They successfully made it back to the land of the living, maybe a little worse for ware. Leo and Donnie have to learn to share one form, and it wasn't easy with Leos body fighting them the whole time. His condition was only going to get worse from there. They set out to find Donnies body so they can transfer his soul, but they soon find out that that wasn't going to be so easy.
Summary: The Avengers intercept with the evacuation plans and take you in. Not as a teammate, but as a question mark, an echo of someone they failed to see until it was far too late.
Word Count: 3.5k+
Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist
The blast came without warning.
Not an explosion meant to kill, but one designed to disable. It was controlled, pinpointed, and unmistakably Stark tech. A pulse charge detonated just ahead of the lead vehicle, and in an instant, everything unraveled. The tires screamed against the dirt, the van fish-tailed with a shriek of momentum before grinding to a shuddering, crooked stop.
Inside the second van, your van, there was a beat of stunned silence. No panic. No screaming. Just the heavy realization of what had happened. They’d found you.
Before the driver could even slam the gear into reverse, a concussive blast rocked the rear tires. Outside, shadows moved with swift, practiced silence. Boots on gravel. Air cutting open with a grappling hook. The whirrrr of wings folding in above the dust.
A moment later, the door was ripped open.
The sunlight poured in like judgment.
“Hands up!” Sam barked, silhouette cutting against the bright sky, gauntlet sparking slightly as his stance remained defensive but ready.
The others in the van reacted out of instinct. One went for a weapon and was instantly stunned by a tranquilizer dart. Another tried to bolt, only to meet the barrel of Natasha’s sidearm as she moved like water, cold, efficient, and already in position.
You didn’t move. Your eyes remained forward. Blank and observing. You heard the familiar shift of Steve’s boots hitting the ground outside, the echo of authority in his stride. His voice followed: low, controlled, unshakable.
“Step out. Now.”
You obeyed and so did the rest. No one had to force you. You moved on your own, stepping out of the vehicle slowly, deliberately with your hands raised, fingers open. You didn’t stumble. You didn’t shrink. You didn’t try to explain.
Which may have been why the silence you brought with you was louder than any fight.
Natasha’s expression cracked first. Her brows pulled in, confused and cautious. Sam’s mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the words ready. Steve watched you the way a soldier might stare at a field that used to be home before it was turned to ash.
And Bucky?
He didn’t speak, barely breathed. He just stared. Because the moment he saw you, really saw you, it hit like a punch to the ribs. The same you, and yet not. You were dressed in plain black tactical gear. No insignia. No visible rank. Your face was unreadable and your posture was calm. Too calm.
Not frightened. Not pleading. Just… present. Present in a way that was devastating. Because you weren’t a hostage and you weren’t broken. You were gone in a way none of them had anticipated. And worse… it looked like you had chosen to be.
A second later, the front cab was forced open. Maren was yanked out, her shoulder bleeding from a clean graze, but her mouth twisted into a half-smile that seemed to mock the whole situation. She was cuffed quickly, pushed to her knees as Natasha kept a watchful eye on the others being subdued around her.
“Guess the rescue party showed up after all,” She muttered, looking up with a smirk. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Steve didn’t dignify it with a response.
The moment ended without fanfare. Orders were given. Guards cuffed. Others secured. The vehicles were abandoned. And you, once a quiet, unnoticed worker, were walked cuffed and silent into the Quinjet like a piece of evidence.
You walked without looking at the others. Without acknowledging the way they glanced at you from the corners of their eyes, searching for a trace of who you used to be. The girl who fetched their files. Who memorized their preferences. Who spoke only when needed and even then, softly.
They hadn’t seen her before. But now they couldn’t stop looking. You sat when they told you to. A designated seat in the rear of the jet, near the storage hull. Secure and monitored.
Sam sat across from you, adjusting a wrap on his arm. He stared for a while in silence.
Then, gently, “Are you okay?”
You didn’t answer. Not out of defiance, but because what did that even mean? What version of okay could he possibly be asking about?
Okay that they left you?
Okay that they forgot?
Okay that they were too late to save someone who didn’t need saving anymore?
You turned your head away and stared out the window instead.
Quinjet lifted with a quiet shudder which made you look up, just once.
And there you saw Bucky who sat near the front silently, staring back at you. He didn’t look triumphant. He looked like someone staring at the answer to a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.
And still, you gave him nothing. Not a smile. Not a glare. Not even a flicker of emotion. You just turned your gaze away again.
Let them take you back. Let them try to fit you into a puzzle they never understood to begin with. Let them think this was over.
