Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3Ā | Chapter 4
Summary: For most of your life youād been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, youāve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar faceā¦ Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?
Warnings: PTSD, imprisonment, references to past physical violence.
A/N: Like I said last time. Getting into (aka only scratching the surface) of the Bucky feels that are coming. Tbh itās Bucky/Reader feels because, this characterā¦ woo. I hope yāall love her/love reading yourself as her as much as I love her/love writing her.Ā
Also 5 chapters in a weekā¦ who does that? Iām going to try to space them out more (1 or 2 a week prob) butā¦ Iām just eager af because Iām having a blast writing this.Ā
@l0kisbitchĀ @disagreetoagree
You take a deep breath and pluck the Glock out of the air, the knives clatter to the floor released from your hold. Part of you suspects heāll rush for them but he just sits there, hands up eyes shining and glued to the books on the bed. You de-cock the gun and tuck it in your waistband. Not wanting to take your eyes off him you lift the bag and its contents from behind you and dump them in his lap.
Immediately he begins to look through them, checking each, mouthing the title. āThere was another boo-ā the spine of Silent Heroes slams into his temple, admittedly a little harder than you intended, he flinches but as soon as he sees itās ok he visibly relaxes.
āWho the fuck are you,ā your voice is low without an ounce of softness. Your gut may be telling you heās not an immediate threat but that does not mean you trust this man.
His mouth opens to answer and snaps shut. His eyes look to the books, to the bed, the wall. Anywhere but at you. āIā¦ I donāt really know.ā He appears small to you suddenly. Like a kid thatās lost at night with no clue where to go.
The fight drains from you and you plop heavily onto the bed. Heās just staring at the book, at his photo from so long ago. Suddenly you feel guilty for going through his bag, a ridiculous emotion given the situation but it rankles all the same. āDo you really think Lombardiās is shit?ā
He lights up. A raspy chuckle escapes. āYeah.ā Your eyes meet and again heās a different man. āEveryone thought because it was first it was best but man, Totonnoās, that was pizza.ā His tongue flicks over his bottom lip and he looks ravenous, you can relate.
āThe sauce,ā you both longingly groan at the same time and laugh despite everything.
āWaitā¦ā he sounds excited, like a kid on Christmas, āIs it still there?! I mean youāre notā¦ I wasā¦ it wasā¦ā He takes a moment, āa long time agoā¦ā with that a cloud befalls him again.
āAs of 2007 it was still there slinging the best pies in Brooklyn.ā You pull your phone from your pocket to check.
You look up, āNot what?ā
āLike meā¦ā you stare confused and he says with a small dark laugh, āA relic.ā
āI donāt know how alike we are but no, Iām not a relic. Iāmā¦ā honestly you hadnāt thought about it in a while, how old you were. āFuck I guess Iām about 30.ā
Your age was always an awkward subject. Youād ran away at 15 and landed in New Orleans, where you met Nix. He was a few years older but was just like you, a kid alone. He helped you get fake documents, a new birth certificate, social, everything. A new date of birth made you 18, a new last name made you someone else, and a high school diploma complete with transcripts made college an option. You canāt help but sigh, you had already killed one version of yourself before Hydra had even found you.
Google has graciously saved you from this line of thought and informed you that Totonnoās is in fact still in business. āYup, Totonnoās is still there to this day. Thankfully all the aliens seem to be destroying is Manhattan. Theyāre smart enough to leave the best borough alone.ā
His face breaks into a breathtaking smile that genuinely surprises you. āI guess thatās a bit of silver lining in this mess of a world.ā His voice is rich and melodious. At this point youāre honestly wondering how there are so many different sides to one person.
The silence hangs for a moment. His hand runs over the cover of one of the composition books that has āHomeā scrawled in a shaky hand. āSoā¦ā he trails off. āAre, uh, you from there, Brooklyn I mean.ā
You scoff, āNo. Iām from nowhere.ā Thatās always been your answer. Ghost girl.
