and looked up in horror.
No sooner had the words left the doctor's mouth, than the sound of three precise gunshots was heard.
Someone screamed, and Y/N was immediately in action. She caught sight of the assailant leaving, but more important in her mind was the victim. She practically vaulted over people to reach Doctor Erskine, who lay on the floor, in a growing pool of crimson.
She crouched over him, breathing heavy as she assessed his condition. Three large gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen, each a through-and-through. Blood tracking a steady line down the side of his face, the source being his mouth. His usually sharp, but kind eyes now unfocused, distant.
Y/N was vaguely aware of Peggy sprinting past her, but found it hard to pay that any mind.
After a few seconds, Erskine managed to regain control of his sight seemingly, and looked up at Y/N. He didn't speak, simply pressing his pointer finger to her heart, before closing his eyes for good.
Y/N couldn't process it. He was the first person to put his trust in her, his faith in her to see it through, to do the right thing, to this kind of degree. To the degree that he'd stake his livelihood, and now seemingly life on it. And he was gone. He'd given her a chance. All she'd ever wanted.
And Y/N would be damned if she wasted it.
Peggy had continued her pursuit of the bomber, who had taken down Ms Jenner in his escape onto the streets, claiming her automatic as spoil. He hadn't been subtle, shoving, shouting, and causing a gunfight to break out between frightened bystanders before sliding himself into the passenger seat of a pre-prepared getaway vehicle.
He shoved the head of the automatic out of the half-opened window, gunning down every single bystander with not an inkling of hesitation, leaving a precise line of bullet holes through every car, window and person. Once he was satisfied by the silence, Clemson pulled himself back into a sitting position, hissing, as he felt the gunshot wound in his arm. Peggy took this moment to line up her shot with practised accuracy, gun steadier than a lioness's gaze upon its prey- until the car behind her exploded in a ball of flame, causing her distraction just long enough for the agent to gain some distance on her. Smoothly, after realising she had been misdirected, Peggy pivoted on the spot, not having ever lost her steadfast footing. Without hesitation, the woman took the shot, hitting the getaway car's driver in the back of the skull, killing him instantly. The Buick, which mirrored the one Y/N and Peggy had arrived in a mere forty minutes prior, swerved, forcefully rear-ending a bright yellow taxicab.
The cab driver immediately got out, furious, but upon catching sight of Clemson exiting the vehicle he was about to berate,
his expression fell into one of concern.
"Buddy, are you alright?"
He made the fatal error of moving away from the driver's side to check on the bomber's well-being.
The driver exclaimed, as the Hydra agent took advantage of the man's humanity and drove right round in a breakneck U-turn in his taxi, heading straight for Peggy, who wasted no time in raising her gun once again. The thief drove directly at her, however, Peggy still did not tremble, or move an inch as she fired a series of shots into the windshield, framing his head. As her shots grew closer to their target, so did the car. This did not sway Peggy, however Y/N did.
Just as the taxi came within about twelve feet of Agent Carter, Y/N came barrelling into her, effectively tackling her out of harm's way.
The taxi drove on, continuing its course right past them, as the pair each scrambled to their feet.
Peggy exclaimed angrily. In any other case, Y/N would've received the verbal beatdown of a lifetime, however, Y/N was on a mission, chasing down the murderous thief, and seemingly had the survival instincts of either a deer evading capture by a wolf, or a deer standing directly in the headlights of a car, depending on what you considered to be her greatest threat in that situation.
She sprinted away from Peggy, and called over her shoulder;
Y/N didn't take her eyes off of the vibrant yellow vehicle until it finally turned a corner at the end of the street. This caused Y/N to push herself further, speed increasing past human. It felt so strange yet so right. The woman didn't feel even remotely out of breath, like she could go on for hours without a thought. She'd attempted many a hike, or a morning run with Bucky in her lifetime, in an attempt to build up her endurance, and she'd never made it more than half an hour without an asthma attack, or a coughing fit, or a blood-sugar drop. Even when reduced to a light jog.
She once again caught sight of the cab driving past an alleyway next to her. She kept on running, speeding up even further in order to keep up. She ran directly through traffic, caught sight of it causing a disturbance in the road, and attempted to follow, but due to her massively increased velocity, she wasn't able to slow down in time to turn safely, and just pelted straight through the window of a wedding dress shop. The women in there screamed as the glass rained down, and a man followed her in, concerned, but before he could even try to assess the situation. Y/N practically threw herself through the other half of the window, taking a mannequin with her.
The woman briefly inclined her head back and yelled another brief, but personally important, "I'm sorry!" before continuing her pursuit.
Bystanders stopped and gasped, but Y/N raced through Brooklyn, coming to a gated alley, not thinking twice before she vaulted it without touching a wire, feet touching the ground for less than a second before she was sprinting again. The woman ran directly into the centre of a road, causing two cars to make emergency stops, before angrily honking at her, only to be offered a set of placating hands as she scanned for the sunshine-yellow vehicle, caught it in her crosshairs and ran off again. This time, the taxi was right in front of her, with nothing blocking her path as Y/n rapidly approached. The agent weaved between cars in an attempt to throw her off, but Y/N, despite being many steps behind, only took seconds to leap forward onto a car in her path, proceeding to adeptly hopscotch from one car to another, keeping the escapee in sight until she managed to use a crate in the back of a truck as a launchpad to throw herself onto the taxicab's roof. She fell flat on her stomach with no grace, but managed to cling on easily while the vehicle swerved violently in a manner reminiscent of someone shaking a coat to dislodge a particularly unsavoury insect they had unwillingly tracked in.