When you all finally made it to the compound, your arrival wasn’t met with alarms.
No red lights. No blaring sirens. No dramatic hallway confrontations. Just silence and a small, reinforced holding room. It wasn’t a cell, exactly, but not a guest suite either. It was simply neutral, clinical, sterile. Possessing a two-way mirror, observation camera, padded bench, and a single table with no sharp edges.
You didn’t complain. You sat quietly, as you always had, hands folded in your lap, looking more like an intern waiting for a meeting than someone fresh out of enemy custody.
Except now, no one could agree on what you were. And the longer you remained quiet, the harder it became for them to pretend you were just another debrief waiting to happen.
Steve paced the briefing room like he was chasing ghosts.
“She hasn’t asked for a lawyer. Hasn’t spoken to anyone,” He said, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not requesting immunity, not requesting to leave. It’s like she’s… waiting.”
“For what?” Sam asked. “Permission to go back?”
“She didn’t try to,” Natasha pointed out. She was seated at the table, arms crossed, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on her sleeve. “We intercepted the evacuation. She was calm and complied, came with us.”
“She came with us,” Bucky echoed quietly from the corner, “But she didn’t come back.”
The room stilled.
Bruce looked up from the file in front of him, his voice low. “She worked with them for almost six months now. Designed their data systems. Improved their evasion tactics. That organization spread faster than we predicted because of her.”
“She’s not a killer,” Bucky said suddenly, sharply.
“No,” Natasha agreed, eyes unreadable. “But she’s not innocent either.”
Silence fell again.
Sam sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “So what now? We charge her? Let the UN poke at her until she shuts down and disappears into some prison for the rest of her life?”
“She’s not some war criminal,” Bucky snapped. “She’s someone we let slip through the cracks.”
“She’s someone who chose to work for the people tearing the world apart,” Steve said. His voice wasn’t angry, just tired. “She made that decision.”
“But why?” Bucky asked, gaze hard. “Because they kidnapped her? Because they brainwashed her? Or because the people who were supposed to look after her treated her like a shadow for years?”
That landed with weight. Steve didn’t argue it. No one did.
Later, the woman Bucky had been seeing slipped into the room with two cups of tea. She set one down beside Steve and held her own with both hands, steam curling softly between her fingers.
“She hasn’t said anything?” She asked lightly.
“No,” Steve murmured, jaw tight.
“Strange,” She said with a soft frown. “I mean, maybe she just doesn’t know what to say. Or who to say it to. Not everyone’s built for pressure, you know.”
Bucky looked at her sharply, but she didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” She added. “But if you guys need help getting through to her… let me know.”
Then she smiled and left.
Sam watched her go, then looked at Bucky. “She’s too curious about all this.”
“She’s always been curious,” Bucky muttered, eyes narrowed. “But now I’m starting to think it wasn’t just about me.”
And in your room, you waited.
You’d been fed. You’d been watched. But no one had come in to speak with you yet. They didn’t know where to start.
Were you a threat? A victim? A former ally gone wrong? Or just a quiet girl who had finally stopped waiting to be seen?
You leaned back against the wall, expression unreadable. They didn’t know what to do with you, but neither did you.
In the late evening, you heard him before you saw him.
Not his voice, his steps. You knew the way he walked. The weight in each step. The pause before the door hissed open like he wasn’t sure if he should come in. Part of you wanted to sit straighter. Fix your posture. Pretend you hadn’t been slumped against the wall like a wilted plant for the last hour.
But you didn’t move. You didn’t look up. Not until he spoke.
“Did you know it was me?” He asked, his voice softer than you expected. Hesitant.
You blinked, still facing the wall. Of course it was him. You’d felt it the second he stepped onto that dirt road. That particular silence he carried, the kind that wrapped around a room instead of filling it.
“When we hit the base,” He added. “Did you know I was there?”
Your throat tightened. You simply shrugged.
The silence between you stretched, awkward but not unfamiliar. He didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t pace or fidget like Steve or Sam might. He just stood there, watching you like you were a stormcloud he’d once walked beneath and couldn’t decide if it had ever really rained.
“You looked different,” He said after a beat. “Not scared. Not… lost. Just… like you’d made a life there.”
That stung more than it should’ve. You turned your head, just a little and met his eyes. And God help you, he still looked like him.
Bucky Barnes. The man you used to think was unreachable. Not because he was distant even though he was, but because even his kindness felt like it was meant for someone else. Someone bolder. Braver. Not the background girl who handed him intel reports with shaking fingers and too many unspoken words.
“That wasn’t a life,” You murmured.
