Legacy Weapon - Prologue
Part of the rewrite, so please do tell me what you think!! 💙
Content warnings: Mentions of trauma, government experimentation, implied abuse, PTSD, emotional distress, moral ambiguity, coercion, secret projects, and themes of control and autonomy.
This prologue deals with heavy themes and may not be suitable for all readers. Please read with care.
No graphic violence or explicit content — this chapter focuses on the reader's perspective, their internal conflict, and the first tense encounter with Bucky.
WC: 1387
Masterlist
Disclaimer | Chapter 1
“This is to keep everyone safe. You understand, right?” Tony says, sliding a pen across the table.
The Sokovia Accords sit in front of me. Thin pages pretending to be a “promise”. A government vow to keep the world safe.
I start reading.
Blah, blah, blah, enhanced human. Blah, blah, regulated deployment. Asset ID #472913.
My name never appears. Just classifications. Categories. Permissions.
The word human repeats so often it starts to feel smaller every time it shows up—less like a truth, more like a restriction. A box they’ve already decided I fit into.
I look up and exhale slowly.
“Tony,” I say, already tired, “this isn’t protecting everyone. It’s definitely not protecting me.” I hesitate, then add quietly, “This sounds like a cage.”
“(Y/N/N), it’s not like that. You know that.” Tony finally meets my eyes. His voice is softer now. “I’m trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The words land heavy in my chest.
“I—” I swallow. “Can I think about it? Just… sleep on it?”
Tony exhales and drags a hand down his face. For a moment, he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
The Avengers Compound feels hollow afterward. Too big. Too quiet.
Half the team is gone—scattered, on the run, and Tony is already talking about recruitment, about rebuilding, like you can replace people the way you replace armor. I’m the last one who hasn’t signed.
I never thought I’d miss structure. Never thought I’d miss being swallowed by a government agency, or sleeping in six-by-two bunks on a ship that never really stopped moving. At least back then, someone always told me where I stood.
Now, standing in the echo of what used to be a team, I’m not sure if refusing to sign makes me free… or a target.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the stack of papers on my desk. They feel like they’re staring back at me, looming like a sleep paralysis demon. I sit up and run my hands over my face before finally getting up.
I leave my room and knock on the door that usually has answers.
But Steve isn’t there anymore.
He’s off somewhere with the “Winter Soldier” —or whatever remains of him. I rest my forehead against the door, suddenly feeling like a lost child again. Only this time, I’m not one.
The Accords sit back in my room, waiting.
And for the first time, I feel the full weight of being a legal adult settle into my chest. Nat steps out of her room and stops when she sees me standing in front of Steve’s door.
“Did you sign them?” she asks.
“Not yet.” I turn to face her. “And honestly, I don’t know how you did.”
The words come out harsher than I mean them to. Nat doesn’t flinch. She just watches me for a moment.
“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“Is it?” I say, heat creeping into my voice. “You live in a gray area. You’re trained, not enhanced. You get more clearance.” I laugh under my breath, sharp and humorless. “But I get a leash”
The hallway goes quiet. Nat’s expression tightens, not angry. Calculating. Careful.
“That’s not what this is,” she says evenly.
“That’s exactly what it is,” I shoot back. “You sign and you get oversight. I sign and I become an insurance policy.”
She exhales slowly. “I signed because I’ve seen what happens when you don’t.”
I shake my head. “You signed because you still get to choose.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. She hands me a phone, a simple keypad phone, and walks off. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I tuck the phone into my pocket, its weight solid against my hip. I take a deep breath, deciding I should probably rest.
By morning, the compound is already buzzing. Tony’s trying to rally the stragglers, talking about missions and recruitment, but I can barely hear him. He says something about a spider kid who can help us, and I really couldn’t care less.
My thoughts keep circling back to what Natasha said, and I swear the phone is burning a hole in my back pocket. I pull out the outdated little device. There’s only one number saved.
Steve.
Of course it is. That’s such a Steve move.
I hover over the call button, thumb hesitating. Maybe he’ll have answers. Maybe he’ll say something that nudges me in the right direction. Or maybe this is how I end up in the Raft.
I’m still government property. A technicality.
An eighteen-year-old technicality—old enough to be held responsible, old enough to be punished. Expected to answer for actions that would qualify as espionage, international violations, war crimes.
Actions I took under a government organization that no longer exists.
For four years, SHIELD authorized everything I did. Signed off on it. Buried it. I was a minor, operating under orders, protected by jurisdiction and classification. A child weaponized by a system that took responsibility for the fallout. Now that entity is gone.
And with it, the protection.
We get the alert before we even land. Unauthorized access attempt. Stark Industries hangar. Quinjet bay. Tony doesn’t say it out loud, but we all know what that means.
“They’re going for transport,” Rhodey mutters.
“Of course they are,” Tony replies. “Cap never stays put.”
By the time we touch down, the airport is already too quiet. Wide open space, too much room for things to go wrong. Vision scans ahead, calm and methodical. Natasha’s silent beside me, unreadable.
This isn’t a conversation. This is containment.
We spot them near the hangar entrance — Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint, and Barnes.
They’re exactly where the intel said they’d be.
Tony steps forward anyway. He always does. “You’re making this harder than it has to be, Cap. Walk away. We’ll figure this out.”
Steve shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that.”
That’s when I understand: this was never about changing minds. This was about buying time.
The moment Steve shifts his stance, the tension snaps.
“Alright,” Tony sighs. “Then we’re doing this.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Underoos.”
Something drops from the sky.
Red and black. Too fast. Too loud. Too young. Too inexperienced.
The kid lands, stumbles, then immediately starts talking like this is the greatest day of his life.
Spider-Man.
Rhodey lets out a stunned laugh. I just stare.
“So that’s Dungarewski,” I mutter.
The first blow lands seconds later. The shield hits concrete, and suddenly the airport isn’t empty anymore — it’s a battlefield.
“(Y/N), with the kid,” Tony orders. “Don’t let Barnes and Wilson get to the jet.”
“On it.”
Spider-Man webs Sam midair, hauling him sideways. Barnes moves instantly, metal arm tearing through the webbing as if it’s nothing.
I intercept before they can regroup.
This isn’t personal. I don’t hesitate. I don’t hesitate because hesitation gets people killed.
Barnes turns toward me, assessing, calculating. He fights like someone trained to end things fast. No wasted movement. No anger. Just efficiency.
I match him blow for blow, forcing distance, keeping him away from the hangar. He’s strong, stronger than the files suggested, but he’s not reckless.
That stands out more than it should.
Then Vision fires at the runway.
Wanda screams.
The fight fractures.
Everything stops being clean after that.
Steve sprints for the jet, Barnes close behind him. Nat isn’t with Steve—she’s intercepting T’Challa, firing to hold him back.
What is she doing? I just had to run over there. I try to help Nat but she pushes me off. “Go!” she screams at me, pointing to the jet. I look at her, I look at the jet, and finally I look at Tony.
“(Y/N), stop!” Tony’s voice crackles in my ear.
I reach the ramp just as Barnes turns, metal hand gripping the edge. Steve hauls him inside.
I should let go.
I should stop.
I should-
Instead, I jump.
The ramp seals shut behind us, cutting off the roar of the airport. I walk to the co-pilot seat like this was always the plan.
“What are you doing?” Steve asked.
“Thought you might need help piloting” And I sit down like I didn't just sign my death sentence.