The agent made two sharp left turns, causing Y/N to grapple with the cab's top light, fingers rapidly but deftly seeking purchase as spectators continued to gasp in fear.
The road that they were now speeding down was by the pier, it seemed as if the agent was going to make an attempt to throw Y/N off into the water, in hopes of drowning her. He took out his gun and began shooting holes into the roof, forcing Y/N to quickly contort her body away, whilst still trying to remain in place. The man half-succeeded, as Y/N was thrown from the roof, but she continued to grip the side of the car. He shot at her as she peeked through the window, before he veered off to the side, trying to knock her off against a wall, but failing to do so as the consequences of his speed caught up to the agent, the turn being so sharp that the car flipped completely, throwing Y/N off, but also landing harshly in a wreck. The thief basically fell out of the vehicle, which, lucky for him had landed right-side up, never losing sight of Y/N. He found his feet, as she had already done, and began shooting at Y/N before turning to the crowd of people behind him which was made up of terrified young schoolchildren and their parents who screamed and scattered as he turned his gun on them before returning his crazed eyes to Y/N, who quickly grabbed one of the car doors from the taxi which had broken off in the crash, and used it as a shield.
Two bullet holes were embedded into the makeshift shield before the Hydra Agent reverted his sights to the crowd of people behind him, grappling a child from his frantic mother's grasp as she fought him, yelling; "No! Not my son! Not my son!"
He held the boy by the scruff of his neck, pulling him closer and hoisting him up kicking and screaming whilst his mother was held back by a bystander, still yelling.
"Stop it! Don't hurt him!"
Y/N saw all of this and continued her advance, but slowed, holding her somewhat wounded side, (it felt like a broken rib from her experience) not wanting to endanger a child. She stopped behind a pillar as she was shot at once again, trying to think whilst also keeping an eye on the situation.
The agent ran off with the boy, around a corner, and Y/N followed a few paces behind as the man continued to shoot at her. She ducked, and he advanced further away while the boy's mother still screamed.
"Let go of my son! Don't hurt him!"
Y/N quickly followed as the man grew closer to the water, panicked as to where this was going.
She turned her head around the corner, back to the wall beside it, only for the agent to quickly turn his gun against the child's head.
Y/N quickly stepped out, subconsciously making herself a target again in order to draw attention, and putting her arms forward while saying "Wait, don't!"
The boy wriggled relentlessly.
The agent got closer to the edge, about to throw the boy into the briny depths.
Y/N repeated, but this didn't stop the man. He threw the boy in and turned tail. Y/N ran over to the boy worried that she'd already lost him, before peering over the edge to be met with his grinning youthful, freckled face splashing about.
"Go get him! I can swim!"
Y/N wasted no time in chasing after her target, confused by not being able to make out his retreating form, anywhere along the path preceding her before hearing a strange whirring sound in the water beside her that absolutely was not coming from any of the boats. She peered over the edge and caught sight of a sleek black waterborne machine, similar to a small spaceship from some kind of science fiction novel. The world she was becoming entrenched in was far from the reality she understood.
The contraption descended into the water, and Y/N did the only thing she could think of and dived into the water after it. It was unclear as to whether she was simply a more efficient swimmer than she used to be, or her lung capacity was greater, but Y/N was able to catch up with the nazi man and punch a hole through the glass of his escape mechanism, flooding it with water before yanking open the roof which also seemingly served as a door. She grabbed him roughly in the same manner he had the boy earlier before she pulled him to the surface with her, and launched him from the water onto the ground.
Y/N climbed back onto dry land and stood tall above him as he reoriented himself, attempting to stab her. Y/N simply kicked the knife from his hands, and along with it the stolen serum fell to the ground, its glass casing shattering, the powerful liquid spilling onto the soaked concrete, contrasting its dull, dark brown with a vibrant, almost toxic-looking blue.
Y/N stepped forward and fisted the man's undershirt in her hands, yanking him forward with an aggressive;
The agent looked her dead in the eye as he delivered his final words;
"The first of many. Cut off one head,"
He cracked a false tooth.
"Two more shall take its place. Hail Hydra."
He foamed at the mouth, and died instantly.
Y/N stared at him with a mix of horror, disdain and confusion. Her brow remained furrowed as she dropped his body, and stood up, still staring down at him. Only then, as her curiosity heightened and her adrenaline dropped, did she realise that her previously broken rib wasn't hurting at all.
Y/N found herself in yet another doctor's office. Tiled in light green, with pure white grout, perfectly professional nurses scattered around. She was hoping to see less of these places after becoming a super soldier, her sinuses hadn't been bothering her, her asthma was completely eradicated, her joints had seemingly developed an excess of extra padding- but so far it seemed like she might be seeing even more than she used to. The SSR had kept Y/N under strict medical supervision, which had been getting on her nerves more than she cared to admit. She had been provided a much bigger, better-fitted uniform. It had been a few days since the experiment, and she was still processing- not just the day, but her new existence as a super soldier, as it had been dubbed by the SSR, or, a 'super-broad', as the newspapers tracking every aspect of her existence since the transformation, had dubbed it.
That day, they had drawn more blood than Y/N thought she had. Y/N found blood draws hard, she usually dragged Bucky along to distract her with a stupid rendition of whichever song popped into his head. It wasn't the pain that bothered her particularly. More that it somehow felt like a violation.
As a nurse gently pulled the needle from her bound forearm and put it away, Y/N asked Peggy, "Think you got enough?" Her tone was subdued, gaze distant, as it had been for days.