āEveryoneās from somewhere.ā
You stare at him a moment, his face is open and, frustratingly kindā¦ dammit. You slump a little, āYeah well most people have a hometown, someplace they grew up, but I never really stayed anywhere long enough for that.ā He remains quiet, giving you space to form your thoughts. āBut,ā your voice cracks and you clear your throat to reel in your emotions, āBrooklyn, was the first place I made a home.ā The only place.
āItās a good place.ā
āIt was.ā And you could never go back. You stared at your phone. The little red dot marking a place that may as well have been on Mars. When the screen turned black you kept staring into it, your reflection warped in the shattered screen. When you looked up he was flipping through pages in that composition book looking so serene it almost made you want to throw something at him.
āFerdinandoās?ā he whispers. Then again, āFerdinandoās,ā as though heās answered a question and scrambles for one of the pens on the floor. You watch him quickly jot something down.
āOh!ā It was like he had forgotten you were there. āIā¦ just something I remembered. Sorry.ā
You smile despite yourself. āYouāre talking about that old Italian place in Cobble Hill?ā His head shoots up. āYes, thatās still there too last I knew. And they made a damn good cannoli.ā
A small chuckle skips past his lips and he stares into the middle distance for a moment. āI,ā another little laugh, āused to take dates there.ā He runs a hand absently through his hair and writes something down.
His pen freezes, his eyes donāt leave the paper, āTo make Him they had to kill meā¦ā Heās so quiet you have to strain to hear, āthis,ā he gestures lazily to the books, āis my attempt at raising the dead.ā
Mournful eyes, more grey than blue meet yours. āBut I canāt pretend the bad didnāt happen tooā¦ that He, I, didnāt do horrible things.ā He pulls a three subject spiral from the pile, thicker than all the others. Thereās no title here. āIām not sure what book you belong inā¦ but if itās this one,ā he lays his palm flat on the cover, āand I think it is. Iā¦ā his voice breaks and you think heās going to sob, āIām truly sorry.ā No tears fall but you swear you could drown in his eyes, in his grief.
A very strong part of you doesnāt want to give him anything, push him away, make him leave. Wants to shut him out. But if youāre being honest with yourself your loneliness is far stronger. And his lonelinessā¦ I mean for fuckās sake he just opened up to a woman who he only thinks he knows, who knocked him unconscious and chained him, however ineffectively, to a wall a few hours ago.
āNoā¦ā You stare at your hands, unable, unwilling to hold his gaze any longer. āI donāt really think thatās where I belong in your story.ā You hear him let out a breath. āHow do you know me, or think you know me, Mrā¦ Sargent-ā
āBucky,ā that crooked smile again.
āMr. Sargent Bucky, then.ā Itās a shitty joke, hardly even a joke, but he gives you a little laugh all the same.
The slight humor isnāt enough to lighten his next words, āWhen I saw you nine days ago-ā
āNine?!ā You canāt help but be alarmed. Nine days, nine fucking days he had been following you and you didnāt notice a goddamn thing.
It hits you, āYou wanted me to see you todayā¦ You wanted to see how Iād react.ā He just nods. Small again despite his size, shoulders slumping. āJesus fucking Christ.ā
āIf itās any consolation youāre doing a great job laying low.ā You snort. āNo really,ā he says insistent, āI mean you did pick the same city as The Winter Soldier, that says you know how to disappear.ā Thereās an awkward beat, āI donāt know that anyone else would notice you.ā You donāt say someone already had, in Berlin.
āButā¦ yeahā¦ā He picks up again. āI saw you, your face, and I saw.ā He stops suddenly his eyes Ā staring at his hands, balled into fists sitting on his knees, āI thought I rememberedā¦ā He just canāt get it out and his eyes find yours begging you silently to tell him heās wrong.
You feel for him, you do, but you wonāt sugar coat this. āYou remembered,ā your hand wanders to your right cheekbone where a thin scar runs up from there up around your eye socket, ābeating me.ā
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