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Travelling All Alone (1/?)

Summary: An angsty 17-year old runaway goes on a road trip with a pissed-off ex-Hydra assassin. What can possibly go wrong?

Note from the author: Aaaaaaa I’m so excited to post the first chapter of this series, my first fic ever! The story will touch on some dark themes in later chapters, but I’ll make sure to use appropriate content warnings when the time comes. Hope you enjoy it!

Characters: Platonic Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Warnings: Explicit language, guns, violence, and angst.

Word Count: 3565.

It was a quarter past midnight on a surprisingly cold night in July. You pulled your oversized denim jacket closer to your body as you stepped off the bus, bitterly regretting your decision to wear a summer dress and a pair of fishnet tights this morning. Christ, it’s fucking freezing! The cold air turned your warm breath into misty clouds as you watched the other passengers disappear into the night.

For a while you stood there as the bus drove away, taking in your surroundings. There wasn’t much to see: The sharp light from a few lamp posts lit up the large, empty parking lot. In the distance you could make out what appeared to be a diner, probably closed for the night. Heaving a deep sigh, you scanned the nearest bus schedule only to remember with disappointment that tomorrow was Sunday. No busses would arrive till Monday morning - you had nowhere to go.

The realization made you cuss loudly. You really hadn’t thought this whole running-away-from-home thing through, and you could feel the panic starting to overwhelm you. During the six hours you had spent on the bus, you had somehow managed to stay calm in spite of everything. Watching the rain drops trickle down your window, you had daydreamed about hot childhood summers spent by the beach, just you and your mom. The memories had drowned out the negative thoughts that were now threatening to overwhelm you as you stood in that deserted parking lot in the middle of fucking nowhere.

You bent over, grasping your knees as you started to hyperventilate. Combined with all the shit that had already happened, the thought of sleeping in the street in this random-ass town nearly made you burst into tears for the second time that day. Pull yourself together, you scolded yourself. This was your own decision, now deal with it!

In a stubborn attempt to calm yourself, you straightened up, took a deep breath, and set off towards the diner you had seen further down the road.

“Give me your backpack. Now!” You froze as you heard the angry voice coming from behind you, silently praying that somehow the command wasn’t meant for you. Hadn’t you been through enough crap for one day?

Scared out of your wits, you slowly turned around. Standing in front of you was a distraught-looking bald man with a gun clenched tightly in his hand. You opened your mouth, weather to speak or to scream you didn’t know.

“If you make a noise, I’ll shoot” he warned you. Terrified, but too stubborn to show it, you swallowed thickly and, with shaking hands, took off your backpack. You didn’t break eye contact with the guy as you placed it on the ground in front of him.

The man stepped closer to you and grabbed the bag, gun still pointed towards you. Carelessly he began to sort through your stuff, making your stomach hurt as he dropped your only belongings onto the hard concrete. You didn’t have to look down to see what was lying in front of you as your heard the sound of glass shattering: It was the framed picture of you and your mom which you had brought with you from home, your happy faces smiling innocently into the camera. Without thinking, you bent down to pick it up.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll blow your fucking brains out, you hear me?!” Clutching the photograph in your hands, you stared at the bald man in shock as he took a threatening step towards you.

“What else have you got, huh? Any jewelry? A phone? Show me what you’ve got!” With shaking hands, you quickly slipped the photo into the pocket of your denim jacket and pulled out your phone. The man was getting dangerously close now. You could feel his hot breath on your cheek as he pressed the cold metal of his gun against your curly blonde hair. Hot tears were rolling down your cheeks and you stared down at your black boots, not knowing what to do or say.

“Put all of it in the ba-“

“Step away from the kid or I’ll break your goddamn knees.” The new voice was quiet but laced with an unmistakable menace. The man mugging you gasped in surprise and accidentally dropped his gun. As he stumbled to catch it, you caught a glimpse of the dangerous looking man now towering behind him. The only thing you noticed, before he kicked the gunman in the back, was his angry frown and the furious expression in his dark eyes. The impact of the kick made the bald guy stumble to the ground, gasping in pain. As he rolled onto his back, you noticed him eyeing the gun lying on the ground a few feet away.