As she stood, Peggy, looking up at her- something the two were both still getting used to- spoke.
"Any hope of reproducing the program is locked in your genetic code. But without Dr Erskine, it would take years."
Y/N sighed, looking out of the window beside Peggy, into the shady room below, where a few doctors milled about, running Y/N's many other test results. Stark was analysing the strange marine transportation device in there too, he wasn't getting very far with it.
"He deserved more than this."
Peggy observed her for a moment. She had developed a soft spot for Y/N. Peggy had grown up with a sister, but their bond hadn't ever been brilliant. Her connection with Y/N had begun to feel like what a sisterhood should be, at least to her. She softened her tone and spoke honestly. "If it could work only once, he'd be proud it was you."
Y/N really was appreciative of Peggy's encouragement. They'd spoken a lot more during the last week, about the war effort mostly, as it was something they were both invested in. A mutual respect had been formed. In the absence of Bucky, she'd fully prepared herself for a lot of time alone in their apartment reading, or writing, and trying to not get stuck on the minutiae of her undertakings as a distraction tactic. Y/N was an aspiring author before the war, something not many supported her in, saying that unless she was 'one of the greats', she'd not get far. Bucky however, had always encouraged her dream, sometimes quite vehemently. She specifically remembered sitting with Bucky the day it was announced that America would be joining the war.
"Looks like you'll have the place to yourself. You might actually finish that epic you've spent a decade procrastinating on."
The pair sat in their apartment, either side of their tinny little Montgomery Ward Airline radio that had cost about a month's wage. President Roosevelt had just delivered the address the nation had been waiting for, for the last 24 hours. Most knew their country's declaration of neutrality wasn't built to last, due to almost all of its allies being entrenched in the war, so it was only a matter of time either way, but the attack on Pearl Harbour the day prior had solidified the reality.
Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course that was the first thing he said once the broadcast ended. Not an 'oh god' or 'the world's about to change forever' or even 'holy shit I don't want to go'. Bucky always had this terrifying ability to just go with whatever was thrown at him, without question.
"Shut it. Creativity takes time."
"You haven't even written the main leads yet."
"I'm just... carving them a space."
"Or you've just been avoiding it."
"I just- I don't know who fits. You know? Into this world. I'm not even really sure about the world- there's some bits I'm really concerned just don't make any sense-"
"Y/N, it's science fiction. It's not supposed to make sense."
Bucky actually stood up. He walked around the table to her, and put his hands on her shoulders, effectively silencing her long enough to get his point across.
"But nothing! Y/N, you're good. Like really good. Great, even. And you need to stop depriving the world of that greatness."
He spoke so sincerely, Y/N had nothing to say in response. Could he be right? Was she actually that good? Was it possible for her to actually achieve something big with this? She obviously intended to try for as long as it took, but she wasn't expecting any sort of acclaim.
"You're too in your own head."
Bucky flicked her forehead to knock her out of her overthinking, as if to emphasise the point, and her face reflexively crumpled, brow furrowing in irritation as she looked up at him. "So get out of it. Your business is sharing whatever comes out of that massive noodle, not micromanaging it before it can even get out the gate. I'll be in charge of that."
Y/N just looked at him for a minute, mulling it over in her head. She had no intention of getting any kind of professional editor, too expensive, so she'd just taken to reviewing every tiny detail herself. The only problem being that Y/N was so critical of her work, she couldn't see reason past her own neurosis. So, despite having been working on the same piece for ten years now, she still wasn't anywhere near finished.
"Y/N- I will be damned if that doesn't end up on the shelves in my lifetime. Let me tell you wether its good or not. Just keep writing. Don't stop for anything. Send it to me in a trench. I don't care. I want to read it. Because whatever you think, I know it's good. Okay?"
Bucky was an avid reader. And science fiction was his bag- the man was exactly her audience- so why shouldn't she listen to his thoughts on it instead of just ruminating on her own?
"Plus I'm getting real sick of waiting. You left me on a cliffhanger."
She hadn't even been inside her apartment since this all began- let alone been able to write anything. She imagined, momentarily, Bucky, off somewhere in a trench, gunfire around him, fighter planes overhead, quietly cursing her for not having sent him any decent reading material yet.
Y/N's eyes flickered over to Peggy momentarily before Senator Brandt's voice echoed through the dark room, accompanied by two pairs of feet hitting the ground at a steady, if not frustrated, pace. He and Phillips entered the room, in the heat of a disagreement, tailed by a pair of mysterious men.
"Colonel Phillips, my committee is demanding answers."
They surveyed the machine in the middle of the room, rounding on Stark, as Phillips took absolutely none of what Brandt was getting at, shutting the discussion down without even looking back at the man, with all the self-assuredness of a hardened veteran colonel.
"Great. Why don't we start with how a German spy got a ride to my secret installation in your car? What have we got here?"
Stark looked up at Phillips, leaning casually on the suspended getaway vehicle.
"Speaking modestly, I'm the best mechanical engineer in this country. But I don't know what's inside this thing or how it works. We're not even close to this technology."
Stark's answer was matter-of-fact, but it seemingly irked Brandt, who responded sharply, "Then who is?"
Phillips, once again cut in, looking over at him this time, speaking more forcefully.
"I'm sure you've been reading our briefings."
He knew damn well the man hadn't.
"I'm on a number of committees, Colonel."
Brandt rose to the unspoken challenge defensively.
Before the tension could grow any unbearably thicker, the sound of Peggy's heels clicking tamped it down, along with her words.