It was the first thing you’d said in a while. Your voice came out rough, unfamiliar even to you.
He froze.
You watched him. Steady and tired.
“They made space for me,” You said quietly. “Gave me work, a purpose. They asked me questions and noticed me.”
He took a step forward, then another.
“You mattered here,” He said gently.
You almost laughed. You really, really almost did.
“To who?” You asked, too softly to be bitter. Just curious now. Exhausted.
Because even after everything, even after all the silence and distance, you still remembered what it felt like to watch him laugh with someone else. To stand near him and never be seen. And to know he’d never love you. Not like that, not the way you had quietly hoped.
Your voice was steady but sharp with the effort it took to keep it that way. “I wasn’t like the rest of you. I didn’t save cities. I didn’t have charm, training, or powers. I didn’t matter until I left.”
His eyes searched yours. “That’s not true.”
You gave him a look, more tired than angry.
“Then why didn’t anyone notice I was gone?”
Bucky looked away first. His silence didn’t sting the way it used to. It just confirmed what you’d already known. They’d missed you the moment they saw what you’d become, not when you were still there.
His mouth pressed into a thin line. You watched the guilt rise in him like steam, curling under his skin.
“I wasn’t angry when I left,” you said. “ I didn’t even plan to. I was just… forgotten. And then someone remembered me. They kept me, treated me like I was useful, even if it was for the wrong reasons. And I kept telling myself I’d leave eventually. But…”
You looked away.
But you didn’t come looking.
Not Bucky. Not Steve. Not anyone. And God, you hated that some small, aching part of you still cared what Bucky thought now. That same part of you that used to wonder if the way he lingered in doorways or offered quiet thank you’s meant anything. That used to hope maybe one day he’d notice you beyond the reports and the routine.
And now here he was. Sitting across from you like you were someone who mattered again. And yet, it was too Too late.
“I never forgot you,” He said suddenly, voice low.
You met his eyes again, and for a moment, something cracked in you. The part that still held onto old feelings. The part that used to whisper: Maybe if you were enough, he’d see you.
He leaned forward slightly, forearms on his knees, and brow drawn with a guilt he wore too well.
“Steve doesn’t know what to do. Neither does Natasha. Sam is worried the UN’s gonna step in and turn this into a case file.”
You didn’t speak.
“They don’t know if you were taken… or if you chose it.”
You swallowed.
“What about you?” You asked quietly. “What do you think?”
He looked at you fully then. Like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or let you go, like someone scared to break something already fractured.
“I think you didn’t have a reason to stay,” He said. “And that’s on us.”
You blinked fast. Don’t cry. Not in front of him. Not now.
He added, even softer, “I should’ve checked in. Should’ve talked to you more. Noticed more. You were always… there. I just got used to it. I never asked what that cost you.”
You stared at him. Because all those things were true. And none of them fixed anything. And still, some hollow part of you ached to believe him. To believe he meant it. Even now. Even after everything.
He stood slowly. “I don’t know what happens next, but know I’m here for you. Just call.”
You didn’t answer and he left without expecting one. The door hissed closed behind him.
You didn’t move for a long time. Just sat there on the padded bench, wrists still sore from the cuffs. The room smelled like recycled air and too-clean walls.
You could still feel where he’d looked at you.
Not physically, but in that way you knew too well. The way people stared when they noticed you. When they suddenly realized they’d been blind for too long, and it was too late to undo it.
You curled your knees up and rested your chin on them.
He used to smile at the woman who brought him coffee. Not you. She was light, easy with conversation. She’d wear sun-warmed sweaters and brush Bucky’s arm without hesitation. She looked like she belonged.
You were the one who memorized his black coffee order and left it near his door when he was too tired to ask. You were the one who adjusted the lighting in the mission briefings because you noticed he flinched in the brighter rooms. The one who once thought—
Stop.
You squeezed your eyes shut hard, trying to burn the thoughts away. But they came anyway.
You had fallen for a version of him that was never yours to begin with. You’d wanted something gentle, something quiet, something kind. But you’d mistaken his silence for softness. Mistaken his nods for something closer. Mistaken your own loneliness for love.
And now, after all that?
You were back in their hands. Not trusted. Not freed. Just… tolerated. An inconvenient problem with too much history to erase and too little value to keep.
You wiped at your eyes angrily before the tears could fall. You weren’t going to cry. Not for them. Not for him.
Let Bucky feel guilty. Let them all feel it. Because none of them came when it mattered. Not when you started slipping. Not when you stopped showing up in common areas. Not when you left.