Mr. Murder-Eyes in front of you took an aggressive step forward. Although you knew that it wasn’t your knees that he was threatening to break, the movement made you gasp and step back anyway. The sound caught his attention and you noticed him glance at you, expression unreadable but definitely less scary than it had been a second before.

It was a brief distraction, but it was enough to encourage the man on the ground to reach for his gun. Noticing his movement out of the corner of your eye, you managed to kick it further away before he could get to it.

For a brief second, you felt pretty smug about your (honestly pretty surprising) swiftness. The moment didn’t last long - you felt a strong hand close around your ankle, and before you knew it, your legs were being pulled out from beneath you and your face was colliding with the wet concrete. You let out a gasp as a sharp pain seared through your forehead and everything went black.

Waking up in the backseat of a stranger’s car should probably have solicited some form of reaction from you. However, the second wave of panic never hit you. All you got was a throbbing headache which you stubbornly decided to ignore. Without moving, you took in your surrounding as well as you could considering that you were lying on the back seat of a dimly lit car.

In the front seat, you could make out the silhouette of a tall man with dark hair, speeding through the streets to get to god knows where. At the back of your mind, you could hear a small voice screaming at you to call the police, get out of the car, or just do something. You were exhausted, however, and that exhaustion seemed to translate into complete emotional numbness. You only had yourself now, and you couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to care about what happened to you.

For a while you just lay there across the black leather seats, street lights flashing by outside. After ten minutes you could feel the car beginning to slow down - you decided it was time to move. With a pained groan you managed to get yourself up into a sitting position.

“Fucking hell,” you mumbled, and lifted a hand to your throbbing forehead. The driver frowned at you in the rearview mirror as he pulled into yet another deserted parking lot. Great.

You glared back at him defiantly, you couldn’t help but notice what appeared to be concern in his dark eyes. Aw, how sweet, you thought. Mr. Murder-Eyes was worried about you!

“You okay back there, kid?” His deep voice was much softer than it had been the first time you heard it. Nevertheless, you weren’t going to trust him. Life had taught you how easy it was to act as if you wanted the best for someone, only to use them as soon as you got the chance. Getting on that bus, you had sworn to yourself that you would never let anyone use you again. With that in mind, you crossed your arms and stared out of the window, voice harsh as you spoke: “Where are we?”

The man shot a quick glance at you over his shoulder. “I err… I drove you to a motel. Seemed like you could use a place to stay.”

Your head snapped back in his direction. You glared as him as you all but exploded: “You mean you kidnapped me? What the hell?? How can you know that my parents aren’t waiting for me at home? They’re probably calling the police right now!”

As soon as you were done yelling, you opened the car door and stepped out onto the second dimly lit parking lot of the night. Feeling yourself about to panic again, you tried to relax and let the numbness overwhelm you. You told yourself that you didn’t really care if you were being abducted. After all, no one else did. The part about your parents had been a lie – you’d only said that they were waiting for you because you didn’t want him to know that you were alone.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as the guy exited his car in the blink of an eye. Before you knew it, he was standing in front of you with his hands held up in front of him, an expression of pure horror painted on his face.

“I, I didn’t! I’m not- I mean…” You watched him stumble over his words. “I didn’t kidnap you. I just …” His expression change from shocked to nervous to angry. “Hell, doll, you blacked out and I- ... I couldn’t just leave you there, could I?”

You crossed your arms, mirroring him, and remained quiet as he towered over you, clearly expecting some sort of answer from you. After glaring at you with furrowed brows for what seemed like an eternity, he took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was calm. “Your stuff was lying all over the place, I picked it up for you.” He turned to grab your backpack from the passenger seat of his car. He eyed you up and down as he handed it to you, clearly trying to figure you out.

“When I picked your stuff up from the ground, I couldn’t help but notice that you had brought a hell lot of clothes and stuff with you,” he said, hesitantly. “I also found your passport and some cash … Doesn’t seem like something you’d bring if you were just, don’t know, going for a walk or somethin.” It was a statement, but his voice went up a little towards the end as if it was actually a question.