"Hydra is the nazi deep-science division. It's led by Johann Schmidt. But he has much bigger ambitions."
The woman explained somewhat sharply, approaching the pair, followed closely by Y/N standing loftily behind her like a mildly forlorn skyscraper.
Everyone turned to Agent Carter, Brandt even removed his hat- even the senator could see that this situation was far beyond his understanding.
"Hydra is practically a cult. They worship Schmidt. They think he's invincible."
"All that stuff Hitler propagandises about- the mythology of it all- Schmidt actually believes it. And that he himself can harness the power of the gods."
Y/N finished, drawing every eye and ear in the room. Not only because it was somewhat niche information for her to know, but because it was possibly the longest sentence she'd spoken in days.
Brandt turned back to Phillips, hardening again, and asked in a low, somewhat forceful, perhaps even desperate tone;
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"I spoke to the President this morning. As of today, the SSR is bein' retasked."
Y/N perked up at this, as did Peggy, but more out of confusion than intrigue.
She asked as the grizzled man turned his back on Brandt, practically pretending he wasn't there, walked over to her and said, "We are taking the fight to Hydra. Pack your bags, Agent Carter." He turned his head to Stark before walking past Carter. "You, too, Stark. We're flying to London tonight."
This really grabbed Y/N's attention. All she'd thought about since her transformation was what was happening next. What her task would be. Would she be deployed to the front lines like any other soldier? It seemed as if the chances of that were slim, given how the SSR didn't want her too far from their watchful eyes, so she'd already crossed that off. Y/N had pondered whether they might put her on some task force, like Peggy. But that had seemed a waste of her newfound athleticism. And it wasn't exactly as if she could be as covert as the job usually necessitated. She had yet to come to a solid conclusion on what her future might hold in this war, but it might have just fallen into her lap. She caught eyes with Peggy before stepping forward, stopping Phillips.
"Sir? If you're going after Schmidt, I want in."
The colonel wasted no time in dismissing her, facing Y/N with the same look of slight disdain he had fixed the woman with on her very first day at boot camp.
"You're an experiment. You're going to Alamogordo."
Y/N expression shifted slightly in disbelief, and she once again looked back at Peggy as if to say 'Did I just hear that right?'
Y/N stated the fact. It made no sense to her. She had become exactly what he asked. A soldier.
Phillips knew this, of course. She was big, she was fast- in his own words, that nearly qualified Y/N as the perfect soldier. But he just knew- he knew that she didn't have what it took to be out on that battlefield. Her physical ability was no longer the problem, but the woman's personality was just as big a barrier in his eyes. She couldn't take orders without question, and she couldn't let go of her own moral compass for the sake of a team. Y/N was too pig-headed for him to command.
"I asked for an army and all I got was you. You are not enough."
He said, somewhat bitterly. The Colonel walked away, and Y/N's expression fell, gaze returning to the floor.
Brandt saw this, and took it as his opportunity to pounce. He faux-casually sidled up to her, and said;
"With all due respect to the Colonel, I think we may be missing the point. I've seen you in action, Y/N. More importantly, the country's seen it."
Brandt smiled broadly, and flicked his Pinter finger in the direction of the two men that had been waiting in the wings for the duration of the previous discussion.
The man held up a crisp white, obviously fresh off the press paper, The New York Examiner, bearing the headline:
Underneath it was a photograph of Y/N, her face framed by the window cutout in the broken-off door she had used as a shield on the day of the chase. She'd caught the odd headline here or there, over the shoulders of the staff that had kept her under watch the last few days- this was somehow, even with the term 'dame' proudly listed in the title, the least insulting one yet. It was amazing to Y/N how derogatory a story about a person hunting down a literal nazi could become, when the person in question was of the female persuasion.
Brandt's voice lowered, as if speaking of something sacred.
"The enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands. You don't take a soldier, a symbol like that, and hide her in a lab."
He wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulders and started walking with her, leaning in even closer, dropping his voice even lower. The moment felt so important, so personal.
"Miss, do you want to serve your country on the most important battlefield of the war?"
He pulled them to a stop, and Y/N couldn't respond for a moment, as if not believing what she'd heard.
Y/N was initially dubious, afraid that he was attempting to pander to her sex, patronise Y/N to get something he wanted out of her, but she lit up at his last few words. She could actually fight?
"Sir, that's all I want."
She replied confidently, eyes wide with hope.
The senator stuck out his hand, and Y/N shook it firmly.
"Then, congratulations. You just got promoted."
Y/N's found herself smiling for the first time in days.
The backstage area was lit only by a small gas lamp, and the daylight peeking through the cracks in the curtains. Y/N had oriented herself towards the light, red drapes, as if they were a threat to be monitored, finding them, or, more aptly, what lay beyond them, both daunting and personally conflicting.
She took a deep breath, staring hard at her own dimly lit visage in the mirror before her as she spoke in a conscious murmur.
"I don't know if I can do this."
One of the mysterious men Brandt had introduced her to- now revealed to be a businessman- clapped her on the back and responded in the typical New York entrepreneurial fashion- quickly.
"Nothing to it. You sell a few bonds. Bonds buy bullets. Bullets kill nazis. bing bang boom. You're an American hero."
He was clearly feeling antsy, just wanting to get her out there.
"It's just not how I pictured getting there."