They only came when they needed to clean up their own mess.
You weren’t their teammate. You were their oversight.
And now? Now they didn’t know whether to lock you up or pretend they cared.
It was a while later until they brought you into a smaller room this time.
No restraints. Just two guards who didn’t meet your eyes, and a seat bolted to the floor in front of a metal table that had been polished too clean. Across from it were two empty chairs. One for Steve. One for Natasha.
Of course it would be them.
The two who always had to hold the line. Captain America and the spy who never missed anything. Fair. Tactical. Clinical.
Your steps were quieter than theirs. You didn’t need to be announced.
So, you sat.
The room wasn’t cold, but you felt cold anyway. That kind of chill that sinks in from being looked through too many times for too many years. That kind of ache that crept up behind your ribs and made your chest feel hollow.
The door opened softly as Steve entered first, jaw tense, and posture perfect. Natasha followed. Her eyes didn’t flicker toward you immediately, but you knew better. She was already studying everything: your posture, your breathing, and the faint tremor in your fingers.
They sat down with no smiles or greetings.
Steve reached for the file in front of him, but didn’t open it.
“You’ve been quiet since we brought you in,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to push. “We’re hoping you’ll talk now.”
You tilted your head. Not sarcastic. Not cold. Just… blank.
“What exactly do you want me to say?”
It was Natasha who answered. “The truth.”
That made you laugh, quiet and breathless. Not because it was funny. But because it was too late for that.
Your eyes focused on the table instead of them. “Do you want the part where I was kidnapped? Or the part where I didn’t come back because no one noticed I left?”
Natasha didn’t flinch, but Steve did. The truth hit harder than any accusation.
“We noticed,” He said, too quickly. “Eventually.”
You let the pause stretch, slow and cruel.
“Yeah,” You whispered. “Eventually.”
They didn’t speak. You could hear the hum of the security camera above.
And you hated how your voice still shook when you finally asked, “Do you think I’m the enemy now?”
Steve’s eyes softened. That was almost worse.
“No,” He said, and there was truth in it, but also uncertainty. “We think you were used. Maybe manipulated. Maybe… maybe you didn’t see a way out.”
“But I did,” You replied. “Plenty of times. I just stopped looking for one.”
That landed like stone in water. A long silence passed where both of them looked at each other, probably considering what to say next. What could they even say.
You looked up then, straight at Natasha. “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”
She blinked, slow. But she didn’t dodge the question.
“You didn’t need anyone,” She said. “You were self-sufficient, quiet, and focused. You did your job better than most of the team. We thought you liked it that way.”
You swallowed.
“I thought if I was good enough, someone might—” You cut yourself off, jaw tightening. “Forget it.”
“No,” Steve said quietly, leaning forward now. “Say it.”
Your gaze flicked between them. And maybe some stubborn, lonely part of you wanted to say it. Just so they’d hear it out loud. Just so someone could hold the weight of it with you.
“I thought if I was good enough, someone might finally see me.”
The silence that followed cracked something open.
Not in them. In you. You felt it rising all at once. Grief, shame, anger, tight in your throat.
“I gave everything I had to a team that didn’t notice I was drowning,” You whispered. “And then someone threw me a rope. Even if it was a trap, it still looked like kindness.”
Natasha’s voice was quieter now. “And now?”
You looked at her, at both of them.
“I don’t know who I am without them. But I sure as hell don’t want to be who I was before.”
Steve sat back, the words heavy between you. This wasn’t the kind of debrief they could file away. This wasn’t about secrets or plans or threats.
This was about a girl who used to long to belong and the result of what became of her when no one made space for her to stay.
You’re not the villain here. But you’re not their teammate anymore either. And that’s starting to sink in deeper than ever before.
Arthur ran his fingers softly along the nasty scar on Merlin’s left shoulder, and tried to swallow the guilt and shame. He had done that. One of the very first days he knew Merlin, he’d attacked him with a morningstar for the terrible crime of standing up to him. It seemed like it had to be so much more than a year and a half to go, couldn’t have been so recent, and yet.
Arthur had never been good with words, but he knew the kisses he was currently dropping along the edges of the scar could never be amends enough. He took a deep breath, then asked, “help me draft a new policy for the knights? About appropriate treatment of the non-noble citizenry of Camelot?”
Merlin turned to face him, eyes full of question and surprise.
“Not now, I mean,” he added, “after some sleep.”
Merlin nodded, and lunged in, and kissed him, as if ‘ help me draft a new policy for the knights’ was the most gallant and romantic thing he’d ever heard.