Although you managed to keep a calm expression, you were honestly taken aback by how much he’d been able to tell just from the content of your bag. You contemplated lying to him before you remembered that you really didn’t have anywhere to go. To make matters worse, your head felt like it was going to explode. You were just about ready to black out from exhaustion.

“Alright, then, Mr. Private-Investigator.” Even you could hear how half-hearted your sarcasm was. You glanced at the large fluorescent MOTEL sign on the other side of the parking lot. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that I don’t have anywhere to stay. What do you suggest?”

“Well, I was going to book a room for myself in there.” He gestured towards the motel and looked at you wearily, probably well aware of how creepy he sounded. Still, he added: “I can book one with an extra bed. Perhaps take a look at that head wound of yours.” He glanced at your forehead, frowning in concern. You stared at him with a guarded expression.

Okay, Y/N. Be honest with yourself. How likely is it that this guy is a murderous rapist psychopath? Well, you thought, he had threatened to break someone’s knees earlier. But that asshole had it coming, didn’t he?

As you stood there, contemplating your next move, you eyed him up and down, just as he had done with you a few minutes earlier. From the looks of it, he was at least fifteen years older than you. His hair was long and brown, his chiseled jaw covered by a short, well-kept beard. Appreciatively you noted that black seemed to be the overarching theme of his personal aesthetic. He was wearing a dark red hoodie with a black leather jacket on top, black jeans, black boots, and black gloves. Hell, he even had a black car - which, by the way, looked amazing.

Concentrate, Y/N.

Is he going to kill you?

Probably.

Does it matter?

I guess not.

You took a deep breath.

“Okay,” you said with a shrug, trying to seem like you didn’t really care.

For a second your answer seemed to surprise him, but he quickly gathered himself. Without a word, he turned away from you and marched towards the run-down motel.

For a moment you just stood there, blinking as you stared after the strange man that had just offered to share a room with you.

“Come on, Goldilocks!” He yelled at you over his shoulder, pulling you out of your stupor.

You stubbornly suppressed the smile that was threatening to shape your lips and rolled your eyes instead. With quick steps, you followed him into a motel lobby which reminded you of something out of a Hitchcock film. How on earth had you gotten yourself into this mess?

The green tiles covering the walls of the motel bathroom were reflecting the light of a dusty yellow lightbulb, giving the small room a sickly feel to it. It almost reminded Bucky of a Hydra lab. Hydra. He was meant to be hunting down those fuckers right now, not looking after some spoilt brat with an attitude problem. Okay, to be completely fair to the girl, she didn’t seem that spoilt. In fact, she actually seemed a bit messed up. Years of training had enabled Bucky to tell when people were lying to him, and Y/N had definitely been lying when she’d claimed that her parents were waiting for her at home. It had been so obvious that she was on her own, perhaps even running away from home, that Bucky had wondered why she’d bothered lying in the first place. And then there was her reaction when she woke up in his car. Or rather, her lack of reaction. Surely, the normal thing to do when you wake up in the back of a strange man’s car is to scream and fight? He could have been a psychopath for crying out loud!

For a while now, Bucky had been leaning over the sink, grasping at it hard. Now, he heaved a deep sigh and glared at his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps he was as psychopath. Hell, he’d nearly gone full Winter Soldier on that bastard who had tried to mug her. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath and splashed his face with icy water from the tap, ignoring the drops that rolled down his arms and dripped onto the floor. The girl hadn’t even asked for his name once they’d entered the motel room last night. All she’d done was stare at his metal arm with empty eyes while he cleaned the wound on her forehead. The cut was only superficial, but he had, nevertheless, offered her some painkillers to take off the edge.

As it turned out, the pills might have been a bit strong for someone who was not a super-soldier. Before he has asked her anything more than her name, she had been fast asleep on one of the beds, curled up on her side with her long unruly hair spread out behind her. Bucky had stared at her for a second, overwhelmed by a weird sensation that he hadn’t felt for many years. As always, it had taken a while for the memories to come back, but when they did, he had realized that Y/N reminded him of his younger sister, Rebecca. Bucky chuckled to himself as he recalled how Becca used to swear if anyone tried to cross her. And just like this girl, Y/N, she had looked perfectly angelic as soon as she was asleep. He felt a pang in his heart as he thought about Becca. Their parents had passed away at a young age. With him and Steve gone, there had been no one to look after her. It must have been extremely difficult.