After the rounds of SSR testing, Y/N had really been hoping things would slow down, but if anything- they'd sped up. As soon as the last rounds of nerve testing were done, Y/N had been whisked away to what had been described to her as a 'uniform fitting'. This confused her slightly, as she'd only procured new uniforms a few days prior, but she just assumed that maybe her rank had changed, and that required different stylings. Brandt had said Y/N was promoted. But, upon arriving at what appeared to be some kind of fancy dress store, she began questioning herself once more. A few hours later, and she was wearing something far too red, white, blue, and- shiny- to be out in the field. Just as she had opened her mouth to ask what was going on, a sheet of paper was thrust into her hands. Not a series of orders from a new senior officer. A script. She'd read it over that night and cringed numerous times.
The businessman sighed, and spoke, waving the proverbial carrot in front of her face for the millionth time, to kick her into gear as Y/N put the finishing piece of her costume over her eyes.
"The Senator has got a lot of pull up on the Hill. You play ball with us, you'll be leading your own platoon in no time. Take the shield. Go."
Y/N attempted to give herself a last once-over- maybe straighten her impractical, bouncy pleated skirt, or adjust the excessively deep-cut neckline of her distinctly fitted, star-spangled and unpadded bodice, which left no muscle unseen (they really had tried to play to all sides of the crowd with the outfit) - but was cut short as the industrious man shoved her to the wolves. She was forced out into the light, surrounded by bright lights and singing chorus girls. Y/N looked out upon the audience, bewildered.
♪Who's strong and brave here to save the American way?♪
The woman straightened her back, and attempted a casual walk to centre stage.
Y/N sweated, and nervously looked down at her lines, which she had 'discreetly' taped to the inside of her shield.
"Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank. But there's still a way all of us can fight."
She loudly projected the words like a five-year-old in her local production of the Nativity, barely removing her eyes from the words.
♪Who vows to fight like a man For what's right, night and day?♪
Y/N looked out at the crowd, taking another step forward as the girls continued to swish their skirts and smile in perfect sync, singing like they were born for it, truly highlighting her remarkable ineptitude on stage.
"Series E Defense Bonds. Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."
Moments after finishing her bit, she walked off stage without a bye-or-leave.
♪Who will campaign door-to-door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane The star-spangled man with a plan♪
After each of the first few shows, Y/N was hurried over to a backdrop of propaganda posters featuring herself, and each time handed a baby, which never failed to cry just as their photograph was taken. It probably didn't help that she always held them like a trophy rather than an infant, whilst smiling with everything except her eyes. After the first event, Brandt rushed in and wrapped an arm around her, using the other to shake her hand while grinning for the camera, Y/N failing to appear enthused in time for the flash.
Y/N marched through lush woodlands, a diverse troop of soldiers following, each looking sternly ahead.
"Cut. Guys, don't look at the camera."
The director dropped his head into his hands as they each hopped off the large treadmill they stood upon, and Y/N knew that despite having said 'guys' he had really meant just her. She'd been instructed to look ahead, and the camera was right in front of her face. Ahead. Where else was she supposed to look?
♪We can't ignore there's a threat and a war we must win♪
Y/N's performance improved slowly but surely. She quickly ditched the script, walking slightly more steadily, though her delivery still left something to be desired.
"Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."
Eventually, Y/N developed her own stage presence. People cheered as she bounded onto stage. Y/N still wasn't used to having to sell herself, but each night was a reminder of who she was doing it for, which helped.
♪Who'll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin? Who will redeem Heed the call for America? Who'll rise or fall Give his all for America? Who's here to prove that we can? The star-spangled man with a plan♪
Brandt and the businessman looked at the roaring crowd around them, sharing a glance, each obviously pleased with themselves, clapping along.
The script on the back of her now naturally held shield was long gone, residing only within her memory. She walked confidently, smiling brightly, working well with the chorus girls now.
"We all know this is about trying to win the war. We can't do that without bullets and bandages, tanks and tents. That's where you come in. Every bond you buy will help protect someone you love."
As Y/N spoke, front and centre, standing before a line of chorus girls, a malevolent presence lurked.
Children in the audience took notice, calling out urgently.
"Turn around! He's right behind you!"
Y/N seemed to ignore the warning, but just in the nick of time, she pivoted, landing a hit directly on a cartoonishly ridiculous Adolf Hitler, knocking him straight to the ground spread-eagled, just in time for the hi-hat to chime in.
Y/N faced the front with an award-winning smile, which still didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Keep our boys armed and ready, and the Germans will think twice about trying to get the drop on us."
She waved as the audience cheered, hoping that her spreading joy and educating people about how they could help on the home front was enough. Though it seemed that the only person not convinced was herself.
There were comics made in her image, read by everyone, young and old. She'd even heard that some had made their way to the front lines, inspiring soldiers everywhere. Y/N made movies, saving people from all manner of evil with the help of her platoon and some good old patriotism. The opening night of her first one had been packed with people rejuvenating their hope in the war effort. Exactly the goal.
♪Stalwart and steady and true Forceful and ready to defend the red, white, and blue Who'll give the Axis the sack and is smart as a fox? Far as an eagle will soar Who's making Adolf afraid to step out of his box? He knows what we're fighting for Who waked the giant that napped in America? We know it's no one but Captain America, Who'll finish what they began? Who'll kick the Krauts to Japan? The star-spangled man with a plan!♪
Y/N ran her main show in almost every state, seven days a week, as it grew in spectacle, managing to add a marching band, full orchestra, levelled stages, sparkling sets, extravagant props, (including but not limited to a motorbike which she lifted above her head while a trio of chorus girls sat astride it, and a set of confetti canons made up like tanks) backdrops made to highlight her stature and strength, and about a hundred additional dancers at some point. Y/N signed autographs, fielded more romantic and sometimes sexual advances than she'd ever received in her life, took photos, with people praising her as a 'true American hero' and 'an inspiration' everywhere she went. Brandt jokingly told Y/N not to get too big-headed on many an occasion. She laughed along, but felt it an odd warning, considering her ego hadn't ever been smaller. Fame was supposed to get to people's heads, make them feel an inflated sense of importance. So why did Y/N somehow feel less important than she ever had as that skinny kid from Brooklyn without a penny to her name?
A few months on, and Y/N found herself still unsettled.
She had struggled with herself since stepping into show business. She and those around her regularly attempted to convince Y/N that she was a national treasure, a beacon of hope in the world's darkest hour. That she was doing something of unimaginable importance. But the feeling of wrongness still nagged at her. Sure, war bonds were vital. But having to dance around on a stage just for the chance of winning the troops some bandages or bullets was just degrading. And even then, that's not what she was really doing. She was dancing around on stage to win money for the rich. The companies that made the bandages and bullets would be making them regardless of what Y/N did. They wouldn't be hiring more workers, or paying their existing ones more, either. They helped the war effort, but insisted upon lining their pockets while they did it. Y/N was helping the rich get richer, enabling them to leech off of frightened civilians who were desperate for hope. All while they gave as little as they could get away with, to the cause Y/N actually fought for.
So, naturally, as soon as Brandt had muttered the term 'USO' in a meeting, Y/N had been buzzing with excitement. It was still parading around in a ridiculously impractical outfit, but at least this time it would be on the front lines. She wouldn't be selling people their safety, she'd be inspiring them to fight for it.
At least that had been her initial goal. Upon walking onto the stage, she could feel the tension in the air. It was almost the exact opposite of her usual shows. Even the lighting was wrong. Usually, she walked into a warmly lit room, in front of an excitable, rowdy crowd of onlookers. People waiting to marvel at someone they perceived to be beyond them. Superhuman. Someone who could, and would protect them from the evils darkening the doorstep, no matter the cost.
This place was cold, overcast. And the men certainly weren't expecting Y/N alone to defend them. They probably would've laughed at the prospect. The horrors they had seen were beyond normal comprehension. They knew the reality, and more importantly, they knew just how dark their doorstep was. A glorified chorus girl stage-punching phoney Adolf Hitler wouldn't change that.
The air was so long dead, it was almost done decomposing as Y/N spoke in her practised stage voice- it usually sounded great, but for some reason, that time around it sounded unsure and fake.
"How many of you are ready to help me sock old Adolf on the jaw?"
Not a sound was heard for a solid 30 seconds. Y/N counted. It was so quiet, she didn't need to fear losing track of the seconds.
She definitely sounded unsure that time.
"Uh... I need a volunteer!"
A lone voice rose from the unenthused congregation, frustration clear.
"I already volunteered! How do you think I got here?"
Laughter followed, the only collective response heard as yet.
"Bring back the other girls! If you're gonna be on that stage, the least you can do is dance!"
Seemingly the sane voice called out again, emboldened.
Once again, the crowd responded in unison, cheering in agreement.
Y/N looked from them, to the people offstage in a loop for a moment, stuck.
"I uh- think they only know the one song but- I-I'll see what I can do."
She intentionally laced her voice with certainty, but she might've missed a few eyelets, as the words came out broken.
"You do that, sweetheart!"
"Nice tits, Tinker Bell!"
The only morale-boosting exercise these men seemed to be interested in was the collective effort of heckling and/or catcalling Captain America.
"Come on, guys, we're all on the same team here."
Y/N said, dropping the stage persona.
A soldier was lifted up by another, and proceeded to pull down his pants, mooning her.
"Hey, Captain! Sign this!"
The situation escalated before Y/N could finish processing that there was one at all, as they started throwing rotten tomatoes at her. The air was no longer dead, brought to life by grief-induced vexation and Brandywines.
Y/N took the third tomato careening past her head as a cue to leave.
"Bring back the dancers!"
The dancers pranced back to the stage, past Y/N as she was led down the stairs backstage by her manager as he weakly attempted to console her.
"Don't worry, pal. They'll warm up to you. Don't worry."
She wasn't upset that they didn't like her show. Hell, she didn't like her show. Y/N was upset that she hadn't managed to do the one thing she had been trying to do the entire time. Help. In fact, judging by the response, Y/N was the opposite of what these men needed. She was a hindrance. The only reason why she'd agreed to this literal song and dance was that she had been constantly told it was the best she could do for the war effort. She'd always known it was mostly crap, something to keep her onboard, but being faced with the actual fact head-on was the final straw.
Eventually, Y/N had managed to shake off her manager. She wandered aimlessly for a while, at some point ending up back in her changing area. Y/N had taken off her stupid little eyemask, and with her newly unobscured vision managed to spot her notepad and pen sticking out of her bag. The woman later found herself sitting outside backstage, under a canopy, still mostly in costume, though it was one covered by a trench coat, in the rain. She had begun to write, intending to finally draft a set of leads for her novel, maybe send the ideas to Bucky- but every idea she came up with was a joke. Not a single character worthy of the lead. She went with it, deciding that she might as well do something productive. She ended up with a strange dancing monkey-man whose only use was comic relief. Y/N snorted, a self-deprecating huff, as she wrote the words 'Captain America' above the character's description.
The familiar voice surprised Y/N, both in its presence, and its lightness. She turned her head to see Peggy standing about a foot away, a sympathetic expression on her usually stern face.