Hoping to avoid the dark turn that his thoughts were taking, Bucky suddenly decided that it was about time that the sleepy girl next door got out of bed. After all, he needed to get rid of her and return to his mission.

“Y/N. Hey!” he called out, hoping that it would be enough to stir her from her sleep. When it wasn’t, he tried to slam the bathroom door with a loud thud. That was also inefficient. Exasperated, he tried to call her name more loudly. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up!”

Still asleep.

Annoyed, Bucky realized that he was going to have to poke her. As slowly as were he about to defuse a bomb, he stepped closer. When he was near enough, he reached out and poked her arm, still covered by the huge denim jacket she had been wearing the night before. It didn’t work.

Christ, this girl can sleep, he thought to himself. Feeling more careless, he placed his metal hand on her upper arm and shook it. Without a warning, her eyes flew open, now staring up at him in alarm. Before Bucky could say as much as a single word, she punched him straight in the face.

“Son of a bitch!”

He doubled over, lifting a hand to his nose which was throbbing painfully. Had she just punched him? What the hell?

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” The words came out of her mouth so fast that they were nearly incomprehensible. “I forgot where I was- I- I thought you were someone else. I’m really-”

“It’s fine,” Bucky growled, glaring up at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

As he rubbed his sore nose, he straightened up, taking in her disheveled appearance for the first time. The young girl looked like a complete mess. Her black fishnet tights had torn when she’d fallen last night, revealing her bruised and bloody knees. Looking at her hair, he was convinced that a bird could fly in through the nearest window at any moment and start nesting in it without problems. He glanced down at her face, where the blood that had dripped from the wound on her forehead had run past her left eye and down across her cheek. There it seemed to have mixed with her salty mascara tears, now all dried up. His heart sank as he noticed the fear that was evident in her brown eyes. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t believed his half-hearted reassurance that punching him was completely okay. Bucky hated when civilians were scared of him, so he decided to make it better.

“Honestly, Doll. I’ve had a lot worse.” His voice was soft, and the ghost of a smile played on his lips. The girl took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders at his words. Considering her appearance, he added: “Look, there are some clean towels in the bathroom if you would like to take a shower before we get going?” In an instant, her soft eyes hardened.

“Get going? Where to?” She demanded to know, raising a single, defiant brow at him. The sight nearly made him chuckle. Seemed like he’d finally found someone more obstinate than himself.

“Well, I need to get you back to the bus station, don’t I?” He asked, clearly rhetorically. “I’m assuming someone out there is waiting for you to come home.”

He noticed her eyes flicker before she turned her head away from him. “Yeah,” she mumbled, all traces of anger gone from her voice. “Of course.”

Bucky was not at all convinced. He knew that she wasn’t his problem, but still, the thought of her travelling alone unnerved him. He wanted to know where she had come from and where she was heading. Hopefully, it was somewhere safe. He wanted to ask her but didn’t want to be pushy. If they stopped somewhere for breakfast on the way to the bus station, maybe she’d talk.

“Hey, Severus Snape! Stop staring at me, will you? It’s kinda scary.”

He didn’t understand all of her words, but the sass in her voice was clear as day. With a scowl, Bucky turned his back on her and walked over to what had implicitly become “his” half of the room. He couldn’t believe that he’d let himself pity such an obnoxious child. She was more insufferable than Tony fucking Stark, for crying out loud!

Taking a deep breath, Bucky tried to calm his mind. None of this matters, he told himself, while dumping what few belongings he had brought with him into his black duffel bag. She wasn’t his responsibility, anyway. There were Hydra fascists out there who needed to be assassinated. And, as his mother used to say, it was rude to keep people waiting. After all, he was James Buchanan Barnes. Killing was what he was good at. Not babysitting.

How on earth had he gotten himself into this mess?

If you enjoyed this chapter and want me to write more, please let me know! xx

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