Peggy folded her coat neatly, placing it off to the side.
"What are you doing here?"
Y/N asked. She hadn't been told Peggy would be accompanying her on this- she usually got word on the SSR side of things from Brandt, if he'd bothered to read any of his memos that morning, which she knew he had on that particular day because the man had been angrily grumbling about some 'passive-aggressive undertones'.
"Officially, I'm not here at all."
The woman took a seat a few steps behind Y/N delicately.
"That was quite a performance."
"Yeah. I uh- I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually more... twelve."
Y/N couldn't make eye contact while she spoke, failing to inject the necessary brevity into her words.
Peggy stared at Y/N, analysing her. The woman knew that this was nothing even resembling what Y/N wanted, and she also knew that the woman before her was destined for so much more. She just needed a reminder.
"I understand you're 'America's New Hope.'"
Peggy had spoken, probing.
"Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit."
Y/N replied, looking back down at her drawing, no hesitation in her words, as if it were some kind of sales pitch. It was, actually. She'd said those exact words to more executives than she could count in the last six months.
"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"
Peggy asked sharply, almost disappointed.
Peggy was almost hoping for Y/N to bite back. Get angry, say something witty- but to her dismay, all Peggy got was a monotone;
"At least he's got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab."
It was worse than the agent had feared. Y/N's spark hadn't gone out, but it had been covered. Like a decorative glass over a candle, meant to frame its light, make it attractive- whilst slowly killing it. Y/N was going down the wrong path.
"And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know."
Y/N looked up at her, opening her mouth ever so slightly to speak, before seemingly changing her mind and then looking away, almost wistfully.
Peggy questioned. The woman she had met at boot camp wouldn't have bitten her tongue like that when she clearly had something important to say.
Y/N looked out upon the soldiers' tents.
"You know, for the longest time, I dreamed about comin' overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I know I wouldn't have done- even if they had let me into the WAC, or WAVES, or whoever else was stupid enough to take me, but it didn't stop me from dreaming of it."
She looked down at herself.
"I finally got everything I wanted... and I'm still wearing tights."
A van marked as an ambulance of some kind pulled up, horn blaring as a team of medics yelled
Two men opened the back doors quickly, carrying out an unconscious person at best, and a dead man at worst, on a gurney.
"They look like they've been through hell."
Y/N muttered, standing and saluting them, even though they'd never see.
Peggy noted this. Y/N was still in there, just pushed deep down.
"These men more than most."
Y/N finally made eye contact with her.
"Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than 50 returned."
Y/N turned her gaze downwards in a silent prayer for those poor men. She would never understand how people could make others do that to one another.
"Your audience contained what was left of the 107th."
Y/N's gaze snapped back up.
"The rest were killed or captured."
She echoed, not sure if it was a question, a statement, or some kind of exclamation of horror. That couldn't be right. Bucky had been shipped out to England... and those who arrived in England were sent straight to Italy. The front. She'd read that in a newspaper, but hadn't made the mental link. Maybe her brain had been trying to protect itself from the stress. Y/N wasn't one to curse. But fuck, did she feel like it.
Y/N didn't answer Peggy, standing so quickly that she knocked over a collection of props, stumbling to her feet and running off through the rain, muddying her costume as Peggy struggled to keep up.
Most would've flinched at least a little if they saw a 5'11 hunk of pure muscle walking towards them specifically, at such a pace- however, Phillips held Y/N's gaze, looking nettled already.
"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What's your plan today?"
Y/N wasted no time with pleasantries. She struggled with the colonel on the best of days, and this was far from one.
"I need the casualty list from Azzano."
"You don't get to give me orders, girlie."
Y/M was still straightforward.
"I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th."
Phillips pointed to Peggy.
"You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won't enjoy."
Y/N dropped all pretence of authority, desperate. She had to know, even if it cost her pride. It could cost her an actual arm and a leg, she'd still take the deal.
"Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"
There was silence for a moment as the colonel stood from his desk, carrying a stack of death notices. He sifted through them, turned away from the woman.
"I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar."
The colonel put the papers down, hands on his hips. "I'm sorry."
Despite his rocky relationship with the woman, Phillips wasn't a cold-hearted man. He understood grief, so his tone held just a hint of sympathy.
Y/N's heart dropped further. She recognised the feeling. When you thought the pain couldn't weigh any heavier on your soul, so when it found a way, you could feel the panic setting in.
Both the colonel, and Peggy watched her closely as she remained silent, turmoil clear on her face.
"What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"
She spoke quickly, demanding now.
"Yes, it's called 'winning the war.'"
Y/N didn't even have the mental capacity to snap at this. All of her energy was devoted to strategising.
"But if you know where they are, why not at least-"
"They're 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe."
Phillips gestured to the large map before them which Y/N had already been searching for routes.
"We'd lose more men than we'd save. But I don't expect you to understand that because you're a chorus girl."
Y/N stared him dead in the eye, in an almost frightening change of demeanour, now cold, flat. But not the dull, numb kind. The kind of false-cold that came from something burning white hot. She was sick of the way he treated her, after everything. He could at least pretend to respect her if he couldn't actually muster the sentiment.
"I think I understand just fine."
"Well, then understand it somewhere else."
Phillips brushed past her shoulder, indicating that he wouldn't be wasting any more time on one woman when he still had to be the grim reaper for a hundred others. "If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes."
Y/N looked at the map before her, honing in on the little blue flag representing Krausberg.
Y/N responded clearly, walking away with a single goal.
A million times had Y/N considered that she might die for the war effort. Pre-enlistment, serum, then post-serum- even when she was touring- Y/N wasn't an idiot, she knew the dangers of war.
Not once had she actually, seriously considered that Bucky might be a casualty. Not a single instance appeared in her mind where she'd genuinely thought she might lose him. It was as if he existed in this little bubble of safety in her mind. He was a constant. More than just part of the furniture, more than a pillar, a rock- Bucky was like atoms. Always there, always had been, always would be. Unbreakable. Sure he wasn't unshakable, she'd seen him cry. She'd seen him scream, she'd seen him broken. Y/N was under no illusion that Bucky was a god. But the idea that he could be taken away- just didn't fit. In her head. At all.
Peggy stood, chewing her thumbnail, and turned her head to Phillips, who didn't even look up. "If you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself."
Y/N packed quickly and methodically, a plan taking shape in her mind. Phillips had been right, the show wouldn't start for another half an hour. This meant that Y/N had fifteen minutes before the chorus girls would start getting ready, in which she could fill a pack with necessities and get moving before anyone even knew she was gone.
"What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?" Peggy hurried through the tent entrance.
"If that's what it takes." Y/N continued packing. Peggy wouldn't stop her. Even if she ended up with the entire US Army and the SSR on her tail, Y/N would keep going.
"You heard the Colonel. Your friend is most likely dead."
"You don't know that," Y/N replied. Peggy didn't know Bucky. He was strong, but more importantly stubborn. If he wasn't ready to die, he wouldn't. Though that left Y/N with the knowledge that Bucky was likely going through hell out of sheer belligerence, being worn down until he really did want to expire, which meant she needed to be quick.
"Even so, he's devising a strategy. If he detects-"
Y/N threw on her leather trench coat (favouring its flexibility over her green woollen one) as her voice rose.
"By the time he's done that, it could be too late."
The woman grabbed her pack and strode out from the tent, Peggy yet again trailing behind.
Y/N found an empty jeep, throwing her things into the back as Peggy came to a halt beside her, frazzled.
"You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?"
Y/N asked, a serious look in her eye.
Peggy held her gaze steadily as she spoke. "Every word."
Y/N internalised this and proceeded to get into the vehicle. "Then you got to let me go."
Peggy could see that Y/N was a natural strategist, clearly. She knew how much the woman cared for Bucky, almost all of her stories consisted of the pair. And yet, even with the most important person in her life on the line, Y/N was level-headed. She didn't break down. Peggy knew from prior experience- discussing the war effort with Y/N, initially as small talk, but eventually because she genuinely relied on her insight- that Y/N planned efficiently and effectively, taking into account every variable. Every strength, every weakness. She was a leader.
As Y/N started the engine, Peggy rushed to the door, stopping her. "I can do more than that."
The aircraft roared through the clear, navy blue night sky, its course staunchly set, mirroring the mind of the woman within. Stark piloted whilst Peggy talked Y/N through her route in the cabin, Y/N memorising the map, and each accompanying word attentively. "The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges. It's a factory of some kind."
"We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep."
Stark called from the front.
"Just get me as close as you can!"
Y/N called back, lowering her voice and looking up at Peggy as she secured the last few buckles of her makeshift suit. "You know you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land."
"Where I'm going, if anybody yells at me, I can just shoot them." Y/N shrugged as if it were just another Tuesday, pushing a gun into its holster.
"They will undoubtedly shoot back."
Peggy replied, concerned.
Y/N banged on the shield beside her with her fist. "Well, let's hope it's good for something."
Y/N smiled ever so slightly, and Peggy mirrored her. Despite the tense situation, Y/N hadn't felt more like herself in months.
"Agent Carter? If we're not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue." Stark suggested casually, as if they were in some luxury stretch-limo on the way to one of his galas, rather than jetting above nazi territory.
Y/N's face contorted in mild disgust. "That is... more information than I needed to know, thanks, Stark."
Had he just forgotten Y/N was there? He frequently flirted with Peggy, Y/N thought it was cute, but that was too far, in company at least. And Peggy hadn't ever taken the bait. Too professional to be involved with a man like Howard. Or so she thought.
"Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen. He's mad enough to brave this airspace. We're lucky to have him.
Y/N looked up at this. A compliment? That was new.
Y/ fully understood her error, but grinned slyly.
Peggy hit her, blushing slightly, but Y/N could hear Howard snort. Peggy readjusted her blouse- a nervous tic Y/N had noticed- and cleared her throat, holding out a small Brown and silver metal box which resembled a walkie-talkie. "This is your transponder. Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us straight to you."
Y/N flipped it over in her palm, and called out;
"Are you sure this thing works?"
"It's been tested more than you, pal."
Howard shot back. He wouldn't have anyone slandering his beloved tech.
The whole plane shook as a series of booms resounded outside, paired with the flashing of shots being fired. They'd been caught. Y/N stood quickly, opening the door at the back of the craft.
Peggy stood, attempting to stop her. "Get back here! We're taking you all the way in!"
Y/N ignored Agent Carter, dropping herself into a sitting position, legs dangling freely in the now bullet-warmed air. "As soon as I'm clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!"
Peggy looked at Y/N like she was insane. "You can't give me orders!"
Y/N replied immediately, looking up at Peggy defiantly. "The hell I can't! I'm a Captain!" When Peggy supplied no rebuttal, shocked into silence by Y/N's sheer insanity, Y/N grinned up at her, sliding the goggles on the helmet she had stolen over her eyes before throwing herself from the airship.
